Tuesday, May 31, 2005
8:57 PM
Um, More Moolah!
I just remembered, paychecks from my former employer are paid two weeks in arrears. That means I've another paycheck coming. Since I was laid-off at the end of the one week, and since a week had passed before I received this most recent check, I should be owed another week's pay in two weeks' time. (That probably sounded confusing as hell, I'm sure.) This does not include the severance pay I'll be receiving. I'll take every penny they send my way, . . . and then some!
Information from the Virginia Employment Commission arrived in the mail today. Taking the weekly benefit amount for which I qualified, subtracting what I will have to pay in taxes (when you're on unemployment that amounts to 10%; that, at least, is what I've paid in the past), then multiplying the result by four, it looks like my unemployment benefits will cover all but $230 of my essential monthly expenses. Based on past experience with unemployment benefits, I should be able to get a minimum-wage job, or part-time work and still be able to collect unemployment (unless Virginia law works differently, which is quite possible; Maryland and Pennsylvania tend to be better when it comes to things like this). Of course, there is typically a cap on how much a person is allowed to earn while collecting unemployment. Once that amout is exceeded, then the unemployment benefits are reduced by the amount that exceeded the cap. There can come a point where unemployment cannot be collected because too much money was earned.
Here's a theoretical example: Let's say they've determined that I qualify for a benefit of $250 per week for 26 weeks (all claims are for 26 weeks, by the way). Some States, like Pennsylvania (and Maryland, too, I believe), will say that you're allowed to earn a maximum of, say, $500 per week while on unemployment (this includes your weekly benefit). So, I can collect $250 of unemployment compensation per week, plus get a menial job making as much as $250 per week without my unemployment getting reduced, thus helping me to pay my expenses while allowing me time to look for work in my given field. If, however, I make $300, then my unemployment compensation for that week will be reduce to $200, thus maintaining the cap. The moment I make $500 per week or more in this theoretical example, I've lost my unemployment. The information I got from Virginia said nothing about what their cap is. That has me both concerned and curious. I need to call them tomorrow (unless I can find this information on their web site tonight).
Of course, if I'm able to find work in telecom again, then the unemployment will cease altogether, as I will definitely be making too much then, and that would be a good thing.
My most basic concern is two-fold: 1) meeting my minimal monthly expenses, and 2) thereby preserving the savings that I have and not having to use any of that to meet those expenses. The more important goal, obviously, is to find full-time work—not forgetting, of course, the hope that my pursuit of this real estate thing will do away with any need for going back into telecom like a dog returning to its own vomit, to borrow a Biblical saying. For one thing, I am not a dog, and for another, I'm not particularly fond of vomit. Enough said.
Information from the Virginia Employment Commission arrived in the mail today. Taking the weekly benefit amount for which I qualified, subtracting what I will have to pay in taxes (when you're on unemployment that amounts to 10%; that, at least, is what I've paid in the past), then multiplying the result by four, it looks like my unemployment benefits will cover all but $230 of my essential monthly expenses. Based on past experience with unemployment benefits, I should be able to get a minimum-wage job, or part-time work and still be able to collect unemployment (unless Virginia law works differently, which is quite possible; Maryland and Pennsylvania tend to be better when it comes to things like this). Of course, there is typically a cap on how much a person is allowed to earn while collecting unemployment. Once that amout is exceeded, then the unemployment benefits are reduced by the amount that exceeded the cap. There can come a point where unemployment cannot be collected because too much money was earned.
Here's a theoretical example: Let's say they've determined that I qualify for a benefit of $250 per week for 26 weeks (all claims are for 26 weeks, by the way). Some States, like Pennsylvania (and Maryland, too, I believe), will say that you're allowed to earn a maximum of, say, $500 per week while on unemployment (this includes your weekly benefit). So, I can collect $250 of unemployment compensation per week, plus get a menial job making as much as $250 per week without my unemployment getting reduced, thus helping me to pay my expenses while allowing me time to look for work in my given field. If, however, I make $300, then my unemployment compensation for that week will be reduce to $200, thus maintaining the cap. The moment I make $500 per week or more in this theoretical example, I've lost my unemployment. The information I got from Virginia said nothing about what their cap is. That has me both concerned and curious. I need to call them tomorrow (unless I can find this information on their web site tonight).
Of course, if I'm able to find work in telecom again, then the unemployment will cease altogether, as I will definitely be making too much then, and that would be a good thing.
My most basic concern is two-fold: 1) meeting my minimal monthly expenses, and 2) thereby preserving the savings that I have and not having to use any of that to meet those expenses. The more important goal, obviously, is to find full-time work—not forgetting, of course, the hope that my pursuit of this real estate thing will do away with any need for going back into telecom like a dog returning to its own vomit, to borrow a Biblical saying. For one thing, I am not a dog, and for another, I'm not particularly fond of vomit. Enough said.
3:34 PM
One of the Strangest Sensations
I'm back and my left ear is numb, yet again, because of the anaesthetic I was given, and I'm reminded once more that this has to be one of the strangest sensations in the world.
After the procedure was over, I had a talk with Dr Collins. He seemed to think that if this shot further improves my condition and the numbness across the top of my left shoulder subsides even more, then it would be worth our while for me to come in for a third shot. He's well aware that this was the last day that I had health insurance until I can find further work. I asked him how much the procedure would cost sans insurance. He said he wasn't sure exactly, that one of the ladies up at the front desk would have to calculate it. However, he added, for those without insurance, he cuts his rates in half, and that that would put the cost in the $200-$300 range, and would probably be closer to $200. That's a lot less than what I was expecting it to be. I could swing that, since I've yet to receive my severance check. Besides, I've also a decent stash of cash in savings, so it wouldn't hurt my financial condition too terribly much.
Aside from that, the question is, how much will a follow-up appointment with Dr Blam, the orthopaedic surgeon, cost? I imagine that that sort of appointment won't be much at all.
One thing is certain, if a third shot doesn't clear this up entirely and Dr Blam decides surgery is the best option, then I will definitely have to tough it out until I find other work and get health insurance again. I've a sneaky feeling that if Dr Blam decides to go with surgery, then he'll want to do the major and not the minor. He seems quite keen on fixing the problem with my previous bone fusion. That would probably be best, if it came to that. Heh. Speaking of strange sensations, the sensation of a bone that's had a piece of it cut off to replace a ruptured disk isn't so much strange, as it is fucking painful. I imagine it's not unlike a broken bone. Fun! Not. (In which case, please take it from my left hip, as was done previously, Dr Blam, and not my right. I'm not interested in getting twin scars.)
After the procedure was over, I had a talk with Dr Collins. He seemed to think that if this shot further improves my condition and the numbness across the top of my left shoulder subsides even more, then it would be worth our while for me to come in for a third shot. He's well aware that this was the last day that I had health insurance until I can find further work. I asked him how much the procedure would cost sans insurance. He said he wasn't sure exactly, that one of the ladies up at the front desk would have to calculate it. However, he added, for those without insurance, he cuts his rates in half, and that that would put the cost in the $200-$300 range, and would probably be closer to $200. That's a lot less than what I was expecting it to be. I could swing that, since I've yet to receive my severance check. Besides, I've also a decent stash of cash in savings, so it wouldn't hurt my financial condition too terribly much.
Aside from that, the question is, how much will a follow-up appointment with Dr Blam, the orthopaedic surgeon, cost? I imagine that that sort of appointment won't be much at all.
One thing is certain, if a third shot doesn't clear this up entirely and Dr Blam decides surgery is the best option, then I will definitely have to tough it out until I find other work and get health insurance again. I've a sneaky feeling that if Dr Blam decides to go with surgery, then he'll want to do the major and not the minor. He seems quite keen on fixing the problem with my previous bone fusion. That would probably be best, if it came to that. Heh. Speaking of strange sensations, the sensation of a bone that's had a piece of it cut off to replace a ruptured disk isn't so much strange, as it is fucking painful. I imagine it's not unlike a broken bone. Fun! Not. (In which case, please take it from my left hip, as was done previously, Dr Blam, and not my right. I'm not interested in getting twin scars.)
11:53 AM
Abstractions 5
Springs (coils), obviously, albeit a somewhat Escher-esque view. I like the perspective in this photograph. Aside from the Escher-esque view, no editing was done to this image.And for your entertainment while viewing this photo, some Icelandic lounge music [mp3 1.1MB]. There's a lyric in this song that I like and today it seems quite apropos because it expresses, rather accurately, how I felt last night:
I feel stupid
and contagious
Isn't that a healthy self-image? Heh.
In other news, I see that Mary Pierce defeated Lindsay Davenport at the French Open today. This makes Pierce one of the semi-finalists. There are now no Americans left in either men's or the women's draw (unless you count Pierce). Pierce, however, is either an expatriate, or has dual-citizenship, being French and American. I'm not sure which is true. She's pretty much considered French now, anyway. (The scoreboard at Court Phillipe Chatrier noted her as being French.) This means that this year it is entirely possible that the women's finals could be between two French speaking ladies, Mary Pierce (France) and Justine Henin-Hardin (Belgium).
I got my end-of-May paycheck last Friday. This took me a little by surprise. It probably shouldn't've. I simply thought that my last paycheck, along with my severance package, would all have been lumped together into one check. No matter. This simply means that I've got another check coming, and it should be for 2-4 weeks' pay. It all depends on the interpretation of some language in the letter. I was told it was 2 weeks, plus 1 week for every year of service, which would mean I would get 4 weeks pay. However, as I read it, it says 1 week of pay for every year of service, with a minimum of two weeks being paid. Meaning, that if you have two years of service or less, then the severance is two weeks' pay. I've called the appropriate people to get this clarified, but have had to leave a message. Obviously, I'd rather get 4 weeks' pay, but I don't want to be misunderstanding this, either, and end up disappointed because of that.
I mentioned before my interest in trying to earn a bit of income through real estate. I took a major step towards that today. We shall see how this goes and if it won't help free me from the shackles of telecom, eh?
Just wanted to share a few thoughts, along with a photo, and a brief view into a little of what I've been doing today, before I go to get my second steroid shot.
When I get back from getting the shot, I'll start on today's fiction writing session.
[ image hosted by flickr ]
Monday, May 30, 2005
9:23 PM
Miscellany
I know this will be a long post [EDIT: and then I went and made it longer], but there are a variety of topics I wanted to write about today:
Art — I was browsing through the links at artcyclopedia today, just looking at examples from all the various schools of art down through history, and when I came to the page on Magic Realism, I stopped. Michael Parkes, one of my favourite artists was listed on this page (here's the page on Parkes at artcyclopedia). I've seen some of his paintings categorised as 'surreal,' but 'magic realism' works just as well for me (and is probably more accurate) as a category for his paintings.
Books — Not very long ago, I finished writing two more short stories, bringing my total for the year up to seven stories completed. I'm now working on number eight. Part of the reward system I set up for myself at the beginning of the year was that I would get to purchase a new book for every story I completed. I got a bit lax with myself, though, and allowed myself to purchase two or three books as a reward for each completed story. With my recent lay-off, I've had to curb my rewards in the interest of conserving money. I don't want to do away with it altogether, though. I'm such a damned consumer! One of the books I bought I had been eyeing for weeks, if not months. It seemed like every time I saw it at the local Barnes & Noble, I'd pick it up, look it over, read the back cover, read the opening paragraphs, then put it down. Not so this time. The book? The Alchemist, an international bestseller by Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho. That I kept putting it down while at the shop wasn't due to lack of interest. I mean, if I'm not interested in a book, I don't keep looking at it again and again every time I go to the bookshop. It's more a matter of being interested, but not wanting to spend any more than I have already, or possibly not having the money. What else did I buy? I'm glad you asked. (And if you didn't ask, tough shit, because I'm going to answer that question, anyway. :P ) I also purchased, though Amazon, A Dictionary of the Ojibway Language, by Frederic Baraga.
When I was at Barnes & Noble, I also saw another book that caught my attention. At one point, I was simply browsing the "Fiction & Literature" section, just letting my eyes pass over each book long enough to note its title. It's not surprising that the book I'm referring to caught my attention. The book was, you'll like this, How I Became Stupid, by Martin Page. This was originally written in French, and was a smash hit in France in 2001. (Don't ask me how I managed to pick out a book originally written in French. I have no damned idea. I certainly wasn't looking for it.) I've made a mental note about this book and will probably buy it some time in the future. I did, however, add it to my Amazon wishlist just tonight.
[EDIT: On the topic of books originally written in French, I mentioned elsewhere—I believe it was at my townshende.blog—that I would eventually like to get some of de Maupassant's works in the original language. Well, I found the following at Amazon:
[As you can see, this is a dual language book, so it has stories in English and in French. The stories in this particular volume I have already read: Ball-of-Fat: Boule de Suif, La Tellier (Mme. Tellier's Establishment—a story involving prostitutes, just for you, Dean!), Mademoiselle Fifi, Miss Harriet, La Ficelle (Piece of String), La Parure (The Necklace), Le Horla (The Horla).
[Besides, as I see it, while I very much like de Maupassant (as I've made abundantly clear) I also can't go wrong with a book that Dover Publications published on my 36th birthday. Heh. :D
[One of the reviewers at Amazon, an ESL teacher (English as a Second Language), said, "As a language teacher and researcher, I've come to the conclusion that the single best way to learn a foreign language's vocabulary is through these sorts of dual-language texts. (...) If you're learning French, buy this. If you're learning English, buy this." Now there's a resounding review! I added this book to my wishlist, obviously.]
Speaking of my Amazon wishlist, I was looking that over earlier today. I discovered that there were several books on this list that I had already purchased, but had not deleted from the list. Some of them I've already read, too. I took care of that little task. Here's what I deleted:
Steroid Shot — Tomorrow, I get my second steroid shot. The first provided me with some relief, but some of the numbness still remains. I'm hoping this second shot takes care of the rest of it. If it doesn't, then I'll just have to tough it out until I find work and have health benefits again.
Movies — Movies are now a premium for me. When I see them in the theatre, they cost me $15 a pop—$9 for the movie, $3 for a small diet Coke, and $3 for a small popcorn. So, if I'm to see any new movies now, I'll have to rent them. This is fine, but I prefer, if possible, to see a movie the first time in a theatre. I rented two movies earlier today. Renting two movies cost me $9.43, including tax, versus $18 to see two in the theatre (without diet Coke and popcorn) or $30 (with the drink and snack). The first one that I will be watching is Goodbye Lenin!
[ images hosted by flickr ]
Art — I was browsing through the links at artcyclopedia today, just looking at examples from all the various schools of art down through history, and when I came to the page on Magic Realism, I stopped. Michael Parkes, one of my favourite artists was listed on this page (here's the page on Parkes at artcyclopedia). I've seen some of his paintings categorised as 'surreal,' but 'magic realism' works just as well for me (and is probably more accurate) as a category for his paintings.
Books — Not very long ago, I finished writing two more short stories, bringing my total for the year up to seven stories completed. I'm now working on number eight. Part of the reward system I set up for myself at the beginning of the year was that I would get to purchase a new book for every story I completed. I got a bit lax with myself, though, and allowed myself to purchase two or three books as a reward for each completed story. With my recent lay-off, I've had to curb my rewards in the interest of conserving money. I don't want to do away with it altogether, though. I'm such a damned consumer! One of the books I bought I had been eyeing for weeks, if not months. It seemed like every time I saw it at the local Barnes & Noble, I'd pick it up, look it over, read the back cover, read the opening paragraphs, then put it down. Not so this time. The book? The Alchemist, an international bestseller by Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho. That I kept putting it down while at the shop wasn't due to lack of interest. I mean, if I'm not interested in a book, I don't keep looking at it again and again every time I go to the bookshop. It's more a matter of being interested, but not wanting to spend any more than I have already, or possibly not having the money. What else did I buy? I'm glad you asked. (And if you didn't ask, tough shit, because I'm going to answer that question, anyway. :P ) I also purchased, though Amazon, A Dictionary of the Ojibway Language, by Frederic Baraga.
When I was at Barnes & Noble, I also saw another book that caught my attention. At one point, I was simply browsing the "Fiction & Literature" section, just letting my eyes pass over each book long enough to note its title. It's not surprising that the book I'm referring to caught my attention. The book was, you'll like this, How I Became Stupid, by Martin Page. This was originally written in French, and was a smash hit in France in 2001. (Don't ask me how I managed to pick out a book originally written in French. I have no damned idea. I certainly wasn't looking for it.) I've made a mental note about this book and will probably buy it some time in the future. I did, however, add it to my Amazon wishlist just tonight.
[EDIT: On the topic of books originally written in French, I mentioned elsewhere—I believe it was at my townshende.blog—that I would eventually like to get some of de Maupassant's works in the original language. Well, I found the following at Amazon:
[As you can see, this is a dual language book, so it has stories in English and in French. The stories in this particular volume I have already read: Ball-of-Fat: Boule de Suif, La Tellier (Mme. Tellier's Establishment—a story involving prostitutes, just for you, Dean!), Mademoiselle Fifi, Miss Harriet, La Ficelle (Piece of String), La Parure (The Necklace), Le Horla (The Horla).
[Besides, as I see it, while I very much like de Maupassant (as I've made abundantly clear) I also can't go wrong with a book that Dover Publications published on my 36th birthday. Heh. :D
[One of the reviewers at Amazon, an ESL teacher (English as a Second Language), said, "As a language teacher and researcher, I've come to the conclusion that the single best way to learn a foreign language's vocabulary is through these sorts of dual-language texts. (...) If you're learning French, buy this. If you're learning English, buy this." Now there's a resounding review! I added this book to my wishlist, obviously.]
Speaking of my Amazon wishlist, I was looking that over earlier today. I discovered that there were several books on this list that I had already purchased, but had not deleted from the list. Some of them I've already read, too. I took care of that little task. Here's what I deleted:
- 2005 Novel & Short Story Writer's Market
- Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy
- The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald (read it)
- Lord of the Flies, by William Golding (I started this some years back, but, for some reason not having to do with the book itself, never finished it)
- The Pearl, by John Steinbeck (read it)
- Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck (read it)
- The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas
- Wild Rice and the Ojibway People, by Thomas Jr. Vennum (not a typo; the Jr. does appear in the middle of his name)
- Night Flying Woman: An Ojibway Narrative, by Ignatia Broker
- Ojibway Tales, by Basil Johnston
- Ojibwe Waasa Inaaabidaa: We Look in All Directions, by Winona Laduke
- Living Our Language: Ojibwe Tales and Oral Histories, by Anton Treuer
- The Chippewas of Lake Superior, by Edmund Jefferson Danziger
- Chippewa Customs, by Frances Densmore
- History of the Ojibway People, by William W. Warren
Steroid Shot — Tomorrow, I get my second steroid shot. The first provided me with some relief, but some of the numbness still remains. I'm hoping this second shot takes care of the rest of it. If it doesn't, then I'll just have to tough it out until I find work and have health benefits again.
Movies — Movies are now a premium for me. When I see them in the theatre, they cost me $15 a pop—$9 for the movie, $3 for a small diet Coke, and $3 for a small popcorn. So, if I'm to see any new movies now, I'll have to rent them. This is fine, but I prefer, if possible, to see a movie the first time in a theatre. I rented two movies earlier today. Renting two movies cost me $9.43, including tax, versus $18 to see two in the theatre (without diet Coke and popcorn) or $30 (with the drink and snack). The first one that I will be watching is Goodbye Lenin!
