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Dragoncaller Multidimentional
I know you are all an hallucination, but thanks for coming anyway.
dragoncaller
Comi-con! Gen-con! Creation-con! Con-con! Wrath of Con! By Fans for Fans with Fans because it gets hot in here and you'll need a lot of fans!

Come put your geek on!

Meet legends, meet the makers, meet your heroes of Science Fiction and Fantasy!

Comic books will come to life!

Oh, let it die already.

Hypocrisy at its finest. Lying, cheating sacks of shit. You've lost yer way! Forgotten the cause! Betrayed your kind. Outcast!

Christmas used to be magic. Mesmerized by the flashing lights of the Christmas tree and a little creeped out by We Three Kings of Orient Are. It held such wonder. Cons used to be like that. Stuff to see, people to see, toys and games and panels.

Christmas is now the Holiday Season and no one gives a shit if you've been good. Cons are now a money making scheme, much like the feudal system raising lords over us. All on the backs of the peasants, I mean, volunteers.

I blame, of course, the fans. Greedy, crumb-snatching, illiterate fans who want their content pre-chewed and sterilized. And listen, it's Cosplay, not fucking Halloween. Put a little thought into it, huh? No! You don't have to go out and BUY everything, and you don't have to become a FX master, just some thought, and get a mirror. I think a mirror would really help you out.

Check this kid out. I think he was 8 or 9.


Cardboard, spray paint and duct tape. I spoke to his mom who said they kid put the whole thing together. The circle on his chest, an old plastic Tupperware lid. Knee joints, coffee cup lids. The face, a cardboard cut out. Now that's cosplay. He had the C3PO walk down pat! It was brilliant!

One thing the really bugged me about cons in the 80's was everyone was bootlegging stuff. "I'm a fan but I'm okay with STEALING stuff." Here's an idea, why not support the writers and directors and producers trying to give you great stuff. Well, just frigging YESTERDAY, December 10th, two thousand and mother fucking seventeen, some mouth breather BRAGGED to me he was going to pick up a bootleg version of some show he was watching. REALLY? You pay thirty dollars to get into a con to by and blackmarket version of a program you could probably download legally for $2.99?

Well, I stammered and said something along the lines of, you could probably get it off of Amazon really cheap and he mumbled something I couldn't hear and wandered off, giggling and nose picking with his minion.

Running the Con. It takes A LOT OF WORK to run a con. I don't mind that guy gets a salary. But, if he(she) is getting paid, I expect professional service, ESPECIALLY if I'm paying close to $300 for a 6 foot table.

Gamer-Con $275
Conneticon $300
Super-Con $220
Phil-Con $160
SuperMegaFest $180
Wicked Fare $450-800. Really? Mother fucker? $450? FOR WHAT? A table?
And of course Gary-con. $90

Gary-Con. I was sold a bill of goods from that guy. This brings me to,

CON DRAMA!

I never had given it much thought but cons are a bunch of friends who get organized and make a con happen. Friends, like husband and wife, like family, like brothers, fight. Sometimes irreparable damage occurs. That is what happened to Phil-Con. Pissy, pretentious, arrogant white misogynistic racists who thought Fiction could only be written by white old men couldn't get along with the idea of, "Why not have a black female author as our guest of honor" so they destroyed 80 years of fandom. This was the story I was told and in looking at what was being salvaged from Phil-con, that story made sense.

Gary-con was different. (here's what I heard) A bunch of guys who couldn't agree; okay, Gary packs up and makes his own Con. But his old buddies don't like the idea of competing with Gary so they sue him. During this time, one of them discovered that Gary hired a registered sex offender to be a photographer. He then starts a social media spiel calling Gary out on it. Gary foolishly doubles down defending they predator and torpedoes his own con. By time he comes to his senses the damage is done. He's already got my money and the money of all the venders, so it's no skin of his nose. Gary wins the law suit and thinks that somehow vindicates him from hiring a sex offender.

