I still have no clue which path, the self-publishing the eBooks or the four year intermittent blizzard of job applications went worse. At least some cash came, even if from expected purchases by friends and family, on the eBooks.
So, now it is back to an unknown square on this board, and fight off yet another checkmate in my game of life.
Or, more appropriately, it's time to stack the deck for this next cribbage game on God's Cribbage Board, and remember to peg and go cut-throat on the muggins. I am working on some ideas of what to try next, one thing will happen for sure, as soon as I clear the folks who tried to help put solid ground back under my feet.
There have been suggestions made, some serious, some not so, some snide, some helpful.
But the decision will be mine, in the end.
I will admit all hands played the last few years were not my best, and even grant that God and Satan, and definitely ol' cousin Murphy of that damned "Law", caught me behind the skunk line more than once. That latter, well, I owe him a few double skunks after his treatment of my life and fate lately.
Yes, I am seeing that board before me again, a nasty Scoremaster, four tracks, and my pegs in those center tracks look lonely, well back towards the single digit lands of wins, skunks, points, and corners. I probably only lead in 19 hands played, points mugged off my sloppy counts when points were there, and cribs lost to the other guys' hands.
Not a stellar performance, but one I need to redeem. So, the Hell with Lady Luck, Billenius's mistresses, the three mean girls of Fate, and the others. Time to unleash the worst aspects of one of those latter ladies, and borrow her broom to clean up my paths a bit.
So, tonight, I will stay up late, smoke some baccy, offer up those fumes to the powers that be, and see what strikes me as options. See if any stories actually do progress to the end again, see if other trails to follow come to my eyes, between the wisps of tobacco mists and snowflakes, and then think long on the answer of where to go next, which risks to take.
And trust me, I am looking at the cards before me, which read 19 now, and 19 later, and wondering if a single risk can change that, maybe deliver a promised higher hand, with a shove from me, not some outside agency.
'Cause, while I might say I'm quitting, deep down, sheer orneriness prevents that. I just fall back to regroup, then set out on another sortie.
Oh, Look..... a windmill.... someone hand me a lance, as I jump into the saddle on my own back... Just tell the Knight of the Mirrors to wait a bit, let me stew before he has his fun at Murphy's behest.
Showing posts with label Questions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Questions. Show all posts
Monday, March 2, 2015
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Answering Questions Asked Of Me.
It is time to answer a few questions I've been asked the past few years. Most won't like the answers. Sorry, but the time has come to say these things, to my friends, family, and Society as whole
Do you really think writing is your only answer to your financial situation? No. I never thought I could thrive on my writings, I don't feel I will ever have a bestseller, but was just looking for a little cash to sustain my few bad habits, my morning coffee, smoking my pipe, an occasional meal, with. Honestly, I don't even see that , as the one try I make, folks toss road blocks before, not seeing I am doing what they do, spending money to make money, just not in that fool's game called the stock market.
Why don't you try harder to get a real job? I think that at now over the 8000 jobs applied for in less than 4 years, I've done more to get work than most folks who at least were given the support of Unemployment checks, which I never got.
When are you going to settle down and be reliable? I'm the guy who showed up, often even when sick, got the work done, and covered the others who took time off for silly things like hangovers, parties, and the like. When the bloody hell will the rest of you settle down and stop asking me to do your work, and deny my time off requests (I rarely got to use all my time off at ANY company I worked at.)
Who would read the stuff you write? Won't know, unless I try, right? Now, want to get out of my way, or help?
Why should any company give you a chance? you never stay. I think my past history, of staying until just before the issues blew up, actually is a firm reason for companies to give me a chance, just realize, all those before you have limited my patience, so that is the reason for the year and a half mark, not the five everyone desires. Remember, my first full time job, 60-80 hours a week, no vacation until two weeks before I quit, and that was given grudgingly? And other companies along the way that had things that went south, that I held on, only turning into the "rat off the sinking ship" once I realized I could not be their life preserver?
When are you going to start dressing for success? Folks, I long ago decided that my personal comfort takes firm precedence over "style" and "fashion", both of which are things I never had any sense in. I choose my clothing for utility and comfort, nothing more. Besides, everyone freaks out at my lack of color coordination, so I tend to stick with grey clothing, standard blue jeans and t-shirts. Stop asking me to wear a tie, remember, I had to cut one once to keep from being sucked into a machine, and that was with a tie clip on it! I despise suits, and am not comfortable in them, feel long sleeves are there to roll up when you need to show folks it's time to get things done, and prefer tennis shoes or hiking boots over dress shoes, as they at least come in sizes and shapes that fit my feet.
