r[tr0RtAtWelcome to the inaugural but hopefully

not last issue of This Here, afanzine by NicFarey.

Herewith a little exposition:I've pretty much decided at this point to

retire Arrows of Desire. While the last issue(#8) was generally well received (and thesubject of a terrific review by Paul Kincaidrn Bansna Wings, tx Paul, grovel, grovel),its subject matter and to some extent styleweren't really consistent with what I hadbeen doing with Anows in previous issues,although one or two of those had featuredsome similar intensely personal writing fromboth myself and others. Feeling drainedthough encouraged by AOD #8, I hadactually gotten about four pages into whatmight have been AOD #9 by which point Irealized I already had three or four threadsgoing, as well as a backstory flashback.Considering this, I rcahzed that telling thestory of the year following Dee Ann's death(actually the period covered would havebeen from July 1996 to April 1997) wouldhave to involve something like eight threads.

Brilliant though I might think I am, Ifigured that this would fly about as well asthe Spruce Goose. Or JFK Jr.

As Supreme GUFFO Paul the K pointedout in his review, I had used my perennialwriting pseudonym of "S V O'Jay" as a kindof neutral commentator in the original piece,writing the more personal sections as - er -'Nic Farey". I got to thinking (pause forlaffs from the usual suspects) on the drivehome fiom the airport after our Novacon tripthat it might actually be time to find outwhether "Nic Farey" does in fact have agenuine writing identity.

Hence. .. This Here.I intend to produce issues of this perzine

as infrequently as circumstances allow

(translation: when I fucking feel like it,OK?), and will probably keep it down to afew pages a go. Parts of what would havebeen Arrows of Desire #9 will undoubtedlyend up here in the form of individualanecdotes. Might even be one in heresomewhere - imagine that!

For anybody who might have beeninterested, part two of "This Time NextYear" was subtitled "...And I Don't Need toBe Forgiven". This was to have been thecover picture:

Make whatever deeps out of that youwill.

Finally for people who like to knowabout that sort of thing, "This Here" is a RayCharles track from the 1970 album "MyKind of lazz", which I believe has recentlybeen reissued by Rhino Records as aninclusion with the "Genius + Soul : Jazz"set. The album also included the curiouslynamed "Booty-Butt", which I believe wasRay Charles' last top 40 single.

It's rather good.

Nic Farey, November / December 1999

UnIllF lrin ffsnort tlfrumn 201I just finished reading Wendy Graham's

Novacon 29 "report" in FTL magazine (tobe found at r,r,u,"w.&lmagazine.com). Thephrase "self-serving bollocks" came tomind. Factual effors aside. it seems likeBendy would like to come across as the all-knowing high priestess, and everybody elseto look like an oaf. It will amaze readers(and Tony Morton) to hear Carlos Santanadescribed as "turgid C and W stuff'. At leastshe admits she only bought "a couple of myBeatles CDso', after whose demise it appearsher musical knowledge departed for Pluto.

So here's what we really did on our'olidays (fancred subject eh Yvonne?).

Now one thing you have to remember isthat I'm taking some interesting drugsthroughout the time described here - for thereasons why see later. The side effects ofPredisone are mrmerous (and includebleeding from the ass which is not fun rightnow) but for our purposes here includemood swings, so if I come across as havingbeen cranky at times, that's my excuse andI'm sticking with it. Bobbie actually gaveme much less grief than usual over mybehavior, since I had the wit and foresight toprint out for her the list of the drug'sinteractions and side effects from the Web.This from wrvr.v.thriveonline.com, which Ican highly recommend.

We arrived as usual on Thursday night,bloody tired after a bumpy flight, andleaving Bobbie to catch some z's Idecamped to the bar (and the pub, and theother pub, and back to the bar) to find theportly smiling figure of Chris Murphy, eagerto regale me with the revelation that he'dfigured out how to do simple mentalarithmetic. It seems he'd worked out all byhimself that Scammell (MKS) had e-mailedthe programme notes too late for me to havegotten them, and thoughtfully provided acopy which I proceeded to scribble mightilyover.

