Yeah baby

Can't sleep. Must blog. Dedicated to the ideal of living and bettering oneself. Song- Firewater, Isle of Dogs. "Is it true that you have to do good before people will pay for a look at your bones? You've got to be kidding me... does this mean I'll never be a saint?" Read an editorial by Wesley Pruden in the Washington Times, whereupon he quoted this passage from an email sent to him by an internet acquaintance. Yeah, Pruden's a conservative, yadda yadda, but I do enjoy his wit and his steadfast defense of principle, as compared to most of the mealy-mouthed political bobbleheads in the two major factions of kleptocrats. "According to today's regulators and bureaucrats, those of us who were kids in the '40s, '50s, '60s and '70s probably shouldn't have survived. Our mothers put us in cribs covered with bright-colored lead-based paint. "There were no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets, and when we rode our bicycles into traffic (bike paths were unheard of), we had no helmets. If we didn't feel like pumping a bike up the hills, we could always hitch a ride with strangers. There were no seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day was particularly special. "We drank water from an old garden hose, not from a bottle. One bottle of bellywash could be shared with up to four friends, drinking from the bottle, and no one died. "We gorged on cakes, pies, candy, bread and butter, and anything we could find with lots of sugar in and on it, and we were never overweight because we were always running through the 'hood. "We never heard of 'play dates,' and left home in the morning and played all day, and the only rule was to get home before the streetlights flickered on. No one could reach us because nobody had a cell phone. "We spent hours building go-carts from lumber and nails scrounged from neighbors' garages and raced them down the hill to discover only at the bottom of the intersection that we forgot the brakes. Running into the bushes was good enough. "We fell out of trees, played with BB guns until we got a .22 rifle on our 12th birthday, fought "war" with dirt clods, broke bones, lost teeth, stepped on nails and caught fishhooks in noses. Nobody's daddy had a lawyer. "We made up games with sticks and tennis balls and ate worms, and most eyes survived intact (the worms didn't). "We walked into our friends' houses whenever we felt like it. We chose up sides for ballgames, and if somebody didn't make the team, he learned to deal with it. There was nobody to counsel the losers (who would have felt insulted if there had been). "The generations that suffered these deprivations made the best of it, producing the explosion of innovation and ideas that transformed the world. "Kind of makes you want to run through the house with a pair of scissors, doesn't it?" You know it, baby. Brings back memories, 'cept I got my .22 at the age of six. I remember arguing with a guy about the notion of riding around in the back of a pickup, his contention being that it should be utterly banned. Bah, I say. Nothing like sitting in the back and laughing with your friends as the wind rushes through your hair... Cheers all.

Camera woes

Let's see... dedication to... uh... somebody. Not feeling particularly creative or thoughtful at the moment. So it's dedicated to... YOU. Treasure this moment and note it in your diary. Song- Drowning Pool, Bodies. Very dark, depressing song. No need to quote lyrics for it. Well, my mother is one of those Christmas babies, born on the 27th. So my father and I have to make damn good and sure to acquire her the requisite Christmas and birthday presents with due ceremony and verve, due to the jackassed delinquence of my extended family and their habit of trying to cover both holidays with a single present. So for Christmas I got her the Firefly DVD set, her having acquired the addiction to the show that pretty much everyone I know these days has. And for her birthday, we got her a digital camera. I should have known we would be creating a monster. I should have known. It's a Sony, the variety that can make decent-length movies, a feature I knew she'd like. How much she'd like it, I knew not until I got up the next morning and was greeted with a camera in my face. "Quote some poetry!" she says. "Am I on TV?" I inquire. "Poetry!" "And we had not fought in vain, though forty of our poor hundred were slain, and half the rest maimed for life, amidst that cannonades and strife," I rattled off in what I believe to be a not entirely accurate rendition of Tennyson's ode to the final fight of the HMS Revenge. So I'm constantly badgered for pictures of me, for some bizarre reason. I have a couple I send out as jokes, pictures that are nice and ambiguous, but nooooo... people want to see my face. ---------------------- Me- "Your body is beautiful." Her- "And your body..." Me- "Keeps my brain from hitting the floor." Her- "See, you're allowed to say that, and I'm not?" Me- "Because women are functional and beautiful. Men are just functional." ----------------------- So I say, sure... no prob, get a few shots of me, send 'em to our resident picture mistress, my precious Gem the Fair Lady Kaythryn. Two shirts, one coat, and over a hundred and fifty shots later, I'm wondering if this will ever end... And out of all of them, I found maybe ten or so that I figured were decent, original shots, and they are busy sending to my Gem right now. She will undoubtedly gleefully distribute them about. Merry Christmas, ya'll. (I think the last one I sent will definitely make the best wanted poster, in case the need arises.)

The Headless Wasp

Dedication to my most precious Gem. Dear Gem, I could on at length talking about what a wonderful young lady you are, but that would embarrass you. Besides, three Archer-length rants a day for a week would only be the opening of the discussion. So I will settle for saluting your strength and courage. You may not know how much of those qualities you have, but trust me... I know it when I see it. And just for you, considering the primary topic last night, I'll dig out something I saw on Slashdot a year or two ago. (Bearing in mind it's been a good while since I read it and hence this not a precise quote.) ------------------------------------------- Y'know, whenever I see the ads for Attack of the Clones with the theme of forbidden love, this scene springs to mind. Anakin is having lightsaber practice with the practice remote, and it keeps shooting him. Obi-Wan steps into the room and says "No, no, you hold the lightsaber like this..." Wrapping his arms around Anakin from behind, he covers Anakin's hands with his. "Both hands, straight, extend it out..." Cue the music. -------------------------------------------- That's all you get, dear. I don't even write straight slash, let alone gay slash, and no, you will see no CSI from this source. -------------------------------------------- Song- Tantric, Astounded. "Hey hey hey, I just found my way. All you stupid fuckers walk around astounded, drowning." Had my buddy Evil come over last night for a bit of housecleaning assistance, conversation and goofing off. We got the place picked up, made some cheese pizzas, and settled in for some games of Epic Duel. I had a hell of a hot streak, won every game. Particularly classic was the utter annihilation of Boba Fett and Greedo in no time flat, using Anakin and Padme. (Or as we call her due to the depiction of her figure and frame in the game... Perky!) There was also a particularly wicked beatdown of one Darth Vader by Darth Maul. One thing I love about the game is that it favors the hit and run tactics that are my favored style. Naturally, the discussion was intensely geeky, as is our habit. My favorite line was "If you could go back in time about six years... would you stop Lucas?" I had to warn him about the can of canned air in the corner... I'd been on the phone and had noticed a wasp zipping around. Not having time to properly annihilate it due to the courtesies of being on the phone, I trapped it under the can and planned to finish it later. Which of course, brings up the tale of the headless wasp. ------------------------------- It's been... maybe six or seven years since I encountered one of the most fearsome creatures I've ever seen. A pure harbinger of evil, a creature so possessed by the Dark Powers that it makes any movie monster look... feeble. I was in the kitchen, had my roomie in and a buddy over visiting. A wasp had gotten into the house, and was buzzing around over the sink. It would land on the window on and off, so I grabbed a handy bladed implement and took a hack at it. Zen No-Mind guided my hand, and my pure stroke resulted in a decapitation. However, it was not precisely a clean decapitation. "Dude! You cut its head off!" Naturally, I acted all cool, like "Yeah, I meant to do that." So this wasp is still crawling around the window, head hanging by a couple of strings of gooey material. We're watching with sickly fascination, wondering how long it'll crawl around like that. Then it reaches up with its forelegs and PULLS ITS OWN HEAD OFF. And throws it down into the sink. Then it starts flying around again. So we, brave, strong men, we... bravely fled for the safety of my bedroom. "Okay, it can't do that for long. I mean, it hasn't got a damn head!" "We'll give it an hour." "Good plan." An hour later I'm walking point on the headless wasp patrol. Stick my head around the corner into the kitchen. Be damned if it's still not flying around. It's mostly crawling around the screen, but every minute or so it takes flight again, buzzes around, then comes back to the window screen. "We're eating out tonight. It'll be dead by the time we get back." "Good plan." We go to have a very pleasant dinner at El Chico's in Odessa. We take our damn good sweet time enjoying a multicourse meal, have a couple of drinks. (Said friend was one of the world's best designated drivers.) We started the tradition that all Knights of the Stolen Table must have the garter from an El Chico Garterita around the gearshift of their vehicles. (To this day, Sancho's gearshift is adorned by the garter from that night, because El Chico's is closed now and hence no further such items are available.) "We'll go see a movie. That'll give it time to die." "Good plan." We go see a movie, can't even remember which one. So now, we return. Damn thing HAS to be dead by now. I'm point again through the door, creep into the kitchen. And it's STILL crawling around the screen. But the power that animates it clearly waning, as it's no longer flying. Just crawling. Obviously it needed a soul to feed on to be fresh. We resolved to offer it no souls and tread very carefully through the kitchen. Obviously, we didn't get a lot of sleep that night. I mean, Demonic Headless Wasp in the kitchen, who would? I think I dreamed about cotton candy and giant insects invading the world, but maybe that's a convenient fiction of memory. Get up in the morning. Creep into the kitchen. Wasp is not on the screen, so I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Having found no offerings for its dark masters, the wasp has been summoned back to hell. I go to the sink, looking to see if it left any stain of its existance upon our mortal plane... and there it is, laying on the windowframe... little stinger lashing furiously in all directions as it tries to exact final revenge upon the World of Man. I didn't scream. It was more like a warrior thing... BWAAH! Honest. People wonder how I've not quite reached thirty, yet managed to already come up with a few gray hairs...