Why don't you have a five year plan? No plan I have ever made survived contact with the enemies I have, of time, fate, and reality. Besides, five year plans are so "Stalinist" or "Communist", in my view. Nowadays, I just have goals, without firm time limits. Gives me better flexibility towards making them happen.
Anything I miss, that folks bug me about? Post it below, but be prepared not to like my answers.
Do you really think writing is your only answer to your financial situation? No. I never thought I could thrive on my writings, I don't feel I will ever have a bestseller, but was just looking for a little cash to sustain my few bad habits, my morning coffee, smoking my pipe, an occasional meal, with. Honestly, I don't even see that , as the one try I make, folks toss road blocks before, not seeing I am doing what they do, spending money to make money, just not in that fool's game called the stock market.
Why don't you try harder to get a real job? I think that at now over the 8000 jobs applied for in less than 4 years, I've done more to get work than most folks who at least were given the support of Unemployment checks, which I never got.
When are you going to settle down and be reliable? I'm the guy who showed up, often even when sick, got the work done, and covered the others who took time off for silly things like hangovers, parties, and the like. When the bloody hell will the rest of you settle down and stop asking me to do your work, and deny my time off requests (I rarely got to use all my time off at ANY company I worked at.)
Who would read the stuff you write? Won't know, unless I try, right? Now, want to get out of my way, or help?
Why should any company give you a chance? you never stay. I think my past history, of staying until just before the issues blew up, actually is a firm reason for companies to give me a chance, just realize, all those before you have limited my patience, so that is the reason for the year and a half mark, not the five everyone desires. Remember, my first full time job, 60-80 hours a week, no vacation until two weeks before I quit, and that was given grudgingly? And other companies along the way that had things that went south, that I held on, only turning into the "rat off the sinking ship" once I realized I could not be their life preserver?
When are you going to start dressing for success? Folks, I long ago decided that my personal comfort takes firm precedence over "style" and "fashion", both of which are things I never had any sense in. I choose my clothing for utility and comfort, nothing more. Besides, everyone freaks out at my lack of color coordination, so I tend to stick with grey clothing, standard blue jeans and t-shirts. Stop asking me to wear a tie, remember, I had to cut one once to keep from being sucked into a machine, and that was with a tie clip on it! I despise suits, and am not comfortable in them, feel long sleeves are there to roll up when you need to show folks it's time to get things done, and prefer tennis shoes or hiking boots over dress shoes, as they at least come in sizes and shapes that fit my feet.
Why don't you have a five year plan? No plan I have ever made survived contact with the enemies I have, of time, fate, and reality. Besides, five year plans are so "Stalinist" or "Communist", in my view. Nowadays, I just have goals, without firm time limits. Gives me better flexibility towards making them happen.
Anything I miss, that folks bug me about? Post it below, but be prepared not to like my answers.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Questions to deal with in Writing
As one writes a story, you find yourself asking more questions about it, of the characters and yourself.
First, does it read well? You deal with that later. That is the kind of thing for the edit sessions. I find that the dictum many writers speak of, write the story, stupid" works best. Write the damned thing, then go back and edit. "Journey to Freedom" would not have taken six years and 10 drafts had I listened to that advice.
Second, Where the HELL did that come from? And what relevance does it have to the tale? This happens when some bit of the character's back-story creeps into the story, as you write it out, and that is something you do NOT stop to deal with right then, either. Just drive on, but jot down notes on your shock at what dances off the fingers as you move the pen or tap the keys, depending upon preferred method of first drafting. Deal with that later, too.
Third: Should I stop here? Only if you absolutely have to. Never break a streak of words when you have a good run going. Even something you feel may be destined for some forgotten stretch of literary wilderness might have the rough gem you just need a touch of cutting and polishing on to convert it into a magnificent jewel.
Fourth: Is this paragraph good enough? Delay, prevaricate, and drive on with the streak. Never stop, save to top off the coffee/tea/soda cup and get right back at it, fast. A quick peek at social media is fine, as long as you keep it quick, don't linger, and keep the cursor away from those blasted game icons.
