It's been a quiet day. Lat night I was in Brookyn at Andy Heidel's bar, The Way Station, having a Manhattan (just as Marianne does, they spice their own cherries; making the drink far superior to those with maraschino cherries) and talking with the local SF folk. Before that, I listened to N. K. Jemisin reading -- and quite well -- from her work and enjoyed a demonstration of stage and movie combat by Mike Yahn. The moves were terrifyingly brutal, even when you've just been shown that they involve no physical contact. A great presentation, and I regret only that I didn't write down the name of his friend and fellow stunt man, who sold the demos by convincingly acting as if he'd been punched. It really is a collaborative art.
Did I mention I had a terrific time? I had a terrific time. Why doesn't Philadelphia have a steampunk bar?
And I couldn't help thinking about steampunk because . . .
Wallace and Gromit movies were running continuously on a monitor by the bar, and apparently the Way Station has a weekly W&G-watching event. So occasionally (not during the readings or demo) I glanced up at the screen and in context was struck by how, well, steampunk that series is. Clunky Victorian machines that nevertheless work brilliantly, on-the-spot engineering, mad inventions, the lot.
Of course, Wallace and Gromit predate the steampunk phenomenon. But there was definitely something in the air. Or water. Or aether.
Not Above: I really should mention the Wold Newton Reading Extravaganza, which organized the evening. Well done, chaps!