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Terry Pratchett: Hisworld at the Salisbury Museum

December 2, 2017

“When they’re laughing at you, their guard is down. When their guard is down, you can kick them in the fracas.”  ― Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

IMG_3664The Discworld series includes forty-one published novels. I’ve read thirty-nine of them. I have nothing against the last two books. I’m just saving them for when another dose of Sir Terry Pratchett’s version of awesomeness is needed.

Some time ago, Cake Man gave me my first Discworld book — Monstrous Regiment. I wasn’t ready for it. I knew the novel was funny, but it wasn’t yet everything for me that Cake Man seemed to think it would be. I’m a person who likes things in order, so I had to start from the beginning of the series.

I got a copy of The Colour of Magic and began to steadily devour one Discworld book after the other. In order. I’d fallen in love with the series. I remain in awe of Terry Pratchett.

“It was all very well going on about pure logic and how the universe was ruled by logic and the harmony of numbers, but the plain fact of the matter was that the Disc was manifestly traversing space on the back of a giant turtle and the gods had a habit of going round to atheists’ houses and smashing their windows.” ― Terry Pratchett, The Colour of Magic


Silver Horde, 2000 – Paul Kidby

Earlier this year, the Salisbury Museum in the United Kingdom announced it would be hosting an exhibit about Terry Pratchett, who had lived near Salisbury and died in 2015.

Halfway through my first attempt to read Monstrous Regiment in 2005, I wouldn’t have been able to predict I’d make a special trip to Salisbury to see the Hisworld exhibit. I also wouldn’t have been able to predict I’d have to think about whether Terry Pratchett had become my all-time favorite author. (Don’t worry, ghost of Frank Herbert. It was close, but you’re still in the top spot.)

Conveniently, a beloved English cousin decided to get married a mere two train ride hours away from Salisbury (and 3,603 miles from Washington D.C.).

“Cats will amusingly tolerate humans only until someone comes up with a tin opener that can be operated with a paw.” ― Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms

As a veteran of many hours of listening to me recount the details of various hilarious scenes in Discworld books, Cake Man is well-aware of this particular obsession of mine. He is also very tolerant considering he read most of the series before I did. And not once has he asked me to cease my botched attempts to speak like the Nac Mac Feegel. Despite all this, I thought he might try to talk me out of an overnight excursion to Salisbury.

Instead, he gave me one of those looks like I don’t quite know stuff about history.

He said, “You know Stonehenge is only ten miles from Salisbury, right? You should probably visit that, too.”

Actually, I DIDN’T know Stonehenge was so close.

“Cake is not the issue here.” ― Terry Pratchett, The Last Continent

One thing led to another, and a couple of friends from the cousin’s wedding accompanied me to Terry Pratchett: Hisworld. I made it clear ahead of time that no matter what else was going on in Salisbury, the exhibit at the museum was the top priority. I’d even bought my ticket ahead of time! Given my experience getting into D.C. museums and my Salisbury time constraints,* I wasn’t taking any chances.

Suffice it to say there were no lines to get into this museum. I question the priorities of other people.


The exhibit included at least a hundred of Pratchett’s personal items surrounded by many Paul Kidby and Josh Kirby Discworld paintings, Pratchett quotes-galore and a room-sized replica of Sir Terry’s office. The author’s signature black hat, leather jacket and skull-topped walking stick were on display as was the meteorite-infused sword he forged himself. His original Imperial 58 typewriter also got a place of honor in the museum.

Terry Pratchett's Imperial 58 Typewriter

Terry Pratchett’s Imperial 58 Typewriter

“They think written words are even more powerful,’ whispered the toad. ‘They think all writing is magic. Words worry them. See their swords? They glow blue in the presence of lawyers.” ― Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men

Letter from J.R.R. Tolkien to Terry Pratchett, November 24, 1967

Letter from J.R.R. Tolkien to Terry Pratchett, November 24, 1967

Unexpectedly, my favorite exhibit item from long before the first Discworld book was published. It was a November 24, 1967 letter from J.R.R. Tolkien. Apparently, few people at the time of the phenomenal success of Lord of the Rings were writing Tolkien that their favorite book of his was Smith of Wooton Major. Nineteen-year-old Pratchett had done just that, and Tolkien wrote back. History, indeed!