Serenity

Just a quick word before I go to pick up Serenity... rather appropriate that the song I'm listening to now is P.J.'s mix of the Ballad of Serenity. Quick word of advice to everyone... when you see him, beg for it. Offer money. Offer superfluous family members. If he asks, offer your soul. P.J., I get chills just listening to this. Talk about a song your tenor just fits into perfectly. "There's no place I can be, since I found Serenity. You can't take the sky from me."

Kinda funny

Song- Three Doors Down, Dangerous Game. What will we do, what will we say when it's the end of this game that we play? Will we crumble into the dust, my friend? Or will we start this game over again? ----------------------------------------- The good old days. Me- "Y'know, that almost hurt my feelings." Him- "Oh, don't go pretending you have feelings again. We all know better." ---------------------------------------- Another him- "You have feelings? God knows, you never show 'em." ---------------------------------------- Me- "Well, y'know, I've been having one of those low-confidence days, where it seems like everything you do fucks up." Her- "Wow, I didn't know you ever had those days. You always seem so confident." ---------------------------------------- Common thread to the first two statements was that they come from before I got into my current line of work. I used to be fairly well-known for being a very dispassionate fellow who never really got angry in the screaming rage sense. I'd just get cold, withdraw civility, and people would usually get the idea. When somebody was doing something that irritated me, I'd ask them three times to stop, politely, and then proceed to other measures. Oldest friend called it my 'Zero to homicidal in three questions flat.' routine. Never change expressions, never show excitement, just politely try to defuse the situation and failing that, well... Oldest friend also took the Live song Rattlesnake and altered the lyrics to "It's a crazy, crazy mixed-up town, it's the rattled Josh I fear..." Used to take a sort of sickly amusement when he did that, because I had a rep for not rattling. Heh. High school drama class paid off for something, I suppose. Then two things happened... I essentially started hanging with a different variety of people, and then I got into my current job. And suddenly, I started feeling things a hell of a lot more than I used to. The good side of it is, mostly it's positive. I started seriously giving a damn about the people around me, their welfare and their happiness. I always did have that instinct, but I got to where I could take a part in their lives. Conversely, I also developed a temper. When my father first accused me of having a temper control problem, my reaction was "No, that's your problem, buster." But there it was. What I do now is a damn intense and all-consuming form of work. It usually takes me a couple of days to decompress when I get back, time to just sit by myself in the house and not see anyone. I figured out that I had to do that after I got injured one time, and right after I got back I was sniping at my best friend without realizing what I was doing. He just bluntly asked me if I was mad at him about something, and I was like "Shit, no. Why?" Looking back, I realized I had been coming at him, rather viciously. I'd had a go-around with management, I was off my feet (off my foot, to be precise) by reason of incapacity and had damn doctors bossing me around...* So I had to chill out. I apologized, and I started looking at how this work affects people. Don't know how many times I've seen grown men crying on the phone at truckstops. Take shit from the customers, take shit from upstairs, take shit from the motoring public, take shit from your family back home, it adds up and grinds you down. "What's the difference between a puppydog and a truckdriver?" "Puppydog stops whining eventually." Don't know how many times I've had guys unload the entire woeful tales of their life on me within two minutes of talking to them. The job-switches, the divorces, the secret shames... What they're looking for is somebody to be on their side, after they've lost everything they had at home, feel like they're screwed by the government, companies, and customers. They deal with a motoring public that treats them like obstacles, a public service, like something less than human. People don't see the drivers, they see a big old truck. (Lotta stories out there about drivers having wrecks and the first thing upstairs asks is "What is the condition of your load?" That's showing the love, neh?) Well, I'm not anywhere near being in that bad a shape. I get a hell of a lot more time off than the average driver, who only really visits what they call a home. (Three weeks out, three days off is pretty standard for the typical solo driver. First day, you sleep like a log, getting caught up. Second day, you catch up all the home chores, bills to pay and so on. Third day, you clean out the truck and get ready to go. I know the drill well because I used to do that crap.) I have people to come home to, both flesh and blood and virtual friends. Conversely, I'm running team, which means you spend 24/7 in a box with another person, and no matter how fond you are of a person, pretty soon every minor thing that they do that annoys you gets more and more irritating. Hence, my emphasis on solitude when I return. My local friends have come to understand that the first few days, and occasionally the first week, I'm not in the mood for big, celebratory get-togethers. If they try to press them on me, I get churlish and annoyed and stay that way the whole time I'm back. I guess it's because I'm pretty damn good at subordinating my emotions when I've got a job in front of me, putting everything down and getting things done. So when I come back, I'm kind of in whirlwind mode, feeling all the highs and all the lows a lot more intensely than I normally would. Just felt like unloading that. Anyway, back to Tang and panties. -------------------------------------- * Funny story, somewhat. Of all the doctors I've ever dealt with, the best one barely spoke understandable English. I'd dislocated a finger on the way to Houston, popped it back in and made the mistake of mentioning it to upstairs... no big deal, though I did think I'd broken it at the time, and had splinted it with a coat-hanger and some tape. (Lemme tell you, with a mangled finger, it's a real pain to torque a coat-hanger around into the proper shape.) So when I got into Laredo, I had to go see the doc. So he comes in, and I KNOW this drill by heart. I'm all like "Okay, this is the finger. Now, when you squeeze here, and bend it here, that's when I'll scream." And he's all like "What? No no, I'm not going to make jhou scream." And he proceeded to give me the gentlest workout of an injured portion I'd ever gotten. I used to think making you scream was part of the job. Now I just think there's a lot of sick fucking medical sadists out there.

Well, that was dumb

When I get hit, when I get hurt, when I get mad, I revert to form. Identify the source of the pain, find the way to put it down fast and hard. That's not acceptable in civilized society. I talked to Sarah tonight. Last night, technically. First time we've really talked about anything for months now, and what went down is properly reserved to the privacy of our chat. I did a very stupid thing in counterattacking the way I did. My initial impulse is to go back, delete the damn thing, and try to move on. But nah. As P.J. O'Rourke says, the hell of being a writer is that you have all these examples of youthful stupidity laying around to nag you decades later. Well, other than making a slight edit to it, that son of a bitching post will sit there a good and long time in this archive, so I can be reminded of the fact that I damn well need to work harder on those people skills and resolving things without breaking shit. So there it is. I apologize to all and sundry for the offense I have given, and not in that sissy-ass "I take full responsibility" fashion people use these days to dodge accountability. There's the post, judge it and judge me as you will. I also apologize to Sarah for, well, a host of things. I wonder how the hell two good people could end up making each other so miserable. Anyway, nothing much else to say.

