1. Notice that a local supermarket has installed a self-service key copier.
2. Go there when you wish to make an extra copy of your front door key.
3. Insert the key to copy, then page through a whole series of screens offering extra-cost options you don't want.
4. Take the completed key home, and find it doesn't fit in the keyhole. Uh-oh.
5. Try your old key. It doesn't fit in the keyhole either.
6. Panic briefly, then realize that you'd picked the wrong key. This isn't your front door key. (Excuse for this boneheaded error: you're ill, and have been very tired.)
7. Return to the supermarket. Insert the right key this time. Notice that it wobbles a little in the slot.
8. Take the completed key home. It fits in the keyhole, but won't turn.
9. Return to the supermarket. Wobble the key in the other direction this time.
10. Take the completed key home. It won't turn either.
11. Go to the key counter at the local hardware store. Wait while the previous customer chooses among two kiosks of key designs.
12. It's your turn. Clerk rolls his eyes slightly ("What did you expect?") when you tell him you used a self-service machine and it didn't work.
13. Take the completed key home. It works. Cost less than the one at the supermarket, too.
Kalimac's corner: a journal by DB
Saturday, September 5, 2026
Wednesday, September 2, 2026
my first Worldcon
At the LACon panel on "Memories of Worldcons Past," I asked each panelist to begin by identifying their first Worldcon, and by telling an anecdote about it, preferably something funny and that reveals something about how worldcons past were different than they are now. Here, somewhat expanded, is mine:
It turns out I've been around longer than any of the other panelists. My first Worldcon was 1976 in Kansas City, MidAmeriCon - "Big MAC" it was called, mostly out of fears that it would be uncontrollably large.
For most of their existence, Worldcons had been under a thousand people. But lately they'd been getting larger, and in the last few years increasing rapidly: 1972 had 2000 people, 1973 had 3000, 1974 had 3500. The 1975 Worldcon was the first one in Australia, so nobody expected that to be very large, but what would happen in 1976? Would it be 4000, 6000, or what?
In the end it turned out to be not much more than 3000, but the convention went into a frenzy of planning for a really large turnout. Instead of the traditional banquet to present the Hugos, they rented a local theater. That was the first time that was done. Another innovation of MidAmeriCon's was the invention of escalating membership fees: if you bought early, your fee was less expensive than if you bought later. This is now so normal that many may not be aware it was once an innovation, but at the time many people were furious at this.
But the biggest innovation of all had to do with security. MidAmeriCon decided that using name badges as authorization to enter convention areas wouldn't work: they were too easily lost, and people would wear them in various spots, some hard to see or hard for security to spot quickly when trying to clear large numbers of people.
So they came up with something new and never done before, and oh how they chortled in the progress reports when they told the members about it. But they wouldn't say what the security device was, and you didn't find out until you checked in for the convention and found that it was:
A hospital I.D. bracelet. Plastic, with the MAC logo printed on it.
You were supposed to wear these for the entire five days of the convention. In theory, at least, they were unremovable without being cut off. But wearing an I.D. bracelet in the hospital is one thing, during a convention was another. They became a nuisance, sliding around your wrist, as you tried to use your hands; and they got clammy and grotty if you tried to shower with the bracelet on.
So, unlike the escalating membership fees, as far as I know no other fannish convention has tried something like that, though other types of conventions have.
It turns out I've been around longer than any of the other panelists. My first Worldcon was 1976 in Kansas City, MidAmeriCon - "Big MAC" it was called, mostly out of fears that it would be uncontrollably large.
For most of their existence, Worldcons had been under a thousand people. But lately they'd been getting larger, and in the last few years increasing rapidly: 1972 had 2000 people, 1973 had 3000, 1974 had 3500. The 1975 Worldcon was the first one in Australia, so nobody expected that to be very large, but what would happen in 1976? Would it be 4000, 6000, or what?
In the end it turned out to be not much more than 3000, but the convention went into a frenzy of planning for a really large turnout. Instead of the traditional banquet to present the Hugos, they rented a local theater. That was the first time that was done. Another innovation of MidAmeriCon's was the invention of escalating membership fees: if you bought early, your fee was less expensive than if you bought later. This is now so normal that many may not be aware it was once an innovation, but at the time many people were furious at this.
But the biggest innovation of all had to do with security. MidAmeriCon decided that using name badges as authorization to enter convention areas wouldn't work: they were too easily lost, and people would wear them in various spots, some hard to see or hard for security to spot quickly when trying to clear large numbers of people.
So they came up with something new and never done before, and oh how they chortled in the progress reports when they told the members about it. But they wouldn't say what the security device was, and you didn't find out until you checked in for the convention and found that it was:
A hospital I.D. bracelet. Plastic, with the MAC logo printed on it.
You were supposed to wear these for the entire five days of the convention. In theory, at least, they were unremovable without being cut off. But wearing an I.D. bracelet in the hospital is one thing, during a convention was another. They became a nuisance, sliding around your wrist, as you tried to use your hands; and they got clammy and grotty if you tried to shower with the bracelet on.
So, unlike the escalating membership fees, as far as I know no other fannish convention has tried something like that, though other types of conventions have.
Tuesday, September 1, 2026
hu-gone
In my post on the Hugo winners I commented that few of the finalists in any category had I even heard of. Tis is quite a change from years past when I was familiar with the work of all of them and knew many personally.
When did I drop out? I decided to trace the history of one category, Best Fan Writer, as the one where my acquaintance was the closest. And I found that from 1980 to 2012, I rarely knew personally fewer than three of the finalists (and when it was less, it was two). Some I knew very well, others I'd just met or briefly corresponded with, but I knew them. One year, 1989, I knew all of the finalists.
But then it abruptly changed, and from 2014 on I've known only an occasional finalist. All the others are completely unknown to me. That was just about the time I ceased considering myself an active fan, and that may have had an effect, but I don't think it's the whole story.
When did I drop out? I decided to trace the history of one category, Best Fan Writer, as the one where my acquaintance was the closest. And I found that from 1980 to 2012, I rarely knew personally fewer than three of the finalists (and when it was less, it was two). Some I knew very well, others I'd just met or briefly corresponded with, but I knew them. One year, 1989, I knew all of the finalists.
But then it abruptly changed, and from 2014 on I've known only an occasional finalist. All the others are completely unknown to me. That was just about the time I ceased considering myself an active fan, and that may have had an effect, but I don't think it's the whole story.
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