[ images hosted by flickr ]
2:53 PM
Abstractions 4
Believe it or not, this is, indeed, a photo of an object that you would use every day. I can even guarantee that you have this, or something very much like it, in your home. The only editing I did to this photo was to crop it, to focus in on this particular part of the image.Also, when I said I took this with a low resolution digital camera, I'm talking what was probably a first generation digital camera. It really wasn't much good for anything except to take photos for use on a computer. It had two resolution settings 320 x 240 pixels @ 72 ppi, or 640 x 480 pixels @ 72 ppi. What you see here, although cropped, is 320 x 240, the size of the original photo.
When I'm able to, I try to follow the instruction I received in the photography course I took several years ago. I try to do all my "cropping" inside the view-finder of my camera, meaning I try to compose the photograph just as I want it to appear. I prefer to not do any cropping afterwards, if I can help it. In this case, I had to. The macro-mode of the camera I was using would only allow me to get about 9 inches (23 cm) from whatever I was photographing without losing focus. Heh. I can just imagine what you're thinking. "Focus? There's not much in focus in that image, Garrulus. Why would you have concerned yourself with focus?" Because I'm a bloody perfectionist, that's why! :P Besides, if I hadn't concerned myself with the focus, you wouldn't be able to see the dimension that is found in this photo. That's one of the things I really like about this one.
The digital camera I use now, an Olympus D-390, could also be called low resolution when compared to most cameras available today. It's a 2.0 megapixel camera, with a 2.5X digital zoom. I almost never use the zoom. The quality of digitally zoomed photographs sucks.
[ image hosted by flickr ]
Sunday, May 29, 2005
10:59 PM
Abstractions 3
This is a more complete, although still partial, view of the object in the previous photograph. No, it is not a waste basket. The sort of photographs I like to take, as is obvious, are extreme close-ups, usually of every day objects and typically of things you'll find around the house. Sometimes, if I've printed and displayed the photo (or if I display it as I'm doing here in my blog), I'll follow M. C. Escher's idea, as expressed in the new quote I've posted over there on the right, and re-orient the perspective so that you have to view the object in a way that you wouldn't ordinarily. Often, the result is photographs which are not just abstract, but geometric, as well.Also, I have found the other photographs of which I spoke in my previous post, but I'm not going to post them all at once. I plan to do this piece-meal, to extend the enjoyment of them, if you enjoy this sort of thing, that is; otherwise, I'm simply extending your torture, and that's okay, too—heh. :)
[ image hosted by flickr ]
6:26 PM
Abstractions 2
I haven't yet found some of the other abstract photos I've taken. However, while I was looking, I happened to glance to my left and the image I captured here just jumped out at me. So, I grabbed my digital camera and my tripod, and took several shots, just to make sure that I got the photo that I wanted. I needed the tripod because this had to be done without a flash. A flash would've just ruined the shadows. The only editing I did to this image was to crop it, to make it more abstract. When I cropped it, I also gave it approximately the same height-to-width proportions you'd find in a photograph taken with a traditional SLR camera. Otherwise, this image was left untouched.
[ image hosted by flickr ]
4:20 PM
Racing, Tennis, and Et Cetera
Oh—my—God! What a helluva race! If you're in the States and it's Memorial Day Weekend, you know that means one thing: The Indianapolis 500. Today was a historical day for the Indy 500. Danica Patrick, a 23-year-old woman—and a rookie no less!—was the first woman in history to lead the race. She went on to lead it for 15+ laps and even managed to finish 4th!!! And this was in spite of stalling the car during one pit stop, and in spite of a wreck while the race was under caution that damaged the front wing of the car. (She pitted to have that wing replaced, but, as the pits were closed, she also had to go back into the pits as a penalty. Nevertheless, she still managed to finish 4th. That just shows how talented and competitive and remarkable she is. My God!) She is not the first woman to have raced at Indy, but, as I said, she IS the first woman to have lead the race. If she hadn't started to run out of fuel, she probably would've finished 2nd or 1st. I tell you what, the men had better look out. Patrick is going to kick some fucking ass in the IRL (Indianapolis Racing League)! Wow! I just love shit like this! I just love it! If she doesn't win this race next year, I'd be willing to wager that she'll win it in the next 2-3 years, when she's got more experience. Wow!
Scott Dixon, a man from Auckland, New Zealand, was taken out of the race when he and another driver got together.
Dan Wheldon—a Brit!!!—got to drink that famous jug of milk in victory lane today. Wheldon is the first Brit to win the race since Graham Hill in 1966. That was cool! It was a fast race today, with speeds being posted at 220-226 mph (350-360 kph).
Before the Indy 500 started, I was watching the European Grand Prix at the Nürburgring in Germany. That, too, was an exciting race. Kimi Raikkonen did well until his front right tire went to pieces and then tore apart the front of the car and sent him into the gravel. Fernando Alonso went on to win the race. It's so nice to see someone other than Michael Schumacher winning in Formula 1.
Okay. A little background. Why am I a race fan? Some of you know this; some of you do not. In a very real way, I come from a racing family. I'm a race fan because my father was a race driver. When we lived in Mississippi from 1966-1970, my father used to race the family car, a 1966 red Dodge Dart (you can see one here, if you're interested; you'll have to scroll down the page a bit), a the local dragstrip. He never lost a race. Never. He earned for himself the nickname, "The Little Red Dart." This was in part because of another man who was also racing a Dodge at the time, a Dodge pickup; he was famous for popping wheelies (not an easy thing to do with a truck), then driving that truck down the entire length of the quarter-mile track on the back two wheels. That truck was known as "The Little Red Wagon." My father also worked on the pit crew for this one race driver at a stock car track in Mobile, Alabama. Our family used to go to the races in Mobile every Saturday night when I was a boy. Finally, I got to do something back then that no kid can possibly do now, thanks to concern about liability and lawsuits. When I was about 6- or 7-years-old, I got to go around a race track inside a stock car. This wasn't at racing speed, obviously, but when you're 6 or 7, you don't give a damn about that.
Before all the racing started, I got to see Carlos Moyá play against Roger Federer. That went pretty much as expected, with Federer winning in straight sets. Federer is good and he certainly was the better player today, but it would certainly be nice to see Moyá raising a trophy above his head again.
Today was an unusual day. It's not often that the two sports I like most have so much going on in the same day.
Man, between the race at Indy today and next October, I'm just vibrating with excitement. What's this about October? Oh, not much. (Not much, he says. Heh.) Let's just say that plans to meet a friend from Europe have been getting solidified over the past couple of days, so I'm just thoroughly stoked today. I think I'm going to explode from all this excitement. :D
Scott Dixon, a man from Auckland, New Zealand, was taken out of the race when he and another driver got together.
Dan Wheldon—a Brit!!!—got to drink that famous jug of milk in victory lane today. Wheldon is the first Brit to win the race since Graham Hill in 1966. That was cool! It was a fast race today, with speeds being posted at 220-226 mph (350-360 kph).
Before the Indy 500 started, I was watching the European Grand Prix at the Nürburgring in Germany. That, too, was an exciting race. Kimi Raikkonen did well until his front right tire went to pieces and then tore apart the front of the car and sent him into the gravel. Fernando Alonso went on to win the race. It's so nice to see someone other than Michael Schumacher winning in Formula 1.
Okay. A little background. Why am I a race fan? Some of you know this; some of you do not. In a very real way, I come from a racing family. I'm a race fan because my father was a race driver. When we lived in Mississippi from 1966-1970, my father used to race the family car, a 1966 red Dodge Dart (you can see one here, if you're interested; you'll have to scroll down the page a bit), a the local dragstrip. He never lost a race. Never. He earned for himself the nickname, "The Little Red Dart." This was in part because of another man who was also racing a Dodge at the time, a Dodge pickup; he was famous for popping wheelies (not an easy thing to do with a truck), then driving that truck down the entire length of the quarter-mile track on the back two wheels. That truck was known as "The Little Red Wagon." My father also worked on the pit crew for this one race driver at a stock car track in Mobile, Alabama. Our family used to go to the races in Mobile every Saturday night when I was a boy. Finally, I got to do something back then that no kid can possibly do now, thanks to concern about liability and lawsuits. When I was about 6- or 7-years-old, I got to go around a race track inside a stock car. This wasn't at racing speed, obviously, but when you're 6 or 7, you don't give a damn about that.
Before all the racing started, I got to see Carlos Moyá play against Roger Federer. That went pretty much as expected, with Federer winning in straight sets. Federer is good and he certainly was the better player today, but it would certainly be nice to see Moyá raising a trophy above his head again.
Today was an unusual day. It's not often that the two sports I like most have so much going on in the same day.
Man, between the race at Indy today and next October, I'm just vibrating with excitement. What's this about October? Oh, not much. (Not much, he says. Heh.) Let's just say that plans to meet a friend from Europe have been getting solidified over the past couple of days, so I'm just thoroughly stoked today. I think I'm going to explode from all this excitement. :D
2:31 AM
Abstractions
I've mentioned before that I'm fond of abstract art. Well, I also like abstract photography. Here are just two examples of what I mean. These are photographs I took back in 2000. I've some others around here somewhere. I just have no damned idea where I've put them. All of them, including the two below, were taken with a low resolution digital camera.
[ images hosted by flickr ]
[ images hosted by flickr ]
1:54 AM
A New Plan?
I've been thinking of rearranging my office. I'm tired of facing the wall and having the door at my back. Here's what I'm thinking of doing:
At the moment, the desk sits where the tall shelf is shown on the right hand side of that graphic. The window (the box that breaks up the right wall) is on my left. I'm facing so that I can see out the window, but I'd rather face the door. With the arrangement shown above, I'd still be able to see out the window, I'd just be facing the street out front, instead of the woods out back. I'm also thinking of painting the wall where the door sits. I haven't yet made up my mind which colour I want to paint it.
This will also mean having to buy a wire-loop. A wire-loop, if you're wondering, looks like the hose for a vacuum cleaner, but it's been slit so that you can tuck wires inside it. With the backside of the desk exposed, which is where all the wires for the computer would be, a wire-loop will give it a much cleaner appearance. They're not expensive at all, and they can be bought in a variety of colours, too.
Why am I thinking of doing this when I'm also looking to move down to Georgia (hopefully soon)? Well, even if it means painting the wall, then painting it again when I leave, I can at least enjoy the benefits of some change in this office. I need some change.
[ image hosted by flickr ]
At the moment, the desk sits where the tall shelf is shown on the right hand side of that graphic. The window (the box that breaks up the right wall) is on my left. I'm facing so that I can see out the window, but I'd rather face the door. With the arrangement shown above, I'd still be able to see out the window, I'd just be facing the street out front, instead of the woods out back. I'm also thinking of painting the wall where the door sits. I haven't yet made up my mind which colour I want to paint it.
This will also mean having to buy a wire-loop. A wire-loop, if you're wondering, looks like the hose for a vacuum cleaner, but it's been slit so that you can tuck wires inside it. With the backside of the desk exposed, which is where all the wires for the computer would be, a wire-loop will give it a much cleaner appearance. They're not expensive at all, and they can be bought in a variety of colours, too.
Why am I thinking of doing this when I'm also looking to move down to Georgia (hopefully soon)? Well, even if it means painting the wall, then painting it again when I leave, I can at least enjoy the benefits of some change in this office. I need some change.
[ image hosted by flickr ]
Saturday, May 28, 2005
12:25 PM
Celebration Moon
Because a friend, who shall remain nameless, recently suffered the madness of a full moon (you know who you are!), I thought I'd offer the following as a remedy:
Luna De Fiesta (mp3 3.5MB), by José Luis Encinas. This comes off the CD Gypsy Soul: New Flamenco. This album is an anthology of various New Flamenco artists and includes Ottmar Liebert, one of my favourites. Hopefully, that will help assuage the madness, as well as any October fears. (What's odd about this album, but I think it's a good sort of odd, is that it contains a song by Slash, the guitarist from Guns 'n' Roses. Slash does New Flamenco?! o.O Who knew?)
[ image hosted by flickr ]
Luna De Fiesta (mp3 3.5MB), by José Luis Encinas. This comes off the CD Gypsy Soul: New Flamenco. This album is an anthology of various New Flamenco artists and includes Ottmar Liebert, one of my favourites. Hopefully, that will help assuage the madness, as well as any October fears. (What's odd about this album, but I think it's a good sort of odd, is that it contains a song by Slash, the guitarist from Guns 'n' Roses. Slash does New Flamenco?! o.O Who knew?)
[ image hosted by flickr ]
Friday, May 27, 2005
10:06 AM
Breakfast at Roland Garros
Today, while cooking myself breakfast (like you care what I eat!—I'm still trying to figure out how the hell a photo taken with a flash could end up so damned blurred ~shrug~ ), . . .
. . . I watched a few minutes of the 2005 French Open. Carlos Moyá, a player from Palma de Mallorca, Spain, winner of the 1998 French Open and one of my favourites on the men's circuit, was playing against Fernando Vicente (Benicarlo, Spain). Moyá beat Vicente in 5 sets — 6-4 7-6 (7-4) 6-7 (3-7) 0-6 6-4 — to advance to the 4th round. He gets to face Roger Federer (Basel, Switzerland) next. That won't be pretty, for Moyá at least. Federer beat Fernando Gonzalez (Santiago, Chile) to move ahead to face Moyá. I got to see (not on television) Gonzalez play against Tim Henman (London, England) in the finals at the 2003 Legg Mason Tennis Classic, in Washington DC. Henman won that particular tournament. The Legg Mason is one of the tournaments on the circuit that lead up to the U.S. Open.
When I was in technical school in the U.S. Air Force, my first assignment was originally going to be Tinker AFB in Oklahoma. A classmate of mine from California got the same assignment. Then, before we were due to ship out, our assignments got changed. Mine was changed to Athens, Greece, and my classmate's to Mallorca, Spain. I'll never forget what the dolt said. "I don't want to go overseas." What?! How could anyone not want to go to Mallorca?! What an idiot. Maybe I should've traded him assignments (which was permitted). Then he could've enjoyed 20 ft. snowdrifts, and arctic conditions (not a joke!) high atop Mt. Parnis, in the winter. My response to this misguided gentleman? "Then why the hell did you join the Air Force?"
[ images hosted by flickr | MOYÁ PHOTOS: sportinglife.com ]
. . . I watched a few minutes of the 2005 French Open. Carlos Moyá, a player from Palma de Mallorca, Spain, winner of the 1998 French Open and one of my favourites on the men's circuit, was playing against Fernando Vicente (Benicarlo, Spain). Moyá beat Vicente in 5 sets — 6-4 7-6 (7-4) 6-7 (3-7) 0-6 6-4 — to advance to the 4th round. He gets to face Roger Federer (Basel, Switzerland) next. That won't be pretty, for Moyá at least. Federer beat Fernando Gonzalez (Santiago, Chile) to move ahead to face Moyá. I got to see (not on television) Gonzalez play against Tim Henman (London, England) in the finals at the 2003 Legg Mason Tennis Classic, in Washington DC. Henman won that particular tournament. The Legg Mason is one of the tournaments on the circuit that lead up to the U.S. Open.When I was in technical school in the U.S. Air Force, my first assignment was originally going to be Tinker AFB in Oklahoma. A classmate of mine from California got the same assignment. Then, before we were due to ship out, our assignments got changed. Mine was changed to Athens, Greece, and my classmate's to Mallorca, Spain. I'll never forget what the dolt said. "I don't want to go overseas." What?! How could anyone not want to go to Mallorca?! What an idiot. Maybe I should've traded him assignments (which was permitted). Then he could've enjoyed 20 ft. snowdrifts, and arctic conditions (not a joke!) high atop Mt. Parnis, in the winter. My response to this misguided gentleman? "Then why the hell did you join the Air Force?"
[ images hosted by flickr | MOYÁ PHOTOS: sportinglife.com ]
Thursday, May 26, 2005
1:07 PM
Steroid Shot
Oh, I am quite happy today! I had been concerned as to whether I would be able to get that second steroid shot because of my recent lay-off. I had called the doctor's office yesterday to find out how much the procedure would cost without insurance coverage. Today, he returned my call, and as I spoke to him I recalled that my insurance coverage is supposed be in effect until the end of the month. My next appointment is on May 31. So, after getting off the phone with the doctor, I immediately called my former employer's Human Resources department, to settle in my mind that I would not incurr any expense beyond the necessary $10 or $20 co-pay. It is true. I am covered until midnight May 31. Wonderful! Now, though, the question is, how much is the cost of a follow-up appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon, to decide if surgery will be necessary? Of course, surgery won't happen without health insurance, as I sure as hell don't have that sort of cash lying around.
9:18 AM
A "Brief" Note
I was going over, for a second time, the Separation Letter I was given when I was released from my job. My God, but lawyers can be longwinded! I don't think I can reveal the specifics, but I don't believe there would be any problems with me saying this. There's this one paragraph which contains two sentences. The entire paragraph is 361 words. Of that, three-hundred forty-two words! make up the first sentence alone!
For me, the worst part of it is that I understood the damned thing. Gah!
What I really would like to know, though, is why, when legal documents are typically thick enough to choke a herd of mules, do lawyers call them "briefs"? After all, they're not exactly short.
For me, the worst part of it is that I understood the damned thing. Gah!
What I really would like to know, though, is why, when legal documents are typically thick enough to choke a herd of mules, do lawyers call them "briefs"? After all, they're not exactly short.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
8:16 AM
Ch-ch-ch-changes
I've not changed the CD on the right to reflect this, but I've now gone to listening to Bowie's song Changes. I just had myself a good, healthy breakfast. I've been eating a lot of crap lately. Time for some changes. I talked to a certain Monster about this last night. This is something I did when I was going through my divorce. When it became apparent I couldn't stop the divorce from happening, I started changing little things in my life. Small things. I did this to reflect, to symbolise, to signify that life was starting anew for me. Life is again starting anew, especially if I'm serious about throwing off telecom as a career. So, I've reasoned, it's time for more changes.
An interesting thing I learned late last year is what this year is for me according to numerology. I've said before that I like learning about different religions. Well, that includes reading about obvious bullshit like astrology and numerology. According to numerology, this year, for me, has a number of 1. In a book I have on the subject, this is what is said about such a year:
Getting back to my discussion of the changes I made in my life when I was going through my divorce: What sorts of things did I make the first time I implemented small changes in my life? Well, if I was in the habit of turning a door handle one way, I made a conscious effort to turn it the other. If I was in the habit of grasping the handle in one manner, I took to grasping it differently. Instead of eating right-handed all the time, I took to eating left-handed more often. If I was in the habit of putting my left shoe on first, I put the right on first, instead. One result of this was something that I think was a major change, yet in some ways it seems such a minor thing. Fingernails. I used to chew on mine all the time. Now? I very rarely do. Now, I do this most often when I'm driving and I'm tired. This may seem like a small thing until you realise that, for me, chewing my nails was a lifelong habit. Making changes of even the smallest sort has an interesting affect on a person. You can actually feel it. Different parts of your brain get engaged. When I did this the last time, I could swear I started thinking like a left-handed person.
