The random podcast reference.

While hard at work, as I so often am these days, I sometimes listen to a lot of podcasts. Most of them, of course, aren't Sherlockian podcasts, as The Baker Street Babes and I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere can only take up a scant few hours of the month. So it was a special treat today when I cranked up the Off the Air Podcast and found the show's opening moments to be all about Sherlock Holmes.

Or more precisely, about BBC Sherlock.

As one of those aging souls who prefers The Bob & Tom Show for his morning drive radio over some of the more obnoxious fare, I've long been a fan of Chick McGee, my favorite among the show's regulars, and I was especially delighted when he started up a podcast a year or so ago. A rambling, personal, very casual podcast, Off the Air feels a lot like hanging out with old friends, just like the best podcasts Sherlockian or not, seem to do.

I can't remember any episodes where Chick just opened up the show, pre-introduction, by telling his pod-mates that they show watch a particular television show, so to hear him right out of the gate recommending Sherlock was a treat.

Of course, the first part of the discussion centers on pronouncing "Butterdick Cumberbun" and its related joke connections -- it's that type of show -- but quickly gets to Chick telling his friends that as much as he liked his previous favorite show, Six Feet Under, "Sherlock is better."

"Every episode gets better than the episode before it," he praises the show, and then threatens to go off and watch it instead of doing the podcast.

It was a small enough moment in a podcast-filled day, but just one more confirmation for the bias of us fans of Sherlock. It is a great show, and it's just fun to hear someone new discovering it. And I feel like that's a gift that will keep on giving for years to come.

The grand gift of silence?

"You have a grand gift of silence, Watson," said he. "It makes you quite invaluable as a companion. 'Pon my word, it is a great thing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not over pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dear little woman tonight when she meets me at the door."

We rarely hear of the positive side of silence, outside of Sherlock Holmes's remark in "The Man with the Twisted Lip." Elsewhere in Watson's writings alone, we more commonly find things like "deathly silence" and silences that are broken by sudden turns of events. Even when Holmes talks about Watson's silence in the statement above, he quickly adds that he's glad Watson's not talking because he wants to talk . . . only he seems to want Watson to talk, too, to get him out of his own unpleasant thoughts.

Which is because silence can be either one of two things . . . a peaceful signal of uneventful times . . . or the dread warning that something is so horribly wrong that no sound can be made. "It's too quiet!' and "the silent treatment" are just a couple of common phrases of the latter. Sometimes we are silent because we have nothing to say, but sometimes the same silence occurs because we can't say what's foremost on our minds. Except perhaps in the company of a friend like Watson.

And since writing an ongoing and frequent blog on Sherlock Holmes requires a lot of stream-of-consciousness, say-whatever's-on-your-mind rambling, if you can't write what's on your mind and that subject won't leave your mind, well, you can't write. 

Which is the position I found myself in this week, as I tried to work out the chances that I was still going to be able to go to the Scintillation of Scions in June against some oppositional forces of circumstance, to put it all too vaguely. Especially after having sacrificed my attendance of the ever-near 221B Con this year, for that later event. My thoughts, as Holmes's in TWIS, were not overly pleasant.

After all that, I am down to not attending the Scintillation or 221B Con this year, which is really bad when one is blogging about Sherlock Holmes on a regular basis. Not that I need the material so much as the actual contact with other Sherlockians. The written word only gets one so far, and a friendly moment or two in person can make a big difference down the line when one or two of those words misfire, as they are apt to do now and then. Because the silent moments that follow can be filled with such dreary thoughts . . . .

"God help us!" said Holmes, after a long silence. "Why does Fate play such tricks with poor helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say: There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes."

Silence is a tricky thing, and sometimes not the grand gift at all.

Data! Data! Data! Data! Data! Data! Data! Data! Data! (SIgh.)

My Google newsfeed pulled in an article from The Daily Beast today that its engines seemed to think had something to do with Sherlock Holmes.

Sure, the headline read "The Best Apps for Developing Sherlock Holmes-Like Reading Skills," and there was a stock photo of a ridiculous person with a deerstalker and magnifying glass, which makes me think the headline was written purely because the photo was in hand. The little blog post of an article made no mention of Holmes in its content, and seemed mostly concerned with running as much information through your head as possible on a daily and weekly basis.

An analysis of Sherlock Holmes's reading skills, sadly, is nowhere to be found. And that is truly sad, because if I remember correctly, a Sherlockian or two has made a case for him being somewhat illiterate based on all the times he had Watson read something for him.

(The first Sherlock Holmes-like reading skill that the article then misses is simply: Have Watson read stuff out loud for you.)

One wonders if the author really understands what reading fiction is about, as he seems to think apps that either email you one page of a book a day or 20-to-30 pages of two books each month are going to let you lose yourself in the characters and lands provided. Any book that doesn't inspire you to read at a greater pace than that probably isn't worth your time, and you're probably just forcing it down because "it's s'posed to be good for you" as a notable commercial waif once remarked about Life cereal.