Last: Will it sell? Just tell the tale, you can fix marketability of a tale in the edit, or change your target audience/market as needed.
In other words. Butt in seat and write. Make your daily/project word goals, pad that number all you can, and pray Life, Lady Luck, and the Fates don't notice you are having a good time.
Oh, save and back it up frequently. Murphy loves to vex writers by applying his law to us.
First, does it read well? You deal with that later. That is the kind of thing for the edit sessions. I find that the dictum many writers speak of, write the story, stupid" works best. Write the damned thing, then go back and edit. "Journey to Freedom" would not have taken six years and 10 drafts had I listened to that advice.
Second, Where the HELL did that come from? And what relevance does it have to the tale? This happens when some bit of the character's back-story creeps into the story, as you write it out, and that is something you do NOT stop to deal with right then, either. Just drive on, but jot down notes on your shock at what dances off the fingers as you move the pen or tap the keys, depending upon preferred method of first drafting. Deal with that later, too.
Third: Should I stop here? Only if you absolutely have to. Never break a streak of words when you have a good run going. Even something you feel may be destined for some forgotten stretch of literary wilderness might have the rough gem you just need a touch of cutting and polishing on to convert it into a magnificent jewel.
Fourth: Is this paragraph good enough? Delay, prevaricate, and drive on with the streak. Never stop, save to top off the coffee/tea/soda cup and get right back at it, fast. A quick peek at social media is fine, as long as you keep it quick, don't linger, and keep the cursor away from those blasted game icons.
Last: Will it sell? Just tell the tale, you can fix marketability of a tale in the edit, or change your target audience/market as needed.
In other words. Butt in seat and write. Make your daily/project word goals, pad that number all you can, and pray Life, Lady Luck, and the Fates don't notice you are having a good time.
Oh, save and back it up frequently. Murphy loves to vex writers by applying his law to us.
Another plan unravels
Yet again
the Fates reach out,
scissors shredding my plans viciously,
before the weaver snarls the tapestry
my life has become lately,
into a matted thing
of ruin.
Driving on
as I always do,
I push my limits harder
trying to find a way safely
to appear as a conformist
yet keep my soul
from rebelling.
Five years.
That is the issue
I have to dance around,
as I have no meaningful goals
that others would respect now,
after the last years
of troubles.
Some how
I have to balance
the things others dearly cherish
in making everything be charted before
you set out down roads
less traveled, Frost said,
with beliefs.
It's tough.
Damned near impossible, really,
when you remember I'm not
some schmuck with not skills left,
but a guy who wants
just a simple job
these days.
Never planned
my life in minutia
the way so many others
do in plans, goals, or riches.
No, I prefer the respect
of the reflection looking
out mirrors.
Surrendering finally,
I make one out
over on my rant blog
to see how it flies now,
and if folks will salute
to such a path,
or sneer.
Nor sure
I want to possess
such a damning measuring stick
for my life to be evaluated with
but folks feel I need
such a bloody thing
and soon.
Read it.
Tell me it works,
or where it bloody well
breaks your mind about my potential.
Just realize, I'm already compromising
by holding back replies
used before.
12September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, who feels he's selling his soul in doing this. Read it over on the Private Island Kingdom blog, Click on "My Other Blogs" tab at the top of the page, then read down to find "Five year plans".
the Fates reach out,
scissors shredding my plans viciously,
before the weaver snarls the tapestry
my life has become lately,
into a matted thing
of ruin.
Driving on
as I always do,
I push my limits harder
trying to find a way safely
to appear as a conformist
yet keep my soul
from rebelling.
Five years.
That is the issue
I have to dance around,
as I have no meaningful goals
that others would respect now,
after the last years
of troubles.
Some how
I have to balance
the things others dearly cherish
in making everything be charted before
you set out down roads
less traveled, Frost said,
with beliefs.
It's tough.
Damned near impossible, really,
when you remember I'm not
some schmuck with not skills left,
but a guy who wants
just a simple job
these days.
Never planned
my life in minutia
the way so many others
do in plans, goals, or riches.
No, I prefer the respect
of the reflection looking
out mirrors.
Surrendering finally,
I make one out
over on my rant blog
to see how it flies now,
and if folks will salute
to such a path,
or sneer.
