OK, right, it’s been so long since the last post that even my backup program is writing me off as too far gone. Too bad, Updraft, back to work, you lazy batch of code.
True, some comets hare off to interstellar space on hyperbolic orbits. However, two or three things:
1) There’s much to be said for the sweet homey stability of an elliptical orbit.
2) On a hyperbola, there are two arms, and who’s to say if you’re on the right one?
3) My top speed is less than 2 m/sec whereas an escape trajectory on Earth demands moving at about 11,500 m/sec.
4) I’m not actually a comet, I’m a human being who is interested in comets both as astronomical objects and as metaphorical images.
5) That’s four or five things.
Redlining on a hyperbola. Aieeee!
Stuff happens, and it’s not exactly a huge crime to neglect a blog that no-one is reading. Last year, I whined about the inconveniences of having a broken arm. Well, there’s worse stuff than a broken arm. Besides, I needed time to read other people’s websites. Like catching up on the doings at Gunnerkrig Court. Like reading anything about robots that turns up on IEEE Spectrum. Or reliving grad school days on Jorge Chan’s Ph.D. comic. Or vacillating between reading Allie Brosh’s hardcopy book or her online stories at Hyperbole-and-a-Half.
In the meantime, I’ve managed to keep up a little better on the easier-to-maintain Facebook & twitter side of things, under the Pixel Gravity moniker.
But it’s time to dump more stuff out on the world and see if anyone who isn’t a spammer notices.
Here’s the deal: I’ve got a year’s worth of science projects for kids that I want to share. Maybe they’ll be a book too, some day. (Insert self-knowing laugh here.) I’m a year behind on delivering my Grand Canyon stories & pictures, which I promised my fellow-travellers would be “up” by the end of last summer.  But there’s other stuff I want to address as well. So there will be a little discipline applied, in a way that would help any of my imaginary readers look ahead for the next entry in a category of interest.
First week of the month:Â One “Messy Monday” project
Second week:Â One “Grand Canyon” entry–either a half-day of storytelling or a photo album.
Third week:Â Science & fiction stuff–the science fairly topical, the fiction
Fourth week: An extra week to play catch up, first on the Grand Canyon, and later on Messy Monday, but also a piece of flexible time for interesting stuff of the moment. For instance, Memorial Day Weekend will yield four days of BayCon 2014.
In some critique circles, shooting down misplaced modifiers has become a sporting activity. Itâs fun, because theyâre easy to spot and can be really funny. âThe robber drove the getaway car in a batman costumeâ should make you smile at the image of a car cosplaying as The Batman. Itâs logical that a modifier works best when itâs placed as close as possible to the thing itâs describing. For example, the descriptor âin a batman costumeâ should be next to ârobberâ and not âcar.â
Unfortunately, a valuable writing toolâthe participial phraseâis taking collateral damage.
An 1899 postcard by Jean-Marc CĂ´tĂŠ (public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)
A participial phrase is a specialized modifier that conveys movement or change, often incorporating visual imagery and other details, while performing the duties of an adjective. This tool has its own grammar and punctuation rules. Like any modifier, it can be misplaced, but the writer has flexibility in its placement, supported by the unsung hero of grammar: the comma.
To be sure weâre all on the same page, letâs start with participles. A participle is what you get when you take a verb and use it as an adjective: drowned trees, running water, flying pigs, grown woman, billowing clouds. Look for the past- and present-tense endings.
A simple participle works just like an ordinary adjective and is placed exactly as you would expect. For example, âdrowned treesâ could be a more dramatic way to say âdead trees.â Itâs not unique to English, but repurposing words is relatively common in our language. Apparently, we English-speakers are determined to keep turning one part of speech into another, as if we havenât got enough words already. Verbing nouns is one of my pet peeves.
(Yes, I know. You saw what I did there.)
A participial phrase is both
a phrase with a participle in it, and
a phrase acting as an adjective, intended to describe the subject of a sentence.