I was surprised by how much tenderness defined the exhibit. That’s a feeling I’m not accustomed to in a museum. But the people who put together Terry Pratchett: Hisworld actually knew the man. Hisworld was both a destination for the curious and a tribute to a beloved writer in the Salisbury community.


The exhibit is running parallel to the museum’s efforts to raise funds for new loos. They are calling it The Toilet Fund. Very Discworld. Very funny. Very Terry Pratchett.

“Never promise to do the possible. Anyone could do the possible. You should promise to do the impossible, because sometimes the impossible was possible, if you could find the right way, and at least you could often extend the limits of the possible. And if you failed, well, it had been impossible.” ― Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

The exhibit closes on January 13, 2018. I hope you have an English cousin getting married southwest of London before then!

Replica of Sir Terry Pratchett's writing space

Replica of Sir Terry Pratchett’s writing space

*Yes, I visited Stonehenge. It was great! Fie on those who are grumpy about not being close to the stones. The set-up was perfect. Besides, people are weird about touching old things, like they don’t realize they have dinosaur atoms in their body or that exposed rocks in the Shenandoah are a billion years old. Also, there are 7,442,000,000 people on Earth. At least a third of them want to touch the stones. If they all did, I would never get a good picture!** Old Sarum, which was also nearby, blew my mind. Plus, the Tower Tour of Salisbury Cathedral was sooooo cool. And I got a little emotional when I saw the Magna Carta on display in the Cathedral Close.

**“Five exclamation marks, the sure sign of an insane mind.” ― Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man



Vieques, Puerto Rico: DC’s Cousin to the South

October 13, 2017
Vieques - Saturday at the Beach

Vieques – Saturday at the Beach

In Vieques, the horses were everywhere. They stood alongside the road and in it. They posed in grassy fields and chilled on overgrown paths to the beach. I was told the animals were a mix of wild ones and those owned by someone. For the most part, I couldn’t tell which was which. Just because a horse might be standing behind a fence and eyeing me meant nothing — I had gone past lots of open gates. The only Vieques horses I was sure were domesticated were the saddle-free animals that kids galloped down the street. It was quite a sight.

Vieques Horse on Beach Path

Don’t mind me. Just hanging out here.

The Vieques life seemed like a pretty good one for a horse. At least, it was in August 2017 before the hurricanes, which I imagine killed most of them. So much has changed since I visited. But for a week in August 2017, I was on vacation in Vieques, and I felt at home. What I mean is I felt at home if home also had beautiful oceanside beaches where the extended family goes on the weekend to stand in waist-deep water goofing around and drinking beer — think: Hains Point before Maryland absconded with The Awakening sculpture. (No, I will not let that go.)

In Vieques, which is eight miles from Puerto Rico’s big island, I stayed at the amazing Hacienda Tamarindo and explored the surroundings by Jeep and on foot. I soon realized that despite being in the Caribbean, Vieques is more like Washington D.C. than any place I have ever visited. The parallels might not be obvious, but consider the following:


The horses of Vieques and the squirrels of D.C fill the same psychological niche. Both are everywhere, and visitors love them. Horses fill the ground with processed-grass surprises just like squirrels decorate D.C. with the innards of trash bags. Yet we all still love the local wildlife. And possibly fear them.

Vieques Dinner at Hortas BBQ

Vieques Dinner at Hortas BBQ

Tourists with vehicles get the same advice in D.C. as in Vieques: don’t leave valuables in your car. In D.C., we point out the gutter glitter of broken window glass. In Vieques, they take it a step further and tell you not to bother locking your vehicle at all. A locked car door is just a giveaway that you have something inside worth stealing. The Jeep rental staff said there was no way someone would steal a vehicle on Vieques. A car can’t be driven off the island without the ferry driver knowing it was stolen.

Some people might worry about visiting Vieques. Me? I felt at home. The idea of doing an effective end-run around criminals warmed the cockles of my city heart.

But the similarities weren’t all equestrian ordure and parking with the windows rolled down. In D.C. and in Vieques, we both love our big old trees. Southwest D.C. has a 200-year-old Japanese elm tree (zelkova serrata) we like to make a big deal out of. Or at least, I am guaranteed to go on and on about it and demand visitors acknowledge the tree’s awesomeness. An arborist saved the zelkova in the 1950s when Southwest was leveled ahead of “urban renewal.” Vieques has a 300-year old Ceiba (ceiba pentandra) and a surrounding park that’s gotten a large dose of local love and attention, too. During vacation, the gigantic Ceiba was a must-see for me.