I started doing this again today, when I scrambled my eggs. They turned out a bloody mess, but who gives a fuck? They were edible and that's all that matters, right? This meant grasping the pan with my right hand and swirling the eggs with my left. It also meant, when I whipped the eggs, holding the bowl with my right, and whipping them with my left. Fortunately, I didn't make a mess (although I expected I would). I ate left-handed again. Instead of taking the salt and pepper in my right hand and shaking them, I did it left-handed. Instead of taking up my drink in my right hand to bring it to my mouth, I took it up in my left. One morning of changes, and already I can feel the changes in my brain. I just love this shit. I hate being in a rut.
I keep this crap up and I'll end up a bloody southpaw! Or, at the least, more ambidextrous than I already am. One thing I don't want to change is how I play cards. I've always played cards left-handed, in spite of my right-handedness, and doing that right-handed just seems too much, too damned anathema for me to want to pursue.
When I was about 7 or 8 years old, I taught myself to write left-handed. I can still do that, but it's nowhere near as neat as when I write right-handed. It's legible, but it looks like shit. I've even had left-handers tell me that my left-handed handwriting looks better than theirs. I think that's funny.
Well, if I end up going completely southpaw, that won't be a loss, will it? After all, then I'll finally be in my right mind. Heh. Not to mention I'll be making more use of the creative half of my brain, and that's fine by me. It certainly won't hurt my fiction, will it?
So, that said, here's to some changes! Cheers!
An interesting thing I learned late last year is what this year is for me according to numerology. I've said before that I like learning about different religions. Well, that includes reading about obvious bullshit like astrology and numerology. According to numerology, this year, for me, has a number of 1. In a book I have on the subject, this is what is said about such a year:
This is a time for new beginnings. There are numerous opportunities for expanding projects that have already been established or for beginning programs that have the mark of your own individuality. Although taking a new direction can present a risk, and making the right choices takes courage and confidence, listen to your own inner voice, and do not allow yourself to be discouraged by others.No matter what one thinks of numerology or its accuracy (heh, right!), what is said in these paragraphs seems to me to be good advice to anyone, whether they're in a personal year of 1 or not. I just found it intriguing that this was such a year for me since my marriage ended last year, making this the first time in ten years that I've been single.
If changes are in the air, this is the time to take action. Self-improvement is genuinely important to you, and the emphasis this year is on being independent, positive, and ambitious; otherwise you might miss the opportunities that a number 1 year has to offer. Any attempts made to go backward either will be denied or are not advisable. Guard against being too lazy or insecure to fulfill your dreams. The most rewarding experience of a number 1 year is to pioneer a new idea or invention that is of benefit to others.
Getting back to my discussion of the changes I made in my life when I was going through my divorce: What sorts of things did I make the first time I implemented small changes in my life? Well, if I was in the habit of turning a door handle one way, I made a conscious effort to turn it the other. If I was in the habit of grasping the handle in one manner, I took to grasping it differently. Instead of eating right-handed all the time, I took to eating left-handed more often. If I was in the habit of putting my left shoe on first, I put the right on first, instead. One result of this was something that I think was a major change, yet in some ways it seems such a minor thing. Fingernails. I used to chew on mine all the time. Now? I very rarely do. Now, I do this most often when I'm driving and I'm tired. This may seem like a small thing until you realise that, for me, chewing my nails was a lifelong habit. Making changes of even the smallest sort has an interesting affect on a person. You can actually feel it. Different parts of your brain get engaged. When I did this the last time, I could swear I started thinking like a left-handed person.
I started doing this again today, when I scrambled my eggs. They turned out a bloody mess, but who gives a fuck? They were edible and that's all that matters, right? This meant grasping the pan with my right hand and swirling the eggs with my left. It also meant, when I whipped the eggs, holding the bowl with my right, and whipping them with my left. Fortunately, I didn't make a mess (although I expected I would). I ate left-handed again. Instead of taking the salt and pepper in my right hand and shaking them, I did it left-handed. Instead of taking up my drink in my right hand to bring it to my mouth, I took it up in my left. One morning of changes, and already I can feel the changes in my brain. I just love this shit. I hate being in a rut.
I keep this crap up and I'll end up a bloody southpaw! Or, at the least, more ambidextrous than I already am. One thing I don't want to change is how I play cards. I've always played cards left-handed, in spite of my right-handedness, and doing that right-handed just seems too much, too damned anathema for me to want to pursue.
When I was about 7 or 8 years old, I taught myself to write left-handed. I can still do that, but it's nowhere near as neat as when I write right-handed. It's legible, but it looks like shit. I've even had left-handers tell me that my left-handed handwriting looks better than theirs. I think that's funny.
Well, if I end up going completely southpaw, that won't be a loss, will it? After all, then I'll finally be in my right mind. Heh. Not to mention I'll be making more use of the creative half of my brain, and that's fine by me. It certainly won't hurt my fiction, will it?
So, that said, here's to some changes! Cheers!
6:34 AM
Head Down . . .
. . . arse end up! That's a saying I first heard from my friend SJ, and now it applies to me. Just a brief blog entry to start my day.
Yesterday, after getting laid off, after getting home, I stayed up all day. By the time I had gone to bed, I had been up for, I don't know, probably 36 hours. Needless to say, I slept quite well, and for longer than usual. This was done largely to get myself turned around to the dayshift. After all, I can hardly look for work when I'm on the nightshift.
I've got a lot to do today. Already I've figured out that a job at Target, while it will go a long, long way to paying my bills, will fall a little short. If it weren't for taxes, it would be enough. Anyone care to ban income taxes? Erm, that would mean voting Libertarian, wouldn't it? And they're too uncomfortably close in their politics too the Republicans for me. I guess that means seeking other means to supplement my income.
What is there to do today? Well, yesterday was pretty much intended to get me turned around from nights to days. Today, I'll be . . .
Au revoir et à bientôt!
Yesterday, after getting laid off, after getting home, I stayed up all day. By the time I had gone to bed, I had been up for, I don't know, probably 36 hours. Needless to say, I slept quite well, and for longer than usual. This was done largely to get myself turned around to the dayshift. After all, I can hardly look for work when I'm on the nightshift.
I've got a lot to do today. Already I've figured out that a job at Target, while it will go a long, long way to paying my bills, will fall a little short. If it weren't for taxes, it would be enough. Anyone care to ban income taxes? Erm, that would mean voting Libertarian, wouldn't it? And they're too uncomfortably close in their politics too the Republicans for me. I guess that means seeking other means to supplement my income.
What is there to do today? Well, yesterday was pretty much intended to get me turned around from nights to days. Today, I'll be . . .
- ...hiking it over to the unemployment office to apply for that compensation. If it works as it used to, I won't be able to collect unemployment for another 4 weeks. I got a severance package equal to 4 weeks' pay, and the laws say (used to say?) that you had to wait a period equal to your severance package before you could collect.
- ...heading on over to Target to apply for their nightshift.
- ...visiting Aerotek's web site, to find out where they're located (the last time I worked for them they were near Baltimore-Washington International Airport, in Elkridge), and to contact someone there about finding me some contract-to-hire work.
- ...contacting the gent from Insight Global who called me a couple of weeks back with a job he said, based on my online résumé, he thought was a perfect fit for me.
- ...checking my gmail for the stuff Bobby at work sent me, contacts for positions not unlike the one I just lost.
- ...calling that number I found on voice mail about government jobs.
- ...taking the first step towards that real estate shit I blogged about the other day.
- ...writing my fiction. No need to stop this, right? In fact, I'm going to see what I can do about trying to write more than I have been over the past few days. I'm not sure if I'm going to start this today, but it occurred to me yesterday that this period of unemployment would be a good time to pull out something that I've completed and get the damned thing edited so I can get it in the mail.
Sometimes you kickThat should be a good kick! start for one day.
Sometimes you get kicked
Au revoir et à bientôt!
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
3:45 PM
Kick: The Arts 3
I have spent I don't know how long working on this post. Hours? Surely. It started an entry of greater than Biblical proportions. It has now received a major, major, major edit, and it's still long.
I put on Kick by INXS when I left work. It just seemed like a good CD to listen to. This blog entry had barely entered my mind, but I knew I wanted to write about what had happened. When I got to this song, I got stuck on it. Before I get to the blog entry, I want to share the song with you. I promise that the relevance of this song will soon be made apparent. (That m4a file, by the way, is the MPEG-4 format, so, hopefully, no one should have any problems with listening to it.)
Kick (kick.m4a 428kb)
Come on, come on, come on, come on!
I look around
Unsatisfied
At what they're giving me
Then I think to myself
Is there someone else
Who feels the same as me?
Do you feel the same baby?
When my back is broken
When the mountains move away
All the dreams and promises
That we give—we give away
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Look ahead
But don't mix it up
Baby look ahead
To better days and better ways
Make peace with flesh and blood
Make peace with your love
Nothing more I could ask of you
In the end this is the truth
When my back is broken
When the mountains move away
All the dreams and promises
That we give—we give away
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Lyrics © TOL MUZIEK, a division of TOL Technische Octrooi.
Rights Administered by MCA MUSIC PUBLISHING
A Division of MCA, INC.
Pruduced & © Atlantic Recording Corporation
To be quite upfront. I was laid off from my job this morning. It's just another day in the telecom neighourhood, as Mr. Rogers might say. Or, as King Solomon might quip, when it comes to all the ways which corporate America has devised for a man to lose his job, for me, there is nothing new under the sun. Today, I was laid-off. Ho-hum. ::yawns:: How boring. C'mon, guys! Try throwing something new at me for once!
Why do I say there is nothing new for me under the sun? Well, I've been hired, I've been fired, I've been laid-off (made redundant), I've had contracts come to an end, and I've quit/resigned from jobs before. I've also gone through my fair share of corporate mergers.
Five times have I lost a job.
The first time, I was working for MCI in Washington DC. I was part of a company-wide lay-off that involved 2,500+ people. My reaction, after I was escorted out of the building, was to walk out into the sunlight, look up at the bright blue sky, and say, "What now?"
I've been accused of not being able to hold a job. I've lost my job five times. Twice it was due to lay-offs. I certainly can't be blamed for that. Once, I was fired for telling the truth. If I can be faulted for that, then, dammit, I'll gladly shoulder the blame for that sucker. Once, a contract I was working under came to an end, and all the contractors were let go. My fault? Not hardly. But the fourth time? As I say, I see it as the darkest moment ever in my life. If there is only one thing I regret in my life, it is my shirking of my responsibility when I was in a job I hated, especially when I was married with two children to look after. Out of the five times that I've lost a job, I see only one as a black mark. I can't hold a job? Bullshit! These are the ins-and-outs of the volatile telecom industry. Ask anyone who has worked in it as long as I have.
And then I started this job. My attitude now that I've been laid off again? Now that I've been asked to leave yet a fifth time?
Nevertheless, I want very much to get out of telecommunications. The time has come.
I put on Kick by INXS when I left work. It just seemed like a good CD to listen to. This blog entry had barely entered my mind, but I knew I wanted to write about what had happened. When I got to this song, I got stuck on it. Before I get to the blog entry, I want to share the song with you. I promise that the relevance of this song will soon be made apparent. (That m4a file, by the way, is the MPEG-4 format, so, hopefully, no one should have any problems with listening to it.)
Kick (kick.m4a 428kb)
Come on, come on, come on, come on!
I look around
Unsatisfied
At what they're giving me
Then I think to myself
Is there someone else
Who feels the same as me?
Do you feel the same baby?
When my back is broken
When the mountains move away
All the dreams and promises
That we give—we give away
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Look ahead
But don't mix it up
Baby look ahead
To better days and better ways
Make peace with flesh and blood
Make peace with your love
Nothing more I could ask of you
In the end this is the truth
When my back is broken
When the mountains move away
All the dreams and promises
That we give—we give away
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kick
Sometimes you get kicked
Lyrics © TOL MUZIEK, a division of TOL Technische Octrooi.
Rights Administered by MCA MUSIC PUBLISHING
A Division of MCA, INC.
Pruduced & © Atlantic Recording Corporation
To be quite upfront. I was laid off from my job this morning. It's just another day in the telecom neighourhood, as Mr. Rogers might say. Or, as King Solomon might quip, when it comes to all the ways which corporate America has devised for a man to lose his job, for me, there is nothing new under the sun. Today, I was laid-off. Ho-hum. ::yawns:: How boring. C'mon, guys! Try throwing something new at me for once!
Why do I say there is nothing new for me under the sun? Well, I've been hired, I've been fired, I've been laid-off (made redundant), I've had contracts come to an end, and I've quit/resigned from jobs before. I've also gone through my fair share of corporate mergers.
Five times have I lost a job.
The first time, I was working for MCI in Washington DC. I was part of a company-wide lay-off that involved 2,500+ people. My reaction, after I was escorted out of the building, was to walk out into the sunlight, look up at the bright blue sky, and say, "What now?"
Sometimes you kickThe second time, I was working for Cellular One in Greenbelt, Maryland. My reaction that day was to say, "Thank God!" I won't go into all the details here, but suffice to say, believe it or not, I was fired for telling the truth about a mistake I had made. I had wanted to leave that job anyway.
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kickThe third time, I was working as a contractor on a contract-to-hire basis. By this time I was married and had one son. The employer had the option to hire or not at the end of the contract. At the end of the contract, the employer let all of the contractors go. I was not the only one.
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kickThe fourth time was, I think, the darkest moment ever in my life. I started in a job that I thoroughly enjoyed. Then came the birth of my second son. After a corporate merger, I landed a job I absolutely loved, and then, after going through what was the second corporate merger in two-and-a-half years, I ended up in a job I absolutely hated. To my shame, I shirked my responsibilities. I was put in a disciplinary program designed to get me back on track. Once more, I was fired. A few days later, 9/11 happened. My reaction to losing this job was that I should pursue work more writing-related. Well, that never happened. Or, rather, I tried to find work in technical writing, but it never happened. No one ever responded to my efforts. I also looked for work in telecom and got the same result. Then, after 15 months of unemployment, I had two months where I didn't look for work at all. My wife then asked me to leave. Even when I looked for work in the retail sector, every where I went I was greeted with, "Sorry, we don't have anything, but you are welcome to complete an application, if you like." Six months later, she filed for divorce. Fifteen months after that, the divorce became final.
Sometimes you get kicked
Sometimes you kickI am not at all proud that I shirked my responsibilities. I wish I could change it, but I can't. Am I ashamed that I didn't look for work during those two months? Believe it or not, that's a hard question for me to answer. Yes, I am. Yet, have you ever been unemployed for 15 months straight? Do you know what happens to a person when, despite making an average of 5 job contacts per week, not a single employer offers you a job? Do you know just how demoralizing and despressing that is? So, I can also say, "No, I'm not ashamed of it." It's one of the few things which puts me in a quandry.
Sometimes you get kicked
I've been accused of not being able to hold a job. I've lost my job five times. Twice it was due to lay-offs. I certainly can't be blamed for that. Once, I was fired for telling the truth. If I can be faulted for that, then, dammit, I'll gladly shoulder the blame for that sucker. Once, a contract I was working under came to an end, and all the contractors were let go. My fault? Not hardly. But the fourth time? As I say, I see it as the darkest moment ever in my life. If there is only one thing I regret in my life, it is my shirking of my responsibility when I was in a job I hated, especially when I was married with two children to look after. Out of the five times that I've lost a job, I see only one as a black mark. I can't hold a job? Bullshit! These are the ins-and-outs of the volatile telecom industry. Ask anyone who has worked in it as long as I have.
And then I started this job. My attitude now that I've been laid off again? Now that I've been asked to leave yet a fifth time?
Sometimes you kickAs I said earlier,
Sometimes you get kicked
I'm officially sick of techno-babble-dom. Sure, it pays the bills, but it does little good for my soul. I have no idea what it will take, but I need to find some way somehow to shed this wearisome career.While I fully intend to look for work in techno-babble-dom, this time around—God so help me!—I am also going to make every effort to shed this wearisome career! Twenty-plus years of corporate mergers, of lay-offs, of getting fired, of quitting some jobs, of resigning from others, of getting transferred (because of those corporate mergers), is enough!
I look around
Unsatisfied
At what they're giving me
Then I think to myself
Is there someone else
Who feels the same as me?
Sometimes you kickI've been kicked enough. It's high time I kicked back! I want to write for a living, dammit!
Sometimes you get kicked
Look aheadTrust me, I'm not going to get stupid about this. I'm an INTJ. J = a planner. Taken as a whole, INTJ = perfectionist. I qualify for unemployment, so I will definitely apply for it. That will provide me with some compensation. I don't know if it will be enough to cover all my expenses, but every little bit will help. I also plan to go over to the Target where I used to work the night shift. I won't be able to do the heavy work I used to do, but they're always looking for help on nights. There's also Aerotek (although I believe they go by a different name now). They do contract-to-hire work. They can set me up with a job much like the one I just lost and I can work as a contractor, as I've done before, for 90 days. After that, the employer can hire me if they like my work. Just as I've done this before and not gotten hired, I've also done it and have gotten hired. I'll also look for work near Atlanta, Georgia, where my sons live. Not long ago, I got a call from a gent saying he thought he had a position I was perfect for. I wasn't interested in looking at the time. Now, though, I am. The position he spoke of may not still be available, but he can probably still find me work. What's more, today, a call came in while I was at home. I ignored the call, as the CallerID seemed to identify it as a possible telemarketer. It was a call for Government jobs that are now available. It was a recording, but it gave me a phone number to call.
But don't mix it up
Nevertheless, I want very much to get out of telecommunications. The time has come.
Baby look aheadI know there's something out there better than telecom, with all its fucking instability. I can do this.
To better days and better ways
When my back is brokenWhat can be better than pursuing a lifelong dream?
When the mountains move away
All the dreams and promisesAnd why would I want to give that away for anything less?
That we give—we give away
9:44 AM
The Hatchet Man
The hatchet man cometh. The hatchet man taketh away. ~sigh~
Sigh? Fuck that! It's time to celebrate!
Sigh? Fuck that! It's time to celebrate!
2:15 AM
The Arts 2
Remember this?
EDIT: Heh. I say this will happen sooner than later? How about later today? At 8am? Grrr. That sinking feeling I mentioned? I've no doubt it will result in a few more stories. Sinking? Like hell! I'm about to enter a whirlwind.
I'm officially sick of techno-babble-dom. Sure, it pays the bills, but it does little good for my soul. I have no idea what it will take, but I need to find some way somehow to shed this wearisome career. Fret not. I'm not about to jump ship just yet. No matter where I live, I'll continue down the techno-babble-dom path until I can find a way to supplant it with my writing. I've already one option in mind, even though it involves work in another field—real estate—that I find just as offensive. However, real estate has the definite potential, in the meantime, to offer me greater freedom to pursue my writing on a full-time basis.I've a sinking feeling that this is going to happen sooner and not later. I can't go into any details at the moment, unfortunately. Furthermore, I may end up having to limit my discussion of it to email.
EDIT: Heh. I say this will happen sooner than later? How about later today? At 8am? Grrr. That sinking feeling I mentioned? I've no doubt it will result in a few more stories. Sinking? Like hell! I'm about to enter a whirlwind.
12:34 AM
In Memoriam: Kimberly Delaney
I received some bad news tonight. Old news, but bad. A friend, someone with whom I had gone to high school in England, someone even my friend Dave knew, died last June. She was 7 days older than me, and then died on my brother's birthday last year.