For example, âacting as an adjectiveâ is a participial phrase. So is, âintended to describe the subject of a sentence.â
To get a participial phrase, you build upon the participle:
Trees … drowned in the flood from the broken dam
Water … running over rocks and rills
Pigs … flying like eagles
Woman … grown wise in the ways of the world
Clouds … billowing like windblown sheets of satin (note the participle within this participial phrase)
Participles and participial phrases add flavor and texture to our sentences, and because they come from verbs, they help create a feeling of action. Questions arise when we go to put our nicely-constructed phrase into its sentence, because ⌠where do we put the darned thing? You have three choices:
Leading: Billowing like windblown sheets of satin, the clouds sailed over the plains of Endor.
Subject-adjacent: The clouds, billowing like windblown sheets of satin, sailed over the plains of Endor.
Trailing: The clouds sailed over the plains of Endor, billowing like windblown sheets of satin.
(Note: these are my own terms. Reliable texts will say âat the beginning/in the middle/at the end.â yawn. Also, do not rail at me about the forests of Endor. This one is about the plains. Where, possibly, it rains. Like in Spain.)
Now ⌠wait for it ⌠here it comes:
If (and only if) you fail to properly punctuate a participial phrase, it becomes a misplaced modifier.
Technically, itâs a mispunctuated modifier, but to the reader, itâs confusing, and thatâs why we care about misplaced modifiers. It occurs most often when the participial phrase is trailing. The separating comma before the phrase signals the reader that what follows describes the subject, in our example: clouds. Without the comma, you get:
The clouds sailed over the plains of Endor billowing like windblown sheets of satin.
Here, the reader is cast adrift and must grab for the nearest noun. While it may be possible that the plains of Endor billow, without other information, the reader will snicker, backtrack, guess what you mean, and move on, now somewhat annoyed by your absent comma.
Participial phrases bow to the humble comma or risk being misunderstood. For leading ones, you need a comma to close off the modifying phrase and move into the sentence proper. For subject-adjacent placement, commasâor their absenceâare used intentionally to create subtle distinctions in meaning, distinguishing between essential description and nonessential elaboration.
A participial phrase placed next to the subject but without commas makes that descriptor an essential one. Consider:
The clouds billowing like windblown sheets of satin sailed over the plains of Endor.
Here the phrase is “essential” because it’s telling us that only those clouds that are billowing (yes, like satin) sail over the plains. Perhaps other clouds lie high in the stratosphere, unaffected by the winds below. If we put the commas back in, then we know the descriptor is colorful but nonessential. That is, we understand that all the clouds are sailing, though we pause in the middle of the sentence to enjoy the charming detail of their movement and sheen.
Placement at the beginning versus the end of a sentence allows us to create a sense of sequence, the order in which the storyteller wants the reader to experience each element. With the leading version of our Endorian sentence, the author wants you to take in the image of the shape and movement and texture of the clouds first, then imagine them sailing over the plains. Itâs like when a child runs up to you with a remote-control toy and says âLook! Godzilla is driving this robot car! Isnât it cool? Now watch what it can do!â
In contrast, with a trailing placement, the author nudges you to first realize that the clouds are sailing over the plainsâmaybe itâs important, because a party of adventurers must cross the stormy plainâand then lets you enjoy the cloudsâ beauty. In our childâs-play example, first you are startled by a remote-control car zipping across the playground, and then a child is calling out âWow! Cool! A robot car with Godzilla driving it!â
And now, donât you want a robot car?
Me, too!
Were the plains of Endor too much? Letâs review, using a simpler situation. Imagine a romance in which a young woman has just learned her true love is about to sail away on a ship, and sheâs hurried to the docks. She spots him boarding a vessel, but itâs way down on the pier. She has to run. She wants him to see her, but heâs too far away.
Hereâs a mispunctuated participial phrase: Mun-Su ran down the dock waving to her departing lover.
We know the dock isnât saying farewell to its lover, we know itâs Mun-Su, but as readers we donât like to have to stop and think about it. Add the comma demanded by a trailing participial phrase, and all becomes clear as we yank out our hankies: Mun-Su ran down the dock, waving to her departing lover.
Of course, you could stick the participial phrase at the front: Waving to her departing lover, Mun-Su ran down the dock. Grammatically, this is correct, but weâve defined a situation in which Mun-Su needs to get a move on first; her running is the critical action, because the lover wonât see her waving until she gets closer.
Further, what if you want to make the situation more complex? This is an important beat in the story. Surely, you want to share the characterâs innermost feelings, her physical sensations at that moment: Her heart hammered like a steam piston as Mun-Su ran down the dock, waving to her departing lover.