No Comment

Okay, let's get this over with

Edit-This post stands as an example of unmitigated stupidity. Feel free to dance all over the dark side of my temper. No dedications today, no music, just a situation in dire need of resolution. So here it is. For a while now, but especially since I've gotten back this time, Sarah has taken cheap shots where and when she's gotten a chance, not in the 'buddy buddy, got you a good one fashion.' but in the form of aiming actual insults disguised as humorous barbs. Not very well disguised, I might add, given the silence that tends to drop over the IRC as everyone waits to see if I'm going to just take this one too. Literally within ten minutes of the first night I got back online after returning, it started with a new viciousness. It's been going on for some time... actually, it's been longer that it's been happening than the period I now consider to be the brief period of our friendship. It's something that has been noticed by other people, most obviously by Annie last night, and in another case a privately expressed concern over the matter. For the longest time, I let it go. Even though to be honest with everyone, if a guy had been laying these lines on me, I would've called him on it a while back. But when a Texas Gentleman gets slapped by a gal, he puts his hands in his pocket, takes a step back and thinks "Hmm... what'd I do to deserve that one?" Comes to nothing much, not to deserve the load I've been getting. (I mean hell, you hate me that bad, come at me straight and be open about it, neh?) So I tried honesty, I tried sincerity, I tried love and respect... only to watch it get worse. And finally, I started getting pissed off. I can take a lot, and from the average stranger on the street, I could give a damn about their opinion. But when somebody I figured for a friend, and not just that 'buddy buddy' kind of friendship, but that lifelong kind of "Damn, I'm glad I know/knew that person." friendship... when somebody I'd taken that close in takes liberty to call me a liar, a coward, so on and so forth... I'm human. I'm Texan. I'm bound to feel it, I'm bound to get angry. So there you go, Sarah. You got under my skin. Congratulations on your victory. You asked me who I'm vulnerable to? You proved you were one of them. And so when somebody privately asked me what was going on, I told them not to worry about it... I had it covered. I went ahead and made the decision to stop the sick little game last night. But instead, I found out what kind of a friend I have in Annie. Thanks, Annie. Among the many times you've impressed me, this is the second time you've stood up to a friend on a matter of principle. You're a woman I'm proud to know, and you defused the situation before it would have really gotten out of hand. Until we all shall fall, my Princess. I think I know what you were after, Sarah. You had a couple of things to aim for... one was to knock me off this pedestal you perceive me as being on, which is pretty damn ridiculous. Am I special? Sure as shit. Am I more special than the people around me? Not even. Only difference between me and say, Xen, is that I'm flamboyant where she's modest. That and Xen is something I'll never be for obvious reasons... a good mother. So if anything, she's well ahead of me on the 'points in life' scale. Likewise for Wulf, Sarge and others in this crowd. As for Star and the others who haven't had the chance to show off their parenting skills yet, well, I figure it's just a matter of time 'til they got their own passel of little critters running around. We may joke about it, but I'd go to the mat for these people precisely because they are special, and I want them all to have whatever they want and need in life. The second part is a bit more pshrinkological. I figured you were pushing me to see if you could get me to go into a nice "KILL TASH" mode, blow up and come right after you, big and ugly. That would finish knocking me off the pedestal YOU put me on right after I showed up around there. It would also feed into this complex you have about managing to find ways to feel bad about yourself, as you burn another bridge. (Roughly quoting, since I don't have the energy or interest to dig around MC and find the precise quote... "All my life I've been getting the self-esteem thing." Well lady, where there's smoke, there's fire. If you truly respect the people around you, listen to them for a goddamn change.) So I was waiting for the next good snipe, then I was going to reach out and hit back. Cold, clean, best sucker punch I could lay. I was going to take whatever you hit me with, then come back and very cool, very calm request that you never speak to me again, tell you I wasn't in the mood for an argument, and calmly inform you that you were now irrelevant to me and my life. Then I was going to ask that you remove my likeness from your Browncoat Chronicles, and then I was going to ignore anything you said in return. Because I know that one thing you would hate above most other things is to be considered utterly irrelevant. I know that it'd hurt you and feed right back into that godawful feeling of inadequacy you have, continually sitting near the surface. As for the Chronicles, you feel those are what you have to offer this group, the love you can share and the way you can pay us back for putting up with you. You don't feel like they're anything special, and you've never understood what they mean to us. So I was looking at kicking over your sandcastle, further disrupting something you love. Maybe you would've just blown those shots off, but I doubt it. I was looking forward to it, with the same sort of sick relish one gets from flattening a nose under their fist. As I constantly tell people, I'm not a nice guy. I'm a guy who is nice when he has the time to be. I thought about this half the night after you dived offline. While a whole lot of me wanted to come in here and dump some bile on your head... In the end, I'm glad it didn't come to that big brawl. Because even though I really can't stand the sight of you right now, I still love you Sarah, even if our friendship is dead and buried. I still think you have a fabulous amount of potential, if you stop trying to find ways to destroy the better parts of you. So you took some shots, and they hit. Ain't nothing, I can walk away, and I am. I'm doing this publicly because this has all played out publicly, and rather than have everyone wondering what the fuck is going on, here it is. I don't want this to divide the little family we've put together here, I don't want anybody else getting involved or blaming anyone. This is between Sarah and myself, and this is really more than anybody needed to know. For that, I apologize. So here, it's out in the open, and for my part of it, it's resolved. I'm not going over to MC anymore, I'm not talking to you anymore, Sarah. I wish you the best of luck, sincerely, and I hope you take advantage of the fact that you have friends around you who love you. I hope that you come to understand why people are drawn to you. I hope that you have a damn good life and get everything you want. I sure as hell plan to do that myself. And if you could do me one final favor and tell MC Josh I'm sorry his house got robbed. It's shit like that that makes these petty little arguments all the more ridiculous. For everyone else, thanks for the friendship and support. Ya'll are my big damn heroes.

Xen and the art of Blogging

I just added three new blogs on the link list. WGR and UCAC had not seen Functional, with flare, and that is just not right. So ladies, feel free to stop working now and go read the words of my lovely and talented friend Kaythryn. It is one of my favorites. You will also notice, Mice and Men. A new blog by Blackstar that is a great read. And finally, Darkest Corner of the 'Verse, which is a game blog that just fired up under the guidance of Josh. Should be interesting. All of this new blog excitement got me to thinking about what it is that makes a good blog. The answers are as many and varied as their are readers of blogs I would guess. There is no right way to do it. Some folks update regularly, some update rarely. But some of those blogs that take weeks off at a time are some of the best. Some folks write voluminous posts that laugh in the face of your scroll bar, some post quick bits with quizzes and links. Both have their values and places. Some folks write about very personal things, some write about nougat and panties. (Side note: Saw some panties today that were burgundy with polka dots. Which matched the burgundy shawl. w00t) Both can be done very well. For me, a lot of it has to do with style and creativity. Some bloggers just have a way of making you want to read more. Whether it is through amazing ideas, witty observations, or just the ability to make the mundane and everyday fascinating. As far as my own entries go, I just write junk that i think about. (Yes, it would appear that I think about panties a lot.) There is rarely a master plan, although there are often little things hidden in the entries in code. Whether they are good or not, you will have to be the judge of that dear reader. I don't see them as measuring up to a lot of the things i read, but some folks seem to like them. Eye of the beholder, no accounting for taste, there are differing schools of thought. Now go read Kayt's blog. :-) Bis Später

Heh heh heh oh hah

Let's see... dedication to... hmm... Xen and Ted's brilliant children. Their powers and reasoning increase exponentially, and the sky is the limit, my friends. Song- Fuck the British Army, an Irish drinking song. "Sarah come to bake a cake, it was for uncle Cyrus' cake, threw himself into the lake, pretendin' I was balmy. Tura lura lura loo, it was the only thing I could do, to work to get home to you and fuck the British Army!" Rather hilarious post on Slashdot, excerpted from this webpage... What NOT to do while in the theatre when watching "LOTR: Return of the King": 1. Stand up halfway through the movie and yell loudly, "Wait...where the hell is Harry Potter?" 2. Block the entrance to the theater while screaming, "YOU.....SHALL NOT..... PASS!" - After the movie, say "Lucas could have done it better." 3. Play a drinking game where you have to take a sip every time someone says, "the Ring." 4. Point and laugh whenever someone dies. 5. Ask everyone around you if they think Gandalf went to Hogwarts. 6. Finish off every one of Elrond's lines with "Mis..ter Ander-sonnn." 7. When Aragorn is crowned king, stand up and at the top of your lungs sing, "And I did it.... MY way...!" 8. Talk like Gollum all through the movie. At the end, bite off someone's finger and fall down the stairs. 9. Dress up as old ladies and reenact "The Battle of Helms Deep," Monty Python style. 10. When Denethor lights the fire, shout "Barbecue!" 11. In TTT when the Ents decide to march to war, stand up and shout, "RUN FOREST, RUN!" 12. Every time someone kills an Orc, yell: "That's what I'm Tolkien about!" See how long it takes before you get kicked out of the theatre. 13. During a wide shot of a battle, inquire, "Where's Waldo?" 14. Talk loudly about how you heard that there is a single frame of a nude Elf hidden somewhere in the movie. 15. Start an Orc sing-a-long. 16. Come to the premiere dressed as Frankenfurter and wander around looking terribly confused. 17. When they go in the paths of the dead, wait for a tense moment and shout, "I see dead people!" 18. Imitate what you think a conversation between Gollum, Dobby and Yoda would be like. 19. Release a jar of daddy-long-legs into the theater during the Shelob scene. 20. Wonder out loud if Aragorn is going to run for governor of California. 21. When Shelob comes on, exclaim, "Man! Charlotte's really let herself go!" -------------------- My personal favorite is "Run forest, run!"

Aiyee yah

As if this hasn't been the month for rampant sickly nostalgia of the past, I go into a restaurant on Sunday and see my first girlfriend eating there. Well, nice to know she's still alive, and now that I know that, hope I never see her again. Dedication to... BLACKSTAR! Lost son of Texas, noble warrior of the Clan Jade Falcon, and supremely cool individual. I do believe I shall adopt his sign-off line in a tribute to his vast awesomeness. Those interesting in checking out his blog, well, here you go... The Best Laid Plans There's enough Starness for us all to drink deeply of and savor to the end. Song- Linkin Park, unreleased demo of In the End. "It starts with one... And multiplies 'til you can taste the sun, and burnt by the sky you try to take it from, but if it falls there's no place to run, crumbling down, it's so unreal. They're dealing you in to determine your end, and sending you back again to places you've been, and bending your will 'til it breaks you within, and still they fill their eyes, with the twilight through the skylight and the highlights on a frame of steel. See the brightness of your likeness as I write this on a pad, the way I feel." 'Twas the song of a fantasy character of mine, Aulliff, who ends up bringing down a kingdom, only to have a rather hollow victory as one corrupt regime was replaced by another. Went to see The Last Samurai last Sunday. On the way end, my buddy warned me that he'd seen an interview with Tom Cruise, who when asked if it was history or Hollywood, called it historywood. Translation- "Josh, the movie is not going to be historically accurate. Please don't spend three hours bitching about it afterward." Message received. It's actually not an era of Japanese history I'm all that familiar with anyway, beyond knowing that the army did have to crush some diehard holdouts among the samurai at that point. As they say, to be forewarned is to have four arms, or some such. I strolled it, plopped down, and had a rather good time. Is the storyline all that plausible? Nah. But it was reasonably fun, and it had a scene that just rocked my world. (For those who've seen it, Cruise's first experience dueling with the bokken, in the rain. Keeps getting knocked down, keeps getting back up until he just can't do it anymore. I wanted to cheer and yell "GO MOTHERFUCKER!" But that would have been rude.) Also, the romantic scene was brilliant, Taka dressing him for his armor... so much more meaningful and poignant than if they'd just had the standard deep meaningful look, inevitable kiss, and extended monkey-love session. Had some corny bits to it as well, but ah well, I enjoyed myself and didn't leave the theater feeling as if I'd been ripped off. Other than that, nothing much going on here, other than the soon to be finished refurb of Serenity. (Albeit without the tramp-freighter paint job until toward the end of the month.) Can't wait to take that baby screaming down the back roads, stereo blazing away Springsteen's 'Born to Run' and other good cruising songs. Ah well, got work to do and maybe even some writing to do now. Thus it shall stand, until we all shall fall.

