[continued from previous message]   
      
   > was being said, but could only note with a peculiar sinking feeling   
   > that the   
   > manager's eyes grew wider and wider. The manager then hurried over to   
   > the   
   > magician who then whispered into his ear, and it was the magician's   
   > turn for   
   > his eyes to grow wide.   
   >   
   >   
   > Their meal was uninterrupted. Having left the restaurant, Joe asked   
   > Harlan   
   > what he had told the manager. Harlan said that he told the manager   
   > that Joe's   
   > father had been a theatrical agent who specialized in novelty acts,   
   > vaudevillians, and magicians. One day, a magician had killed Joe's   
   > father.   
   > They were in the restaurant celebrating Joe's release from jail on   
   > assault   
   > charges from brutalizing a magician.   
   >   
   > Joe has not been the the restaurant since.   
   >   
   > After more embarrassing stories had been told, both featuring and void   
   > of   
   > Harlan Ellison, the floor was opened to questions. One question,   
   > regarding   
   > Harlan's appearance on the program Politically Incorrect, aroused   
   > Harlan's   
   > ire. He said that one of his opponents on the program was a black   
   > woman   
   > conservative, which was a concept he though patently ridiculous. He   
   > then   
   > proceeded to expose her ignorance when they were talking about the   
   > communist   
   > witch-hunts of the '50's and the Hollywood black lists:   
   >   
   >   
   > "And this idiot narc, this squealer, is coming off on how great Kazan   
   > is, who   
   > ratted on people, people who couldn't work for a decade. And I said to   
   > her,   
   > 'where are you gettin' this crap? Are you readin' it in a book?' And   
   > she said,   
   > 'no, I didn't read it in a book.' And I said, 'what book did you ever   
   > read on   
   > the black list?' She said, "I never read a book on the black list.'   
   > 'So what   
   > did you read?' And she goes and hauls out the goddamn fax that they   
   > [the   
   > staff of her radio program] sent her that day. And I said, 'how dare   
   > you come   
   > on TV and pretend you have an opinion when you're as dumb as a pile of   
   > mud!"   
   >   
   > [non Ellison content snipped]   
   >   
   > Ellison called such TV executives, "Bo-stick-stone stupid." He   
   > elaborated   
   > that, when he started in television decades ago, at least the execs   
   > were   
   > familiar with some books, plays, and films. Then they only knew film.   
   > Then   
   > they only knew TV. Today, they only know the TV of the last 15-20   
   > years,   
   > "which is why they worship shit like The Partridge Family and The   
   > Flintstones,   
   > and we know that we're in the twilight of Western Civilization when   
   > Pauly   
   > Shore becomes a star."   
   >   
   >   
   > Ellison prescribed the stupidity of TV executives to a combination of   
   > arrogance and stupidity inculcated by MBA programs. "There's no way   
   > through   
   > it, around it, below it, or above it," he said, "they've got your ass   
   > every   
   > time." He continued, "every time you think you've taught them a lesson   
   > they   
   > send in another cadre of morons. The universities are turning them out   
   > faster   
   > than we can beat them down!"   
   >   
   > [non Ellison content snipped]   
   >   
   >   
   > Kittman then asked the question, it seemed to him that a lot of   
   > science   
   > fiction actors were 'phoning there performances in.' How did the panel   
   > feel   
   > about that? O'Hare, the only actor in the group, answered that he felt   
   > that   
   > the performers were doing well, but that SF bumped up against a glass   
   > ceiling   
   > of credibility, that it could not as a medium be taken seriously.   
   > Therefore,   
   > very little adult science fiction was produced, or that it led to   
   > minimal   
   > characterization with which there is little for an actor to work with.   