Mighty Mo, gracious and sweet as ever,tendered a personal apology later. Who canresist that disarming smile?

Friday brings breakfast practice, severalhours of o'wenzafukinbaropen", and anexistential discussion on whether there are infact two separate entities named "PatMcMurray". It took a few beers to calmdown after that one, I can tell you. Teck geararrives, teck gear is set up and checked,more beer consumed, hello, how are you,fine thanks etc. etc. Opening ceremonyproceeds without much incident, and Teckcrew bugger off to leave yours truly i/cFriday noises. I was a little pissed off bythis, but the Blessed Bobbie thoughtfullyreminded me that I do Friday nights everyyear, and to check out the drug alert I wroteearlier. Ah, that's all right then.

I think it makes you forgetful, too,because Wendy seemed bossier than usual(plausible), and the sainted Plummer moreabsent than usual (less plausible), causingme to have a mild case of the snits. Butthink!, my inner voice sez, ye remember theboy Mark when 'e were nothing but a shy,mild-mannered lad who used to apologize to'ee for not having a pot to trade or a zine topiss in, and now look at'im, multiple awardwinning BNF that 'e is, bin swanning off toSouthern parts. Which not only suggests theconnection that he was probably drinkingSwan, but also begs the question whethersaid sainted Plummer is the sort of personyou'd want swanning in your Southern partsat all. Mostly harmless, I'd say.

Saturday dawns with only a mildhangover, drugs and breakfast. Last night'sbroken teck bits had been replaced by thegoodly supplier, and we prepare for Ian andJack's slide show with the jaunty air ofpeople who have no idea that the radio mikereceiver is fucked. Ah well. I inform thegallant Chris "Mister Ops to you" Murphynot to worry, and not to pay for that piece ofkit either. We carefully set up a couple ofhand held mikes on stands up front, withplenty of lead for the notoriously peripateticduo, who proceed not to use them.

Gravy for a while, with shifts sorted, andwe are cheerfully heeding earlieradmonitions from chair-entity Carol i.e."don't play the music so bloody loud", with

the possible exception of Wendy's BeatlesCDs when Rog Pelton is in the room, sincehe apparently despises them.

I in fact heard several disparagements ofthe venerable bookseller over the course ofthe weekend, which made me wonder whothe old bugger really managed to piss offlately. It's a shame that with so many muchworthier targets around, some people stillhave to pick on the sick and elderly.

A pensive high priestess

Saturday night brings around thevenerable and traditional Teck Room Party,as always an exercise in good-humoredextortion, this year to benefit RNIB. Aswe're in a single room (must be somemistake, honest guv), the turnout of worthiessoon become very well acquainted indeed.One of the Pat McMurrays turns up in amost sober outfit (inappropriately, somewould say). A rumor is quietly floated thatthese are his everyday business clothes, inwhich case the business in question wouldappear to be that of Victorian pox doctor'sclerk. Now wash your hands.

(Incidentally, that sounds a lot better in aScots accent. Go on, try it - poax doacter'sclerruk!)

Speaking of Scots accents, the elfinBarbara adds fuither delight to theproceedings by producing a bottle of

Czechoslovakian whisky, an interestingcounterpoint to Jim Beam Rye, Jose Cuervoand Cinammon Schnapps, and upon which agrateful nation (well, a Pat McMurrayanyway) pounced.

Photos are taken of Bobbie in an informalarrangement with Anders, Noel andFishlifter, and she is persuaded against herbetter judgement to have another Tequila.Liquor having been mostly dutifullyconsumed and all concemed parties relievedof several poonds for the privilege, wedecamp to the "Swedish party" in 302,where Anders the graceful host willsubsequently claim to have had his earlicked by Bobbie, a claim she vehementlydenies: "I wasn't licking, lwas talking.."

I am accused of being far too friendlywith Julia, copping feels & snogs withimpunity. I decide not to deny this, given thepresence of 30 witnesses and Tobes, and amrewarded by a scratch on the back fromBobbie which resembles a Masaiscarification ritual and still hasn't healed up.I release Julia and we head for the bar to seeif anyone can calm us down. Oh dear,5:30am and I'm too bloody old for this!