Comments?

Dedication to my old buddy the Ogre, one of the most solid, functional people I know. Song- Seether, Fine Again "And I am aware now how everything's gonna be fine, one day, too late, I'm in hell. I am prepared now, seem's everyone's gonna be fine, one day, too late, just as well." Once again, the depth and breadth of the Carnage has stunned me. First was the revelation that we have these... people... interested in reading what we're writing, and they keep coming back. So then tonight, before a friend invaded the household and shut down my evening's IRC discourse, Miss Sarah asked me if I ever read the comments on our posts, with reference to the fact that she's not on the diet... My reply was something articulate like... "Comments? We have comments?" Since up till now I'd been solely accessing this blog from the 'edit your blog' section, I was totally unaware of this feature. My first thought went along the lines of "Sheesh, even if people only reply to one in three of my rants, I've got a TON of comments to read. Oh boy." Second thought was something of a Canadian "Eh." I mean, I'm all cool with people commenting on my thoughts, ideas, opinions and so on. If I wasn't comfortable with it, well, I wouldn't be blogging at all, neh? It's just that about half the time when I'm posting here, I'm really just sort of dropping my thoughts on the screen as a means of organizing them and practicing articulating them. Frankly, I don't consider a lot of it worthy of much discussion, such as my Memory Lane post. More than anything, that was a prime example of a "Hmm... let me just write this out on the blog and leave it sit." It gives a sort of finality, a stamp of tangibility to a person's thoughts, much in a similar fashion to a diary or a journal, I guess. That having been said, comment away if the urge strikes. I will hereby endeavor to keep up with the commentary. I've already gone back through the latest batch and answered a couple of questions on the commentary on prior posts, and as time permits I'll go back through and see if there are any other unanswered questions. Right now I should be sleeping, but I've got a lot of things to do in... roughly three hours, and I'm just a tad too keyed up to really relax at the moment. So cheers to all my fellow insomniacs in the world, and I'll be seeing you again soon.

Memory Lane

Dedication- To all the good ones, past and present. And to the incomparable Channain, since I don't think I've ever dedicated on to her. Song- Godsmack (Yep, I'm in that GS mood) "My fear has come alive, in this place where I once died. Demon's dreamin', knowin' I, I just needed to realign." Had the first formal gathering of the Knights of the Stolen Table in some time tonight, four of the five current members gathering at my place for a bit of botched woodworking, a bit of goofing off, and naturally, the recollections of the 'good old days.' ---------------------------- Short explanation in order for those who wonder what the hell I'm talking about... the Knights of the Stolen Table is an informal association of my oldest friends, going back in one case about twenty years. The name was a communal effort, initiated when I decided with my usual sense of drama that our little group needed a nickname. I came up with 'The Knights of... something' and good old Rob Roy finished off with "...the Stolen Table.' The name stuck, and we started with four core members and later brought in one further addition, after a grueling initiation ceremony during one of our drunken bonfires. (We bought a sappy plaque at a Salvation Army store, made him read it out loud, and then commit it to the flames. Best damn bonfire ever, twenty-five, thirty-foot pile of lumber into the sky. There was much rejoicing.) At the time when we came up with our moniker, I never had any idea how serious everyone would get about it. I tended to treat it as just a fun way of viewing our 'us against the world' policy. It wasn't until putting ourselves into serious problems and situations for each other started being justified on the basis of 'He's one of the Knights' did I realize how much it meant to the others. ---------------------------- There were the usual stories everyone's heard a million times, yet still manage to elicit the chuckles, but tonight we went further back and dug into our teenage and childhood adventures, and that was a somewhat odd and rather sobering experience. Recently I went back to the old neighborhood where I spent a good deal of my adolescence hanging around, whenever I was in town and had the spare time. Looking around, I saw that the cars were rustier, more of the fences had added barbed wire and razor wire across the top, and a couple of the bars had changed names. Other than that it was still pretty much a dump. Looking around, I realized my fondest memories of that damned west Odessa shithole consisted of searching for bodies in culverts (in our younger teenage days, we always wanted to be the ones mentioned in the news report, as in "Local youths discovered the body on Tuesday." Growing up in a town that was murder capital of the country for like two or three years in a row tends to give people odd hobbies like that.) That and the night I got my shoulder dislocated at the Gravity Kills concert at the old Dos Amigos bar. (Hell of a good show, that was.) Overall, that's a pretty damn sad testimonial to my memories of the area, and the reason I don't take sappy, sentimental journeys to the old neighborhood. Gotta admit, though, that place did teach me a lot of valuable life lessons. As I said it was kind of sobering, given that we've achieved a certain modicum of adult stability in our lives, and it was rendering a good deal of our nostalgic chuckling rather hollow in nature. We were pretty damn feral lobos in those days, and we had absolutely no idea we'd live to our current venerable ages. We got into stuff, college, the military, that sort of thing, simply because we were there and had to occupy ourselves somehow, and because it was expected, but never with any eye toward those commonplaces like getting careers, getting married and starting families, anything of the sort. Life was just an extended yo-yo, up, down, ride those good times for all they're worth. I guess what really struck me was a comment from one comrade, who said "Y'know, your early school stories sound just like the ones I hear from guys coming out of prison." I'd never thought of the comparison, but damn, it was right on the money. The discussion always gets rather depressing when discussing old classmates. Oddly enough, my oldest friend and I met when we transferred to a gifted and talented school, and when we talk about the folks we knew, it tends to follow a certain pattern. "Remember old so and so? Yeah, he got institutionalized after he tried to kill himself." "Yeah, remember so and so? Tried to strangle a girl." "Yeah, and so and so pretty much fried himself on the drugs." And we, by god, were supposed to be the shining lights of the future, according to our educational wardens, guards, and trusties. I sometimes think there was a special curse on the Zenith Program class I was in, because the above three sentences applied to five different people in that program, out of the eight of us in there. (I have no idea what became of the other two, while I of course went on to become the model citizen that I am today. So at least there was one success story.) What's always astonished me in looking back at some of the rougher periods of my life (and believe me, I'm not going on about having had a hard life... I'll always say and firmly believe that I'm the luckiest bastard I ever met, in terms of the things I've seen and the people I've been blessed to know.) is the fact that through it all, we bore up and faced it by laughing, joking, and generally finding something to be happy about. If you can't laugh anymore, then the world's broken you, as I used to always say. In the end, you can get knocked down over and over, but I've always subscribed to the philosophy that winning is as easy as getting up one more time than you're knocked down. Dave used to greet me by saying "How goes the fight?" and I'd always answer with "We're ahead on points." Meaning that while we all lose out in the end, as we shuffle off the mortal coil. But while we're still alive, we can stay one step ahead of the game. Because life is a goddamned gift, every moment of it, and if you're not fighting, warping, bending, and doing everything in your power to make it enjoyable, you're just wasting your damn time. Now to pass up the obvious conclusion point, I'll add that it's the people around you who make it truly worthwhile. A line from God Emperor of Dune springs to mind, as Duncan passes on to one of the Museum Fremen one of the most profound truisms I ever read... "Never be in the company of those with whom you would not be willing to die." Hell yeah, baby. Let the good times roll.