Gary Con had the highest percentage of kids I've seen at a con. At a minimum, he should have checked his paid staff on the sexual predator list. It's free. It was reckless of him and if a person had been harmed I think Gary would be culpable for it. But he didn't. Okay. When he was called on it, he shoulda cut the guy loose. Sure, the whistle blower's motives for calling this guy out may, MAY have alternate motives, but a lit fuse is still a lit fuse. He didn't cut the guy loose but instead tried to battle it out. Wow. A good general chooses his battlefield. Gary chose very poorly. Defending sexual predators while pushing a Kid's Event is not a good battlefield.

This brings me to a really sore spot with me. Sexual Predators. I'm all for injecting Drano into the testes, but I've been told that's Draconian. Okay, fine. But why are we the ones defending ourselves from predators?

Here is what isn't happening:

One, if you're on the list it's like parole. You have to check in with your parole officer and he gets to randomly spy on you to make sure you're telling the truth. If you're not in compliance, Drano to the testes.

There must be conditions on the order. Announcing someone is a predator and putting no conditions on the form is just confusing and frightening. Also, with no conditions, he CAN'T violate it. Nothing stops him from hanging out at the parking and watching your kids, or getting a job watching your kids. Why do I have to do a background check on anyone I meet? That's the parole officer's job!

If what this guy did is so slight there are NO conditions of the order, get rid of it. There you go, either no order or Drano to the Testes.

Yes, Marion Zimmer Bradly is a different kind of monster but we gotta start SOMEWHERE.

Hey! Here's an idea! GPS tracking bracelets! Wander too close to a school too many times, Drano to the Testes. DONE.

But back to cons. Some of these cons have 50-75 volunteers. Checking ALL of them would be problematic. And what about the fans? How many of them are sexual predators? All walking around looking at all that lovely spandex, how do we stop them? People get sexually assaulted at Cons, it happens and we need to STOP IT RIGHT BLODDY NOW! As in now, NOW. Yes, NOW, NOW.

Cosplay is not consent is a great start. It is about the fandom, not assaulting each other.

Jeez! I just wanna sell books.

Books.

That is the heart of Sci-Fi. It's the heart of all stories. It is the story that drives EVERYTHING. No writers, no nothing. NOTHING. Heck, even professional wrestlers need writers.

You would be surprised at the amount of people who said, "I don't read."

The saddest three words ever.

Here are some more bad words.

Without books, without stories, we're all fucked.

So,

Buy a book and save your world.

Current Mood: grumpy grumpy
Current Music: The sailor says, Brandy, you're a fine girl.

4 Dragons or Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

Out on the back deck, oil lanterns burning, in desperate need for a gaming night.

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Call a Dragon
dragoncaller
We are moving along at a brisk, 66,000 miles an hour, 292 times fast that the Bugatti Veron, 34 times faster than the F-35 Fighter Aircraft, and 6,000 times faster than my recumbent.

That is fast.

Yes, it is a painful crawl compared to the speed of light, a thrilling 670,616,629 miles an hour, but seriously, would you enjoy the scenery as much?

It is that time of year again. My seventieth time where I strip off all my clothes and walk out my front door. This really isn't much of a dare since no one can see me, The Shire being surrounded on all sides by woods, but it's my little thrill non-the-less. Yes, I'm rather vanilla, but their is no shame in that. Not everyone like the bukkake muffins and that is okay.

But it is a moment, a moment out of the 2,628,000 moments we have in a year to take stock of that year...

While standing naked in my backyard.

This year I wore sandals and my dog tags, and new this year, a hair tie. I have a pony tail.



I have been formally retired for just over one year now. I don't miss it a bit. It doesn't even feel odd. I do feel guilty and I make sure my day is packed with meaningful stuff, but guilt is guilt. I earned my retirement. I worked in underpaid jobs for 27 years for this reason. I stood on the front line of Freedom around the world with the Marines and on the front line of justice with the police, both rather dangerous places. Technically, I was in a war, but saying that is like saying I was in Viet-Nam while I never left the barracks in New Haven CT.

I was never shot at, thank God.

Here's the thing about lusting after action, the moment you get it you wish to be elsewhere, preferably action-free.