Vieques Cieba Tree

Vieques Cieba Tree, August 2017

So, very quickly, Vieques felt familiar. But I didn’t understand exactly why until a few days into the trip when I went to the island’s Fort Count Mirasol. The fort contained a local museum and an art gallery with pieces born of the same creativity I’ve seen on display at the Blind Whino’s gallery in Southwest D.C.


Though I was intrigued by the art above, it was the rest of the museum that finally helped me understand why I felt so at home on the island. I saw not only art pieces but also numerous displays about the 50+ years of bomb testing the U.S. Navy conducted on  Vieques. I learned how the Viequenses were forced off their farms and how the they were fighting to right the wrong of Navy-led environmental pollution on the island.


I connected what I saw in the museum to what I’d been told by people around the island. I’d heard complaints about the harms of the Jones Act. People had expressed reluctance to grow their own food. Islanders were saddened and disturbed by the  inaccessibility of so much of Vieques. Even the kindness of the people took on a new dimension. The Viequenses might have been fundamentally nice people, but they needed my tourist dollars. Everything had clicked into place.

The people of Vieques have no representation in Congress. Just like Washington, D.C.

Vieques Stop Affecting Our World

Protest Sign On a Vieques Pier

Because of the lack of representation, the National government does things to Vieques that otherwise would not be permitted. On the flip side, the National government fails to do things for Vieques that the National government should be doing. The continued lack of representation means that when the courts say only Congress can help the Viequenses, that effectively means no one with a Congressional vote can be counted on to put Vieques (or Puerto Rico) first. National-level laws and regulations designed solely for Puerto Rico and Vieques will not be crafted in consultation with its people. This happens all the time in D.C., like when politicians representing rural states mess with D.C.’s gun laws or when our mayor has to fight with the Congress to be allowed to spend local money raised from D.C. taxpayers in order to keep the city running when the National government shuts down. Suffice it to say I suddenly understood why I felt such a kinship with Vieques.

This brings me to Vieques post-Hurricane Maria. Here’s what the Ceiba tree looked like in September 2017. It’s a fitting summary for what happened on the rest of the island and quite a contrast to the picture above from August 2017.

Ceiba Tree, Photo by Elliot Anderson via

Ceiba Tree, September 2017, Photo Copyright Elliot Anderson via*

The Ceiba tree that stood for 300 years will probably recover. The people who live on  Vieques may not. They weren’t treated well in the immediate aftermath of the hurricanes. For the first two post-hurricane weeks, private, crowd-funded assistance was more important to people’s survival than the National government, which was largely absent. I donated to ViequesLove to help get assistance moving to the island that grew close to my heart so quickly. As of mid-October 2017, that GoFundMe was still taking in money and providing assistance.

After the Federal government shutdown debacle in 2013, I became a firm supporter of D.C. statehood. Now, I think Puerto Rico should be a state, too. The U.S. flag would look great with 52 stars. The people of D.C. and their spiritual cousins in Puerto Rico should get voting representation in Congress. The world would be a better place for it.

*Elliott Anderson’s photo of the Ceiba tree can be found via an article on here and as a related image here.

A Visit to The Warhol

August 30, 2017
Andy Warhol, Self-Portrait, 1966-1967

Andy Warhol, Self-Portrait,1966-1967

I remember that Love Boat episode with Andy Warhol in it, though I don’t remember it accurately. My pre-teen brain decided Warhol was a vampire because he was so pale and wore the most fantastic clothing. There was only one problem. I thought I knew all the vampire powers and limitations. Daylight roaming certainly was not allowed, though Warhol was doing it. I guessed Love Boat was bending the rules again to do some intra-network promotion. I assumed Warhol’s appearance meant Fantasy Island characters would be showing up, too. Sadly, I did not see Ricardo Montalbán. I was into him way before the Wrath of Khan and That Chest. But I digress…

A new fascination with Andy Warhol was born that strange Love Boat day. So on a recent trip to Pittsburgh, I couldn’t resist visiting Andy Warhol’s museum.  It was everything I could have hoped for.