Sunday morning - er - breakfast, drugsetc., and we pursue the Teck path for whatwe are known. Bobbie emerges a little afterlunchtime, and I proceed to piss her offmightily by remarking "Wow! I'm surprisedyou've got the balls to show your facetoday!". She storms ofi we Teck on. Fence-mending, I retrieve her later in time for thebeer tasting, by which point I am about deadon my feet and we leave almost immediatelyfor me to have a bit of kip.

Returning after a couple of hours, we jointhe general conviviality, including Tobes,who relates the story of a program itemwhich he had been conned into at anotherconvention. I forget the subject, but thesubtitle was "Tobes discusses with himself'.He related his entry into the empty room,and, as asked, he did in fact begin to discusswith himself the subject in question. At thispoint in the tale, he paused for a moment'sreflection, then added "Actually, I got quiteargumentative."

The socializing continued into the weewee hours, ffid we ended up spending agood deal of time with Martin & HelenaTudor. I'd asked Martin earlier in theweekend whether we'd get to see his goodlady wif-e, and he did manage to persuadeher through the doors, despite the fact thatrecent personal tragedy made herunderstandably reluctant to face the rigors ofa Novacon roomful. Both of them have been(and are) under a lot of stress. and it wasundoubtedly good to be able to blow off alittle steam, especially in the company offriends.

It certainly was good to see Helena, whois still as good-looking and charming asever, and it will be nice to do the same nextyear, hopefully under happier circumstances.And no, if you don't know, I'm not telling,out of deference to my long-time friend andhis dear wife. I willbe asking Martin if I canrecount the "missing story" from his TAFFreport, however. Hows about it MT?

Generally, we enjoyed this Novacon agreat deal. Bobbie was much more relaxedthis year, having met so many people whowere so nice to her at Novacon 28 (Alice,this means lout\ and so she was able to bemore of her outgoing self, mounting aspirited defense of karaoke in the face ofwithering criticism from Tony Beny. Theprogramme was, on the whole, a veryenjoyable one (kudos to Mighty Mo), andbelieve me when you're doing the Teckthing you sometimes get to see moreprogramme than you might otherwise like.The only real disappointment was Ian'sGuest of Honor speech, which was basicallyjust a Guest of Honor reading and prettymuch devoid of his usual charm.

Oh yes, and the breast-jiggling contestwas won by Claire Brialey by theconvincing score of 2,346 - 0. How doesCarol Morton keep those things that still?

lhms swsst huneOn retuming from any trip, I always start

to feel good when I cross the Maryland stateline, and even better when I cross the

Calvert County line. We had to take a slightdetour on the way back from Dulles airportto pick up Bobbie's car from her ex's, sincehe was supposed to have fixed thebodywork. Q.{ot! He's still an asshole.)

We picked up the car anyway, as sheneeded it for some school thing the next day,and I beetled off through North Beach,pulling into the Fastop for some g&s,American cigarettes and a six-pack.

Driving the Cadillac back through thecounty, I'm chugging a Busch and smokinga Merit when Creed's Higher comes on theradio. That's when I knew I'd sotten home.

$mrsd ldss

St. Cecelia at the pipe organ

A recent book review of a history of theSurrealist movement recounted a World War2 era tale of Max Ernst, who was internedseveral times in camps in France, andescaped just as many times, trying to make itacross to Spain.

On this occasion Ernst had made it as faras a train station at the Spanish border, butaroused the suspicions of the guard whodemanded to know what the rolled-up itemswere he was carrying under his coat.Resigned, Ernst began tacking these (hisworks) up on the peeling walls of the trainstation, creating total silence from both thequard and the others at the station.

Finally the guard directed Emst to takedown the paintings, and addressed him thus:

'oSir, you have a tremendous talent, and Igreatly admire talent. Howevero I must sendyou back to Pau (in France). This train onthe right is the train for Pau, the train on theleft is the train for Madrid. Here is yourpassport. Please do not get on the wrongtrain."

Which is how Max Ernst finally made itinto Spain, and speaks volumes for theartistic taste of an unknown crossing guardat a small border town.