(The second Sherlock Holmes-like reading skill that the article misses: Don't worry about fiction unless it's your room-mates romanticized accounts of your own life. Which means it's not really fiction, right?)

But the largest thing the piece completely overlooks, which is why I think Sherlock was just trotted out for the sake of a headline and a photo to pull some mouse-clicks in, is that classic Holmes "brain-attic" analogy. You know the one . . . .

"I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it."

We live in a world where the data flow is more intense than Sherlock Holmes could ever have imagined. But even in the Victorian era there was an entire British Museum full of information that a man could have spent his entire life trying to take in . . . and failing. Holmes knew that selectivity was a key component of a knowledgeable man, and that still holds true, moreso than ever, today.

(And the third Sherlock Holmes-like reading skill that got missed by said article: Well, everything else. Apparently the apps that dole out pages like rations on short supply haven't got around to handing the writer any actual Sherlock yet.)

Unfortunately, new technology hasn't quite caught up with Sherlock Holmes just yet, or maybe Google  News wouldn't be trying to pawn off this latest Beast article as something a Sherlockian wants in his brain-attic.

The pond isn't small any more.

As a writer, I think one of my major de-motivators has always been Barnes & Noble.

Once upon a time, bookstores were a sort of specialty shop. Small, often quaint, with a genre sections that were very small as well. And within those genres, there weren't too many surprises.

But along came Barnes & Noble, the size of a K-mart and full of so many, many new books. So many books, that I started going, "With this many books, is it really worth the effort to add one more to the pile?" Where once it seemed like reading was starting to become a thing of the past, at some point (and I do give Harry Potter a little credit for this), it started to come into fashion again. And where there are a growing number of avid readers, there will also be a growing number of avid writers. And a growing number of really good writers at that.

Yes, there are those with those mediocre and fanzine-level writers that somehow hit the literary lottery and catch a tween fad over their dreck, but like I said, that's playing the lottery. Sure, "you can't win if you don't play," but odds are you just wasted your dollar. And if you've ever sat alone for the time it takes to write a book, you know that you're spending much more than a dollar for a ticket to that gamble.

But I've wandered off my point. Sherlockiana, like those quaint little bookstores, was once a small and specialized pond. And now?

The estimable Silke Ketelsen passed along a link to a miniaturist blog by a lady named Orsi Skulteti that just blew me away. Miniaturists have been a part of the Sherlockian world for decades. There's even a Sherlockian society based around that hobby, the Mini-Tonga Society, that's been all about building tiny 221B Baker Streets. But the work described and shown in the blog Orsi's Minis is some Olympic level miniature work, and here's the kicker: it's all about the kitchen in 221 Baker Street from Sherlock.

A very specialized piece of art inspired by a very specialized corner of the Sherlockian universe. And the collector that manages to somehow convince the artist to part with it will have a very unique treasure indeed. But spend much time on the internet following Sherlock these days and you'll discover a lot of treasures out there. More time and talent are being spent in the celebration of Sherlock Holmes today than any time in our history. And like being a writer walking into a Barnes & Noble, it can be a little demotivating for the lazier or world-weary old creator like myself. What was once our small little pond to be big fishes in is now a goodly-sized lake with the occasional monster swimming through.

Lucky for us, there's a generation out there that contains folk who aren't lazy or world-weary just yet, as well as some Energizer bunnies (Now a dated reference. Sigh.) with a little age on them, who use the sparks Sherlock Holmes emits to build some roaring fires.

A new golden age of Sherlock Holmes may be a bit challenging to the individual ego, but all one has to do is take a step back and look at the big picture to find some great delight in the power of Holmes. And this morning I'm just delighting in that power evoked in one teeny-tiny kitchen.

Amazing.

Madness? Wellll . . . not this week.

Over on the Baker Street Babes website, Liz Giorgi is making a good go of reviewing Elementary each week, and I've gotten in the habit of reading her after putting my own odious thoughts to digital storage on the subject. Her positive spin on each episode is like a palate cleanser after each sip of CBS's concoction, which has long been the television equivalent of beer in my world. Millions enjoy it, yet I can't seem to develop the taste. So I'm recommending Liz's reviews as a perk-me-up to those few Elementary lovers who seem to come to this blog each week to punish themselves, much like an albino in a Dan Brown novel.

Because it's Elementary night again in Sherlock Peoria . . . .

No, wait. What's this? March Madness?

Go to the standby Elementary episode guide on Wikipedia, check the list . . . .

Nope, nothing for two weeks. And then in three weeks, another episode with a Canonical title, "The Man With the Twisted Lip."

Wouldn't it be curious if, without warning, Elementary just totally did a Granada-faithful adaptation set in Victoria London using exactly the same cast one week? But alas, it's a serious show with no supernatural elements to throw it into a wacky, timey-wimey alternate future thing. (Well, serious when it's not making penis jokes.)

A wander through YouTube looking for a replacement entertainment quickly takes me off Sherlockian rails and into some nice comedy bits, so the mind quickly moves from Sherlock Holmes after the standard mental checklist of subjects I dare not blog about.