Well, you can keep it. I always fantasied about being the hero but it never happened.

I shit you not, I got an award once for my expert handling of a phone during a time of crisis. If that isn't hero material, what is?

I have a beard now, a Lovely Frans Joseph. This way no one confuses me with my brother who also has a beard.

I'm an actor now. I have a resume and I have been paid so that means it is a real job and I can add that to my list of things.

Truth is I'm busier than a long tailed cat in a room of full of rocking chairs.

And that's just it.

66,000 miles have gone by. 66,000 miles laid down behind me I won't get back.

66,000 miles further along on my journey.

I wouldn't mind for it to slow down, just a bit.

66,000 miles sounds so far away, a long arduous journey, but I just finished it. Done! On to the next 66,000 miles. I figure I have another 3,600,000 miles to go.

I wouldn't mind seeing 36,000,000 miles down the road. I imagine I'll need new shoes before then.

But this year alone I've been on Television, a couple movies, radio, met Lee Majors, the Six Million Dollar Man, and by GOD he looks like eight million, easy, met so many interesting and wonderful people, traveled, had experiences,

Lived.

And, God willing, I get to do it again!

Current Mood: happy happy
Current Music: Oliver! Oliver, never before has a boy wanted more!

1 Dragons or Call a Dragon
dragoncaller
Tonight's part of, The Body Snatcher, will be played by me!

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Current Music: You're dying just to be there, just crying on your knees!

Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

On August 18th, 2016, I said goodbye to my wonderful friends and coworkers at the Town of Groton and headed out to a new, shiny adventure.

I have never been defined by other things.  They have been part of me, yes, but not what makes me, me.

I'm an Eagle Scout, Marine, AD&D Player, Sniper, Knight/Master, Lieutenant, Special Forces, SWAT, Crisis Intervention, Domestic Violence Liaison, Community Policing, Records, Accountant, Computer Geek/gamer, trekie, Writer, Classic Car owner, Cyclist, Black Belt, Backpacker, Archer, Comicbook Nerd and Scientist (tru fakt)

And now...

What.

Actor!

It is certainly a redefining moment but I suspect it still won't define me.  So much to do.

I've been at it a year and we're moving right along.  I have my first real audition last Wednesday where they go, "Go from being angry to sad... Action!"  And I did.  I may not get the part, but this is where you learn and train.  I could take a class but I think I would have to take a class first before taking a class.  But then, looking at some of the others, I think I could teach that class.

I still want this to slow the fuck down, not the adventure but the time.  A year.  I went to Florida three times, Disney once.  I took a train, a plane, went to Birka and Supercon.  I went to New York more times than I care too.  I'm learning how to save receipts for EVERYTHING and filing monthly state taxes, BASTARDS.  I'm learning about my local town government, BASTARDS.  

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Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

It sucks.

I'm seriously beginning to believe it's all a hoax.  Not from the first, miserable, stupid night wearing the stupid thing, but of the presentation, the doctor acting like an infomercial, the tech who showed me how to use it going through the same spiel and me constantly saying, 'Yeah, I get it, it's why I'm here.  Can we talk about facts now?'

STOP SELLING THIS TO ME!

There was a movie called Dave who is a president look alike and he, as president, sees in the budget that we're spending a huge amount of money to make people feel good about cars they already bought.

Reality is this:

My insurance company, dicy as they are, are covering 100% including supplies and maintenance.

I can't get them to fix my knee but a 1,200 CPAP unit with another 1,200 annual cost for supplies is covered 100%.  It means people are healthier and it saves the insurance company money.

No insurance company gives a hottie pattotie over my health.  My health is only a means to make them money.

And don't say, "They're getting a kick back from the CPAP people."  Where are they getting their money from?  People can't afford this thing out of pocket so it must be the insurance company.

Therefore there is real science here.

I know it is only the first day, but I am growlingly grumpy and in desperate need for a nap at 10am.



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Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

We've seen the news.  White Supremacists, Art-Right, Nazis.