Yes, destiny has her hand on my back, and she's pushing... damn her

Hmm... I'll dedicate this one to Matt Champine, the great one. Like a fine wine, he's going to keep getting better and better. Song- Godsmack, I am. "Just consider me your friend- I am until the end. Can I guarantee you life? I don't think I can. This isn't the life for me, this isn't the way I wanna be, and let me tell you: Death will come when I'm good and ready. This isn't the life for me, this isn't the way I wanna be, and let me tell you: Death will come when I'm good and ready. Death will come when I'm goddamned ready." Just read a newsbit in Liberty magazine... (First issue of Liberty I've picked up in a while... reading libertarian pubs can be good and fun, but it can also get rather miserable.) In Albany Oregon, a substitute teacher had a girl in the class she was subbing in who has a disease that left her bald. Said substitute told said student that Jesus would perform a miracle that would grow her the most beautiful head of blond hair overnight, and if that didn't happen said substitute would shave her own head. When Jesus didn't come through (during the same period he was also neglecting to do anything about sex slavery in Thailand and other sundry examples of human misery.) apparently said teacher followed through with her promise. Yet parents of said girl are suing said substitute. Now, admittedly I don't know any particulars of the case beyond what I just said, so I can't entirely pass judgement or wholeheartedly condemn the situation, but from that view of the matter, it appears a woman made a beautiful gesture to relieve the suffering of a child, something that should be lauded. But then I rarely expect the world to make sense. I just get mad when it doesn't. So anyway, on to my main topic. Some of you may remember a very short-run Fox series years ago called Strange Luck, starring D.B. Sweeney. Essentially it was about a guy who was the only survivor of a plane crash when he was a child, and ever since then he's been riding wild tides of good and bad luck, rich one minute and broke the next. Not the best execution of a series, even without Fox's notoriously quick trigger on pulling the plug (Mixed metaphors are fun, dammit!) it probably wouldn't have lasted more than a season anyway. What I liked about it was that in a lot of ways I empathized. My life has ridden up and down on many tides of luck. I've slept in the odd alley or on the odd rock in the woods, and I've slept in five-star hotels. (Including one rather humorous time when they started out snooty and then backpedaled when I slapped a wad of hundreds down on the counter. Service improved dramatically once they got it into their heads that I was an eccentric millionaire. I would've been happy with a cheaper place, but considering the local area was holding a festival to beer or some such, all the cheaper places were packed.) As such, you learn to roll with the punches. I wouldn't be entirely surprised if I end up living on the fringes again at some point, doing my laundry in the bathtub. Wouldn't be surprised to end up with a yacht, either. So when a buddy essentially calls up and offers me a cut on a 60k deal for a few days labor, it's no big surprise. Hell, with the recent run of bad business luck in my regular endeavors, it could almost be expected. In order to explain this, I'll have to mention two pertinant facts about my old life pre-trucking. Fact one: I used to know a surprising amount of people for an antisocial hermit who had the habit of disappearing for months at a time. I didn't even really notice it until a local business friend pointed it out one day. He mentioned another name, and I said "Oh yeah, I know him." and he said "You know everyone in these two towns." "I do not." "Every person I mention, you've either met them, or they mention having met you." So I pondered my list of associations, and realized, yeah, I did have a fairly wide range of contacts, most of them very very distant and transient, but there. I just had this odd habit of bumping into people at various strata and levels, most of whom probably wouldn't remember anything more than "That chubby guy with the long hair who wears jackets even in 110 degree weather." Or maybe more. I hadn't realized just how much people noticed me back in those days, noticed me and somehow were affected by my presence. I knew people from gutter-end to business to clergy to some serious lowlife creeps... couple of city councilmen, staffers for the local congressman, the dipshit former school superintendant, and a couple of lawyers. Hey, I didn't say we were friends. (I only know two respectable lawyers.) Fact 2: Everyone owes me favors. I just tend to accumulate them as time goes by... (Sorta like Dave, except he's all nice and stuff and would probably never calls them in... me, I just stock 'em until they're good and ripe, then call them in as needed.) I have a knack for being handy, and occasionally available. Besides, I almost always pick up the check for dinner. I've had the fairly blase attitude toward money that came from such things as living off lottery winnings for a couple of years and other odd tendencies toward accumulating money. Basically, whenever I need it, it tends to materialize. So I tend to be fairly generous with what I consider to be the small things, like my money. (Note to you who knows who you are... I left off the other part of the equation in part because I know you don't like my casual attitude about that matter, and in part because perhaps I'm perceiving some need to reanalyze it... see how I've grown?) Fact is, I often used money as a test... if somebody walked with some of my greenbacks, I knew they couldn't be relied on for more important matters. Learning the depth of another person's dedication to fruitful association with oneself is cheap at the price, far as I'm concerned. Anyway, so as I was preparing to follow the suggestion of a friend and make something of my usual holiday funk by doing something creative instead of moping about and informing everyone of my loathing for the Not-Named Holiday... all the while waiting for the usual fuckup that marks the season, a reliable somebody who owes me a LOT of accumulated favors offered me a stake in just the field I was eventually planning on retiring into, real estate. Sometime in the next month or two, I might well be on my way to owning some hot rental property, with a fairly low capital investment and labor involved. The 60k payoff won't materialize, because I convinced him the secret is rental and not sale, but by the end of next year, it should top out at over a grand a month apiece after taxes, with little labor on my part. Sounds rather too good to be true, but it's not the first time a bet like that has come through. Should be another fun ride. In the immortal words of Ian Dunross from Noble House... Damn, it's good to be alive. P.S.- I have located the creative endeavor that interests me, by the way. I do believe I shall manufacture some ceremonial bo staves in the traditional fashion... okay, lacking the capacity to do that, in what shall become my traditional fashion. Should be any number of atrocious botches and hysterically hilarious stories forthcoming on that particular effort...

Success

Finally. I had to hang around the Apple store for a couple hours waiting for the Sam Goody manager to come to work. Fortunately, she was able to give me my Firefly set. Apparently the $20 preorder price was a mistake. They are now selling them for $49.99. They are honoring the price for the preorders, which is a good thing. It seems that someone should have told the rest of the employees. Anyway, the disks are here and I am going to start watching commentary tracks. I'll report back later.

Tales from the mall...

Greetings friends, I am coming to you from the oh so hip Apple store. Turns out that all of the computers in the store are online. Nice touch that. I am currently waiting for the manager of the Sam Goody to get her ass to work. Seems the assistant manager can not believe that they sold me those dvds for that price, so he won't let me have them. Grrrrrrr. Arrrrggggg. Big props to the fine folks at Apple though for not hassling the scary guy in the corner dicking around with the new iBook. That's nice customer service. Odd sidenote. This new iBook really does not like the webchat feature on #firefly. Just makes a big smeary mess of everything. So, if you saw me in there earlier posting nonsense, that was why. On other blog happenings: Violet?...Really?...Violet?...When I think Josh, I certainly don't think violet. maybe khaki, due to your desert dwelling, possibly a nice navy blue, maybe even some sort of hunter green. But violet? Not getting that. Thanks for the offer of the couch. Were it not for the drive I would have taken you up on it. Did everyone catch that Battlestar Gallactica premier last night? I thought it was well done, and my stomach did jump a bit at the site of Serenity flying again. I know that there was quite the uproar over making the Starbuck character a girl. I would hope that those critics have been silenced now. She was one of the most entertaining characters on the screen. I thought she captured the spirit of the original Starbuck well and I have no issues with the change. That look after she asks "How's the wife?" was perfect. And yes, it is amazing that a baby's neck can support all that weight. Ewwww. I will be tuning in for the next installment. I have to take a break from the Firefly DVDs at some point, right? I don't often get to the mall in the middle of the day. It makes me wonder just what the hell all these people are doing here. The parking garage is jammed to overflowing and the corridors are packed. Even the Apple store is doing a brisk business. That is handy because it draws attention away from the scary guy in the corner that is still not buying anything. I guess it is that time of the year for Christmas shopping, but it just seems like more of these people should be at work. If that was the case though, we probably wouldn't need the mall. Hahaha, there is a tiny little japanese girl across the table from me that is so tickled by the way the iMac sticks it's tongue out when you eject the cd. And for those who are paying attention, stockings with seams. w00t. I should head back over to the Sam Goody now. I will finish that part of the story once I return home. Thanks again to the fine folks at the Apple store.

That's no moon!

Well, I drained my mouse of its charge twice over, lost sleep, and otherwise got totally wrapped up in Knights of the Old Republic, other than when drawn away by work or social minimums... (Had a guy with a screwed battery ask me for a jump last night... Sancho couldn't power his clunker up, and nobody in the area had a battery charger to loan out, so I ended up driving him twenty miles to pick one up... nice kid, was worth the doing. The sort of young'un that gives me some faint glimmerings of hope for the next generation. Not that my generation has much to brag about, mind you.) Back to Knights... WHOA... good game. Some annoying bits from being based on the D20 rules system, couple of crashes... (But then it did laugh at my puny 64 megs worth of video memory during the install.) Hell of a storyline... I did it straight through as the Jedi Knight in Shining... robes, I guess, since I had to ditch the armor. (Small confession. I have to work at playing the evil characters and remind myself that I'm supposed to kick the puppies and strafe the orphanages.) (And nobody here ever read that. I've got a mean, nasty rep to maintain.) Hell of a plot twist halfway through, some nifty trails to follow with the associated characters, good graphics... And you get to kick serious hindquarters with LIGHTSABERS! WHOO! One complaint about the lightsabers, though... the color selection is limited to like five colors... red, green, blue, purple, and yellow. C'mon guys, Jedi have fashion sense. I wanted a nice royal blue lightsaber to go with a pleasing orange one for my off-hand, and perhaps a turquoise for formal occasions. The game has a good mixture of mental and reflex challenges, challenging enough to be worthwhile yet not overly frustrating. I only got stuck on one particular puzzle, and when I stopped and reanalyzed the source information it all became good and clear. Final battle was pretty damn awesome, making Luke's little tiff with Vader look pretty wuss. Hey, did I forget a dedication? This one's for my Gem. Current song? Serenity, by Godsmack. Where do we go when we just don't know? And how do we relight the flame when it's cold? Why do we dream when our thoughts mean nothing? And when will we learn to control?