Kim and I shared several classes together in high school. I even remember the two of us sitting next to one another in this one math class that we had together. Upper Heyford High School was a small school. In any one school year, all four classes, the Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, and Senior classes, all totaled together amounted to probably 500 people. Everyone knew each other.
My family left England in the late Spring of 1977. My brother and I had to take all of our final exams early. Twenty-five years later, in the Spring of 2002, through Classmates.com, I managed to get in touch with a few of my old friends. Kimberly was the second person I had found through that site.
She and I spent a good amount of time online, talking via IM, going on about old times, old friends, etc. I learned that she had a crush on one of my best friends in high school. I also learned, as she and I talked, that her parents had both worked for Apple Computer and had, in fact, been among the first 20 employees with the company. As we talked, we began making plans to put together a web site for our high school graduating class. We did, too. I put together and maintained the HTML portion of the site, and Kimberly, who was a computer programmer, put together a PHP-based discussion board for the site.
Then, sometime last year, I saw that the site had disappeared. The site had been hosted at some web space she had paid for. When it disappeared, it got me worried. I tried to contact Kimberly, but wasn't able to. As a consequence, I got in touch with a gent who lived about 2 miles from where she lived. He had attended the same high school, but had graduated 10 years before Kimberly and I had. It took him a good bit of time, but he finally found out that Kimberly had died last year.
She had cancer, and she died far, far, far too young. She was 44. She was married, and had three boys. I'll miss her, but I sure as hell am glad that I got to meet her again after 25 years, even if it was only online, even if it was only for a brief time. She was an incredible person.
EDIT: I would like to add that the reason I got worried when the web site disappeared, was because I had known at that time that she had cancer. When she found out about it, she told me. It had immediately been diagnosed as terminal.
I'd also like to add that Kimberly was wonderfully supportive when I was going through my divorce. I've said enough.
Kim and I shared several classes together in high school. I even remember the two of us sitting next to one another in this one math class that we had together. Upper Heyford High School was a small school. In any one school year, all four classes, the Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, and Senior classes, all totaled together amounted to probably 500 people. Everyone knew each other.
My family left England in the late Spring of 1977. My brother and I had to take all of our final exams early. Twenty-five years later, in the Spring of 2002, through Classmates.com, I managed to get in touch with a few of my old friends. Kimberly was the second person I had found through that site.
She and I spent a good amount of time online, talking via IM, going on about old times, old friends, etc. I learned that she had a crush on one of my best friends in high school. I also learned, as she and I talked, that her parents had both worked for Apple Computer and had, in fact, been among the first 20 employees with the company. As we talked, we began making plans to put together a web site for our high school graduating class. We did, too. I put together and maintained the HTML portion of the site, and Kimberly, who was a computer programmer, put together a PHP-based discussion board for the site.
Then, sometime last year, I saw that the site had disappeared. The site had been hosted at some web space she had paid for. When it disappeared, it got me worried. I tried to contact Kimberly, but wasn't able to. As a consequence, I got in touch with a gent who lived about 2 miles from where she lived. He had attended the same high school, but had graduated 10 years before Kimberly and I had. It took him a good bit of time, but he finally found out that Kimberly had died last year.
She had cancer, and she died far, far, far too young. She was 44. She was married, and had three boys. I'll miss her, but I sure as hell am glad that I got to meet her again after 25 years, even if it was only online, even if it was only for a brief time. She was an incredible person.
EDIT: I would like to add that the reason I got worried when the web site disappeared, was because I had known at that time that she had cancer. When she found out about it, she told me. It had immediately been diagnosed as terminal.
I'd also like to add that Kimberly was wonderfully supportive when I was going through my divorce. I've said enough.
Monday, May 23, 2005
4:52 PM
Dead Can Dance: Into the Labyrinth 2
You can tell already which of these songs I like best, based on iTunes' tracking of my play count:
Discounting the fact that I had listened to Yulunga 13 times when I first got it, the ranking of these songs, according to play count, since I got the whole collection, would be as follows:
- Dead Can Dance: Into the Labyrinth
- Yulunga (Spirit Dance) – 15
- Ubiquitous Mr Lovegrove – 7
- Wind That Shakes the Barley – 4
- Carnival Is Over – 3
- Ariadne – 5
- Saldek – 27(!) O.O
- Towards The Within – 3
- Tell Me About The Forest (You Once Called Home) – 3 (yes, I finally got my iPod to stop choking on getting this song installed)
- Spider's Stratagem – 6
- Emmeleia – 3
- How Fortunate The Man With None – 2
Discounting the fact that I had listened to Yulunga 13 times when I first got it, the ranking of these songs, according to play count, since I got the whole collection, would be as follows:
- Saldek
- Ubiquitous Mr Lovegrove
- Spider's Stratagem
- Ariadne
- Wind That Shakes the Barley
- Carnival Is Over – tied for 6th
- Towards The Within – tied for 6th
- Tell Me About The Forest (You Once Called Home) – tied for 6th
- Emmeleia – tied for 6th
- Yulunga (Spirit Dance) – tied for 10th
- How Fortunate The Man With None – tied for 10th
Sunday, May 22, 2005
10:05 PM
The Arts
I'm officially sick of techno-babble-dom. Sure, it pays the bills, but it does little good for my soul. I have no idea what it will take, but I need to find some way somehow to shed this wearisome career. Fret not. I'm not about to jump ship just yet. No matter where I live, I'll continue down the techno-babble-dom path until I can find a way to supplant it with my writing. I've already one option in mind, even though it involves work in another field—real estate—that I find just as offensive. However, real estate has the definite potential, in the meantime, to offer me greater freedom to pursue my writing on a full-time basis.
On the same topic, somewhat, I'm planning to add some links to sites that have to do with the Arts. The first ones I'll put up come from a friend's blog. Keep an eye out for this!
Scrap that. I have added some links to sites on the Arts. You can find them on the right-hand side. All but three I purloined from a friend's blog. The three I added are: Michael Parkes, the Salvador Dalí Museum, and the Salvador Dalí Gallery. I'll add more as I find links to artists whose work I like. Speaking of artists whose work I like, I'm especially fond of that done by Michael Parkes. The Juggler and Gargoyles have to be my two favourites by Parkes. Since 'stalking' has been a subject of discussion between myself and SJ (especially in regard to French singers), I thought I'd include a link to Parkes' painting, Stalking, as well. Also, having mentioned Handel's Water Music to a certain monster, here's a link to Parkes' image of the same name, Water Music. Okay. That's enough. If you want to look at any others, you'll just have to go to Parkes' web site and navigate it yourself.
Finally, I've also added a quote in the right-hand column. The first is from Georgia O'Keefe. I think I'll make all these quotes from artists.
Scrap that. I have added some links to sites on the Arts. You can find them on the right-hand side. All but three I purloined from a friend's blog. The three I added are: Michael Parkes, the Salvador Dalí Museum, and the Salvador Dalí Gallery. I'll add more as I find links to artists whose work I like. Speaking of artists whose work I like, I'm especially fond of that done by Michael Parkes. The Juggler and Gargoyles have to be my two favourites by Parkes. Since 'stalking' has been a subject of discussion between myself and SJ (especially in regard to French singers), I thought I'd include a link to Parkes' painting, Stalking, as well. Also, having mentioned Handel's Water Music to a certain monster, here's a link to Parkes' image of the same name, Water Music. Okay. That's enough. If you want to look at any others, you'll just have to go to Parkes' web site and navigate it yourself.
Finally, I've also added a quote in the right-hand column. The first is from Georgia O'Keefe. I think I'll make all these quotes from artists.
8:35 PM
Miscellany
I've several other things I wanted to blog about, but I've decided I'm not going to create a separate blog entry for each. Instead, I'll create one entry and devote a paragraph or two to each subject. Here goes:
Le iPod — Can an iPod be considered male? Hmm. I suppose the ones with larger capacity, like my 15GB model, would be male, but the iPod Mini, both the 4 and 6GB models, along with the iPod Shuffle, would be female. So, yes, I'll go with le iPod and leave it at that. Anyway, to get to the point of this paragraph, I've decided to make more creative use of le iPod. It can be used to store digital images, if I choose to buy the requisite adapter for the xD-Picture Cards that are used in my Olympus digital camera. However, that's not what I've decided to do. Rather, as some of you may have guessed already, je mets mon français leçons dans mon iPod. I put my French lessons in my iPod. Now, I can take the CDs with me wherever I go. (The French in this post was not touched by Google. Rather, I used my book 501 French Verbs to look up what I believe is the correct verb, mettre. None of the other related verbs seemed to fit.)
xD-Picture Card — Today, I finally got off my lazy arse and went to a nearby photo store to see if they could possibly get those photos off that card that misbehaved not too long ago. It appears that I'm out of luck. Their machines could not find any photos on my card. So, while I was still there, I shoved the damned thing back into my Olympus camera, instructed the camera to reformat the card, and what should happen? I got the message "Card Error!" Apparently, the card went bad while I was taking those photos back in the woods that day. There's 32MB of space, along with all those photos of my sons, in the rubbish bin. Ah well. I can't change it now, so no need to fret about it. I've still plenty of good cards available: 64MB x 2, 32MB x 1, and 16MB x 1, for a total of 176MB of digital photo storage. They had better not, any one of them, go bad when I see my sons next.
Le Comte de Monte Christo — I found that I did have the receipt for the abridged version of Le Comte de Monte Cristo that I had mistakenly purchased. Two or three days ago I went back to Barnes & Noble and they allowed me to return it for the unabridged version. Below are images of both books:
The one on the left, you'll recall, is the abridged copy I had bought. What is interesting about it, however, is that the photo on the cover is of le Château d'If, which plays a big role in the story and is, in fact, mentioned immediately in the beginning:
O Menu — I love Macs. :P For some time now, I've had my eMac set up so that I can, with a keystroke, toggle the configuration of my keyboard between British English, American English, French, German, and Polish. Today, I added Portuguese to o menu. I really don't need to do this, as I've got all the keyboard shortcuts for all the diacritical marks memorised, but I figured why the hell not? There are probably some symbols and other things I wouldn't be able to access otherwise, and, with my Keycaps utility and the menu toggled over to Portuguese, I can see what each key will type without having to hit the key itself to see the result. Besides, a little curiosity never hurt anyone, except that damned proverbial cat. Oh, I should probably add that the control panel that lets me do this also has Brazilian Portuguese listed (so my Mac does distinguish between the two), but I decided to forego that mambo-jambo option. :D
[ images hosted by flickr ]
Le iPod — Can an iPod be considered male? Hmm. I suppose the ones with larger capacity, like my 15GB model, would be male, but the iPod Mini, both the 4 and 6GB models, along with the iPod Shuffle, would be female. So, yes, I'll go with le iPod and leave it at that. Anyway, to get to the point of this paragraph, I've decided to make more creative use of le iPod. It can be used to store digital images, if I choose to buy the requisite adapter for the xD-Picture Cards that are used in my Olympus digital camera. However, that's not what I've decided to do. Rather, as some of you may have guessed already, je mets mon français leçons dans mon iPod. I put my French lessons in my iPod. Now, I can take the CDs with me wherever I go. (The French in this post was not touched by Google. Rather, I used my book 501 French Verbs to look up what I believe is the correct verb, mettre. None of the other related verbs seemed to fit.)
xD-Picture Card — Today, I finally got off my lazy arse and went to a nearby photo store to see if they could possibly get those photos off that card that misbehaved not too long ago. It appears that I'm out of luck. Their machines could not find any photos on my card. So, while I was still there, I shoved the damned thing back into my Olympus camera, instructed the camera to reformat the card, and what should happen? I got the message "Card Error!" Apparently, the card went bad while I was taking those photos back in the woods that day. There's 32MB of space, along with all those photos of my sons, in the rubbish bin. Ah well. I can't change it now, so no need to fret about it. I've still plenty of good cards available: 64MB x 2, 32MB x 1, and 16MB x 1, for a total of 176MB of digital photo storage. They had better not, any one of them, go bad when I see my sons next.
Le Comte de Monte Christo — I found that I did have the receipt for the abridged version of Le Comte de Monte Cristo that I had mistakenly purchased. Two or three days ago I went back to Barnes & Noble and they allowed me to return it for the unabridged version. Below are images of both books:
The one on the left, you'll recall, is the abridged copy I had bought. What is interesting about it, however, is that the photo on the cover is of le Château d'If, which plays a big role in the story and is, in fact, mentioned immediately in the beginning:
On the 24th of February, 1815, the lookout of Notre-Dame de la Garde signalled the three-master, the Pharaon, from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples.The book on the right is published by the same people that published the copy of War and Peace that I read a few weeks back, The Modern Library. And, ever the book buyer, I could not resist the temptation to leave the bookshop without another new book in hand. I bought Rudyard Kipling's Captains Courageous.
As usual, a pilot put off immediately, and rounding the Château d'If, got on board the vessel between Cape Morgion and the Isle of Rion.
O Menu — I love Macs. :P For some time now, I've had my eMac set up so that I can, with a keystroke, toggle the configuration of my keyboard between British English, American English, French, German, and Polish. Today, I added Portuguese to o menu. I really don't need to do this, as I've got all the keyboard shortcuts for all the diacritical marks memorised, but I figured why the hell not? There are probably some symbols and other things I wouldn't be able to access otherwise, and, with my Keycaps utility and the menu toggled over to Portuguese, I can see what each key will type without having to hit the key itself to see the result. Besides, a little curiosity never hurt anyone, except that damned proverbial cat. Oh, I should probably add that the control panel that lets me do this also has Brazilian Portuguese listed (so my Mac does distinguish between the two), but I decided to forego that mambo-jambo option. :D
[ images hosted by flickr ]
7:32 PM
Dead Can Dance: Into the Labyrinth
Oh, yes, they can! :D
What can one say about DCD? except YUM!
Last night, after getting Yulunga (Spirit Dance), I put iTunes on endless repeat and listened to this song 13 times before I stopped, my head pleasantly a-buzz. (A triskaidekaphobe I am not!) This morning, I moved on to listening to more of this album, called Into the Labyrinth. Where has this group been all my life? Heh. :D So, next came Ubiquitous Mr Lovegrove, with its wonderful Middle Eastern flavour, and then the a cappella Wind That Shakes the Barley. I think I've found a new addiction. I'm already listening to Mr Lovegrove a second time.
It's funny, but iTunes quantifies DCD as "Alternative & Punk." It's like no alternative or punk I've ever heard before, and that's just fine by me. I mean, when I think punk The Clash comes to mind, not DCD. Still, I can see why they would fall into the "alternative" genre.
Right. We all know what this means, don't we? It means I've got to find out where I can get tickets for DCD's October 5 concert in Washington DC. Heh, how alliterative: DCD in DC.
The first song I heard by DCD, a 30-second sample, was Spider's Stratagem at the iTunes site in Portugal. Wonderful stuff! This album includes the whole of Spider's Stratagem, but it's the 9th track and I want to listen to this album in the order in which the tracks were recorded, so it'll be a wee bit before I get to this one.
I need to get those Klipsch speakers I blogged about earlier and listen to this CD through some real speakers instead of the dinky ones in my eMac. It has to be utterly sinful to listen to music of this sort through dinky speakers, but until such time that I come into possession of those speakers, I think I'll just go on sinning.
Now playing: Carnival Is Over.
Okay, I need to end this blog entry before the whole album is done playing. Here are the track titles:
Once I get this uploaded to my iPod, I'll then have 139 albums by 107 artists, for a total of 1550+ songs, loaded. And to think my 15GB iPod is still nearly half empty. I've 7.1GB of available space. O.O
What can one say about DCD? except YUM!
Last night, after getting Yulunga (Spirit Dance), I put iTunes on endless repeat and listened to this song 13 times before I stopped, my head pleasantly a-buzz. (A triskaidekaphobe I am not!) This morning, I moved on to listening to more of this album, called Into the Labyrinth. Where has this group been all my life? Heh. :D So, next came Ubiquitous Mr Lovegrove, with its wonderful Middle Eastern flavour, and then the a cappella Wind That Shakes the Barley. I think I've found a new addiction. I'm already listening to Mr Lovegrove a second time.
It's funny, but iTunes quantifies DCD as "Alternative & Punk." It's like no alternative or punk I've ever heard before, and that's just fine by me. I mean, when I think punk The Clash comes to mind, not DCD. Still, I can see why they would fall into the "alternative" genre.
Right. We all know what this means, don't we? It means I've got to find out where I can get tickets for DCD's October 5 concert in Washington DC. Heh, how alliterative: DCD in DC.
The first song I heard by DCD, a 30-second sample, was Spider's Stratagem at the iTunes site in Portugal. Wonderful stuff! This album includes the whole of Spider's Stratagem, but it's the 9th track and I want to listen to this album in the order in which the tracks were recorded, so it'll be a wee bit before I get to this one.
I need to get those Klipsch speakers I blogged about earlier and listen to this CD through some real speakers instead of the dinky ones in my eMac. It has to be utterly sinful to listen to music of this sort through dinky speakers, but until such time that I come into possession of those speakers, I think I'll just go on sinning.
Now playing: Carnival Is Over.
Okay, I need to end this blog entry before the whole album is done playing. Here are the track titles:
- Dead Can Dance: Into the Labyrinth
- Yulunga (Spirit Dance)
- Ubiquitous Mr Lovegrove
- Wind That Shakes the Barley
- Carnival Is Over
- Ariadne
- Saldek
- Towards The Within
- Tell Me About The Forest (You Once Called Home)
- Spider's Stratagem
- Emmeleia
- How Fortunate The Man With None
Once I get this uploaded to my iPod, I'll then have 139 albums by 107 artists, for a total of 1550+ songs, loaded. And to think my 15GB iPod is still nearly half empty. I've 7.1GB of available space. O.O
Saturday, May 21, 2005
1:18 PM
I Wish I Was A Girl
THIS DESERT LIFE by Counting Crows is an excellent CD. I love not only the songs, but also the artwork that is found throughout, so I thought I'd share it. "I Wish I Was A Girl" is the eighth track and its title is sufficiently attention grabbing (and, I think, incredibly humourous) to warrant sharing the lyrics, as well. The cover art for the CD, shown in the right-hand column, has a source that is also—how shall I say?—intriguing, as well as, um, consumer-inspiring (you'll see what I mean). Heh. That said, je te présente the lyrics for "I Wish I Was A Girl"—
I Wish I Was A Girl
The devil's in the dreaming
He tells you I'm not sleeping in my
hotel room alone
With nothing to believe in
You dive into the traffic rising up
And it's so quiet
You're surprised
And then you wake
For all the things you're losing
You might as well resign yourself to try
and make a change
I'm going down to Hollywood
They're gonna make a movie from the
things that they find crawling
round my brain
CHORUS
I wish I was a girl so that you could believe me
And I could shake this static every time I try to sleep
I wish for all the world that I could say,
"Hey Elizabeth, you know, I'm doing alright these days."
The devil's in the dreaming
You see yourself descending from a building
to the ground
You watch the sky receding
You spin to see the traffic rising up
And it's so quiet
You're surprised
And then you wake
For all the things I'm losing
I might as well resign myself to try and make a change
But I'm going down to Hollywood
They're gonn a make a movie from the things they find
crawling around my brain
[ CHORUS ]
In one of these dreams, you forgive me
It makes me think of the bad decisions that keep you at home
How could anyone else have changed?
All these wrong conclusions that leave you alone
How could everyone rearrange?
How could everyone else have changed?