Andy Warhol, Julia Warhola, 1974

Andy Warhol, Julia Warhola, 1974

Of course, a pop art painting of Warhol’s mother Julia was on display. By the time I got to the double-portrait of her, I had already absorbed a great deal of The Warhol. I learned Andy was a child of the Great Depression who earned over $70,000 a year as an illustrator by the end of the 1950s. He was just 30 years old. At the time, Andy Warhol’s persona and art were a little different.




His mother Julia had been living with him since 1951. She was an artist, too, and she supported Andy’s creative pursuits from an early age as all the best moms do. But Julia Warhola was a super-mom. Born in Slovakia in 1891, she lived in her son’s basement apartment for twenty years from 1951-1971. Just to clarify — Andy Warhol’s mother  resided at Pop Art Central for twenty years! During the sixties! The things that woman saw! I imagine she was having as good a time as everyone else. For twenty years, she continued her own artistic work and contributed to her son’s oeuvre most noticeably by adding distinctive text to his pieces.

I thought more about history than I expected to at the Warhol museum. My 18-year long (apparently!) attempt to read in order at least one biography of each American president recently brought me up to 1969. Wikipedia helped with the rest. The Warhol museum gave me a somewhat randomized opportunity to imagine how the art, politics and controversies of the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s wove into each other. I was particularly affected by:

Jackie Kennedy memorialized less the year after the assassination of JFK,

Red Jackie, 1964, Andy Warhol

Red Jackie, 1964, Andy Warhol

Fear of Nixon and concern about his re-election visualized in garish color,

Andy Warhol, Vote McGovern, 1974

Andy Warhol, Vote McGovern, 1974

A sultry Mick Jagger,

Andy Warhol, Mick Jagger, 1975

Andy Warhol, Mick Jagger, 1975

Robert Mapplethorpe before Reagan and HIV,

Andy Warhol, Robert Mapplethorpe, 1983

Andy Warhol, Robert Mapplethorpe, 1983

and one man’s desire for motorcycles and cheap eats at the Last Supper.

Andy Warhol, The Last Supper, 1986

Andy Warhol, The Last Supper, 1986

The Andy Warhol Museum contained quite an intriguing collection that lacked only a Ricardo Montalbán montage. Luckily, PowerPoint’s “Format Picture” options helped me take the edge off.

How to Get Scammed Out of $19 at Starbucks

May 31, 2017
Surprised Alien

Wh-wh-what happened?!?

“Do you have a twenty for two tens?”

That’s what he asked me. “He” was a sixty-plus-year-old disabled man with good shoes. You know what I mean about the shoes, especially if you have a face like mine that invites direct panhandling requests or shaggy-dog stories with the same aim. You live in a city. The first thing you do is check out what someone’s shoes look like so you know if they’re likely to ask you for money. Untroubled shoes suggest (but do not guarantee!) that the shoes-wearer will not seek money from me. Or such has been my experience until that point.

Actually, I’d already checked out more than this man’s shoes. He’d been hanging out near the Starbuck pick-up counter. The walker he used was the kind a person could sit on, and it was in good shape – none of the array of bags that often hang off a panhandler’s walker. The man was also quite hunched over and seemed to bend in the wrong places. He wasn’t going to ask me for money. In fact, he was just having a coffee like everyone else in the place.

I felt a little bad about thinking he might be about to ask me for money. I wondered about his difficult life and how he makes it work. I wondered what kind of challenges he faces every day in situations that are simple for me and that I take for granted.

Suffice it to say, he had me hook, line and sinker.

Okay, there were a few minor strangenesses. He did seem to be spending a little too long sorting out his coffee, which is usually a sign of chaos that can extend to innocent bystanders. And after I sat down with my own beverage, I briefly thought I saw him  drinking directly from one of the milk carafes. I generally try not to stare, but that’s a situation that deserves full investigation because I HAD ALREADY USED THE MILK AND BEGUN TO DRINK MY BEVERAGE.

He wasn’t drinking from one of the milk carafes. His to-go mug just looked like a carafe. Thank the Maker. I put my head back into my computer.

“Do you have a twenty for two tens?” he asked me, and he was suddenly nearby.

I immediately thought of two good reasons he might need a twenty for two tens. Plus, I’d already surveyed his situation for panhandling potential, and I’d doubted him about the milk carafe, so I was inclined to be a little more inclusive than five minutes before. But my lizard brain was still trying to determine if I had missed something about the man – I’m not a big fan of reaching for my wallet around strangers.