Oh yeah, I need a title here

you are violet #EE82EE

Your dominant hues are red and blue. You're confident and like showing people new ideas. You play well with others and can be very influential if you want to be. Your saturation level is lower than average - You don't stress out over things and don't understand people who do. Finishing projects may sometimes be a challenge, but you schedule time as you see fit and the important things all happen in the end, even if not everyone sees your grand master plan. Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

And they say I have a problem with taking these tests... but gorram it, ya'll keep posting 'em. I can stop any time, honest. "Play well with others." Play, maybe... work, not so often. That's why I prefer my handpicked crews of independent-type folks. Last bit about frustration at seeing people get down on everything... oh hell yeah, dead on there. Dedication to... uh... Annie! Hah, multiple names pay off again. Still listening to When I'm Gone, so no new lyrics. Anywho, waiting to see if the locals are going to shanghai me for another fun-filled evening of... well, whatever inspires us. Cheers, all.

Damn, brother...

I was all lined up to do a nice, witty post last night, and then I read about Dave's day from hell. Then I'm sitting here saying to myself "Damn, dude, I got a couch you can crash on..." Just for you, my esteemed brother, I'd make CHILI. You got it coming, from the sounds of it. Dedication to our newly minted MGE, along with our beloved-yet-unfortunately-acronymed UCAC. (Reading it straight out makes it look like 'Ewe-Cack' to me.) Song- Three Doors Down, When I'm Gone. Undoubtedly everyone knows this one, but it just gives me the damn chills. Kinda puts me back to my younger days, when it would've been nice to have somebody who loved me when I was gone. Kinda different now that I have a rather boisterous and affectionate crowd to return to every month. It feels good, guys and gals. "Everything I am, and everything in me, wants to be the one you wanted me to be. I'd never let you down, even if I could, give up everything, if only for your good." I DID IT! I DID IT! I maintained discipline and made it out of a bookstore for less than sixty bucks. In fact, I was on pace to make it out for under forty... standing in line at the counter, when my buddy absently picks up a fresh translation of the Bushido Shoshinshu of Taira Shigesuke. --------------------------- Me- "Damn you!" Him- "Hey, I didn't say buy it. I just showed you." Me- "And you know certain things trigger the purchase impulse in me. Like the time you held up the five-pound Hershey bar." Him- "Took us three months to get rid of that thing." Me- "It challenged me. Next time just keep your damn hands in your pockets." --------------------------- I tend to read fairly simple stuff out on the road, because after a day of cumulative stress in dealing with the hundred and some odd million suicidal lunatics known as the American driving public, I'm really not much up for an analysis of Das Kapital or All Too Human. One of my recent lines to follow has been the fiction set in the Warhammer 40k setting, which is fairly simplistic, yet intriguing in part because of the grammatical differences between English and American writing, not to mention the occasional insights I pick up in regards to our cousins from across the pond. But there was one particular book I've been waiting for in the line ever since I heard it was on the docket... a book about Ciaphas Cain, the cowardly Commissar. Warhammer stories are invariably grim, dark, and even when the 'good guys' win, it's typically portrayed in a very pyrrhic fashion. The Caiphas Cain stories, on the other hand, are a very deft satire of the storyline. Commissars in the setting are the relentless enforcers who maintain discipline among the troops and put spine into the commanders of the units, as obviously used in reference to the commissars and political officers of the Soviet armies. Additionally, they're supposed to stand tall and die gloriously, inspiring the troops to victory. Except for Cain, who spends all his time trying to avoid danger, does his level best to get along with the troops, and being a comedic setting, naturally ends up in all manner of dangerous situations which he comes out of smelling like a rose. I'd read one of the short stories about him before, which was good in large part due to the contrast with the general tone of the setting. The book I got (and eagerly devoured in about three hours) takes that one step further, satirizing the universe, but furthermore managing to deftly insert some sober notes into the story. Portrayed as a personal memoir of his career that is being commented by a Inquisitor after his death, it contrasts his oft-professed cowardice with the fact that he often did step up when required. Having written in that sort of comedic style before, I know how hard it is to slide that bit of reality in without taking the readers out of the generally light tone you're aiming for. Of course, it also provides me with some priceless quotes. "I should have recognized how bad the situation was when the commander of my new regiment actually smiled at me as I stepped off the shuttle." "...the trouble with everyone thinking you're a hero is that they tend to assume you like being in mortal danger and go out of their way to provide you some." "And every time I'd made it back alive, due in no small part to my natural talent for diving for cover and waiting for the noise to stop." The book also includes regular footnotes from the character who 'published' the memoir for internal usage, which are often rather comical in and of themselves, especially when she draws passages from another source, a rather wretchedly written bit of overblown prose from an official memoir written by a former general. It's my kind of comedy, as contrasted to the Douglas Adams style... I prefer my comedic writing to have a story with substance underneath, rather than the plot merely serving as an excuse to string a series of gags and one-liners together. --------------------------- Hypothetical conversation with Dave on the topic Dave- "Well, what about Snow Crash? Not serious enough for you? Huh? HUH?" Me- "Yeah... well, the problem I had there was that the underlying story was so intriguing and fresh that the comedic theme detracted from it, for me anyway." Dave- "BLASPHEMER! HERETIC! WAFFLE BITCH!" Me- "Dude, decaf." --------------------------- Love ya, buddy. Anywho, one of these days I'm going to have to compile a list of my favorite quotes from Peter David's New Frontier series. Edit- Having just breezed by Phil's blog, (yet still having not gotten caught up on this one) I found out we're supporting Miss Sarah on her diet. Well, I'm down another inch or two on the waistline and verging on having to break down and buy new jeans at some point in the near future. Keep up the strength, honey darlin'. It works.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck

Sometimes a day just kicks you in the balls. I am trying to find the tail end of one of those at the moment. I really should have seen it coming right from the start. I woke up at 4am to the sound of my UPS beeping to signal a power outage. That, in and of itself, was not totally out of the norm. On occasion a breaker trips. So, I crawled out of bed and found some pants. As I made my way to the breaker box it occurred to me that there were no lights on in the house. This was not your run of the mill breaker tripping. Right about then was when my ears picked up on the howling wind outside. Yes friends, we have a wind storm. Fuck. Heading back to bed I have the pleasant thought that hey, if it's 4 here, it must be 13 in the beautiful city of Münster. Maybe Silke is online. I got all the way to waking Faith up before realizing that there was no power for the cable modem. And while Silke may very well have been online, there was no way to connect. Fuck. Now that I was awake, there was not much chance of getting back to sleep so I started messing with some things I have been working with on Faith. She had managed to get her battery fully charged before we lost power. I figured I would kill a little time with her, and then the power would come on and I could take a nice shower, have some breakfast, and get to work. Well, as you may have guessed, that didn't happen. And by 6 I had given up on the power and decided to head in to work early. Fuck. I stopped off at an open wireless network when I got down the mountain, hoping to find someone online to share the shitass start of a Thursday. Alas, everyone was at work, or still in bed, or away from their computer, or just plain ignoring me. So I click on the little postage stamp icon Apple cleverly chose for Mail. Yes, non Mac fans, they call their mail program Mail. How many VP's down at Cupertino did that take? Anyway, mail brought not one, but two terrific emails from across the Atlantic. Suddenly my mood was lifted and things were looking up. YAY! But this was just the fucked up day toying with my emotions. I shut faith and made the two minute trip over to work. When I fired up my work PC I was greeted by another mail from Germany. It seems that as I was pulling out of that parking lot Silke was just coming online, and I had missed her. Timing is everything. Fuck. I was disappointed for a minute that I had just missed having a much needed cheering up administered with a german accent. And yes, it is possible to type with an accent. But it is hard to stay pissy when you are staring at a German email. The day was looking up, and work was going well. A tasty lunch, complete with a terrific chat with Silke seemed to prove my point. I thought I might have made it past the worst of it. Foreshadowing much? So, post lunch, I am outside talking about panties and puppies with UCAC when tech guy #1 pokes his head out the door. "Powers out, let's go home." I peeked back in the door, and sure enough, not a light to be found. This was followed by a funfilled hour with UCAC and the previously unmentioned, and newly named, Marketing Girl Extraordinaire (MGE). I let myself believe that the day was finally looking up. Then the power came back on. Back to work. Fuck. While the power was out, our pissy little bitch of a UPS driver made his pickup. I loathe that guy. Since our computers were down we were unable to print the paperwork he needed, so he wouldn't take our package. Jackass, FedEx would have taken it. So we have a little box of expensive gear that some nice fellows in Denmark would really like to have. Someone will need to drop that off at UPS on the way home. "Hey, you drive right by there don't ya D?" Fuck. So I take off early to get the Denmark bound processor and memory over to UPS. Now this is only a 4 or 5 mile drive, and I have 30 minutes until the truck rolls for the airport. Well, the power is out in that part of town. So all the traffic lights are out. And all the roads are backed up everywhere. I hit UPS 15 minutes late. Fuck. So back on the road, sick of this godforsaken day. I just want to go home and watch freaking Survivor while I drink a tall frosty Mountain Dew. More traffic lights slowing me down as I head out on the little mountain road that takes me to a couch and a TV, but no big deal. There is usually traffic the first few miles. Finally we get to that point where traffic eases and we are flying. I'll be home in no time. w00t indeed. Then, what is this? Traffic is stopped and it's not moving. That never happens. "Hey, dude in the fancy orange vest, what up yo?" "Tree across the road, we called the Tree Crew. They're stuck in traffic." Fuck. So here I sit, having now left work three hours ago. And the tree crew is finally here and cutting away on one big ass tree that is in fact all the way across the road. Survivor is going to start in 12 minutes, and I am not making it home by then. Not even sure if I'll be in motion by then. So I get this bright idea. I'll call the Nicest Guy In Shoe Leather and ask him to record it. Beep, beep, beep, send.........Beep Beep. "What the hell?" Looking down at the phone, No Service. Fuck Just as i started to lament the fact that all our tech just makes it easier for things to spin all wiggy on us the Tree Crew started packing up and headed out. I watched a line of reverse lights blink as cars shifted into gear. We were on the move again. A glance at the clock radio brought hope anew. I started doing the math. Ok, add five minutes because I fucked up setting it, should take about 10 more to get home. I should get there just after Probst finishes the previously on Survivor bit. Could it be? And I was off. The wee bit of hope I had managed to conjure was dashed as I turned onto my street and was greeted by total darkness. Not a light to be found. There would be no Survivor, no #firefly, not even any japanese porn. Fuck. I was thorouhgly defeated by the day, so I said fuck it and went to bed, after turning on every light in the room. The plan being that when the power was restored it would wake me up and I could at least try and salvage something from the day. I woke up at 3am, in the dark, still no power. I managed to make myself go back to sleep, and made it to 4. By then there was no more sleep to be slept. But still no power to be had either. A flashlight and a book occupied me for a while, but was far from an ideal morning. By this point I was too bored to stay in bed any longer, so it was off to the shower. Gas water heaters are a wonderful thing. Thirty minutes of shower by candlelight warmed me up, and made the bathroom look all sorts of spooky. Like horror movie fog had rolled in. I did a little more reading, waiting for the clock to get to go to work time, which it did, slowly. As I was heading for the door, Denmark bound box in hand, the power came back on. Timing. Fuck. So, I shut the door, relieved that there would at least be heat and light when I get home from work tonight, and made my way to work. Slowly. While my power had been restored, there were still all sorts of traffic signals out. So they are now 4 way stops. Which put me at work 20 minutes late. Ignoring what I should have been doing, my first stop was to log in to my mail. Waiting there for me were messages from Silke and Sarah @ moralcalculus, which I am going to believe have signaled the end to this whole mess. They brightened the day and got it rolling on the right foot. A hearty thank you to you both. I will talk to you soon. YAY