What I see I believe
For all the things I'm losing
I might as well resign myself to try and make a change
But I'm going down to Hollywood
They're gonna make a movie from the things they find
crawling around my brain
[ CHORUS ]
But I can't sleep at night
Words by Adam F. Duritz
Music by Charles Gillingham, Adam Duritz & Counting Crows
Published @ 1999 EMI Blackwood Music Inc./Jones Falls Music
(adm. By EMI-Blackwood Music Inc.) BMI.
© 1999 Geffen Records, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
All illustrations by Dave McKean; cover illustration adaped from the book "The Day I Swapped My Dad For Two Goldfish" by Dave McKean & Neil Gaiman (White Wolf Press)
Is that artwork just fantastic, or what? I don't know about you, but that just makes me want to go buy the McKean/Gaiman book. I'm not sure that those illustrations all appear in the McKean/Gaiman book, but I don't care, either. Heh.
[ images hosted by flickr ]
I Wish I Was A Girl
The devil's in the dreaming
He tells you I'm not sleeping in my
hotel room alone
With nothing to believe in
You dive into the traffic rising up
And it's so quiet
You're surprised
And then you wake
For all the things you're losing
You might as well resign yourself to try
and make a change
I'm going down to Hollywood
They're gonna make a movie from the
things that they find crawling
round my brain
CHORUS
I wish I was a girl so that you could believe me
And I could shake this static every time I try to sleep
I wish for all the world that I could say,
"Hey Elizabeth, you know, I'm doing alright these days."
The devil's in the dreaming
You see yourself descending from a building
to the ground
You watch the sky receding
You spin to see the traffic rising up
And it's so quiet
You're surprised
And then you wake
For all the things I'm losing
I might as well resign myself to try and make a change
But I'm going down to Hollywood
They're gonn a make a movie from the things they find
crawling around my brain
[ CHORUS ]
In one of these dreams, you forgive me
It makes me think of the bad decisions that keep you at home
How could anyone else have changed?
All these wrong conclusions that leave you alone
How could everyone rearrange?
How could everyone else have changed?
What I see I believe
For all the things I'm losing
I might as well resign myself to try and make a change
But I'm going down to Hollywood
They're gonna make a movie from the things they find
crawling around my brain
[ CHORUS ]
But I can't sleep at night
Words by Adam F. Duritz
Music by Charles Gillingham, Adam Duritz & Counting Crows
Published @ 1999 EMI Blackwood Music Inc./Jones Falls Music
(adm. By EMI-Blackwood Music Inc.) BMI.
© 1999 Geffen Records, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
All illustrations by Dave McKean; cover illustration adaped from the book "The Day I Swapped My Dad For Two Goldfish" by Dave McKean & Neil Gaiman (White Wolf Press)
Is that artwork just fantastic, or what? I don't know about you, but that just makes me want to go buy the McKean/Gaiman book. I'm not sure that those illustrations all appear in the McKean/Gaiman book, but I don't care, either. Heh.
[ images hosted by flickr ]
11:21 AM
Changes
Keep a careful eye out for some changes around here. I'm in the process of making a few changes to my blog, some subtle, some not so subtle. One that I will mention is my decision to finally 'export' my image hosting. I had been storing all my images at my web site, townshende.com, but that eats up precious web space that I'm paying for and I'd rather save that space to eventually expand my site. Hmm. I suppose I should probably mention another. All I'll say about it is that it's a change that I believe will only appear at the bottom of every page, so if you typically only read my most recent posts (a perfectly understandable habit), you'd otherwise miss it. Some of these are for my own convenience. Some are my just playing around, tinkering, and making things a bit more consistent. (Hmm. Although the one change I've already made could possibly be put in French. I'll have to give that some more thought before I actually do so.)
AN AFTERTHOUGHT: I just went to check out some things at my web site and found something rather disturbing. Someone apparently hacked the damned thing. Hmmph! I'm not at all happy about that. I've contacted the support group at my web host and they should be able to fix that crapola! Someone needs to keep their nosey fingers out of my business.
Having just gone to my web host's web site, I've now discovered that the problem has already been identified. I love having my site on a Mac OS web host. Per my web host: "A rogue perl script was apparently uploaded 2 days ago and defaced the index page of a bunch of sites (but not all) on xxx.xxx.xxx.xxx. If your site is affected, you just need to replace the index page on the sites that were affected and everything should return back to normal..." Done. So, as they say, everything is back to normal. I checked it to make sure. Rogue perl script. Hmmph!
Back to the issues re: image hosting: I'm far more concerned about the actual disk space used at my host, since I've only got 50MB. The bandwidth—a whopping (for me) 5GB per month—is hardly a problem. If I forked out another $40/yr I'd get 250MB of space and 10GB of bandwidth.
AN AFTERTHOUGHT: I just went to check out some things at my web site and found something rather disturbing. Someone apparently hacked the damned thing. Hmmph! I'm not at all happy about that. I've contacted the support group at my web host and they should be able to fix that crapola! Someone needs to keep their nosey fingers out of my business.
Having just gone to my web host's web site, I've now discovered that the problem has already been identified. I love having my site on a Mac OS web host. Per my web host: "A rogue perl script was apparently uploaded 2 days ago and defaced the index page of a bunch of sites (but not all) on xxx.xxx.xxx.xxx. If your site is affected, you just need to replace the index page on the sites that were affected and everything should return back to normal..." Done. So, as they say, everything is back to normal. I checked it to make sure. Rogue perl script. Hmmph!
Back to the issues re: image hosting: I'm far more concerned about the actual disk space used at my host, since I've only got 50MB. The bandwidth—a whopping (for me) 5GB per month—is hardly a problem. If I forked out another $40/yr I'd get 250MB of space and 10GB of bandwidth.
Friday, May 20, 2005
10:04 AM
Doodle 2
Here's a better example, not to mention one that's less embarrassing, of the sort of doodling I do. However, my doodles are typically more abstract than this one turned out to be. (Even so, I think this one does display some 'surreal' qualities, as I mentioned before.) The image below is unedited. If you look closely, on the right-hand side of the page, between the first four lines, you can see some handwriting bleeding through from the other side. That's some French I had been practicing not too long back. Personally, I don't like what I did to the image once I added the checkerboard sun.
]
Here's the same image, but with the ugly checkerboard sun and the handwriting edited out. I like this image better. I think it's a far better example than the first image (the 'reflection' one) I posted of why I spoke of M. C. Escher in conjunction with my doodling. The previous image was something done in perhaps five or ten minutes, if that. When they get like the image below, and especially when they're completely abstract (think of nothing but lines spraying about, along with warped and twisting checkerboards) they tend to take hours upon hours to complete, and it's just something I like to do whenever I have idle time. I think the bird's wings look very odd, but, for some reason, the image still works despite that.
]
How long did it take me to do this? It was done in spurts over a few days. The checkerboard hump in the middle at the bottom, and the lines that spray off to the right of it, was the first part. Then came the checkerboard pattern and lines that make up the back of the bird, as well as the unexplained lines that go from the top of the bare tree to the tip of the bird's right wing. Next came the right-hand side of the tree's trunk, as well as my attempt at a 'glassy' checkerboard to the left and just below the hump. The tight pattern to the left of the hump was drawn next. It started off as a network of lines that looked like a ribbed leaf. The pattern below that was next, along with the lamp and the horizon behind it. Then the bird, then the pattern on the right. The tree was then finished up, and the checkerboard sun and the lines spraying out of it were last. I don't recall the total number of days spent on this, but it was probably 3, maybe 4. The total time was, perhaps, 2 hours, done in 15 minute spurts.
When I do this, I get what I liken unto a 'thoughtless creative buzz.' It's the same sort of thing I often get when I write, or even when I listen to certain types of music. The Cure puts me in that same frame of mind. It's almost like daydreaming, and I easily lose track of time. I think Buddhists posit it as a form of meditation, one that is often sought after, but I can't remember the name they give to it. It's very much like a 'high.'
[ images hosted by flickr ]
]Here's the same image, but with the ugly checkerboard sun and the handwriting edited out. I like this image better. I think it's a far better example than the first image (the 'reflection' one) I posted of why I spoke of M. C. Escher in conjunction with my doodling. The previous image was something done in perhaps five or ten minutes, if that. When they get like the image below, and especially when they're completely abstract (think of nothing but lines spraying about, along with warped and twisting checkerboards) they tend to take hours upon hours to complete, and it's just something I like to do whenever I have idle time. I think the bird's wings look very odd, but, for some reason, the image still works despite that.
]How long did it take me to do this? It was done in spurts over a few days. The checkerboard hump in the middle at the bottom, and the lines that spray off to the right of it, was the first part. Then came the checkerboard pattern and lines that make up the back of the bird, as well as the unexplained lines that go from the top of the bare tree to the tip of the bird's right wing. Next came the right-hand side of the tree's trunk, as well as my attempt at a 'glassy' checkerboard to the left and just below the hump. The tight pattern to the left of the hump was drawn next. It started off as a network of lines that looked like a ribbed leaf. The pattern below that was next, along with the lamp and the horizon behind it. Then the bird, then the pattern on the right. The tree was then finished up, and the checkerboard sun and the lines spraying out of it were last. I don't recall the total number of days spent on this, but it was probably 3, maybe 4. The total time was, perhaps, 2 hours, done in 15 minute spurts.
When I do this, I get what I liken unto a 'thoughtless creative buzz.' It's the same sort of thing I often get when I write, or even when I listen to certain types of music. The Cure puts me in that same frame of mind. It's almost like daydreaming, and I easily lose track of time. I think Buddhists posit it as a form of meditation, one that is often sought after, but I can't remember the name they give to it. It's very much like a 'high.'
[ images hosted by flickr ]
Thursday, May 19, 2005
7:28 PM
Doodling
I've long been a fan of M. C. Escher's art. The odd thing is, it wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that I noticed just how much Escher has influenced me. I used to doodle a lot more than I do now. When I do doodle, it can get very complex and intricate. I had but a very simple doodle lying around when, after visiting a friend's blog, I hopped on over the official M. C. Escher site. I had never made a connection before between my doodling and Escher until my memory was refreshed with his Metamorphosis series of woodcuts. Below is a copy of Escher's Metamorphosis II 1940 woodcut. Whenver I doodle, it's always, always, always in checkerboard patterns. The pattern will be warped and twisted, and usually far more complex than the embarrassing example I've provided below. Most often, I doodle in just black-and-white, but I have, at times, done so in multiple colours.
[ Metamorphosis II 1940 woodcut in black, green and brown, printed from 20 blocks on 3 combined sheets ]
]
All I was doing with this one was to try to create a twisted, but somewhat liquid reflection of the pattern that's sort of 'floating' in the air.
It's been a long, long time since I've done anything remotely artistic, aside from futzing about with digital photos, or doing web site design stuff just for my own entertainment. Hmm. I can remember doing silk screens, woodcuts, pen-and-ink, and more, all when I was much younger. Once, I created a t-shirt that declared the name of an empire in one of my science fiction stories, complete with a symbolic logo/crest of sorts. The most challenging part of that silk screen was the letters, the futuristic font I had created for it.
Sheesh. I can even remember creating my own alphabets and languages for my stories. I can also remember, once, while waiting for my Algebra teacher to show up (this was in Thailand) going up to the chalkboard, picking up a piece of chalk, and then writing something in one of the alphabets I had developed/created. When the teacher arrived, he took one look at it, then said, "I didn't know you knew Arabic." Heh. It wasn't Arabic, but it was an alphabet that had been inspired by the Arabic. Where is all that shit? Probably in storage, or, alas, some of it may have gotten tossed as a result of one of my many moves. ~sigh~
[ images hosted by flickr ]
[ Metamorphosis II 1940 woodcut in black, green and brown, printed from 20 blocks on 3 combined sheets ]
]All I was doing with this one was to try to create a twisted, but somewhat liquid reflection of the pattern that's sort of 'floating' in the air.
It's been a long, long time since I've done anything remotely artistic, aside from futzing about with digital photos, or doing web site design stuff just for my own entertainment. Hmm. I can remember doing silk screens, woodcuts, pen-and-ink, and more, all when I was much younger. Once, I created a t-shirt that declared the name of an empire in one of my science fiction stories, complete with a symbolic logo/crest of sorts. The most challenging part of that silk screen was the letters, the futuristic font I had created for it.
Sheesh. I can even remember creating my own alphabets and languages for my stories. I can also remember, once, while waiting for my Algebra teacher to show up (this was in Thailand) going up to the chalkboard, picking up a piece of chalk, and then writing something in one of the alphabets I had developed/created. When the teacher arrived, he took one look at it, then said, "I didn't know you knew Arabic." Heh. It wasn't Arabic, but it was an alphabet that had been inspired by the Arabic. Where is all that shit? Probably in storage, or, alas, some of it may have gotten tossed as a result of one of my many moves. ~sigh~
[ images hosted by flickr ]
6:49 PM
Lonely is an Eyesore
I did today what I didn't do yesterday. I searched at Apple's iTunes store for Dead Can Dance. While they didn't have any of their CDs, iTunes did have a compilation of various artists. The genre is alternative, of course. I think I may buy it, download it to my iPod.
- Lonely is an Eyesore ($8.91)
· Hot Doggie, by Colourbox
· Acid, Bitter and Sad, by This Mortal Coil
· Cut the Tree, by The Wolfgang Press
· Fish, by Throwing Muses
· Frontier, by Dead Can Dance
· Crushed, by Cocteau Twins
· No Motion, by Dif Juz
· Muscoviet Mosquito, by Klan of Xymox
· The Protagonist, by Dead Can Dance
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
1:27 PM
Ah, . . . To Go A-Browsing
So, after re-reading an email that I received probably a month ago, maybe a month-and-a-half ago, I copy a name from said email, Google it, then go a-browsing. To where? To here: Einstürzende Neubauten. I've got a hankering to hear something different and I've not heard this band before. Hmm. I figure, if, when I was in my tweens, I had a headbanging habit—you know, Judas Priest, Dio, et al.—then why not a shot of some industrial? I mean, what can a few milli-litres of industrial do to me? Except, perhaps, make me want more? O.O (Is it addictive? I've no idea.)
And then, of course, there's these blokes, whose name I also lifted from that very same email: Dead Can Dance. (Omigosh! Look at that! They'll be in Washington DC on October 5. Shit! Given my luck, I'll be in Georgia by then. Hmmph! However, they don't list that show as sold-out. Hmm. o.O)
Something new, something different. New and different is good, yes? I thought so. Ah, . . . to go a-browsing . . . and perhaps to buy? Perhaps.
POSTSCRIPT: Well, well, well. Guess who I found at Apple's iTunes store? (This was via my iTunes software; you'll need this to access the store; sorry; talk to Apple; I didn't do it.) Einstürzende Neubauten, that's who. Sampled a few songs. I liked "Tanz Debil" off the Kollaps CD. Hey, what can I say? Thanks to a co-worker, I've even come to like some of the songs by System of a Down. Some of it actually makes me laugh. Heh. :D
And then, of course, there's these blokes, whose name I also lifted from that very same email: Dead Can Dance. (Omigosh! Look at that! They'll be in Washington DC on October 5. Shit! Given my luck, I'll be in Georgia by then. Hmmph! However, they don't list that show as sold-out. Hmm. o.O)
Something new, something different. New and different is good, yes? I thought so. Ah, . . . to go a-browsing . . . and perhaps to buy? Perhaps.
POSTSCRIPT: Well, well, well. Guess who I found at Apple's iTunes store? (This was via my iTunes software; you'll need this to access the store; sorry; talk to Apple; I didn't do it.) Einstürzende Neubauten, that's who. Sampled a few songs. I liked "Tanz Debil" off the Kollaps CD. Hey, what can I say? Thanks to a co-worker, I've even come to like some of the songs by System of a Down. Some of it actually makes me laugh. Heh. :D
12:09 PM
Beauty in Decay
Heh. Good old Robert Smith and The Cure. I listened to them all last night at work, then in the car on the way home from work, and once again when I got home. You've got to appreciate a guy who sees beauty in decay. Below are the lyrics to one of my favourites by The Cure, "Fascination Street." It's off the album Disintegration, but I've been listening to the version found on the CD Mixed Up, "Fascination Street [Extended Mix]."
A couple of months after that date, I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area and fell in love . . . with the Left, erm, West Coast. Aw, the hell with it. Let's just call it the Left Coast and be done with it! :D
Obscure.org is a neat site by another fan of The Cure.
Fascination StreetI don't know what it is about Smith, but I hear his songs and his lyrics and they just . . . they just . . . resonate. I hear them and I zone out. I was first introduced to The Cure by the woman who was my first real date. What a strange way to say that, eh? I put it that way because everything before then had been group outings with singles from the church I was then attending. If you can believe it, I actually caught hell from a couple of the single women at my church because—O my God!—I, a Protestant, had deigned to date a Catholic. O.O My response? Not exactly these words, but it was pretty damned close: "Were it not for the Catholic church, the Protestant church wouldn't be. We have more in common than you care to admit." I suppose I could've also pointed out that during the Protestant Reformation the Reformers actually preferred that Protestants marry Catholics than that they marry heretics or unbelievers, but I was far too polite for that. Now? I just don't bother with that sort. I still believe; I just don't bother . . . if that makes any sense. It does to me . . . somewhere inside. :P
oh it's opening time down on fascination street so let's cut the conversation and get out for a bit because i feel it all fading and paling and i'm begging to drag you down with me to kick the last nail in yeah i like you in that like i like you to scream but if you open your mouth then i cant be responsible for quite what goes in or to care what comes out so just pull on your hair just pull on your pout and let's move to the beat like we know that it's over if you slip going under slip over my shoulder so just pull on your face just pull on your feet and let's hit opening time down on fascination street
so pull on your hair pull on your pout cut the conversation just open your mouth pull on your face pull on your feet and let's hit opening time down on fascination street
produced & © 1989 Elektra Entertainment,
a division of Warner Communications, Inc.
A couple of months after that date, I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area and fell in love . . . with the Left, erm, West Coast. Aw, the hell with it. Let's just call it the Left Coast and be done with it! :D
Obscure.org is a neat site by another fan of The Cure.
9:46 AM
Who Knew?
Do you see how that works? When children misbehave, you simply separate them, let them cool off, and then gently bring them back together. The eMac and the iPod are getting along wonderfully today. I'd give each of them some candy, but you know kids. They'd just make a mess of it. Besides, I don't need a gummed up computer and mp3 player.
Having problems with your computer? Be a parent. Treat it like a child. Heh. :D
Having problems with your computer? Be a parent. Treat it like a child. Heh. :D
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
8:50 PM
Double Grrr!
I decided to browse my copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, and as a result I am pissed. I read the biographical note, I looked over the timetable of historical events included at the beginning, and then I read the Translator's Note:
EDIT 05.18.05: Yup. I knew I still had the receipt. I'll see what I can do about rectifying this later today.