Benjamin in Vegas

Good thing I didn’t lose this fake beauty.

Then he did the thing that convinced me he wasn’t about to try to scam me: he produced the two tens and set them on my table.

I reached for my wallet and got out a twenty-dollar bill that I handed to him. That actually took a good thirty seconds. I had to find the twenty. My wallet contained mostly ones, which was not a good financial sign! I had a thought about that, but I decided to move on cuz the nice man was waiting for me.

Do you know where this is going? If so, you are smarter than I was!

I handed the man a twenty. I reached for the two tens from the table and put them in my wallet.

The man seemed to be standing nearby still, and he hadn’t said anything even to thank me for the twenty. That was weird. I looked at him. He was holding a one-dollar bill. He sputtered something about how I had given him a one instead of a twenty. I stammered an apology. But my hind brain was having its doubts.

I looked at the one-dollar bill he was holding – it was folded as if it had been in my wallet. I reached for a twenty. There seemed to be only one twenty-dollar bill in my wallet. I was fifty percent sure there had been two twenties before. I handed him the new twenty.

But wait. There HAD been two twenties in my wallet. I was eighty percent sure.

“Did you switch those?” I said to him.

The lie was on his face. I was one hundred percent sure he had switched them.

“I would never do that,” he said and put my new twenty in his wallet.

He had switched them when I picked up the two tens he placed on my table. I narrowed my eyes at him. I pursed my lips. But I remembered my five weeks as a D.C. Grand Juror and how things go when they go bad.

Pez Presidents

Pez Presidents sit in judgment of me.

However, I did NOT remember that a few years ago, the same thing happened on the Metro to Cake Man, who offered to call a cop over to sort out the situation. Cake Man is smarter than me. His scammer high-tailed it. Cake Man, who stopped using cash, has been suggesting for years that I also stop.

Mr. Coffee-and-Con was hanging out at the pickup counter waiting for someone who was using cash. CREEPY! He offered to buy me a beverage after he stole $19 from me. I should have ordered a triple-venti-something-crazy-with-extra-judgment. Instead, I glared a little more. Mr. Scammer-in-the-Nice-Shoes hastily departed the establishment.

My understanding is the swindle only works the first time on the victim because they don’t recognize it. So, now you know. If just one person who reads this post doesn’t get scammed, that’s good enough for me! Also, to Cake Man’s delight, I’ve switched to credit.


Infinity Mirrors: Denied

April 30, 2017
Red Bubble Snowy Street Use

Infinity Mirrors with Cake Man-ifestation

I have failed to get into Yayoi Kusama’s “Infinity Mirrors” at the Hirshhorn Museum. Or, more accurately, once I tried the normal approaches, I refused to do the things it would otherwise take to get into the show.

Here are the things I tried to do:

Get tickets online. The first time I tried this, I foolishly checked the Hirshhorn website fifteen minutes after tickets were supposed to become available. DENIED. The second time I was super-crafty. I lurked on the webpage ahead of time. I refreshed. I refreshed again. I clicked on things until they engaged, and I ultimately got to the tickets page during the 30-second window each week it is allegedly open. I did not, however, manage to get tickets in those thirty seconds.

Go to the Hirshhorn Museum during lunch on a day with nasty weather and attempt to play the “I’m just one person and it sure looks like tornado weather out there which must be why it’s so empty in here and surely you could handle one more person in the exhibit cuz seriously isn’t the space infinite?” card. That also did not work.

Here are the things I refused to do:

Pumpkin Room Assemblage Use

Pumpkin Room Crop Triumph

Stand in line from 7am-10am on a Saturday or Sunday to get tickets. Misguided principles and laziness shaped this refusal.

Use leave on a workday to stand in line for 2 hours in the morning then come back later in the day to see the exhibit for an hour. THAT WOULD BE AN INEXCUSABLE USE OF WHAT IS ACTUALLY CASH-MONEY!

Pay for tickets. Actually, I wouldn’t know where to start with this one, but some [insert rude word here] must be selling them.