   > Harlan   
   > then began to explain his frustration about the current crop of poor   
   > 'Sci-Fi'   
   > movies ‹ an important distinction from SF. Sci-Fi movie, Ellison   
   > claims, are   
   > there for an audience who only want to "see shit exploding." Sci-Fi   
   > movies   
   > such as the recent film Independence Day, he says, are devoid of any   
   > exploration of character. They are not about "people who hurt, or   
   > love, or   
   > fear." Characters in such productions are of no interest; to   
   > paraphrase, they   
   > are animatronic robots going through their paces, waiting for the next   
   > special effect to happen. Such films reminded him of Flashdance. He   
   > capped   
   > his screed whimsically by saying that Caddy Shack was better than   
   > Independence Day ‹ but that both were better than any Chris Farley   
   > movie.   
   >   
   >   
   > -- Harlan Ellison Q&A Session   
   >   
   > Harlan had an hour or so Saturday night. He chose to answer audience   
   > questions rather than do a reading, which he saved for Sunday morning.   
   > When   
   > asked about his time in the Army, he replied that it hadn't been one   
   > of the   
   > happiest times in his life. He was court-martialed several times,   
   > though   
   > never convicted. As an alternate to prison, the superiors he offended   
   > made   
   > him do filthy, demeaning tasks, such as cleaning out the grease traps   
   > of Army   
   > sinks. He also trained as a Ranger.   
   >   
   >   
   > His first scrape with military justice occurred when Harlan was first   
   > drafted.   
   > He had been shipped out to Fort Dix, NJ, for basic training. It was   
   > raining,   
   > and he was issued a hot, stiff, ugly, olive-drab rain coat. He got off   
   > the   
   > bus at Fort Dix and was immediately harangued by a passing Corporal.   
   > The   
   > Corporal ordered Ellison to the Mess.   
   >   
   >   
   > At the Mess, he was made to wash pots. However, the sink was only a   
   > few   
   > inches shorter than the 5'5" Ellison; further, it and the pans soaking   
   > within   
   > were filled with scalding-hot water. Harlan was made to pull the pots   
   > out and   
   > scrub them clean.   
   >   
   >   
   > He did his best. His hands burned in the water. The Corporal would not   
   > let   
   > him remove his heavy raincoat, now stifling. The heat finally got to   
   > Harlan   
   > and he fell, face-forward, into a pot. His face, his lips, his eyes,   
   > were   
   > scalded. He jerked back up. Burned and in pain, he went over to the   
   > Corporal   
   > and said that he couldn't stand it; that his group was probably being   
   > processed already; that he wanted to rejoin his company. The Corporal   
   > screamed back that Harlan should get back to work. They yelled back   
   > and forth   
   > for a moment with Harlan demanding to see the company commander; then   
   > the   
   > Corporal pushed him.   
   >   
   >   
   > Bad move. Harlan picked up a huge, black-iron frying pan and hit the   
   > Corporal   
   > upside the head. His tormentor flew across the floor of the kitchen,   
   > leaving   
   > a thin trail of blood behind on the floor.   
   >   
   >   
   > Ellison ran. As he himself put it as he retold this tale, "feets,   
   > don't fail   
   > me now!" He ran through awful, viscous, stinking, New Jersey mud. He   
   > ran   
   > through the motor pool, jeeps of MPs circling. He ran up the steps of   
   > the   
   > Orderly Room, the company commander's office, and straight into the   
   > office of   
   > the Officer on Duty.   
   >   
   >   
   > The OD, a Second Lieutenant, looked up calmly at Ellison. Harlan   
   > poured out   
   > his tale of suffering. When Harlan had finished, the Second Lieutenant   
   > said,   
   > in a Southern drawl, "I think you're a coward, boy."   
   >   
   >   
   > Harlan hit him.   
   >   
   > The Second Lieutenant went flying backwards, falling into the   
   > collection of   
   > quart-sized beer-bottles (called 'ponies' in those days) he kept on   
   > his   
   > baseboard.   
   >   
   >   
   > Two huge black sergeants came in a restrained Ellison, pinning him   
   > back   
   > against the wall. "Cool it, baby," one whispered quietly into his ear.   
   >   
   >   
   > The Second Lieutenant was up, screaming that Harlan would end his ;²`   
   > to the Earth's core to escape.   
   >   
   > Now, the sergeants despised the Second Lieutenant. He was a racist   
   > Southerner,   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)