The prevailing taste for brevity has made the spacious days of the stately three-volume novel seem very remote indeed. A distinct prejudice against length now exists: a feeling that there is a necessary antithesis between quantity and quality. One of the results is that those delightfully interminable romances which beguiled the nights and days of our ancestors in so pleasant a fashion are now given no more than a passing nod of recognition. Unfortunate as this is, one has to admit it with as much philosophy as may be available for the purpose. Life then had broader margins, and both opportunity and inclination are now lacking for such extensive indulgence in the printed page.Can this day get any worse? An abridgement? I bought a fucking abridgement?! Where's my receipt? I want to return it. Sufficient apology? I don't want an apology. I want my money back! I want the whole enchilada! Not half! 'Opportunity . . . [is] now lacking for such extensive indulgence in the printed page"? What's lacking is not opportunity, but the necessary attention span, the willingness (no matter how busy one's life may be) to start and finish a book of quality. I read the whole of War and Peace, dammit, and I'll read the whole of Monte Cristo, too! Grrr!
This, then, is felt to be sufficient apology for the present abridgement of one of the world's masterpieces. It has been the object of the editor to provide the modern reader with a good translation and a moderately condensed version of Dumas' narrative. This, while omitting, of necessity, some of the beauties of the original, has conserved the essentials of the story and condensed the incidents within what will be, from our point of view, more reasonable proportions. So the reader will miss no material part of that entertainment which the author, after his more leisurely fashion, intended him to enjoy.
EDIT 05.18.05: Yup. I knew I still had the receipt. I'll see what I can do about rectifying this later today.
8:06 PM
Grrr!
I've had computer problems today. I'm surprised I'm even able to write another blog entry, and my eMac and my iPod are not getting along. The computer refuses to acknowledge that the mp3 player even exists. I think my iPod is now depressed because of it. I know I am.
Excusez-moi. I must go comfort my iPod. When I am done, I will slap some sense into the eMac. I bet the iBook wouldn't treat the iPod this way. Family! Why must there always be family trouble?
Excusez-moi. I must go comfort my iPod. When I am done, I will slap some sense into the eMac. I bet the iBook wouldn't treat the iPod this way. Family! Why must there always be family trouble?
3:55 PM
Lemons of Literature
Lemons of Literature is, I guess you could say, a live version of Scott Rice's annual Bulwer-Lytton contest, the difference being that in Rice's contest writers are deliberately writing badly and the entries are not read aloud. I can imagine that it would be both fun and embarrassing if any of my fiction ended up a "lemon of literature." I've been known to laugh at some pretty good (and horrendous!) jokes made at my expense, so I've some hope that I'd be more red from enjoying myself being lampooned than from wanting to disappear.
FOOTNOTE: I came close to blogging about nothing but news stories today. For me, that's a sure sign of boredom. You know: "I have nothing to say today, so I'm going to regurgitate this shit for you to read." This is not to say I've anything against the news, political or otherwise. Obviously, I've blogged about the news before, spouting my own opinions on what I like/don't like, agree with/disagree with. The thing is, the only stuff that was capturing my interest today was either news on creationism/evolutionism (having to do with how creationists are now reframing their arguments to get them into the school curriculum), or depressingly nuclear (having to do with the 50-yr anniversary of the signing of the Russell-Einstein Manifesto). I've given you enough information that you can Google for these things if you like.
Today, I'm just, hmm, what's the word? Not in a malaise. Hmm. Lackadaisical. Bleah.
FOOTNOTE: I came close to blogging about nothing but news stories today. For me, that's a sure sign of boredom. You know: "I have nothing to say today, so I'm going to regurgitate this shit for you to read." This is not to say I've anything against the news, political or otherwise. Obviously, I've blogged about the news before, spouting my own opinions on what I like/don't like, agree with/disagree with. The thing is, the only stuff that was capturing my interest today was either news on creationism/evolutionism (having to do with how creationists are now reframing their arguments to get them into the school curriculum), or depressingly nuclear (having to do with the 50-yr anniversary of the signing of the Russell-Einstein Manifesto). I've given you enough information that you can Google for these things if you like.
Today, I'm just, hmm, what's the word? Not in a malaise. Hmm. Lackadaisical. Bleah.
Monday, May 16, 2005
7:24 PM
Enfance, Arthur Rimbaud
A QUICK NOTE: This line, and my translation of it, is interesting.
The part that actually gets me with this is bêtes, which I see translating as not intelligent (pas intelligent) or "stupid," according to Oxford Hachette, but not the same as imbécile (idiotic or fool) or imbécillité (stupidity).
You watch, when I get reactions from those who know French better than I do, I'll be saying suis-je bête! How stupid of me!
Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.I suspect what Rimbaud meant by nid de bêtes blanches is "a nest of white diapers," but he's clearly using a metaphor of some sort, so to say "diapers" would be inaccurate. I'm positive he's equating "stupid white nests" with "diapers," since the French for "diaper" is couche, being related to couches (childbirth), thus changer la couche de bébé . That is why I translated it "a pothole with (avec)" or "of stupid white nests."
It is a pothole with (or) of stupid white nests.
The part that actually gets me with this is bêtes, which I see translating as not intelligent (pas intelligent) or "stupid," according to Oxford Hachette, but not the same as imbécile (idiotic or fool) or imbécillité (stupidity).
You watch, when I get reactions from those who know French better than I do, I'll be saying suis-je bête! How stupid of me!
6:13 PM
Damn!
Uzbekistan (Source: CNN) — It will be interesting to see how the Bush Administration reacts to this. I take that back. It won't be interesting. I suspect it won't even be surprising. Very likely, it'll just more of the same shit that we've come to expect. Remember, folks, this is the same man who once quipped at a dinner that cost those in attendance several thousands of dollars per plate, "You are my base. The 'haves' and the 'have mores.'"
I've not put up much that has been political of late, but for some reason this article really caught my attention.
I've not put up much that has been political of late, but for some reason this article really caught my attention.
5:27 PM
A Little Bit of Self-Control
I may have mentioned this before, I'm not sure. Having lived in Greece for two-and-a-half years, I know a few phrases of the language. I can say hello, please, good-morning, good-night, shithead, and things like that. Today, though, as I was writing my story, The Muse, I had need to make sure that I was correctly spelling a certain Greek word as it would be rendered in English. (I'm not talking a transliteration here, but the more common, accepted spelling.) As I Googled for "common Greek phrases," I came across a good bit of Greek I wouldn't mind learning, and I very nearly decided to post on that and to add it to my list of goals for 2005. I caught myself, however, and decided against it. Learning new foreign words and phrases is fun, but there's no need to go overboard, not when I'm wanting to focus on French.
That said, Yassou!
That said, Yassou!
11:46 AM
Enfance, Arthur Rimbaud
I had this posted earlier, then, when I went to add a later note, I screwed up and deleted my original translation. Fuck! Ah well. Let me try this again.
Enfance
III
Au bois, il y a un oiseau, son chant vous arrête et vous fait rougir.
Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas.
Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.
Il y a une cathédrale qui descend et un lac qui monte.
Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis, ou qui descend
le sentier en courant, enrubannée.
Il y a une troupe de petits comédiens en costumes, aperçus
sur la route à travers la lisière du bois.
Il y a enfin, quand l'on a faim et soif, quelqu'un qui vous chasse.
Translation:
Childhood
It is an oddball singing in the wood that makes you stop and blush.
It is an alarm clock that never stops ringing.
It is a pothole with (or) of stupid white nests.
It is a cathedral brought down and a lake that is covered.¹
It is a small car abandoned in the undergrowth, or a walk down the
common path, trimmed with ribbon.
It is a troop of small comedians in costumes, a glimpse of the road
through the edge of the wood.²
Finally, when it is hungry and thirsty, it is someone whom you chase.
¹ I can understand this being compared to a cathedral brought down, but the reference to the lake made no sense to me. I wonder if this is an idiom with which I am not familiar.
² I wonder if this, too, is an idiom, something along the lines of "a glimpse down the road of insanity"?
Enfance
III
Au bois, il y a un oiseau, son chant vous arrête et vous fait rougir.
Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas.
Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.
Il y a une cathédrale qui descend et un lac qui monte.
Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis, ou qui descend
le sentier en courant, enrubannée.
Il y a une troupe de petits comédiens en costumes, aperçus
sur la route à travers la lisière du bois.
Il y a enfin, quand l'on a faim et soif, quelqu'un qui vous chasse.
Translation:
Childhood
It is an oddball singing in the wood that makes you stop and blush.
It is an alarm clock that never stops ringing.
It is a pothole with (or) of stupid white nests.
It is a cathedral brought down and a lake that is covered.¹
It is a small car abandoned in the undergrowth, or a walk down the
common path, trimmed with ribbon.
It is a troop of small comedians in costumes, a glimpse of the road
through the edge of the wood.²
Finally, when it is hungry and thirsty, it is someone whom you chase.
¹ I can understand this being compared to a cathedral brought down, but the reference to the lake made no sense to me. I wonder if this is an idiom with which I am not familiar.
² I wonder if this, too, is an idiom, something along the lines of "a glimpse down the road of insanity"?
10:35 AM
Enfance, Arthur Rimbaud
Okay. The pieces are almost all together. I think I can see where my initial understanding was mistaken as I went through this, but, hey, so what? What are mistakes for if not to teach you? Yes? I shall soon post (and probably embarrass myself thoroughly with) my translation of Rimbaud's Enfance.
EDIT: There are two lines in this, the first and the fourth that are giving me a little trouble. Nothing major. I'm just trying to figure out exactly how it would be phrased in English (or trying to get it as close as I possibly can, knowing what I know). I like this poem. It's quite funny. :D
EDIT: There are two lines in this, the first and the fourth that are giving me a little trouble. Nothing major. I'm just trying to figure out exactly how it would be phrased in English (or trying to get it as close as I possibly can, knowing what I know). I like this poem. It's quite funny. :D
8:32 AM
Enfance et les Grands Lacs
I have not forgotten this. Just wanted you to know. I have been working on translating it, and the little bit I've got done thus far has me laughing.
Enfance
III
Au bois, il y a un oiseau, son chant vous arrête et vous fait rougir.
Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas.
Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.
Il y a une cathédrale qui descend et un lac qui monte.
Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis, ou qui descend
le sentier en courant, enrubannée.
Il y a une troupe de petits comédiens en costumes, aperçus
sur la route à travers la lisière du bois.
Il y a enfin, quand l'on a faim et soif, quelqu'un qui vous chasse.
I must say, though, I find interesting (and even a bit confusing) the construction Il y a une since une is feminine, but Il is masculine. Why not elle? I suspect I am misunderstanding something about that.
The translation of fondrière just made me laugh. :D
As I was working on this—I want to emphasize that I'm not yet finished with it—I came across some interesting things in my Oxford Hachette French Dictionary. What I came across allowed me to construct the sentence below, which actually makes use of a good bit of my current vocabulary (and has added a couple of words to it, too). I'm sure this is put together in a way that is understandable, but I doubt that I've got the sentence construction completely correct according to French usage/grammar. (Obviously, French usage does not necessarily punctuate phrases as we do, or so I've noticed.) I've put this together as it would be done in English, as you can see. I am also not quite sure that près de le is quite right. I'm thinking le would get omitted, unless I'm mistaken, making it près de lac Supérieur or, rather, combined (de + le = du? just as de + les = des) so that it becomes près du lac Supérieur.
Je suis née à Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan, en la région des Grands Lacs près de le lac Supérieur.
Or, maybe, Je suis née à Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan, en la région des Grands Lacs près du lac Supérieur.
Translation: I was born in Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan, in the area/region of the Great Lakes near Lake Superior.
EDIT: And this! This bit—Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis—is just too, too much! ROFL! Whomever he is writing about he certainly doesn't like them. :D That, at least, is the impression Rimbaud is giving me.
EDIT (AGAIN): Re: my previous comments on Il y a une. I think I'm getting the gist of this now that I've worked on it a bit longer. I think. Hmm. Still working on it . . . and still laughing.
Enfance
III
Au bois, il y a un oiseau, son chant vous arrête et vous fait rougir.
Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas.
Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.
Il y a une cathédrale qui descend et un lac qui monte.
Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis, ou qui descend
le sentier en courant, enrubannée.
Il y a une troupe de petits comédiens en costumes, aperçus
sur la route à travers la lisière du bois.
Il y a enfin, quand l'on a faim et soif, quelqu'un qui vous chasse.
I must say, though, I find interesting (and even a bit confusing) the construction Il y a une since une is feminine, but Il is masculine. Why not elle? I suspect I am misunderstanding something about that.
The translation of fondrière just made me laugh. :D
As I was working on this—I want to emphasize that I'm not yet finished with it—I came across some interesting things in my Oxford Hachette French Dictionary. What I came across allowed me to construct the sentence below, which actually makes use of a good bit of my current vocabulary (and has added a couple of words to it, too). I'm sure this is put together in a way that is understandable, but I doubt that I've got the sentence construction completely correct according to French usage/grammar. (Obviously, French usage does not necessarily punctuate phrases as we do, or so I've noticed.) I've put this together as it would be done in English, as you can see. I am also not quite sure that près de le is quite right. I'm thinking le would get omitted, unless I'm mistaken, making it près de lac Supérieur or, rather, combined (de + le = du? just as de + les = des) so that it becomes près du lac Supérieur.
Je suis née à Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan, en la région des Grands Lacs près de le lac Supérieur.
Or, maybe, Je suis née à Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan, en la région des Grands Lacs près du lac Supérieur.
Translation: I was born in Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan, in the area/region of the Great Lakes near Lake Superior.
EDIT: And this! This bit—Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis—is just too, too much! ROFL! Whomever he is writing about he certainly doesn't like them. :D That, at least, is the impression Rimbaud is giving me.
EDIT (AGAIN): Re: my previous comments on Il y a une. I think I'm getting the gist of this now that I've worked on it a bit longer. I think. Hmm. Still working on it . . . and still laughing.
7:05 AM
The Interpreter
I saw The Interpreter last night. Fascinating, fascinating film. I loved how multi-layered it became towards the end, more increasingly complex. I thought Sydney Pollack did an excellent job. I also thought Penn and Kidman played their roles rather well, too. The film did an excellent job, in such a short space of time, showing just how complex politics can be in Third World nations (in this case, the fictional African country of Motobo), and in showing how 'personal' politics really are.
In one blog entry I read about this film (the blog shall remain nameless), a comment was made by the author that they will probably have to stop disliking Sean Penn because Ridgemont High was a long time ago. It amazes me that some decide they don't like an actor's work, or a writer's work, or some artist's work (doesn't matter what the medium) because of one film they made, one book they wrote, one painting they painted. It's important to realise that not everything that goes into a work of art is a reflection of the artist's individual beliefs (most especially if the medium is film or print). Just because I have a character in my story commit murder doesn't mean I believe it's okay to commit murder. That's a rather silly (and stupid) way to approach art and the analysis of its creator.
I ran into this attitude years ago, when I told Christian friends that I had no problem with peopling my stories with those who blaspheme or who commit other 'sins.' The attitude I received was that by doing this I was advocating the sin I portrayed in my fiction. If that's true, then God, since he is portrayed by his supposedly most 'devout' followers as the Ultimate Author of the Bible, has himself advocated committing the Unforgiveable Sin, has advocated committing adultery, blasphemy, prostitution, you name it! Every sin found in the Bible, then, according to this reasoning, God advocates.
According to this sort of reasoning, the only thing that should be allowed in books, movies, or any sort of entertainment medium should be material rated 'G', the sort of thing that is sickly sweet, mawkish, and so damned homogenized it contains no flavour, no spice, and no life. Such an attitude would rather that we be the babe at the breast of an impoverished Third World woman, eating what she's already chewed, swallowing what she has already predigested with her own saliva. Not even Scripture advocates such an attitude. It calls its followers to maturity, to the eating of undigested meat. If what you want is the former, then all you will be left with will be Disney-esque. Screw that. Fortunately, that was not true of this film. Equally fortunate, too, is the comfort I get in knowing that those sort of people are unlikely to go see such films as The Interpreter and thereby ruin my enjoyment of them. (One thing I should like to see, though, are fewer idiots who, although the ringers are silenced, still insist on opening up their cell phones in the middle of a dark theatre. Two people sitting in front of me did that last night. The bright displays of those phones were very distracting. If I were a violent person, I'd've made those people swallow their phones.)
In one blog entry I read about this film (the blog shall remain nameless), a comment was made by the author that they will probably have to stop disliking Sean Penn because Ridgemont High was a long time ago. It amazes me that some decide they don't like an actor's work, or a writer's work, or some artist's work (doesn't matter what the medium) because of one film they made, one book they wrote, one painting they painted. It's important to realise that not everything that goes into a work of art is a reflection of the artist's individual beliefs (most especially if the medium is film or print). Just because I have a character in my story commit murder doesn't mean I believe it's okay to commit murder. That's a rather silly (and stupid) way to approach art and the analysis of its creator.
I ran into this attitude years ago, when I told Christian friends that I had no problem with peopling my stories with those who blaspheme or who commit other 'sins.' The attitude I received was that by doing this I was advocating the sin I portrayed in my fiction. If that's true, then God, since he is portrayed by his supposedly most 'devout' followers as the Ultimate Author of the Bible, has himself advocated committing the Unforgiveable Sin, has advocated committing adultery, blasphemy, prostitution, you name it! Every sin found in the Bible, then, according to this reasoning, God advocates.
According to this sort of reasoning, the only thing that should be allowed in books, movies, or any sort of entertainment medium should be material rated 'G', the sort of thing that is sickly sweet, mawkish, and so damned homogenized it contains no flavour, no spice, and no life. Such an attitude would rather that we be the babe at the breast of an impoverished Third World woman, eating what she's already chewed, swallowing what she has already predigested with her own saliva. Not even Scripture advocates such an attitude. It calls its followers to maturity, to the eating of undigested meat. If what you want is the former, then all you will be left with will be Disney-esque. Screw that. Fortunately, that was not true of this film. Equally fortunate, too, is the comfort I get in knowing that those sort of people are unlikely to go see such films as The Interpreter and thereby ruin my enjoyment of them. (One thing I should like to see, though, are fewer idiots who, although the ringers are silenced, still insist on opening up their cell phones in the middle of a dark theatre. Two people sitting in front of me did that last night. The bright displays of those phones were very distracting. If I were a violent person, I'd've made those people swallow their phones.)
Sunday, May 15, 2005
9:57 AM
Cognitive Dissonance Is Out!
I have rid both my blogs of cognitive dissonance. Now, before you say, "What the fuck?" let me explain. Doesn't it bother you when, as you read through a blog, you come upon the link to the comments and it reads, "1 comments"? Don't you think, even if just for a moment, "Wait a minute. That shouldn't be plural!" Well, that's cognitive dissonance. (It's a piss-ko-babble-logical term. For the unknowning, piss-ko-babble = psycho-babble.) The mere awareness of the incongruity of such statements has been known to cause shadows great and insufferable harm. To preclude such disharmonious thoughts from even entering the minds of the shadows which frequent this blog, as well as my other blog, I've rid both blogs of cognitive dissonance.
On this blog, it used to say, [0] shadows have spoken. Well, I could hardly make it [0] shadow(s) have spoken could I? For that to work, I would've had to have changed it to [0] shadow(s) has/have spoken and that's just unbearably unwieldy for such nebulous and delicate creatures as ourselves, isn't it? Therefore, I have gone with brevity and have made it [0] shadowy thought(s), which has the soul of ethereal wit about it, as shadows and thoughts are both airy things and can be hard to grasp.
On my other blog, it was less complicated. It simply went from 0 comments (which could've yielded 1 comments) to 0 comment(s).
There. Now harmony shall reign in the realm of shadows. Doesn't that make you feel better?
