Normal view
Lunchbox made with love
Nimby and the D-Hoppers CONCLUSION
![]()
This week on my podcast, I conclude my reading of my 2003 Asimovβs Science Fiction Magazine story, Nimby and the D-Hoppersβ (hereβs the first half). The story has been widely reprinted (it was first published online in The Infinite Matrix in 2008), and was translated (by Elisabeth Vonarburg) into French for Solaris Magazine, as well as into Chinese, Russian, Hebrew, and Italian. The story was adapted for my IDW comic book series Cory Doctorowβs Futuristic Tales of the Here and Now by Ben Templesmith. I read this into my podcast 20 years ago, but I found myself wanting to revisit it.
Donβt get me wrong β I like unspoiled wilderness. I like my sky clear and blue and my city free of the thunder of cars and jackhammers. Iβm no technocrat. But goddamit, who wouldnβt want a fully automatic, laser-guided, armor-piercing, self-replenishing personal sidearm?
Nice turn of phrase, huh? I finally memorized it one night, from one of the hoppers, as he stood in my bedroom, pointing his hand-cannon at another hopper, enumerating its many charms: βThis is a laser-guided blah blah blah. Throw down your arms and lace your fingers behind your head, blah blah blah.β Iβd heard the same dialog nearly every day that month, whenever the dimension-hoppers catapaulted into my home, shot it up, smashed my window, dived into the street, and chased one another through my poor little shtetl, wreaking havoc, maiming bystanders, and then gateing out to another poor dimension to carry on there.
Assholes.
It was all I could do to keep my house well-fed on sand to replace the windows. Much more hopper invasion and I was going to have to extrude its legs and babayaga to the beach. Why the hell was it always my house, anyway?
Nimby and the D-Hoppers
![]()
This week on my podcast, I once again read my 2003 Asimovβs Science Fiction Magazine story, Nimby and the D-Hoppersβ The story has been widely reprinted (it was first published online in The Infinite Matrix in 2008), and was translated (by Elisabeth Vonarburg) into French for Solaris Magazine, as well as into Chinese, Russian, Hebrew, and Italian. The story was adapted for my IDW comic book series Cory Doctorowβs Futuristic Tales of the Here and Now by Ben Templesmith. I read this into my podcast 20 years ago, but I found myself wanting to revisit it.
Donβt get me wrong β I like unspoiled wilderness. I like my sky clear and blue and my city free of the thunder of cars and jackhammers. Iβm no technocrat. But goddamit, who wouldnβt want a fully automatic, laser-guided, armor-piercing, self-replenishing personal sidearm?
Nice turn of phrase, huh? I finally memorized it one night, from one of the hoppers, as he stood in my bedroom, pointing his hand-cannon at another hopper, enumerating its many charms: βThis is a laser-guided blah blah blah. Throw down your arms and lace your fingers behind your head, blah blah blah.β Iβd heard the same dialog nearly every day that month, whenever the dimension-hoppers catapaulted into my home, shot it up, smashed my window, dived into the street, and chased one another through my poor little shtetl, wreaking havoc, maiming bystanders, and then gateing out to another poor dimension to carry on there.
Assholes.
It was all I could do to keep my house well-fed on sand to replace the windows. Much more hopper invasion and I was going to have to extrude its legs and babayaga to the beach. Why the hell was it always my house, anyway?
Spicy pork party in Namhae
Seaside lunch in my fatherβs hometown
The Weight of a Feather (The Weight of a Heart)
![]()
This week on my podcast, Iβm reading βThe Weight of a Feather (The Weight of a Heart),β my short story in Harlan Ellisonβs The Last Dangerous Visions, commissioned by J. Michael Straczynski.
Margaret came into my office, breaking my unproductive clicktrance. She looked sheepish. βI got given one of those robots that follows you around,β she said. She took a step, revealing the waist-high reinforced cardboard box. βWant to help unbox?
I stood up and unkinked my spine and hips and shoulders with a sound like wringing out a sheet of bubble-wrap. βOof.β
βCome on, old fella,β she said. She handed me a box-cutter.