Those unaware of the functionality of the participial phrase will point and cry, âYou must place the phrase next to the subject.â Oh, my, but then you get: Her heart hammered like a steam piston as Mun-Su, waving to her departing lover, ran down the dock.
Poor Mun-Su is awkwardly waving, in a nonessential way, as she runs down the dock. Sadly, Iâm not seeing a happily-ever-after now. Pass me the tissues.
I do hope you have enjoyed this little missive from the Grammar Police. We protect and serve … the text.
Donât worry, Ha Mun-Su does get her happy ending eventually, and Won Jin-Ah won an award for her portrayal, too! https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7521898/
You don’t need to be a Doctor Who fan, or Black, or even a Nerd. If you love words, and the idea of extended bursts of witty, angry, insightful “one-sided dialogues” makes you just the slightest bit curious, you need to pick this up. If you happen to have all three characteristics, then you’ve finally got the chance to hang out with someone who … wait … is not exactly like you, because … what the heck were you thinking? Because you have three things in common, you’ll be the same? I bet you think you’re from Chicago, too. (Teaser: inside joke for readers of this book.)
I should also state clearly that, though it’s a memoir, and we all “know” it’s grown-ups who read memoir, this book could be an inspiring discovery for any young reader at YA-level or above who identifies with any of the above characteristics. Or for one who likes music their friends think is stupid. Or for one who self-identifies as anything out of the so-called mainstream.
Black Nerd Blue Box transports you into the mind of a fellow traveler in this universe and reveals just enough of that person’s experiences and inner life to allow you to connect with what resonates with your own. With that connection established, Cisco takes you on a journey, skipping through moments like the Doctor skipping across times and worlds. It’s not always a jolly adventure. There’s heartache as well as humor. Doctor Who asides will be enjoyed by fellow Whovians, but non-fans can catch up with the series later and not miss a beat in this life story.
Unless you happen to be an alternate-universe version of the author with only one or two minor differences from this time-line’s one, you will undoubtedly stumble across moments that teach you something about yourself, maybe a hard lesson, maybe one you need to go back and reread a couple of times, run a highlighter across until you really get it.
The chapter where he writes about his mother’s battle with cancer is wrenching in ways you won’t expect. Cisco was only a child at the time–but he has a stunning ability to convey the way that experience impacted his younger self. If you only have time to read ONE chapter, read this one, because it will change the way you think about talking to children about illness, about living with the prospect of dying, and about the nature of optimism.
I’m not saying Black Nerd Blue Box is a tear-blaster. It’s a humanity-sharing-lesson-learning experiment in self-revelation. About a third of the content is a hilarious inside-his-head discussion/ argument/ philosophy discourse. I laughed out loud twice while reading this on my phone–because I did not want to take the time to go back and boot up my computer after I’d read the first two pages on my phone–and I do NOT laugh out loud while looking at my phone. It’s embarrassing when people look around to see who’s the nerd laughing at their phone.
If you’re still hesitating, you know, you could do a trial of Amazon kindle unlimited and collect a copy-to-keep later. Make a note to remind your future self. Timey-wimey stuff isn’t just for nerds and aliens.
Cisco has fiction for you to read, too. Look for Teleportality, Dragon Variation, and The Preternaturalist. Amazon has all three, Barnes and Noble (my preferred shop) has only the first two at present. I can’t claim to have read them, but I skimmed the online sample of The Preternaturalist (love that title!), and the voice of the first-person narrator is lively and entertaining…much like Cisco’s own voice in this memoir.
You can find out more on his website, Black Intellectual. Lest you doubt his nerd credentials, you can find him writing for TwinCities Geek, such as his breakdown of Star Trek: Short Treks. Or if you’re in the Minneapolis area, you might meet him at the local Trek/Who trivia night.
The final day of a convention can be a downer: games are ending, there are no parties pending, the con suite is running short on the good stuff, some people you just got to know are leaving early, andânot the least of itâyouâre really, really tired.