March is a very strange month in the modern day, but somehow Sherlock Holmes managed to stay seven cases worth of Sherlockian during it back in the day. Leprechauns and basketball did not get in his way, which should be a lesson for at least one rambling Sherlockian blogger.

Well, I missed St. Altamont's Day . . . or did I?

For some reason, Monday is just not a day for celebrations.

St. Patrick's Day fell upon Monday this year, which made no difference to the hard-core paraders and such, but many a celebrant did their feasting and green-decking on the Saturday before. The clan of Keefauver, which has a share of Irish blood in the mix, chose that course, which left Monday open and mostly ignored, having had our fill of corned beef and cabbage, as well as leftover corned beef and cabbage by then.

But my Sherlockian side now looks back upon that situation as a missed opportunity -- since St. Patrick was already feted, it seems like a good time to honor another Irishman of note, "Saint" Altamont of "His Last Bow" fame. 

Sure, he was *SPOILER ALERT* a certain Baker Street detective in disguise. But we aren't completely sure of that fellow's bloodline, and Altamont's Irish life was years long upon this Earth, so he should be at least an honorary Irishman, for all he did for the English-speaking folk of the world, the Irish included, at the onset of the first world war.

The different thing about celebrating St. Altamont's Day from the normal St. Pat's shenanigans, however, would be green wine needing to replace the green beer, as Altamont was known for his "nice taste in wines." He also smoked cigars and looked like Uncle Sam, which would add some different touches to the celebration. But as I contemplated just how one would celebrate St. Altamont's Day, I realized something else . . . .

The true holiday hadn't happened yet. 

"His Last Bow" is one of those rare Canonical tales we can put an exact date on, as it tells us specifically in the story's opening, "It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August - the most terrible August in the history of the world," which is followed by the safe combination keyed to the current month, August 1914.

And this is 2014. The hundredth anniversary of Altamont's triumph comes this year, as well as the hundredth anniversary of Sherlock Holmes's last recorded presence upon this Earth. So August 2, 2014 is the true St. Altamont's Day, whatever we choose to call it by then, and a time to celebrate largely. And best of all . . . it's still many months away.

So you might want to hang on to your Irish gear a little longer this year. St. Altamont's Day is coming. And it should be a good one.

Pick your own reality . . . it may not be mine.

Ah, history, you royal pain in the ass.

As a devout Sherlockian, I love history on most days. History lets us expand the world we find in the Canon of Sherlock Holmes to encompass the entire Earth of the Victorian era. It makes the decades of 1880 through 1910 (and some parts beyond) a virtual playground for us, seeking connections to Sherlock Holmes's life from the nitrate cliffs of South America to the tattoo styles of China. So much fun to be had; it's why we call it our Game.

But occasionally, even within our own ranks, we have those folks who seem to love history just a wee bit more than Sherlock Holmes. And another of those moments rolled into my newsfeed this week, and sitting there as a daily buzzkill, waiting for the next big Sherlock story to come along and displace it. This latest dead bird in the punchbowl comes in many flavors, one of which was:

"The real Sherlock Holmes revealed: Historian finds Victorian investigator Jerome Caminada . . ."

So, yeah, not even dignifying that by adding a link to it. Why? Because a.) Some author is using Sherlock Holmes to promote their history book, b.) We all know, by Conan Doyle's own words, where the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes came from, and c.) IT'S NOT THE REAL FUCKING SHERLOCK HOLMES!

Please excuse my language, children and schoolmarms of the internet, I can be a bit passionate in my fandom. And I didn't use foul language at all before listening to Baker Street Babes podcasts, so you can totally blame them. (Wink.)

"Real" is one of those evil words people like to use as a tool to demean something else. "Well, it wasn't a real relationship." "The vacation's over, back to real life." "I'm getting real, here!" Some days, I think we could do without it, it gets used to pompously.

But the great thing about Sherlock Holmes is that he was, is, and will forever be the real Sherlock Holmes. He's as real as real can be, in the best way. I've got hundreds of books on my shelves that proclaim his existence as Sherlock Holmes, whether you like to think of him as myth, legend, or prototype for homo superior, and not a one of those books say, "Oh, by the way, his other name was 'Jerome Caminada.'" Nope.

I bet if we could resurrect smelly old historical Jerome Caminada, even he would go, "I'm Jerome Caminada, isn't that good enough for you? Why do you have to call me this 'Sherlock Holmes' thing?"

Like I said, Sherlock Holmes is the real Sherlock Holmes. And for an hour and a half at at time, Basil Rathbone or Benedict Cumberbatch can even be the real Sherlock Holmes to us. And if outright swearing wasn't enough to convince you how much I hate this "real Sherlock Holmes" publicity trick, I will even allow that, for some folks, Jonny Lee Miller is the real Sherlock Holmes for an hour each Thursday night. But Jerome Caminada? Sorry. He's the real Jerome Caminada.

So as much as I love you, history, tonight I'm calling you a pain in the ass for giving one more writer fodder to drag out that "real Sherlock Holmes" line again. Cut it out!