True story.

Iunos!After much deliberation, I decree that the

Single of the Year has to be Creed's Higher.Honorable mentions to The Kids Aren't AllRight and She's Got Issues by TheOffspring, Heavy by Collective Soul,Smooth by Santana with Rob Thomas, FlyAway by Lenny Kravitz, Praise You by FatBoy Slim, All The Small Things by Blink182, Holding Hands by Everlast, Cowboy byKid Rock, Black Balloon by the Goo GooDolls and Steal My Sunshine by Len. Thislast one despite the fact it has "one hitwonder" written all over it in indeliblemarker.

Album of the Year: Supernatural bySantana (and guests). No contest. (Probablybecause I haven't gotten Creed's new CDHuman Clay yet - I'm reliably informed it'llbe in the Xmas stockins.

Not a C&W album, Wendy

Psrsonal himvHave you ever noticed, wondered (or

even cared) that my left ear now sticks outmore than the right one does?

I think it may have been back in March orApril of 1996,I'm not entirely sure (of themonth, that is), but there was a party up atour friends Butch and Libby's house in theneighborhood. All their kith and kin werethere, including a couple of the inbreds fromout of the mountains. Turned out one ofthese assholes had married a girl who usedto hang around Kenwood Beach, she wasrelated to old lady Garnett who has thehouse right by the shore. In my usualattempt at what passes for wit after 20 beers,I gave her the old line: "Come and sit on mylap and we'll talk about the first thing thatcomes up". Hell, at this point I didn't evenknow she was married to this little twit, notthat I was interested in her anyway.

Well, a minor blow-up occurred, with thealso drunk hillbilly taking great offense(perhaps understandable). I apologized infront of the room full of people (and meantit), and figured that would be an end of it.Not so. I walked back down to the fishingpier later, and this little fuckbag was sittingthere (why, I don't know). He repeated hisearlier mumble: "I don't like what you saidto my wife", and I blew up on him, givinghim the fulltirade about how my wife was inhospital dying of cancer, and I wasn'tinterested in his old lady, and like I gave ashit about what he thought anyway. Nextthing I knew, he was running up the road ata rate of knots and I was feeling somethingwafin around my left ear,

Being hit upside the head with aMichelob bottle will do that.

Realizing, even in my drunken state, thatI was leaking the red stuff all over my shirt(and stopping shouting "Come back oere youfuckin' coward" at hillbilly boy who hadquite sensibly legged it up the road), I reeledback to our street and managed to persuademy buddy Pat's girlfriend (also called Pat)to drive me to the ER. I knew she'd be a safebet to be (a) home and (b) sober, since she's

not known for her great sociability when itcomes to hanging out with roornfuls ofdrunks.

Not much else to tell, except I managedto punch a good crack into the windshield ofthe car from the inside on the way up there.

Next morning me and buddy Pat strolledaround the neighborhood looking for thislittle hooligan, and nearly got into a warover it with Libby's jailbird brother Davey. Imanaged to talk him out of major hostilities,since all we really wanted was to sort thingsout between me and the culprit, which hewas OK with, it seems.

That was just as well, since Davey hasAIDS and his favorite method of attack is tocut you then spit on the wound. We neverdid get the hillbilly, who at least had thesense to hide out before leaving, and to stayaway for ayear.

PUT

While the fierce intellect of TommyFerguson and the sweetness and charm ofSue Mason are both worthy attributes for aTAFF winner, it occurred to me that if youput the two together, you might get M KSpeller, or something like that. Thoughobviously, not as good-looking.

Therefore (and now for somethingcompletely different) it has to be TOBESFOR TAFF this time. Vote wiselv. votewell. Send money.

Loco GitatoI'm keeping the LoC pages title from

Arrows of Desire for the sole reason that I'mrather fond of it.

Well obviously there aren't any LoCs thistime. But I'll use this space to thank a fewpeople who said nice things about Anows ofDesire 8, sent me fanzines and so forth.. ..

