The Urban Elf

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Stepping into the alley
Parting the cigarette haze
The air is redolent
With the scent of the sea
And suddenly Boston
Is Provincetown
A quiet bar
A full juke box
A glass of bourbon
And the night is full of chance
If not possibility.

I recently read in a local newspaper that there is some great kerfuffle over Oprah Winfrey’s refusal to have Sarah Palin on her television show. Now I can’t really give a rat’s ass about this nonsense… although I suppose if I did happen to come into possession of a rat’s ass I would happily give it to Mrs. Palin wrapped in a bright blue box from Tiffany the tag affixed spelling out in delicate script “To Mommy Dearest”. However that is neither here nor there.

What struck me was this quote from the Miami Herald’s conversation with Linda Ivell, champion of the NO O boycott and president of The Florida Federation of Republican Women, "We are deeply disappointed in Ms. Winfrey's decision to sit out the greatest political moment in the history of women since suffrage."

WHAT?

Could she be that excited by the first gun-toting, rape victim loathing, Alaskan secessionist female candidate for the nation’s number two seat? I have to ask because this as a way of giving Ms. Ivell the benefit of the doubt. I would hate to think that she had succumbed to the convenient periodic dementia endemic to her party and forgotten that just a scant eleven months shy of a quarter century ago the United States of America saw the first major party nomination of a woman for the Vice Presidency. If Ms. Ivell is such an ardent feminist I’m sure that she must recall with great pride the announcement of Geraldine Ferraro as the Democratic candidate for Vice President back in 1984. I’m sure that she strode to the polling place that November with head held high and voted Mondale/Ferraro not Reagan/Bush. Because she believes above all else in progress for women, just like Oprah.

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Wandering the theoretical if not downright imaginary corridors of the internet this late afternoon I found myself at Charles Stross’s personal website. This is not a terribly unusual sort of happening in and of itself, however as my gaze tracked down the screen it came to rest upon something sitting there so unassumingly at the bottom of the bullet point list as to be easily overlooked. Something that shocked and delighted me. A link labeled simply “Bug me by email”.

One click and before me boldly titled “Send mail to Charlie Stross” was a simple form (rendered in rather dreadful Easter egg colors) a form for submitting email directly to Charles Stross. It requested the sender’s email address, the subject and the message text. Of course I had to send him something. I was here wasn’t I? It was only polite… because as we all know I am NOT a stalker.

So this is what I wrote.
______________________________________________
Subject: In joyful remembrance of the terrible lurking unknown

Dear Mr. Stross,

Stumbling upon your web site today I feel compelled to take this random opportunity to thank you personally for your participation in the H. P. Lovecraft panel at Denvention 3 this past month. It was one of the most memorable moments of my convention experience… and not just because I happened to be sober when it occurred.

Many thanks.

Be well.

The Urban Elf
___________________________________________

Then I smilingly clicked upon the “Submit Query” button and I was suddenly smiling no more as I was confronted by this…
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Bogus content
Due to comment spam received in the past couple of days, this script has implemented spam checking. You appear to be using a spamming tool or attempting a buffer overrun attack. This mail has not been sent. Please accept my apologies if you are indeed a legitimate user.
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It would appear that Mr. Stross is skipping hand in hand with the zeitgeist of the Cthulian mythos. Setting pastel painted electronic traps bent on the inducement of insanity in those who would wander into certain seemingly harmless quadrants of the internet. Clever. Very clever. And eeeeeeeee-vil. No wonder he was so good on that panel.

Look into his eyes
And you will find
It’s not like the story
Is spoken
Though the tin man seeks
Something he lacks
His heart is not missing
It’s broken