Nor sure
I want to possess
such a damning measuring stick
for my life to be evaluated with
but folks feel I need
such a bloody thing
and soon.
Read it.
Tell me it works,
or where it bloody well
breaks your mind about my potential.
Just realize, I'm already compromising
by holding back replies
used before.
12September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, who feels he's selling his soul in doing this. Read it over on the Private Island Kingdom blog, Click on "My Other Blogs" tab at the top of the page, then read down to find "Five year plans".
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Answering the Question of Who Am I? - A poem of self reflection and friends
Who are U? She asked.
Which stirred my murky soul
into a roiling mess of questions
about what I really am,
to her, myself, and others.
So, I had to answer the call
and define myself outside
the boundaries of social media
into that realm more spiritual.
I am but a figment
of my own wandering imagination.
Stirred out into the world
beyond that strange, solitary realm,
by the dipping of friends' fingers
into muddy waters of that unreality,
calling me up to support those
needing words to soothe their souls
or enrage them to action.
I am the smoke
that sails from my pipe,
irritating the hypochondriacs noses,
yet stirs Memories in those
who had beloved relatives and friends
that odor calls back to them
from the place beyond this life,
to lay ghostly hands upon shoulders
in gentle support against Life's pressures.
I am but a dream
shared with some in brief moments
of vivid colors or monochrome starkness,
across the new aethers dreams rule,
called an internet and social media.
Evoked by prompts, teased back by images,
to weave the smoke and words together
amid the grids of Reality's structures,
and show you worlds beyond it.
I am the wanderer,
walking the streets and trails,
seeking a place called home
that never materializes in quite the way
others think should be there for me.
But, accepts what he has gained,
until the next time feet itch
and the roads and paths summon me
to wander their wonder lined ways.
A silent lurker around the word ponds,
I hunt the prompts and images
that stir my inner bard to compose
words or tales quite strange.
Then toss them into rivers of electrons
for others to enjoy and be inspired
towards raising their own voices
into song, prose, or verse
to lift even more souls up.
I am just imaginary,
conjured up by you,
in those moments when
you need a friend.
Built from the streaming bytes
that dance along cables
into something not quite me...
and yet totally is me,
at least, as you see me.
3September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, with HUGE tip of the hat to my internet friend Nunya for prompting this out of me, not the first poem she's tickled out with some bit she shares and pushes out there. Thanks, Ms. Bidness. Or is that Muse Bidness?
Which stirred my murky soul
into a roiling mess of questions
about what I really am,
to her, myself, and others.
So, I had to answer the call
and define myself outside
the boundaries of social media
into that realm more spiritual.
I am but a figment
of my own wandering imagination.
Stirred out into the world
beyond that strange, solitary realm,
by the dipping of friends' fingers
into muddy waters of that unreality,
calling me up to support those
needing words to soothe their souls
or enrage them to action.
I am the smoke
that sails from my pipe,
irritating the hypochondriacs noses,
yet stirs Memories in those
who had beloved relatives and friends
that odor calls back to them
from the place beyond this life,
to lay ghostly hands upon shoulders
in gentle support against Life's pressures.
I am but a dream
shared with some in brief moments
of vivid colors or monochrome starkness,
across the new aethers dreams rule,
called an internet and social media.
Evoked by prompts, teased back by images,
to weave the smoke and words together
amid the grids of Reality's structures,
and show you worlds beyond it.
I am the wanderer,
walking the streets and trails,
seeking a place called home
that never materializes in quite the way
others think should be there for me.
But, accepts what he has gained,
until the next time feet itch
and the roads and paths summon me
to wander their wonder lined ways.
A silent lurker around the word ponds,
I hunt the prompts and images
that stir my inner bard to compose
words or tales quite strange.
Then toss them into rivers of electrons
for others to enjoy and be inspired
towards raising their own voices
into song, prose, or verse
to lift even more souls up.
I am just imaginary,
conjured up by you,
in those moments when
you need a friend.
Built from the streaming bytes
that dance along cables
into something not quite me...
and yet totally is me,
at least, as you see me.
3September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, with HUGE tip of the hat to my internet friend Nunya for prompting this out of me, not the first poem she's tickled out with some bit she shares and pushes out there. Thanks, Ms. Bidness. Or is that Muse Bidness?