Winding Down

Dedication for... hmm... Rob Roy, a friend of mine nobody around here has ever met, and who doesn't read this nonsense. Song- See Saw, Aura... "Go with the sing I will sing, till the darkness comes to sleep. Come to me, I will tell about the secret of the sun. It's in you, not in me, but it does not mean a thing to you." Well, one day home and I haven't managed to get relaxed yet. I have the nagging feeling that I should be moving, working, doing things, so much so that I can't particularly focus on anything. Hell, I couldn't even read, and that's a bad sign. It's happened before, and it's a very annoying phase to be stuck in. I always have acclimated better to the stressful and the bizarre than I've re-acclimated to the normal. Go on a campout for a week, it felt normal by the first morning, but coming home would take me about three days to adjust back to sleeping in a bed. So I was just laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, trying to sort things out and let the tension flow away. Naturally, that put me to thinking about the high-speed, high-tension work that went down over the past twenty... six days, I believe. I was doing pretty good out on the road until the last few days, when the weekend trip planners screwed up and didn't put us enroute for home on schedule. I'd been juggling various other issues at that point, business and personal matters, and getting sent out to Virginia when I was already in Texas and just looking for something to route us for the house was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was fuming all day and into the night, first at the situation, then at myself for getting so upset. Hell, it ain't the first time anybody's been kept out over their projected home return, yadda yadda. Then I decided hey, I'm human. Just because I expect myself to handle every situation with utterly cool aplomb (despite failing to do so on numerous occasions.) doesn't mean I'm going to. So I decided that yep, I was right to be utterly ragged and frustrated, by god. And hence I immediately started cooling down and being more objective about the situation, which brings to mind one of the most powerful lines I ever read, in Mario Puzo's Fools Die... I don't have it here, but the essence of the quote is that you have to forgive the human race for being human. Which also applies to us half-assed perfectionists who expect everything we do to be sublime and pure. Gotta forgive yourself for being human too... damnably enough. Oh, and one more thing... Sarge, I read Quinn's Ishmael while I was out, and sorry to say but when I get the energy up to do it, I'm going to take a hatchet to it here in the Carnage. While I respect his obvious talent as a writer, I think he's an utterly unrealistic granola-eating buffoon. The thing that really did pique my interest is his take on the Cain and Able myth as war propaganda spawned by a pastoral culture competing with an agrarian one, a very intriguing take on the story. Other than that, I was by turns amused, nauseated, and driven to fits of screaming anger. (At one point I tossed it across the cab to bounce off of the passenger-side windshield, when I was reading it while parked and letting my co-driver get a bit more sleep.)