Ditch out on a brick guy who was coming to my house to do an estimate about some work at the same time some of my awesome neighbors scored tickets including an extra one for me. This was a big mistake. The brick guy gave me such a fantastic line of bull about the job cost that I hurried him away as fast as I could. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fast enough to sprint to the Hirshhorn and meet up with the awesome be-ticketed neighbors. Plus, the neighbors had another friend capable of making the right life priority choices, and the ticket had already been given away.

Buy the lowest-tier Hirschhorn membership available ($50) so I could get in to see the show. I must admit, I was tempted by that bright shiny apple. I don’t mind donating money to the Smithsonian museums, and I commend the Hirshhorn for their innovative money-making effort. I just couldn’t quite bring myself to do it when I know “Frederic Bazille and the Birth of Impressionism” is open at the National Gallery of Art. [Note: The Hirshhorn is no longer selling memberships online, but on the day I visited, they said they were selling memberships in-person.]

Honey Badger and Octopus Original Cropped

Honey Badger and Octopus Share the Infinite Wheat Penny Hoard

Here is my pathetic lament:

Supply? Demand? Pah! And curse you, cruel Fates who determined I would not easily get free tickets to a renowned exhibit just cuz I want them! No, wait. That is the sound of me laughing derisively at myself before I whip out the world’s smallest violin and play “Cry Me A River” which actually sounds pretty good on that size of an instrument.

Luckily, making my own version of “Infinity Mirrors” was enough fun to take the edge off.

Good luck to those about to join the battle for tickets. I look forward to your pictures!

Fancy Meeting You Here

February 25, 2017

asimovs-cover-march-april-2017If you’re here because “A Singular Event in the Fourth Dimension” just came out in Asimov’s Science Fiction, then welcome to my blog! How kind of you to visit – especially considering I didn’t think to put a website link into my Asimov’s bio.

I’ll get down to it. The most popular post on this blog is Rutherford B. Hayes Was A Sexy Beast, and the post How to Ride a Viking Ship in Your Wedding is an extreme example of the kind of shenanigans I regularly get involved in. In other news:

  • My all-time favorite book is Dune.
  • I am a freak for Martin L. Shoemaker’s short story “Today I am Paul.”
  • And I firmly believe in dipping dark chocolate candy bars directly into the peanut butter jar.

If you’re interested in reading my other published stories, you can find them linked on my publications page.

Are you still reading this post? Okay, I’ll tell you a story.

“A Singular Event in the Fourth Dimension” started out as a very different tale. The core of it was a terrible thing that happened in my family when I was a child, and my maternal grandmother (Mim) showed up for a week or so to help out after the tragedy. Mim and I spent a lot of time together then, and many of the things she said to me were very confusing. I was 3 years old. One day, Mim was making sure I had something to eat, and she insisted I eat a sandwich that still had the crust on it.

It wasn’t no fancybread sandwich. That sandwich was made of the cheap stuff – Wonder Bread from the 1970s – and its crust tasted terrible. Mom always cut the crusts off so I wouldn’t have to eat them. Mim, however, would do no such thing. And she had a very specific, mystifying, terrifying reason why I had to eat the entire slice of bread.

“God is in the crust!” Mim said. She was not happy with me.

Well, you can just imagine. I was a tiny proto-human, and as far as I knew, God was a person. I could not understand how a person could be in my Wonder Bread, but I was pretty sure that something terrible must have happened for that to come about. No way I was going to eat a person. My reaction to the requirement to eat the crust, or to eat any of the Wonder Bread sandwich for that matter, caused an incident.

Fast forward to last year, and I decided to change this story about my family’s tragedy and the crust incident into a science fiction piece with a happy ending. Ultimately, I adjusted nearly everything about the story, but in the drafts, I retained the transformational moment when the second grandma insists Olive eat all of the bread because “God is in the crust.”

I run my stories past trusted writer-friends. All of them were confused about what that God / crust line meant. I tried to explain it. They said it was nonsensical. The meaning seemed obvious to me. Hadn’t everyone’s grandma said something like that to them?

Turns out…no. So I googled “God is in the crust.” Number of hits…zero.


Mim – 1929-2012

That whole “God is in the crust” thing was one of my earliest, most powerful memories. My sister remembers Mim saying the same thing to her in later years. My Mom confirmed that phrase was one her mother said. I wasn’t making it up! But apparently, Mim was, or something like that.