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Long after that Giant Leap, we still are "Groundhogs". - A poem of Sci-Fi and Space
Being a science fiction fan,
back in my formative days,
I have some pressing questions
to ask of all around.
And top of that list,
the one showing my gender.
Where the hell are the skin-tight space-suits?
Now, stop shaking your heads,
all you ladies out there,
as I know you wonder too,
where the heroic guys are,
having seen romance novel covers.
And that don't end it.
Where the hell is my flying car now?
As we celebrate this day
something I actually remember, vaguely,
that man walked off Earth,
our first pioneers leaving footprints boldly
in the grey lunar dust,
I just have to ask things,
Like when do we get space vacations?
Look, I'm just pointing out
that we have some things
so many laughed at then,
when in books or comics.
Dick Tracy's TV watch thing,
and flip-phones from Star Trek,
So, when will we colonize other star-systems?
Wait, they did that already,
over in Japan just recently,
though it still costs tons.
But still, of the dreams
Science Fiction offered us all,
What others still languish sadly,
Like when can we travel the stars?
Still no moon-bases to visit,
no zero-G sports channels,
we lack the vision now
to press on beyond low-orbit,
but I hope someday soon,
we each live those tales,
but I still want my own planet.
Buzz, You asked a question
Where was I at when
you walked on the moon?
Mister Aldrin, glued to TV,
Dreaming of being an astronaut
when the four-year-old body dozed.
Now, Can you get NASCAR to hold....
Lunar Buggy races on Fiftieth Anniversary?
Just joking (okay, I'd go),
But, folks, these are only
the first steps to take,
on our long journey ahead,
to spread out across space,
realizing that writers went first,
If only in tales mom's screamed over,
when they saw the racy covers bearing
gals in skin tight suits moon walking.
So, press on, you dreamers,
aim high, comic book readers,
we might not get super-heroes,
but we hold the potential
for most science fiction stories
to appear at last factual,
save that one bit about us nerds
always getting the girl in the end.
She'll always follow the money, fellas.
Unless we show them our brains.
20July2014- Dyfedd Rex, still wanting to have a batting cage on the Dark Side of the Moon, where can I buy that franchise at?
Okay, seriously, yes, a lot of the sci-fi tales are proving out slowly, and I know, the fiction was getting budgets to balance and pass quickly and consistently, that would let us live on the moon someday, sooner in tales than reality. But still, we got the guts, the tech, the brains, the desires, and most of all, the dreams.
And, thanks to the last few decades, we have the sparks lit in our youth, even if dimmed a few times by the reality that space is a dangerous place, and getting up there, and back down more so. But we should press on, and soon. I'd like to try space travel myself, before the ol' body gives up the ghost.
So, Besides the batting cage, where can I get the moon's first liquor license at, so I can open the first, true bar in space?
And, Buzz, if you see this, I tip the battered brown hat to you and the others who have been in the Black (in terms of my favorite sci-fi show. One of my first memories is of the landing at Tranquility. I wish things had gone different enough that I'd be on the moon right now, serving you a beer for the celebration, but I'd take the keys from your Lunar Rover, if I did, leaving them in that jar on the back-bar. Gotta have some responsibility. I can see you sitting down with Han Solo, James T. Kirk, Jean-Luc Picard, Malcolm Reynolds, Mister Garibaldi, and some others, tossing one back, as we celebrate making the first steps to their worlds, or our versions of the dreams those characters inspired in us, as did you, Neal, and the rest of the NASA astronaut corps and those other space pioneers out there. And I promise to make Han and Mal check their blasters/guns at the door.
And, thank god we have yet to see....
Asimov's robotic detective (other than on the silver screen)
Heinlein's practical joker computer (then again, seen a lot of checks with extra zero's issued by number crunching boxes).
Clarke's big monolith (but I really hope I live long enough to see a Beanstalk that works!).
Herbert's Butlerian Jihad and the mess it would create.
Whedon's Alliance and the Reaves they made.
and all the other bad things that we'll probably screw up and do anyway.
Oh, and everyone else. Keep the dream alive. Show your kids those stars, and dare them to get there.
And maybe, just maybe, we will come again in peace, to the moon, and many, many other places.
Except the bars. We know we'll have fights between the Trekkies, Browncoats, and Lucasites over which ships are faster. Guess I'll need Doc Savage as a bouncer.