So a tip o' the feather to (In no particularorder) M K Speller, Steve and Ann Green,Steve Jeffery, Sue Jones, Ken Cheslin,Sandra Bond, Paul Kincaid, Mark Plummer,Claire Brialey, Noel Collyer, Tobes deValois, John and Eve Harvey, YvonneRowse, Alice Lawson, Martin and HelenaTudor, Chris Murphy, Dave Lally, TonyMorton, the Plokta cabal, FOSFAX and aPat McMunay. Sony if I've forgottenanyone, but there's a deadline on the USPSy'know.

Infilm ift-s-I've noticed that lately I sometimes sleep

(or go to sleep, more accurately) with myarms up next to my head, wrists crossed.This is the exact position in which someonewould be tied up to be flogged.s

Do you ever listen to music (particularlyrock music) on the radio, and wonder how itwould sound played on the bagpipes?s

Ifyou try to fail, but then in fact succeed,which did you do?s

I can't believe the WCW is bringing backRic Flair but letting Randy Savage go. Flairlooks so out of shape and is such a useless,sad old man that he couldn't sell a move to ablind man. At least Savage still looks asthough he can rassle. (I subsequently leamthat Flair's contract requires him to makepersonal appearances only in his final year -to the end of 2000. Apparently the old goatis a little miffed.)s

Memo to Steve Green: Remember, "Iwish you wouldn't call me Daddy whenwe're gettin' it on..." (Tee-hee).s

Congrats to stud-about-town Mike Fordand the Lady Jane on the arrival of babyGrace, November 27th lggg,5lb 4oz.5

The only station that really rocks, DC-101 (to which my car radio is permanentlytuned) can be heard worldwide by gettinginto their web feed at www.dc10l.com

sE-Bay has been having lots of fun with

banning stuff, hasn't it? The latest snippet tocatch my eye is a ban on "hate-name" sites,brought about by someone called 'animus'who was trying to auction the web address"niggers.org" for $1 million and up.Apparently the NAACP does actually try tobuy these names when they come up, asdoes the Anti-Defamation Leasue for anti-semitic names.s

In a related story, there are apparentlyonly szx of the so-called "seven difiy words"which are totally excluded from use asdomain names. Apparently "shit" is a usefulsyllable in Japanese.

For u smooth entry into the year 2000...

5I might (or even should) get kicked in the

ass for writing This Here when I probablyought to have been finishing off bookreviews for FTL. However, as a blatantspace-filler, here are the potted versions:

Beast of the Heartland (Lucius Shepherd)- fiction.

This is jolly good.

*syr '*qqf,t*

Seek! (Rudy Rucker) - non-fictionThis is jolly good, but some of the

travelogue stuff gets a little repetitive.

si nearly forgot to mention two

outstanding live cover versions we heard atthe Farm Aid concert this year. Neil Youngjammed with the Dave Matthews Band onAll Along the Watchtower, and country divaDeanna Carter closed her set with asurprising (nd very good) cover of TomPetty's Free Falling. More concert reviewnext time- mavbe.s

There you are, then.

Ihe Fanzins il[randaThis Here is an occasional perzine by Nic

Farey, and is available for "the usual",assuming you know what that means. If youdon't, you're not a real fanzine person thenare you?

Oh, very well: you got this rag for one ofthe following reasons:

r You gave or sent me a zine (or will)o You have LoCced (or will)r You bought alcohol (or will). I know where you live (or will)

Anyone who didn't get a copy of Arrowsof Desire B and would like one, either sendme a stamped, self-addressed legal sizeenvelope with enough postage (or IRCs) for,say, half a Banana Wings (would thatbe onewing?), or e-mail me at the address belowand I'll send you the Word document as anattachment. Please do not send cash unless itis a large amount, and you specifically wantme to spend it on drink and forget you everexisted.

This Here is likewise available by e-mail,and anybody is free to redistribute itthemselves to people they presumably don'tlike very much.

E-LoCs are preferred, but don't let thatput you off, unless you really can't find theexact cravon vou need.

THIS HERE...PO Box 178St. Leonard, MD 20685United States of America

Nfarey@comappspec.com

Soy it ain't so, I will not go, turn the lights off,carry me home...(Blinkt 82)

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