I obviously needed to take the line out of “A Singular Event in the Fourth Dimension,” and I did. But that doesn’t change the fact that the story Asimov’s was kind enough to publish is a memorial to the beautiful and baffling people who love us and who we love back.




February 10, 2017



78. Clean Your Room Duck by Theodore Carter

One day recently, I opened up my Twitter feed and realized it was punctuated by images of packing tape duck sculptures. They could only be the work of writer and street artist Theodore Carter. Below, he’s been kind enough to answer my probing questions about what exactly is going on.

Andrea: Were any rooms cleaned as a result of “78. Clean Your Room Duck”?

Theodore Carter: I made my daughter clean her room, and she collected the cornucopia of colorful refuse that make up duck #78.


Chilean Sea Blob by Theodore Carter

Andrea: If they were suddenly brought to life, would your 100 Ducks be higher or lower life forms than your Chilean Sea Blobs?

Theodore Carter: The sea blobs are sinister and mischievous creatures capable of inciting chaos and mayhem. The ducks are innocuous bird brains. In seriousness, I’ve tried to keep from putting facial features on the ducks. I want them to be sculptures more than creatures. There are some exceptions, but mostly the duck shape is a canvas.

Andrea: Why 100 Ducks, Theodore Carter? Why?

Theodore Carter: Writing books is a solitary experience and requires deep focus. I can make tape sculptures with my family or while supervising my kids in the yard. It’s a way for me to be busy when I can’t be at my desk.

I have a duck decoy that was once my grandfather’s. It’s a meaningful keepsake, and the shape is easy to repeat. One thing I’ve learned from street artists is that repetition adds meaning. One duck is slightly interesting. 100 ducks become eye-catching, in part because the creator must be a bit off.


81. Tentacles by Theodore Carter

Andrea: Was it a struggle to come up with ideas for 100 Ducks?

Theodore Carter: No. There’s always stuff in the recycling bin. If I wanted to assign high meaning to this ridiculous project, one thing I could say is that the work says something about consumerism and excess. Also, I’ve had several guest artists contribute, most notably my family, and this has lightened my workload.

Andrea: Have any 100 Ducks ideas been rejected? I ask this knowing that instead of a Duck in one picture, you put up an image of your cat Fluffy.

Theodore Carter: I try to steer away from designs that promote brands. I’ve made some exceptions. My son made an ESPN Magazine duck, but he was excited about it and it helped him dispose of his magazines. I made a Drake drake (a drake is male duck). This could be construed as needless promotion of a mediocre musical talent, but I think of it more as a parody. In general, I think we promote brands more often than we realize, and I tried to be mindful of that.

Fluffy jumped in front of the camera while my wife Elizabeth was conducting a duck photo shoot. The camera could not deny Fluffy’s natural allure.


74. Krampus Duck by Theodore Carter

Andrea: The very stylish “74. Krampus Duck” is one of my favorites. It’s not so much a question as an opportunity to post a picture of that amazing duck, but feel free to comment.

Theodore Carter:  Thanks, Andrea. I’m glad you like it, because if you didn’t, Krampus would find you, hit you with a stick, and lock you in a cage. This is a good time to mention Krampusnacht, DC, a wonderfully odd holiday parade/fundraiser that takes place each December.

Andrea: What do you have planned for your 100 Ducks, and how can people show their love for street art?

Theodore Carter: I’m going to put the ducks out in a public location on the evening of Friday, February 17 and keep them out until February 19 or until someone tells me to take them away. I’ll reveal the location on the day of the event through Facebook and Twitter.

If your readers are interested in this kind of craziness, I’d like to connect on social media. I plan to do more public art projects and would love to have a cadre of willing co-conspirators.

I want to make DC weird and I love others who are seeking to do the same. I do my best to pay attention to the people who make my city great.  Street artists I love with local connections include Mark Jenkins, Kelly Towles, Stikman, and Steven Cummings. Look for their work and tell others.

Theodore Carter blogs at He’s the author of The Life Story of a Chilean Sea Blob and Other Matters of Importance (Queens Ferry Press, 2012) and a writer for Dirge Magazine. His street art projects, which began as book promotion stunts, have garnered attention from several local news outlets including NBC4 Washington, Fox5 DC, and the Washington City Paper.


40. The Duck of Reproductive Rights by Elizabeth Carter

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