And so I see also that the SF writer John Varley has died. He burst upon the SF scene in the mid-1970s with a series of stories set in a future in which various planets and moons in our system are colonized, dubbed the Eight Worlds. Sex changes for aesthetic purposes, and artificial environments for artistic purposes, were common. The most famous of these stories was probably "The Phantom of Kansas." Several of these were Hugo nominees, but they didn't win, which frustrated me; at one point I called Varley the best SF writer currently operating who'd never won a Hugo.

He did finally get a Hugo in 1979 for a story outside that universe, a searingly memorable one called "The Persistence of Vision," which resembled Arthur C. Clarke's Childhood's End in being framed as a hopeful scenario but which really comes across as a horror story. I once quoted, purely as an allusion without identifying it, the memorable last line of this story in a post about my relief after having had to be talking all day, and someone caught the allusion, to my pleasure. His two successor Hugo winners, "The Pusher" and "Press Enter█", both from the 1980s, were also stand-alones and searingly memorable, the former also with a killer last line, which casts a chilling air back over the whole story; the latter more openly a horror story from early on, with a surprisingly intense Luddite air. All three of these stories were excellent of their kinds, and are the Varley stories I remember the best.

He also wrote novels, of which I've read two and a half. As with many SF writers, he was better at short fiction. Also like many SF writers, he turned mostly to novels in his later years, and I know nothing about those later works.

I met him a couple of times in the early days, in passing at conventions. He was tall and looming, with a full mustache, and latterly a beard. His middle name was Herbert, and he was known informally to friends as Herb, which confused people who didn't already know that. One time when he had two stories in the same issue of Asimov's, he used "Herb Boehm" as a pseudonym on one of them, "Air Raid", a particularly gruesome story about (to mischaracterize it wickedly) rescuing passengers from an airplane crash, which turned out to be by far the better-known of those two stories. But he quickly reprinted "Air Raid" under his usual byline, and later expanded it into a novel, Millennium, which I read (it wasn't as tight as the original story), which in turn was eventually made into a movie, which I haven't seen.

Arthur was an old friend of mine, in both senses of the word. I'd known him through apas from 1978, and we met in person a couple years after that. But he was also older than most of his cohort in fandom, having entered with a splash with his first personalzine in the spring of 1977, when he was 34, an unusual age when most neofans were in their teens or early 20s. He died a couple days ago at 83, after long illnesses.

Living at first in Westchester County, New York, and then moving to Durham, N.C., to attend library school, he was geographically far removed from most of the members of the apas I knew him in. When one of the apas ran a photo-cover, Arthur submitted a picture taken in a photo booth which made him look like a gnome tucked in a corner. I attended the collation, and as members perused the completed mailing with its key to the cover photos, I heard occasional cries of "That's Arthur?"

Without physical presence, it was the quality of his writing that made him a valued member of both our apas and fanzine fandom in general. He wrote long and thoughtful essays, many informed by his reading of Thomas Pynchon, Ayn Rand, H.P. Lovecraft, and above all the Illuminatus! trilogy of Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson, all of which he took as very interesting and provocative, but none of which he viewed without a skeptical eye. Arthur was also a great quipster, leaving fanzines littered with witty and insightful bon mots. Someone sent him as a joke some volumes of treacly moral tales for children called Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories, and our Arthur used that as a fanzine title for a while.

He was full of wit and bon mots in person, also, in a light textured voice with a trace of New York accent, when I finally met him at a convention. Without the gnome extension, he looked like this - a little later on, after his dark hair and beard turned white. Earlier than that, in 1983, I actually ventured down to Durham to visit Arthur at home. By this time he had acquired a permanent romantic partner, an English lit grad student named Bernadette Bosky, whom Arthur had first met in the pages of a Lovecraft-oriented apa. She seemed so perfectly matched for Arthur's distinctive character that some of those reading about her from far away doubted that she could possibly be real, and one of my goals in traveling to Durham was to be one of the first outside fans to meet her and confirm her corporeal existence.

Later, after my visit, Arthur and Bernadette were joined by Kevin Maroney as a third for their romantic triad. I'm not the only observer who's frequently pointed at them as proof that such a relationship can be stable and permanent. Then they moved back up to Westchester, whence Arthur had originally come, and settled in a house in Yonkers they called Valentine's Castle (Valentine was the name of the street). Here they became much more personally active in fandom, going to conventions especially the ICFA in Florida. I never got to that, but I do cherish having introduced my own B. to all three of them at Nolacon in 1988. Meanwhile, they had founded their own apa and held private conventions for its members; and many people came to see them at home, including me. I think I stayed over twice, and I met their pet rats, which were actually quite cute and had rat-pun names.

I got to know both Bernadette and Kevin as individuals, but Arthur was always there, though receding in the background a little as age-related illnesses began to take over. I'm sorry that physical problems of my own prevented my attendance at a big party they held a couple years ago. And now Arthur is gone, but at least we still have vivid memories of him, and his fanzines to read.

The dealer where I take my car for servicing now wants customers to go online to make service appointments. The last time I tried doing this, on the old system, it got terribly confusing and I gave up and went back to phoning, which has its own difficulties, as there's not always someone available to answer the phone.

But the new system is much clearer about making the appointments, and I did so successfully, but getting to that point was difficult. I had to create an account, which involved confirmations both by text and by e-mail, and then I had to register my car on the system. First they asked for its Vehicle Identification Number, which is a long alphanumeric thing. I had to go downstairs, our to the car, and grab the registration on which the VIN is printed. OK, that done, now it asks for the current mileage and estimated number of miles driven daily. Back down to the car to get the current mileage.

Now, how to estimate daily mileage? I don't have a regular driving schedule, like commuting to work. Some days I do local errands, some days I don't go anywhere at all, some days I go up to the City for a concert. Aha, I know how I'll do this. Below my odometer is a useful figure showing the approximate number of miles driveable on what's left in the tank. I know that, when it's full, it'll say about 350 miles. I always buy gas from the same credit card. If I go through the statements for this year, which are conveniently in one place, I can count up the number of days between fillings (which I usually get when it's down to about 30 miles). Average out the number of days, divide that by 320, and there's the answer, which turns out to be about 25.