-D.R.
back in my formative days,
I have some pressing questions
to ask of all around.
And top of that list,
the one showing my gender.
Where the hell are the skin-tight space-suits?
Now, stop shaking your heads,
all you ladies out there,
as I know you wonder too,
where the heroic guys are,
having seen romance novel covers.
And that don't end it.
Where the hell is my flying car now?
As we celebrate this day
something I actually remember, vaguely,
that man walked off Earth,
our first pioneers leaving footprints boldly
in the grey lunar dust,
I just have to ask things,
Like when do we get space vacations?
Look, I'm just pointing out
that we have some things
so many laughed at then,
when in books or comics.
Dick Tracy's TV watch thing,
and flip-phones from Star Trek,
So, when will we colonize other star-systems?
Wait, they did that already,
over in Japan just recently,
though it still costs tons.
But still, of the dreams
Science Fiction offered us all,
What others still languish sadly,
Like when can we travel the stars?
Still no moon-bases to visit,
no zero-G sports channels,
we lack the vision now
to press on beyond low-orbit,
but I hope someday soon,
we each live those tales,
but I still want my own planet.
Buzz, You asked a question
Where was I at when
you walked on the moon?
Mister Aldrin, glued to TV,
Dreaming of being an astronaut
when the four-year-old body dozed.
Now, Can you get NASCAR to hold....
Lunar Buggy races on Fiftieth Anniversary?
Just joking (okay, I'd go),
But, folks, these are only
the first steps to take,
on our long journey ahead,
to spread out across space,
realizing that writers went first,
If only in tales mom's screamed over,
when they saw the racy covers bearing
gals in skin tight suits moon walking.
So, press on, you dreamers,
aim high, comic book readers,
we might not get super-heroes,
but we hold the potential
for most science fiction stories
to appear at last factual,
save that one bit about us nerds
always getting the girl in the end.
She'll always follow the money, fellas.
Unless we show them our brains.
20July2014- Dyfedd Rex, still wanting to have a batting cage on the Dark Side of the Moon, where can I buy that franchise at?
Okay, seriously, yes, a lot of the sci-fi tales are proving out slowly, and I know, the fiction was getting budgets to balance and pass quickly and consistently, that would let us live on the moon someday, sooner in tales than reality. But still, we got the guts, the tech, the brains, the desires, and most of all, the dreams.
And, thanks to the last few decades, we have the sparks lit in our youth, even if dimmed a few times by the reality that space is a dangerous place, and getting up there, and back down more so. But we should press on, and soon. I'd like to try space travel myself, before the ol' body gives up the ghost.
So, Besides the batting cage, where can I get the moon's first liquor license at, so I can open the first, true bar in space?
And, Buzz, if you see this, I tip the battered brown hat to you and the others who have been in the Black (in terms of my favorite sci-fi show. One of my first memories is of the landing at Tranquility. I wish things had gone different enough that I'd be on the moon right now, serving you a beer for the celebration, but I'd take the keys from your Lunar Rover, if I did, leaving them in that jar on the back-bar. Gotta have some responsibility. I can see you sitting down with Han Solo, James T. Kirk, Jean-Luc Picard, Malcolm Reynolds, Mister Garibaldi, and some others, tossing one back, as we celebrate making the first steps to their worlds, or our versions of the dreams those characters inspired in us, as did you, Neal, and the rest of the NASA astronaut corps and those other space pioneers out there. And I promise to make Han and Mal check their blasters/guns at the door.
And, thank god we have yet to see....
Asimov's robotic detective (other than on the silver screen)
Heinlein's practical joker computer (then again, seen a lot of checks with extra zero's issued by number crunching boxes).
Clarke's big monolith (but I really hope I live long enough to see a Beanstalk that works!).
Herbert's Butlerian Jihad and the mess it would create.
Whedon's Alliance and the Reaves they made.
and all the other bad things that we'll probably screw up and do anyway.
Oh, and everyone else. Keep the dream alive. Show your kids those stars, and dare them to get there.
And maybe, just maybe, we will come again in peace, to the moon, and many, many other places.
Except the bars. We know we'll have fights between the Trekkies, Browncoats, and Lucasites over which ships are faster. Guess I'll need Doc Savage as a bouncer.
-D.R.
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