(AN INTERESTING ASIDE: I've always found it fascinating that zero is, grammatically speaking, plural. For example, "How many donuts do you have, Garrulus?" "I have zero donuts." Not, "I have zero donut." For, if you said, "I have zero donut," you'd be thought a nut lacking all his dough.)
On this blog, it used to say, [0] shadows have spoken. Well, I could hardly make it [0] shadow(s) have spoken could I? For that to work, I would've had to have changed it to [0] shadow(s) has/have spoken and that's just unbearably unwieldy for such nebulous and delicate creatures as ourselves, isn't it? Therefore, I have gone with brevity and have made it [0] shadowy thought(s), which has the soul of ethereal wit about it, as shadows and thoughts are both airy things and can be hard to grasp.
On my other blog, it was less complicated. It simply went from 0 comments (which could've yielded 1 comments) to 0 comment(s).
There. Now harmony shall reign in the realm of shadows. Doesn't that make you feel better?
(AN INTERESTING ASIDE: I've always found it fascinating that zero is, grammatically speaking, plural. For example, "How many donuts do you have, Garrulus?" "I have zero donuts." Not, "I have zero donut." For, if you said, "I have zero donut," you'd be thought a nut lacking all his dough.)
6:53 AM
Random Phrases, Heh :D
A few random Portuguese phrases I came across while surfing the web, along with their translations:
Desculpe, pode dizer-me se Satanás vive aqui?
Excuse me, can you tell me if Satan lives here?
Senhor, não percebo bem porque estava o Presidente vestido com roupa de mulher.
Sir, I'm not sure why the President was dressed in women's clothing.
Três em cada duas pessoas não entendem proporções em matemática.
Three in two people do not understand proportions in mathematics.
Os seus filhos são muito atraentes. São adoptados?
Your children are very attractive. Are they adopted?
Tem umas narinas muito grandes para um senhor tão pequeno.
You have very large nostrils for such a small gentleman.
O meu filho é um gangster frio e implacável, e eu preciso de um abraço.
My son is a cold-hearted gangster, and I need a hug.
Esta foi a terceira vez esta semana que um dos pacientes entrou em combustão espontânea.
That is the third time this week that one of the patients has spontaneously combusted.
Não são permitidos elefantes no bar depois das oito horas.
Elephants are not permitted in the bar after eight o'clock.
Empregado, há uma criatura horrível na minha sopa.
Waiter, there's a gruesome creature in my soup.
Ao ver a minha sogra, o gato subiu à árvore e nunca mais desceu.
On seeing my mother-in-law, the cat ran up the tree, and hasn't come down since.
Passe-me a sua cartola — acho que vou vomitar!
Hand me your top hat — I think I'm going to be sick!
DISCLAIMER: If there are any errors in there, they are in transcription only. The phrases are not mine. Nor are the translations.
Desculpe, pode dizer-me se Satanás vive aqui?
Excuse me, can you tell me if Satan lives here?
Senhor, não percebo bem porque estava o Presidente vestido com roupa de mulher.
Sir, I'm not sure why the President was dressed in women's clothing.
Três em cada duas pessoas não entendem proporções em matemática.
Three in two people do not understand proportions in mathematics.
Os seus filhos são muito atraentes. São adoptados?
Your children are very attractive. Are they adopted?
Tem umas narinas muito grandes para um senhor tão pequeno.
You have very large nostrils for such a small gentleman.
O meu filho é um gangster frio e implacável, e eu preciso de um abraço.
My son is a cold-hearted gangster, and I need a hug.
Esta foi a terceira vez esta semana que um dos pacientes entrou em combustão espontânea.
That is the third time this week that one of the patients has spontaneously combusted.
Não são permitidos elefantes no bar depois das oito horas.
Elephants are not permitted in the bar after eight o'clock.
Empregado, há uma criatura horrível na minha sopa.
Waiter, there's a gruesome creature in my soup.
Ao ver a minha sogra, o gato subiu à árvore e nunca mais desceu.
On seeing my mother-in-law, the cat ran up the tree, and hasn't come down since.
Passe-me a sua cartola — acho que vou vomitar!
Hand me your top hat — I think I'm going to be sick!
DISCLAIMER: If there are any errors in there, they are in transcription only. The phrases are not mine. Nor are the translations.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
9:35 PM
Books: The Perfect Remedy
It's been a little while since I finished my last short story, and I never went out to reward myself with any books. I remedied that today. I bought three. I bought these:
I've got several of Gaiman's prose novels, but none of his graphic. So, while I was at the local Barnes & Noble, I remedied that, too.
I've never read any of the books King wrote as Richard Bachman. Yet another remedy applied.
There's nothing quite like a good paper poultice to quiet the soul, eh?
- The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas
- The Sandman: Preludes & Nocturnes, by Neil Gaiman
- The Running Man, by Stephen King (writing as Richard Bachman)
I've got several of Gaiman's prose novels, but none of his graphic. So, while I was at the local Barnes & Noble, I remedied that, too.
I've never read any of the books King wrote as Richard Bachman. Yet another remedy applied.
There's nothing quite like a good paper poultice to quiet the soul, eh?
8:37 PM
Shaved, Showered, Shampooed, and . . .
And what? You shall soon see, shan't you?
. . . and shorn, that's what! This Aries got fleeced! Eek!
And, perhaps, a wee bit NuTs, too. Heh.
Yes. Today, I had a meeting with Edward Scissorhands, and he managed to get the better of me before I could tell him, "Get the Depp outta here, dammit!"
. . . and shorn, that's what! This Aries got fleeced! Eek!
And, perhaps, a wee bit NuTs, too. Heh.
Yes. Today, I had a meeting with Edward Scissorhands, and he managed to get the better of me before I could tell him, "Get the Depp outta here, dammit!"
Friday, May 13, 2005
7:17 PM
Dave, Again
To say Dave is keen on my coming up to Massachusetts to visit has become gross understatement. Today, I received a two-page letter from him in the post. More encouragement to come visit, along with a reminder of his home and cell numbers (and just when I was wondering what I had done with them, too).
Per Dave, "I am anticipating much fun." And, at the beginning, "I apologize if I seemed a bit stand-offish about visiting over the winter."
Sheesh! Two postcards and a letter, all in less than 4 weeks. I definitely owe him a reply. I should give him a call this weekend.
You could say Dave is a "professional student." He works to go to school . . . and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Me? I made it a profession to avoid school. Call it arrogance, but at one point in my life, I think I was in my late-teens/early-tweens (pardon my Tolkienesque reference, or not), I actually had the attitude that I wanted to prove to the world that I could and would do what I wanted to do without a college education. I can even remember, back when I worked for MCI in the late 80s, talking to a Korean co-worker about going to college. (My life has just been filled with international folk, hasn't it? Even outside of my time as an Air Force Brat and outside of my own enlistment. It's those Fate sisters. I know it.) He was going to college and he wanted to know why I wasn't. (Michael Banks, a professional science fiction author and author of a good bit of scientific non-fiction, once asked me that very same question. Michael was an instructor I had in a course I once took on fiction writing.) My response to my Korean co-worker? And I'm quoting here, folks, "Everything they could possibly teach me in college, I can learn through books. I'd rather read and save myself some money." He couldn't believe I said that. So, here I am now, years later, and I'm wanting to, um, go to university. Humble-pie. ~shakes head~
I haven't changed much over the years. Reminds me of when my mum used to try to get me to not read and to go outside to play and to socialise. My attitude, as ever, was, "I have my books and my books have me. What need have I of anything else?" According to a co-worker I talked to this morning, I would've done well at Friends' Academy (that's the Quaker equivalent of Catholic school). His mention of Friends' Academy (brought on because we had been discussing reading classic literature) brought me to mention to him that my family is originally Quaker. He apparently went to Friends' Academy. In fact, he comes from very close to Oyster Bay, Long Island, a town up in New York founded by my family. I speak not generally, but specifically, for I am the direct descendant of two of the three brothers who founded that town. Dave, because he lives in a suburb of Boston, isn't too far from Oyster Bay. (Hmm. I think Billy Joel may have made reference to Oyster Bay in one of his songs. Excusez-moi, mesdames et messieurs. Je cherche un CD. (I assume—not mistakenly, I hope—that that would be male.) Ah. My mistake. He sings of "Block Island Sound." I thought he said "Long Island Sound." This is in his song "The Downeaster 'Alexa,'" off the CD Storm Front.)
Au revoir et á bientôt!
Per Dave, "I am anticipating much fun." And, at the beginning, "I apologize if I seemed a bit stand-offish about visiting over the winter."
Sheesh! Two postcards and a letter, all in less than 4 weeks. I definitely owe him a reply. I should give him a call this weekend.
You could say Dave is a "professional student." He works to go to school . . . and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Me? I made it a profession to avoid school. Call it arrogance, but at one point in my life, I think I was in my late-teens/early-tweens (pardon my Tolkienesque reference, or not), I actually had the attitude that I wanted to prove to the world that I could and would do what I wanted to do without a college education. I can even remember, back when I worked for MCI in the late 80s, talking to a Korean co-worker about going to college. (My life has just been filled with international folk, hasn't it? Even outside of my time as an Air Force Brat and outside of my own enlistment. It's those Fate sisters. I know it.) He was going to college and he wanted to know why I wasn't. (Michael Banks, a professional science fiction author and author of a good bit of scientific non-fiction, once asked me that very same question. Michael was an instructor I had in a course I once took on fiction writing.) My response to my Korean co-worker? And I'm quoting here, folks, "Everything they could possibly teach me in college, I can learn through books. I'd rather read and save myself some money." He couldn't believe I said that. So, here I am now, years later, and I'm wanting to, um, go to university. Humble-pie. ~shakes head~
I haven't changed much over the years. Reminds me of when my mum used to try to get me to not read and to go outside to play and to socialise. My attitude, as ever, was, "I have my books and my books have me. What need have I of anything else?" According to a co-worker I talked to this morning, I would've done well at Friends' Academy (that's the Quaker equivalent of Catholic school). His mention of Friends' Academy (brought on because we had been discussing reading classic literature) brought me to mention to him that my family is originally Quaker. He apparently went to Friends' Academy. In fact, he comes from very close to Oyster Bay, Long Island, a town up in New York founded by my family. I speak not generally, but specifically, for I am the direct descendant of two of the three brothers who founded that town. Dave, because he lives in a suburb of Boston, isn't too far from Oyster Bay. (Hmm. I think Billy Joel may have made reference to Oyster Bay in one of his songs. Excusez-moi, mesdames et messieurs. Je cherche un CD. (I assume—not mistakenly, I hope—that that would be male.) Ah. My mistake. He sings of "Block Island Sound." I thought he said "Long Island Sound." This is in his song "The Downeaster 'Alexa,'" off the CD Storm Front.)
Au revoir et á bientôt!
11:41 AM
On Languages
Sawatdee-krup! That's "hello" in Thai, but only if you're male. If you're female, it's sawatdee-kaa. Yup. Even Oriental languages have gender. So, what the hell happened to English along the way? I mean, I have to wonder if the lack of gender (in the way it's used in French, Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, German, and even Thai) is one of the things that makes learning foreign languages difficult for native speakers of English. The natural inclination of many English speakers is to ask, "Why is book (el libro, Spanish) male and magazine (la revista) female?" Or, to use a more likely example, "Why is book (le livre, French) male, but pound (la livre) female? And why would you make this so confusing by using the same word?"
I suppose I'm getting just a wee too enthusiastic about the language thing, but what the hell? I've added another new link to my "shadowy tongues" category. This time it's Portuguese. One of the most important words you can learn in any language is "dog," and I know how to say it in five languages. Why is it one of the most important words to learn in any language? Because I said so.
LANGUAGE DOG
French - chien
Ojibwe - awnimoush
Portuguese - cão
Spanish - perro
Thai - ma
Now, Thai, you should understand, is a tonal language and using the wrong intonation will get you into a helluva lot of trouble. Tonal languages are probably some of the most difficult to learn, I think. Here's just one example why:
Krai kai kai kai
With the correct intonation that phrase means:
Who sells chicken eggs?
Wanna learn Thai? Mai? (No?) "No" can also be said this way: Mai-chai. Literally, it means, "No-yes." It's interpreted by native speakers as, "Not-yes."
Not so confusing, however, is this, which is Portuguese, and which I just learned today:
O cão está sujo. (The dog is dirty.)
La gon. (Good-bye.)
I suppose I'm getting just a wee too enthusiastic about the language thing, but what the hell? I've added another new link to my "shadowy tongues" category. This time it's Portuguese. One of the most important words you can learn in any language is "dog," and I know how to say it in five languages. Why is it one of the most important words to learn in any language? Because I said so.
LANGUAGE DOG
French - chien
Ojibwe - awnimoush
Portuguese - cão
Spanish - perro
Thai - ma
Now, Thai, you should understand, is a tonal language and using the wrong intonation will get you into a helluva lot of trouble. Tonal languages are probably some of the most difficult to learn, I think. Here's just one example why:
Krai kai kai kai
With the correct intonation that phrase means:
Who sells chicken eggs?
Wanna learn Thai? Mai? (No?) "No" can also be said this way: Mai-chai. Literally, it means, "No-yes." It's interpreted by native speakers as, "Not-yes."
Not so confusing, however, is this, which is Portuguese, and which I just learned today:
O cão está sujo. (The dog is dirty.)
La gon. (Good-bye.)
Thursday, May 12, 2005
7:02 PM
Dave
Dave is a good friend. I met him in my freshman year at Upper Heyford High School in Oxfordshire, England, back in 1974. Obviously, he and I have known one another for a long, long time. Back in November/December of last year, as my divorce was drawing to an end, he and I talked about the possibility of my going up to Massachusetts to pay him a visit. Over the past four weeks Dave has been especially keen on encouraging me to make that trip this summer. He's sent me two postcards, one of which arrived in the post today. In one he said "Anytime now until November would . . . work for touring, sightseeing, etc." In the other, "When do you think you'll be able to come to the Boston area?" I owe him a reply.
These are the postcards he sent me:
I wonder what it would cost for a trip to go see some whales. That would be cool! He and I need to talk about what we would do during my stay. I wonder what I did with his phone number?
Obviously, no matter what I did, I'd come back with plenty of photos to share.
These are the postcards he sent me:
I wonder what it would cost for a trip to go see some whales. That would be cool! He and I need to talk about what we would do during my stay. I wonder what I did with his phone number?
Obviously, no matter what I did, I'd come back with plenty of photos to share.
5:31 PM
A Minor Complication
Let's see, I got out of the doctor's office perhaps an hour-and-a-half ago. The left half of my face and my neck are no longer numb from the local anaesthetic they gave me. It was pretty much as I imagined it would be, only instead of lying on my stomach, they had me lie on my back, with a wedge beneath my left side to raise up that part of my body. The x-ray machine had a much larger "nozzle" than I imagined. I was thinking of the sort of x-ray machine used in dentists' offices these days. It was something like that, just larger. It had a diameter of, perhaps, a foot (30 cm). I felt little to nothing as they injected me with contrast (like I need contrast, heh), and then filled me up with cortizone. I will be getting one more steroid shot, and that will be a fortnight hence. The numbness of my left ear (as a result of the local) was the strangest sensation.
Before we got started, there was one last piece of paperwork the doctor told me I had to sign. It had to do with possible complications. I just love this. "Possible complications are blah, blah, blah, blah, and death. Blah, blah, blah." The moment I heard death, everything else was lost. Death is a complication? I always thought it was rather, um, terminal. Final. Finis. The end. - 30 - to put it in typesetter's parlance. It reminded me of those advertisements pharmaceutical corporations put up to encourage you to talk to your doctor about taking their particular medication. "Possible side-effects include blah, blah, blah, blah, and death."
I want to meet the marketing moron who came up with the idea of listing death as "a complication" or as "a side-effect." I'd like to shake his hand, congratulate him for making an anthill out of a mountain. I'm about to get oxymoronic now. I may have called this person a moron, but, you know, that idea was actually an act of pure genius. What better way to tell people, "Yeah, you could die because of this, but, let's face it, that's not such a big deal. Is it? I mean, people die everyday. What's one more in a coffin? We'd miss you like we'd miss a drop of water out of a bucketful."
Before we got started, there was one last piece of paperwork the doctor told me I had to sign. It had to do with possible complications. I just love this. "Possible complications are blah, blah, blah, blah, and death. Blah, blah, blah." The moment I heard death, everything else was lost. Death is a complication? I always thought it was rather, um, terminal. Final. Finis. The end. - 30 - to put it in typesetter's parlance. It reminded me of those advertisements pharmaceutical corporations put up to encourage you to talk to your doctor about taking their particular medication. "Possible side-effects include blah, blah, blah, blah, and death."
I want to meet the marketing moron who came up with the idea of listing death as "a complication" or as "a side-effect." I'd like to shake his hand, congratulate him for making an anthill out of a mountain. I'm about to get oxymoronic now. I may have called this person a moron, but, you know, that idea was actually an act of pure genius. What better way to tell people, "Yeah, you could die because of this, but, let's face it, that's not such a big deal. Is it? I mean, people die everyday. What's one more in a coffin? We'd miss you like we'd miss a drop of water out of a bucketful."
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
9:45 PM
On Weightier Matters
I'm not happy. I'm heavy. Too damned heavy. So damned heavy that I've not recorded my true weight in that list of "the shadow's desires for 2005." Good thing I'm not vain! Obviously, I've put on more weight. I need to stop eating shit. Too much fucking bread, and too much junk at work. In addition to this, I've not been exercising. That doesn't matter, though. The last time I went through a bout like this, I gave myself a solid kick in the arse, stopped eating the crap, and lost nearly 20 lbs (9 kg) without exercising. The exercise shit, along with my neck, has become an excuse.
It's true that I've still lost a good bit of weight, so perhaps I shouldn't be so hard on myself. Still, when I do this sort of thing, and it's obvious that I know better, then I deserve a good thrashing. Thrash away!
It's true that I've still lost a good bit of weight, so perhaps I shouldn't be so hard on myself. Still, when I do this sort of thing, and it's obvious that I know better, then I deserve a good thrashing. Thrash away!
6:25 PM
Tomorrow
A short blog note on this now, as I'm sure I won't have time for it tomorrow. Or, rather, by the time I can blog about it tomorrow, it'll be done already.
Tomorrow is the day I get the steroid shots. I'm wondering how the reality will jive with how I've imagined this will go. This is what I've imagined: I'll be asked to lie upon a table, face down. The nozzle (for lack of a better word) of an x-ray machine will be brought over and placed close to my neck, since this has to be done under x-ray so they can see what they're doing. Next, they'll administer (topically?) an anaesthetic, to numb the area where I'll be getting the shots. Now we come to where my imagination gets a little fuzzy. Whenever I've gotten x-rays before, the person doing the x-ray steps into another room. I'm not sure how that will be possible with this, unless the shots are administered with some robotic arm. Or, will they be sitting next to me, robed in garments of lead, as they give me these shots? I don't know. I'll tell you tomorrow.
Tomorrow is the day I get the steroid shots. I'm wondering how the reality will jive with how I've imagined this will go. This is what I've imagined: I'll be asked to lie upon a table, face down. The nozzle (for lack of a better word) of an x-ray machine will be brought over and placed close to my neck, since this has to be done under x-ray so they can see what they're doing. Next, they'll administer (topically?) an anaesthetic, to numb the area where I'll be getting the shots. Now we come to where my imagination gets a little fuzzy. Whenever I've gotten x-rays before, the person doing the x-ray steps into another room. I'm not sure how that will be possible with this, unless the shots are administered with some robotic arm. Or, will they be sitting next to me, robed in garments of lead, as they give me these shots? I don't know. I'll tell you tomorrow.