Return of the Revenge of the Son of That Truckdriver Guy, Part Seven

Dedication to... Doc! Hah! Got him again! Song- Hang on to This, by Days of the New. "Can I make them understand? Who in the world would have thought this? God, I'll never know your plans... Doin' what I got to hang on, just doin' what I got to hang on..." Back. Oh god, back. What a crunch. Holiday rush, holiday traffic, and here I sit, vegging about the house. Got a million and one things to talk about, a few funny stories... (Somebody remind me to recount my polite evening in Jersey...) Haven't read anybody's blogs or caught up on anything yet, so if I miss some highly pertinant point somewhere, c'est la vie. After all, I have the small matter of my marriage and family to address. There I was, cruising along all in the bliss and contentment that has been my life ever since the lovely and gracious Silke consented to join me in the bonds of holy matrimony. I'd be driving along I-10 in Alabama, along the causeway over the bay, and I'd look out at the ocean and think "That's like my darling Silke... mysterious, powerful, possessed of such depths as mortal man could never hope to fully plumb..." And I'd be passing through the prairie of north Texas and think "That's just like my wonderful Silke- wild, untamed, free." And I'd be passing through Pennsylvania hills, surrounded by the clouds on high, and think "Man, when we get hitched, I'm never leaving the damn house again. It sucks up here." I was making all the important decisions about the wedding... She agreed to informal, so what do I wear? My sneakers or my combat boots? My red t-shirt or my blue one? Shirt tucked or untucked? All important stuff you see. Then I called my dear friend Lost Angel, and found out I was already married. To her. And that additionally we had a sixteen-year-old daughter. Now then... Now this goes a little bit beyond the realm of "How drunk was I last night?" and more into the territory of "Where the hell have I been the last twenty years?" My daughter, as it happens sired when I was thirteen, is one Annie, which is truly a joyous thing. So, after I recovered from my initial shock and the wrecker got me pulled out of the ditch, I resumed my conversation with Angel. Now, I understand that in such matters as where women concern themselves, men have no true control over, well, anything. Especially when women like Angel and Annie are involved. So I rolled with the blow, bore up bravely, and made a token request. See, I'm old-fashioned. I've been referred to as an artifact of the last century, and that was not referring to the twentieth century. Always took it as a compliment. But I'm pretty enlightened in some ways. I don't have to be the one doing the asking, but I would like to, y'know, be present for my own wedding and get the chance to say "I do." So I ask my darling wife if we could perhaps renew our vows, give me some small sop for my male pride, the illusion of having choices to make. She graciously consented, and emboldened by this, I decided to press my luck a bit. "Can I be along on the honeymoon this time?" "Boy, you just want everything, don't you?" Okay, that went well. However, I dug my heels in on one issue. Much as I love Cap'n Buck, I could in no way tolerate his presence as Angel's 'other' husband. ------------- Ficticious scene Buck- But, but, I was here first! Archer- Yeah yeah, whatever, you slut. Cuckold me in front of my family? Out of here before I scratch your dirty damn whore eyes out! --------------------------- I was willing to consent to Buck's presence as long as I still got to marry Silke though, and Angel graciously consented to that. (Texas got its sodomy law shot down, Massachusets is working on getting the gay marriages legalized, I'm all up for joining in the nice parade of progress against governmental intrusion by cracking the polygamy laws.) Getting to share the company of three of the best damn women in the whole world for the rest of my mortal days makes it worth tolerating his existance. However, other than the one night a year where he performs his husbandly duties, he sleeps on the porch. Number One Husband has spoken. Furthermore, I don't care if "Every day is casual day!" He will NOT be wandering around the house dressed only in a faded Whitesnake t-shirt that's shrunk down to one size too small for him like he did back in the days we shared a dorm in college. ------------------------- Now, Angel tells me this whole marriage thing was declared arbitrarily by Annie. While I applaud her excellent taste in mothers, I was rather mystified by why I was chosen to be father. Then I thought about it some. First, I guess she figures having a father who is only around to spoil the hell out of her for two weeks and then goes away for a month just as she's getting tired of him is a good thing. To which I say "Hunh... very clever." Additionally, I figure she thinks living with a long-haired old anarchist would mean a footloose, wild life of chaos and partying. This, young lady, is not so. Our household will have STRICT rules, as follows. ---------------- 1) No drinking before noon. No, that's not booze that daddy has right after he wakes up, that's Hair of the Dog, and it keeps daddy's head from exploding. And no, that's not booze that daddy pours on his cereal, that's cereal sterilizer from his magic bottle that makes all his problems go away. After noon, the bar is fair game. 2) Daddy doesn't mind purple hair, green hair, or any other shade of hair his Princess cares to wear. However, Daddy must insist on a two-week interval between changes of hair color. Due to experiments with magic mushrooms in the early nineties, daddy has enough trouble telling the difference between reality and visions from the gods without having a daughter going through all the colors of the rainbow in under a week. Addendum to above. Having discussed the matter with my Princess' new grandmother... she is happy to finally have grandchildren, though disappointed at missing out on the whole spitting and diapering phase (Something I regard as a bonus in the situation...) Grandmother does not favor purple hair and insists that if Annie wants to inherit Grammy's custom-modified combat shotgun, she'll only accept natural hair color or red. Now daddy does powerfully favor that shotgun, having been the one who refinished the stock... but Annie dear, that's 'twixt you and Nanna. 3) Due to the loadbearing capacity of cheap-ass American furniture, there will be no more than three boy-toys in the bed at any one time. Furthermore, all toys (chains, clamps, whips, handcuffs) will be neatly put away and organized in between usages. And no, you can't borrow Mommy and Daddy's toys. You have an allowance, my dear. Save your money and get your own. Addition to above. Daddy understands his precious Princess is a healthy young woman with the desires and longings of a normal young lady. Daddy is just fine with this, and encourages safe and responsible exploration of thus. It is merely a coincidence that daddy happens to be cleaning his shotgun or sharpening his combat knife whenever one of these young gentlemen drops in. Furthermore, bits like this.... "So, do you consider yourself more of a sprinter or a long-distance runner?" "Family, honor, those are things worth killing for, wouldn't you agree?" "Have you seen the new book on Apache torture techniques by Gershner? Fascinating stuff, reminds me of the old blackbook FM on FEI. FEI? Field-expedient interrogation. It's where you take a knife like.... hey, like this one here, and carve pieces off somebody until they tell you what you want to know. Tell you what, when you get back at eleven... sharp... I'll show you. The book, that is. Are you okay son? You look a bit pale..." Bits like this are just daddy's way of making polite conversation with your current beau. 4) Any pets, ponies, dogs, dinosaurs, artificial lifeforms created in the basement... they are YOUR responsibility. You'll feed them, clean them, and if they trash the neighboring village, it's coming out of your allowance. (Unless they trash Andrews, in which case you'll find a nice bonus deposited in your Swiss bank account.) 5) Daddy understand that hot-rodding about is a part of youth, and daddy will provide you with an appropriate set of wheels with which to do so... (Appropriate NOT being daddy's soon-to-be refurbed Camaro "Serenity") Daddy will likewise show you all the good roads where you can drop the hammer and see how fast it will go without having to explain yourself to John Law. However, if you blow it and wrap yourself around a phone pole, daddy will be very cross. ------------------------------- One more thing. Daddy is an unrepetant, savage, nasty, horrid tousler of hair. If you favor the elaborate coiffure, daddy recommends you get your daily dose of paternal affection before going to all the work of fixing yourself up. --------------------------------- Princess, you plucked me from the ranks of happy bachelordom and got me married... a bit in advance of when I was planning to do so myself, as it happens. But all the same, I'm going to get some revenge. I'm going to get... gooshy. I'm gonna make you SQUIRM, dear one. See, I done some things in my days that I'm rather proud of, sort of thing that makes me kick back, crack open a Diet A&W and say to myself "For all the swaggering freebooter bullshit Simpson, some days you resemble a decent human being." But ain't nothing I think I could ever do that would make me prouder than to be able to settle down at the table, slap the guy next to me on the arm and say something like this... "Hey asshole, shut the fuck up for a sec. See that little purple-haired cutie up yonder, what with the guitar? That's MY little girl. Got all that, hell of a brain on top, and a soul so beautiful it'd make a strong man cry." I mean that with all the hideous, ghastly sincerity I can muster, sweet one. --------------------------------------- Oh, couple of other points. I'll be collaring Wulf to teach the Guitar-Fu lessons, since he does better with the swinging and chopping implements than I do. Furthermore, sorry P.J., but you're out of Boston. Yeah yeah, "I like the cold!" and so on. But my little girl gets the best damn guitar teacher I can find, and I'll make it worth your while. I'll get you an old convenience-store freezer to live in, run in the DirectTV for the Pats, Bruins, Celtics, and Red Sox... then filter smog into it, and you won't ever know the difference. ---------------------------------------- MOTHERFUCKIN' NOT-NAMED HOLIDAY RUSH CAN'T KILL ME! BACK IN THE DAMN HOUSE, BABY!

Which Biological Molecule Are You?

You are water. You're not really organic; you're
neither acidic nor basic, yet you're an acid
and a base at the same time. You're strong
willed and opinionated, but relaxed and ready
to flow. So while you often seem worthless,
without you, everything would just not work.
People should definitely drink more of you
every day.

Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Das Wunder von Bern

Last night it hit me that I didn't share my thoughts yet concerning a German movie Dave already hinted at a few weeks ago: "Das Wunder von Bern". For those not familiar with the title and/or story (and I suppose that is almost everyone besides Dave, whom I drove crazy with complaining about slow download rates. And constantly quoting commentaries and lines. I even made him watch the trailer. In German. He didn't understand a word, but was kind enough to say it looked as if it was a good movie. Well, he didn't really have a choice, but it was a nice thing to say.) ... anyway, for those of you who are still reading, still interested and not knowing what the movie is about, click this. The Fussballweltmeisterschaft (world championship) in Switzerland in 1954 was a turning point for my country. Because Germany won, unexpectedly, 3:2 vs Hungary. And as silly as this might sound, before that there was no hope, no future prospects, there was nothing. Winning the championship was indeed a Wunder, showing that everything is possible; that it could even be doable for Germany to recover and show the world that the new generation was different. Soenke Wortmann - the director - is well known here, and he did an incredible job. From not only using the orginal commentaries (for example: 84. minute "Aus dem Hintergrund kommt Rahn. Rahn muesste schiessen. Rahn schiesst. Tor! Tor! Tor! Tor!"), to Adolf "Adi" Dassler who was responsible for the fussballshoes (you will probably know Adidas). From casting the 11 players not only for their looks, but also for their Fussball abilities because the game was exactly replayed, to pointing out that it started raining shortly before the game began and that it was Fritz Walter's most favorite weather to play. It was all perfect. I am tempted to quote MUCH more of Herbert Zimmermann's commentary here, but i will spare you and finish with: "Aus! Aus! Aus! Das Spiel ist aus! Deutschland ist Weltmeister. Schlaegt Ungarn mit drei zu zwo Toren im Finale in Bern."

Not everything is literal, except panties.

Did you ever say something to someone when you are just making innocent conversation and have it bring you more information than you were looking for? It almost happened today. I asked someone if they had a good Thanksgiving and they kind of himmed and hawed before saying, "Ya know how you just get unpleasant news sometimes?" I braced myself for the tragic tale that was hot on the heels of that sentence, but it never came. The person in question cut it short with, "I'll go with it being a good holiday." See, this is a person that understands that there are times and places and people we share those details with. It reminded me of a time a couple years back. I have a friend who had been married about six months prior to this. His bride was a sweet girl, and I really liked her, as did everyone. I had just seen them the week before this event as well, and everyone seemed to be getting on fine. So I rang their phone, looking for my friend on a Saturday afternoon, to see what was up. The lovely bride answered. Being the swell guy that I am I opened with, "How are you doing?" Innocent enough right? This innocent inquiry was met with, "To be honest D, not so good." Yeah, I raised an eyebrow at that one. "Really, what's the problem?" At this, she started to cry, and tell me that my friend was moving out and that she didn't know if they were going to make it. Yikes. I don't want to seem insensitive to the feelings of others. But this put me in quite the awkward position. I have years of history with her husband, and if there are going to be sides to be chosen in what appears to be a forthcoming mess, I will have to fall in his camp. At the same time, I really like this girl and certainly don't want to see her sad. So I spent a good 45 minutes on the phone, listening to her, talking to her, and doing my best to point her gaze in the direction of the sun trying so desperately to break through the clouds. I like to think I succeeded, just a little. She seemed happier at the end of the call, and I even made her laugh a couple times. What is my point? Just that in my little section of reality there are times and places and people to share such things with. That is probably why you don't see a lot of really personal junk in my posts. There are those people that hear those stories, but they are not really for public consumption. At the same time, if someone level jumps on you and looks for support, you have to do your best to help. It's just the right thing to do. So you get nougat, TANG, and panties. Hope that works for ya. Speaking of panties. Saw some really cute ones today. Light pink with little playboy bunnies. And they matched her hat and gloves. You gotta respect attention to detail like that.