The Signs Are Coming Off The Walls, Now
I wasnât due for âworkâ until afternoon, but I roused myself earlier, for the last DIY projectâMake A Parasol (see Firefly).  Alas, Iâd missed a program schedule update & the project was over. Long overâit had happened the day before! Wonât happen this yearâIâve finally joined the Smartphone Universe & so have access to the online schedule for BayCon 2015.
There’s Planets Around Them Thar Stars
I did have a backup planâa panel discussion on new discoveries about extrasolar planets. But Iâm kind of a Kepler fanatic, so the information being shared was, well, old hat. I found myself nodding off while people were talking about one of my favorite subjects.
So off to the Gofer Hole to check in and claim my spot as the Art Show Gofer. The day wasnât boring any more.
My Final Badge-Ribbon Set, Actually a Relatively Small Collection
I had my chance to be part of the Art Auction. That was coolâIâve never been, because I canât afford to bid anything near what auction items should go for. Instead, I got to set up bidder numbers for folks who did have the resources and were eager to support these wonderful artists.
Once the Auction wound down, I got to be on the giving end of the Art Show. That is, folks queued up to collect the pieces theyâd won in the silent bidding andâlater onâthe auction. The staff took care of the official tasks of collecting payments and pacifying people whoâd not won the pieces they wanted. As a Gofer, I fetched their purchases (from the stacks weâd so carefully arranged the night before) and saw those their faces light up with happiness.
Eventually, all but a few of the neat stacks were gone. A few winning bidders were late to collect their prizes. But we set those safely aside.
In the meantime, all afternoon, artists were coming by and packing up any pieces that hadnât sold. We helped if neededâfetching supplies, finding paperwork they needed, taking down labels and hooks from the display boardsâand it was cool to get to talk directly with the artists. Several artists had entrusted the convention staff to display the work on their behalf, having shipped the art with their registration forms. Most had a piece or two still unsold, and these needed to be repacked for shipping homeward. The original boxes were not necessarily available, so I made the rounds of the vendor room to scrounge empty boxes.
Gradually, one by one, the display boards were emptied, we collected all the hooks, labels, and trash, and the staff tracked down the last of the tardy winning bidders.
It was time to empty the room. Load-out time. Most of the stuff needing shifted was heavyâpegboards, frames, bins full of papers and supplies. So I called dibs on the job of getting all the art-to-be-shipped-home safely out to the Art Show directorâs car. It took a few trips through a lobby full of exhausted attendees and staffers. Then I glommed onto an empty luggage cart. Plus, the Gofer King was one of the staffers in the lobby and he dispatched an idle Gofer to help on my last round. Whew.
So, most of these events end with what they call Dead Dog.  Thatâs one of the things you hear staffers talking about near the end of a convention, but they donât share with mere members what exactly that is. The deep dark secret is: itâs a party. Itâs the staff party that happens when everythingâs over, the attendees have gone, and all the clean-up work that can get done is done. Aha, itâs what theater types call a strike party.
Kris & Alison, Art Show Maestrae, at Dead Dog
Generally speaking, itâs a Staff event, but Gofers who stick it out all the way to the end are welcomed into the party. Thereâs food. All the leftovers from the weekend, that no-one wants to have to haul home. All the ice-cold sodas left in the Magic Charity Soda Machine. Meanwhile, the hard-core staffers take the opportunity to give thank-you speeches to each other and praise the folks whoâve stepped up to chair the event next year.
It felt a little like crashing the party at that point, but the Art Show leaders were saying nice things to me, so I felt better. And Alison asked if maybe Iâd help her as staff in 2015. And finally, finally, I gathered up my own art purchases, and Went Home.
2015 Art Show Staff!
Gofer Lesson of the Day: If you stick it out to the end of everything, you can get into the fabulous Dead Dog party. There will probably not be any dogs there, just tired-out volunteers. Like you.
How to do this:
Method #1: Walk into the Gofer Hole and sign up. You do need to be 16, but there’s no upper limit. Yes, really, you, too, can be a middle-aged Gofer. For BayCon 2015, the secret lair is in Tasman. Go up the escalator, turn right and it’ll be on your right before you reach the convention center.
Method #2: Email the King of the Gofers. That’s gofers15@baycon.org. You get double credit for helping at setup on the day before the convention starts. If you’re super-eager to help & don’t get a reply, email me (cometary@cometarytales.com) and I’ll help you make contact.