First let me say, Trump was wrong and yet right at the same time.  There was fighting on both sides.  But let's put this into perspective, 1,000 Neo-Nazis vs 200 hundred counter-protestors.  The Neo-Nazis had batons, shields and helmets.  Shields and helmets are NOT defensive items when you have a baton.  It is now an offensive posture.  The counter-protestors were carrying signs.  Many of the Neo-Nazis had guns although to their credit never used them.  However the simple presence of a gun changes impact of a conversation.

To say there was fighting on both sides is a misguided view.

The Neo-Nazis also had a very powerful weapon, one that dominated the field louder than anything else.

The Neo-Nazis had their symbols of hate.  

Fear is a very powerful weapon.  Don't let anyone kid you.

There was a symbol used in Asia for thousands of years.  

Adolf Hitler took the symbol, inverted it (which heradrically dramatically changes the meaning to be either opposite or insulting) and used it as his personal ad campaign to strike terror.  It's color scheme is built to be frightening, distinct.  He then backed it up by murdering millions of people.  

I visited the Death Camp in Jasenovac Croatia.  It happened.  The bodies where found.  You CAN'T deny it.  Somewhere in the area of 600,000 men women and children were killed there in that one camp.

So this stolen symbol, stained heavily in the blood of horror speaks louder than any words.  

That symbol is a weapon; a brutal and harsh weapon.

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Call a Dragon
dragoncaller

355 days ago I was counting the remaining days of my career as a police officer.  21 years dedicated to truth, justice and the American Way was coming to an end.  Jerry Garcia would have called it a long, strange trip; and it certainly was.

Now nearly a year has flashed by.  I wanted it to slow down, I want it to last.  I remember Marine Corps Boot Camp.  God!  Those days lasted for ever, like the summer of 1975.  They packed so much in a day!  Drill Instructors yelling at you, marching you, yelling some more and we were the 90 day wonders.  Our boot camp experience was trimmed by nearly four weeks so they could get everyone off of Paris Island by Thanksgiving.  

1975 was a world all on my front stoop.  Big Jim action figure was all the rage and I had one.  He could flex his big muscles and break an arm band.  My yard was huge and we had a sprinkler to run and play in and cool off; we were addicted to it!

1975 seems so far apart from 1985 when I went into the Marines, but somehow 1995 was yesterday compared to 2016.

And now a year has fled.

I want to drag my fingernails across the span of time, slowing it all down.

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2 Dragons or Call a Dragon
dragoncaller
I love travel.

I hate airlines.

I'm Florida for my Dad's birthday and to spend quality time with my brother. TSA searched my luggage which I am not surprised. I brought my pistol with me. I just wish they wouldn't be so bloody secretive about it. I mean, yes, they left a note. But here's the thing, the take my bags and I go to the gate and board the plan. What would have happened if I had packed my firearm incorrectly? Wait till I get to Florida to arrest me? I don't lock my bags because I know they will rip it open and break the zipper if they want. The revolver is locked up as per federal regs. Ammo is in a separate box and labeled.

They certainly looked at the boxes but did not open them as they are locked. So, they'll break into the suitcase but not the vault with the firearm is kept. I guess that's where to put valuables.

Glad I left the latex catsuit and flogger at home.

Or maybe I should pack something for them to find?

Rental car, hotel.

Decompress.

It isn't a vacation, I have 'work' to do. I have my Microphone and sound equipment so I'll be checking jobs and wot not.

That won't stop me trying to vacation, tho.

Current Mood: tired tired
Current Music: Could you be loved and be loved?

8 Dragons or Call a Dragon
dragoncaller
88 hours of low carb diet.

88 hours and thirty seconds.

88 hours and forty five seconds.

And so on until the sun explodes and the universe grinds to a halt.

When I was young, butter was bad for you. Like slow acting poison bad, clogging your arteries. Then it was eggs. Then it was salt. No butter, eggs or salt.

Blah.

88 hours and 4 minutes and 54 seconds.

Meat was now bad, bacon the worst.

Then it was fat. All fat. All fat was bad. Here, eat this pasta. Jim Fixx was a god back then and had the whole nation running in dainty nylon shorts until their knees turned to dust. You needed to carbo load to run marathons. To have energy. Everyone, eat carbs! No meat butter salt fat eggs but pasta, Prince Spaghetti day every day! Run and you'll be an imortal eating pasta and carbos!

Jim Fixx said he would never die from a heart attack.

He died.

Heart Failure.

88 hours 10 minuets.

Cheese was now death. The government was handing out huge blocks of cheese until the word came it was bad for you. Then milk, of course. Milk is bad. No other animal consumes the milk of another animal. Only humans do this and it is WRONG!



Florida, the state, made a law to call Skim milk, milk product. Really? It's milk for goodness sake!

88 hours 19 minutes 10 seconds (I had a call)

Where was I?

Milk is bad for you and of course Ice Cream which has not only milk and cream, and butter and fat and salt and bacon and eggs. Well, mine has bacon.

But now everything you've heard is wrong. All wrong. The Earth IS flat! The moon is a painted back drop. Stepping on a crack will cause your mother serious injury. There is, in fact, a monster hiding under your bed who is only thwarted by hiding under your sheets.

Carbs are bad and Eggs, butter, Fat, Meat, Cheese are all good!

I shit you not. That is what they're saying! But here is the real kick in the pants: Carbohydrates, rice, potatoes, Pasta, are BAD! Can you believe this? What bizarre world is this? Trump is president, Arnold Schwazennager is a liberal, Pizza is bad!

Pizza? Is this world worth living in?

88 hours, 34 mins and 19 seconds since I started my LOW CARB diet.

I've restricted myself, (NOT MY DOCTOR WHO SAYS I"M FINE) to less than 150 carbs a day. A shot of milk in my coffee is 1 carb, so milk is still bad.

If you've followed along on Face book, you've seen my creations. I'm following recipes from an actual book. For you born before Televisions were in wooden boxes called Sets and not monitors, a book is this recording device that uses flattened tree pulp and ink. No, really, there is such a thing. So much so that it's be the prevailing recording device for OVER A HUNDRED YEARS! Yes, before the history time. You can even put pictures in this book and like your phone slide from one picture to the next. Well this, BOOK, has instructions on how to cook. Do what it says and your stuff should look like the picture.

Uncharacteristically I did just that and my dinner looked just like the picture in the book.

And it tasted great!

Now, here is the kicker. There are liars out there. The same ones who said bacon was bad. Evil people with a phallic device stuffed up their fudge tunnels who have had themselves surgically neutered to insure they will never know pleasure or fun again and want nothing more than you to never have fun and know the concept of giggle, spring, and climax, will tell you things like, YOU'LL NOT MISS PASTA ONE BIT! and YOU WON'T BE HUNGRY!

Big, fat, fucking liars, (figuratively) shoot your fucking selves now. Please, now, go to the subway and mentally envision throwing yourself in front of the train and go home and feel bad for a while.

LIARS!

I'm following the goals, the instructions, the BOOK and fuck me (Figuratively) with a horned melon. I'm eating a tasty and properly prepared meal and in the middle of it I'm hungry. At the end I'm hungry and an hour later I'm hungry. I have LOW CARB snacks which make me hungry.

I know who you are! You're the dickies fuck who said Veggie Burgers taste like REAL burgers. I so want to draw a picture of stuffing you into a sausage maker and then coloring it in with crayons.

Why don't people tell the truth anymore? This is going to suck and you will be miserable for the rest of your life. You won't be immortal, and you forever be sad, crying each night knowing tomorrow you again have to live without pizza, but you more than likely will loose weight.

Some people did loose weight.

88 hours 50 minutes, 30 seconds.

I better be loosing some weight or some of you fuckers will be in my next novel and your character will die sliding down a 100 yard cheese grater.

Pray I succeed!

Current Mood: hungr
Current Music: Oh, Mr. Jonny Track how could you be so mean? I told you you'd be sorry for inventing that machine

8 Dragons or Call a Dragon