9:01 AM
Send Lawyers, Guns, and Money . . .
. . . and French instructors, too, thank you very much.
Okay, this is getting ridiculous!
I learned last night that there's another law student in my life. What the fuck? Actually, to be fair, this one is a former law student. She at least had the good grace to ditch law for journalism. Erm, wait a minute. I'm not sure that that's much better. :P
I swear, if even one of you puts your arm around my shoulder and says to me, with an extremely toothy grin, "Gary. Old buddy. Old chum," I'm outta here!
Heh.
Now, as if the law student thing isn't bad enough, there's the French thing. I mean, one of the law students I know speaks French. So does the former law student. And both are helping me to learn it.
The other night, while on the way to work, I stopped at the gas station that's just around the corner from my house. To avoid drinking so much caffeine via soft drinks, I typically buy one per night at this gas station on the way to work instead of buying them by the case at the grocery shop. As I was paying for my diet Coke, I talked to the gent who was working the register. Somehow, we managed to get onto the subject of languages. I mentioned to him that I'm learning French. Next thing I know, he tells me that he speaks (in addition to English, obviously) French and Arabic. (I think he may speak more languages, but we didn't go into it any further.) In fact, he said, he taught French for 6 years. Upon hearing that I'm learning French, he told me that the next time he sees me, he'll address me in French only. Oh, God!
So, I'm not only collecting law students (which apparently also includes former law students), I'm also collecting people who speak French.
I need the number for the Fate sisters. I want to know which one of those bitches is responsible for all this. What exactly are they trying to tell me? That I should marry a French lawyer? That I should learn something about French law? What? Hmm? I ask you!
Postscript: Actually, I don't mind that the gent at the gas station is willing to do this. If nothing else, it'll help prevent what I've learned is called 'fossilisation.' Fossilisation is what happens when incorrect pronunciation becomes an ingrained habit. I don't believe I've got that problem, however. There are several CDs in the course I purchased. There's not one word of English in those recordings. I listen to them, then I repeat what I hear, from the mock conversations at the beginning of each lesson, to the examples given for pronouncing vowels, consonants, and dipthongs, to examples given for things like elision and liaison, to the vocabulary words. The grammar lessons I have to read, however. The practice for that is included in the mock conversations, as well as in self-administered written exams at the end of each lesson.
The way I see it, if I listen to those CDs enough, then eventually I should be able to impersonate Jacques Cousteau and handle, with aplomb, all these damned sharks that are surrounding me.
Post Postscript: You know what's even scarier than having these law students and the former law student in my life? What's scarier is what this page says would be a good profession for an INTJ like myself. Having lawyers as friends is one thing, but, God so help me, what that page says will never be true of me. :P
Here's what's scarier still: I've actually thought I might make a good lawyer. ~shudders!~ I remember watching this show once—a documentary, as I recall—where a Florida woman, an elderly lady, had withdrawn all her money, her life savings, from her bank, and was moving to another state. For some reason, she got stopped by the police. Then, because of some stupid law that was supposedly drafted to stop drug smugglers, her life savings was confiscated and never returned. (I saw this when I was living in California.) That story got me so pissed that I got up from the couch, started pacing my living room, ranting up a storm, presenting my own argument before an imaginary jury, knowing full well I would win! Heh. It was a short and glorious law career, I can assure you. ~preens~
_____
If you're at all interested in learning more about my personality type, this is the page to read: INTJ. (As if you care!) Also, you INTPs—you know who you are, shark and former shark—according to this page, INTPs are the INTJ's complement. That sure as hell explains a lot, doesn't it? What the INTJ page says about INTJs and romantic relationships also explains a lot, considering my experience in that realm. I'm doomed to singlehood, alas. O woe is me! And all because people just don't (or, rather, WON'T) make sense! :P
Truth be told, I like having people with the same temperament (NT) in my life. There's nothing better than when some NuTs get together!
According to the Humanmetrics web site, the strength of my preferences are:
Introverted - 100% (very expressed introvert)
iNtuitive - 62% (distinctively expressed intuitive personality)
Thinking - 25% (moderately expressed thinking personality)
Judging - 44% (moderately expressed judging personality)
And, according to intj.org, . . .
Engineering? Hmm. Does it count that I qualified for and very nearly entered the U.S. Navy's Nuclear Power Program? Instead, I went into U.S. Air Force telecommunications, where I maintained and repaired analog microwave transceivers, tropospheric-scatter transceivers, analog multiplexers, pre-detection combiners, and more. There's also the fact that I've held a position as a cellular switch engineer, where I had to make the decisions on when hardware and software had to be upgraded. My present job is incredibly b-o-r-i-n-g and r-o-u-t-i-n-e by comparison, but, hey, it pays the bills and allows me to put food down my gullet.
Architecture? I absolutely loved studying that in high school, and am still fascinated with it and still play with it now and again. I've even been known to use the principles I learned in my mechanical drawing class to create new designs for Formula 1 race cars, which means I approach that idea from more of an engineering standpoint, not just an artistic.
Physical and life sciences? I've long been a science fiction fan, I love astronomy (along with shit like exobiology and short treatises intended for science fiction authors on how to "build" your own planet), but can't stand chemistry. When I was in high school, I sometimes read books on nuclear physics just for fun and entertainment. Is that sick, or what? One year, I think it was my sophomore year, Ms Mikula, my English teacher (she was great!), had to endure a term paper I wrote on nuclear power and its development and uses.
Psychology and social science? Me? Interested in Piss-kology? Are you kidding? Why, whatever would make you think that? The fact that I'm still going on about this? The fact that I find the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) hellaciously intriguing? The fact that I've secretly enjoyed learning piss-ko-babble-logical terminology, such as cognitive dissonance, cognitive reframing, projection, counter-transference, etc. (Didn't know that, did you? :P ) Actually, in addition to the enjoyment of learning things like this, I also like to take such terminology and twist it around. Play with the words. Turn them into things they aren't. Or, better yet, turn them into things they shouldn't be. That, from what I've read, isn't so much a "writerly" trait as it is an NT trait. Most writers tend to be NFs (intuitive feelers), not NTs (intuitive thinkers).
Computer science? Um, so-so. Although the first program I wrote, which was in BASIC, asked you for your birthdate, then spat back at you how old you were in seconds, and even accounted for leap years. In one revision, I set it up to account for the time of day you were entering the information (which you had to provide), as well as the time of your birth, if you knew what it was (otherwise, it used a default value).
Writing and editing? Um, that's a BIG DUH! isn't it?
Careers in the arts? Can you say novelist? Not to mention the photography course and books, books on layout and design, designing two yearbook covers for my high school (one of which won a contest), learning to play saxophone, baritone (a form of tuba/sousaphone; I have to say this because some people are clueless and think the term only applies to a range of voice; this is a baritone, but THIS is a tuba/sousaphone), and 6- and 12-string acoustic guitar. And then, of course, there's the silly ability I've got where I can take any song and (without having ever taken piano lessons) I can, note by note, through a little trial and error, hammer it out on a piano. No chords, of course, but once I've got the tune figured out, I can play it back pretty much flawlessly. Me? Artsy-fartsy? Pshaw!
Consulting? Not really, but give me a moment and I'll provide you with my schedule of fees.
Are we seeing a pattern here? Um, duh. :P
I just thought I'd share a little (a little?!?!) about myself. Heh.
By the way, one trait that gets repeated again and again regarding INTJs, no matter which site you go to, is our penchant for fucking perfectionism. I mean, just look at this blog, will you? Typos? I hate 'em. A misaligned graphic? Put a wedge in it and straighten the damned thing up! The space above and beneath a quote is unequal? Oh, God! However, photography has taught me the importance of "dynamic imbalance." Which I've simply redefined as another form of "perfectionism." What else would you expect from someone as dynamically imbalanced as I am?
Okay. I'll stop. Really. I'm shutting up the fuck now.
Okay, this is getting ridiculous!
I learned last night that there's another law student in my life. What the fuck? Actually, to be fair, this one is a former law student. She at least had the good grace to ditch law for journalism. Erm, wait a minute. I'm not sure that that's much better. :P
I swear, if even one of you puts your arm around my shoulder and says to me, with an extremely toothy grin, "Gary. Old buddy. Old chum," I'm outta here!
Heh.
Now, as if the law student thing isn't bad enough, there's the French thing. I mean, one of the law students I know speaks French. So does the former law student. And both are helping me to learn it.
The other night, while on the way to work, I stopped at the gas station that's just around the corner from my house. To avoid drinking so much caffeine via soft drinks, I typically buy one per night at this gas station on the way to work instead of buying them by the case at the grocery shop. As I was paying for my diet Coke, I talked to the gent who was working the register. Somehow, we managed to get onto the subject of languages. I mentioned to him that I'm learning French. Next thing I know, he tells me that he speaks (in addition to English, obviously) French and Arabic. (I think he may speak more languages, but we didn't go into it any further.) In fact, he said, he taught French for 6 years. Upon hearing that I'm learning French, he told me that the next time he sees me, he'll address me in French only. Oh, God!
So, I'm not only collecting law students (which apparently also includes former law students), I'm also collecting people who speak French.
I need the number for the Fate sisters. I want to know which one of those bitches is responsible for all this. What exactly are they trying to tell me? That I should marry a French lawyer? That I should learn something about French law? What? Hmm? I ask you!
Postscript: Actually, I don't mind that the gent at the gas station is willing to do this. If nothing else, it'll help prevent what I've learned is called 'fossilisation.' Fossilisation is what happens when incorrect pronunciation becomes an ingrained habit. I don't believe I've got that problem, however. There are several CDs in the course I purchased. There's not one word of English in those recordings. I listen to them, then I repeat what I hear, from the mock conversations at the beginning of each lesson, to the examples given for pronouncing vowels, consonants, and dipthongs, to examples given for things like elision and liaison, to the vocabulary words. The grammar lessons I have to read, however. The practice for that is included in the mock conversations, as well as in self-administered written exams at the end of each lesson.
The way I see it, if I listen to those CDs enough, then eventually I should be able to impersonate Jacques Cousteau and handle, with aplomb, all these damned sharks that are surrounding me.
Post Postscript: You know what's even scarier than having these law students and the former law student in my life? What's scarier is what this page says would be a good profession for an INTJ like myself. Having lawyers as friends is one thing, but, God so help me, what that page says will never be true of me. :P
Here's what's scarier still: I've actually thought I might make a good lawyer. ~shudders!~ I remember watching this show once—a documentary, as I recall—where a Florida woman, an elderly lady, had withdrawn all her money, her life savings, from her bank, and was moving to another state. For some reason, she got stopped by the police. Then, because of some stupid law that was supposedly drafted to stop drug smugglers, her life savings was confiscated and never returned. (I saw this when I was living in California.) That story got me so pissed that I got up from the couch, started pacing my living room, ranting up a storm, presenting my own argument before an imaginary jury, knowing full well I would win! Heh. It was a short and glorious law career, I can assure you. ~preens~
_____
If you're at all interested in learning more about my personality type, this is the page to read: INTJ. (As if you care!) Also, you INTPs—you know who you are, shark and former shark—according to this page, INTPs are the INTJ's complement. That sure as hell explains a lot, doesn't it? What the INTJ page says about INTJs and romantic relationships also explains a lot, considering my experience in that realm. I'm doomed to singlehood, alas. O woe is me! And all because people just don't (or, rather, WON'T) make sense! :P
Truth be told, I like having people with the same temperament (NT) in my life. There's nothing better than when some NuTs get together!
According to the Humanmetrics web site, the strength of my preferences are:
Introverted - 100% (very expressed introvert)
iNtuitive - 62% (distinctively expressed intuitive personality)
Thinking - 25% (moderately expressed thinking personality)
Judging - 44% (moderately expressed judging personality)
And, according to intj.org, . . .
Examples of careers often chosen by INTJs are law, engineering, architecture, physical and life sciences, psychology and social science, computer science, writing and editing, careers in the arts, and consulting.(Bloody law!) Let's see. I've already addressed the law thing.
Engineering? Hmm. Does it count that I qualified for and very nearly entered the U.S. Navy's Nuclear Power Program? Instead, I went into U.S. Air Force telecommunications, where I maintained and repaired analog microwave transceivers, tropospheric-scatter transceivers, analog multiplexers, pre-detection combiners, and more. There's also the fact that I've held a position as a cellular switch engineer, where I had to make the decisions on when hardware and software had to be upgraded. My present job is incredibly b-o-r-i-n-g and r-o-u-t-i-n-e by comparison, but, hey, it pays the bills and allows me to put food down my gullet.
Architecture? I absolutely loved studying that in high school, and am still fascinated with it and still play with it now and again. I've even been known to use the principles I learned in my mechanical drawing class to create new designs for Formula 1 race cars, which means I approach that idea from more of an engineering standpoint, not just an artistic.
Physical and life sciences? I've long been a science fiction fan, I love astronomy (along with shit like exobiology and short treatises intended for science fiction authors on how to "build" your own planet), but can't stand chemistry. When I was in high school, I sometimes read books on nuclear physics just for fun and entertainment. Is that sick, or what? One year, I think it was my sophomore year, Ms Mikula, my English teacher (she was great!), had to endure a term paper I wrote on nuclear power and its development and uses.
Psychology and social science? Me? Interested in Piss-kology? Are you kidding? Why, whatever would make you think that? The fact that I'm still going on about this? The fact that I find the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) hellaciously intriguing? The fact that I've secretly enjoyed learning piss-ko-babble-logical terminology, such as cognitive dissonance, cognitive reframing, projection, counter-transference, etc. (Didn't know that, did you? :P ) Actually, in addition to the enjoyment of learning things like this, I also like to take such terminology and twist it around. Play with the words. Turn them into things they aren't. Or, better yet, turn them into things they shouldn't be. That, from what I've read, isn't so much a "writerly" trait as it is an NT trait. Most writers tend to be NFs (intuitive feelers), not NTs (intuitive thinkers).
Computer science? Um, so-so. Although the first program I wrote, which was in BASIC, asked you for your birthdate, then spat back at you how old you were in seconds, and even accounted for leap years. In one revision, I set it up to account for the time of day you were entering the information (which you had to provide), as well as the time of your birth, if you knew what it was (otherwise, it used a default value).
Writing and editing? Um, that's a BIG DUH! isn't it?
Careers in the arts? Can you say novelist? Not to mention the photography course and books, books on layout and design, designing two yearbook covers for my high school (one of which won a contest), learning to play saxophone, baritone (a form of tuba/sousaphone; I have to say this because some people are clueless and think the term only applies to a range of voice; this is a baritone, but THIS is a tuba/sousaphone), and 6- and 12-string acoustic guitar. And then, of course, there's the silly ability I've got where I can take any song and (without having ever taken piano lessons) I can, note by note, through a little trial and error, hammer it out on a piano. No chords, of course, but once I've got the tune figured out, I can play it back pretty much flawlessly. Me? Artsy-fartsy? Pshaw!
Consulting? Not really, but give me a moment and I'll provide you with my schedule of fees.
Are we seeing a pattern here? Um, duh. :P
I just thought I'd share a little (a little?!?!) about myself. Heh.
By the way, one trait that gets repeated again and again regarding INTJs, no matter which site you go to, is our penchant for fucking perfectionism. I mean, just look at this blog, will you? Typos? I hate 'em. A misaligned graphic? Put a wedge in it and straighten the damned thing up! The space above and beneath a quote is unequal? Oh, God! However, photography has taught me the importance of "dynamic imbalance." Which I've simply redefined as another form of "perfectionism." What else would you expect from someone as dynamically imbalanced as I am?
Okay. I'll stop. Really. I'm shutting up the fuck now.
Monday, May 09, 2005
11:18 AM
Thoroughly Shat Upon
What's this about? Well, rather than post it twice, and since not everyone reads both my blogs, or catches all my entries—and because I'd rather things go in this direction between my blogs than the other—this just seems the easier thing to do. This is what it's about.
2:42 AM
Enfance, Arthur Rimbaud
I seem to be collecting/attracting friends who can speak French. This is good, yes? I've been given an assignment. I'm to take the following, a poem by Arthur Rimbaud, and translate it into English. I've been told I'm not allowed to use Google. That works for me. I am allowed, however, to use any online or offline dictionary that will translate words, but not phrases or sentences. Fair enough. I've a copy of the Oxford Hachette French Dictonary, a 2,000+ page monster of a book large enough to choke a herd of mules. Let's just hope I don't injure myself as I heave this monstrosity of a book around.
Enfance
III
Au bois, il y a un oiseau, son chant vous arrête et vous fait rougir.
Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas.
Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.
Il y a une cathédrale qui descend et un lac qui monte.
Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis, ou qui descend
le sentier en courant, enrubannée.
Il y a une troupe de petits comédiens en costumes, aperçus
sur la route à travers la lisière du bois.
Il y a enfin, quand l'on a faim et soif, quelqu'un qui vous chasse.
As was noted by this friend, this comes from: O Rapaz Raro—Iluminações e Poemas, de Arthur Rimbaud (edição bilingue), which translates to The Rare Youngster—Illuminations and Poems of Arthur Rimbaud (bilingual edition).
Sheesh! When it comes to poems and French, I'm getting smacked about on two fronts now. This is good, yes? Please tell me this is good. Please. I'm begging you. :P
(In the process, I'm picking up a wee bit—a very wee bit, mind you (but only in the way of reading it; not in the way of knowing how to pronounce it)—of Portuguese. What a multilingual year for me. Learning French, learning to count higher in Thai, picking up a few words in Ojibwe, as well as a few words in Portuguese. My main focus, however, is French. The course I purchased has 40 lessons in it, and, once again, I've gotten a little lax. Not good. Not good at all. I need to remedy that.)
Enfance
III
Au bois, il y a un oiseau, son chant vous arrête et vous fait rougir.
Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas.
Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.
Il y a une cathédrale qui descend et un lac qui monte.
Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis, ou qui descend
le sentier en courant, enrubannée.
Il y a une troupe de petits comédiens en costumes, aperçus
sur la route à travers la lisière du bois.
Il y a enfin, quand l'on a faim et soif, quelqu'un qui vous chasse.
As was noted by this friend, this comes from: O Rapaz Raro—Iluminações e Poemas, de Arthur Rimbaud (edição bilingue), which translates to The Rare Youngster—Illuminations and Poems of Arthur Rimbaud (bilingual edition).
Sheesh! When it comes to poems and French, I'm getting smacked about on two fronts now. This is good, yes? Please tell me this is good. Please. I'm begging you. :P
(In the process, I'm picking up a wee bit—a very wee bit, mind you (but only in the way of reading it; not in the way of knowing how to pronounce it)—of Portuguese. What a multilingual year for me. Learning French, learning to count higher in Thai, picking up a few words in Ojibwe, as well as a few words in Portuguese. My main focus, however, is French. The course I purchased has 40 lessons in it, and, once again, I've gotten a little lax. Not good. Not good at all. I need to remedy that.)
Sunday, May 08, 2005
9:30 PM
Shadowy Tongues
I've added a few language links to my "Shadowy Tongues" category of links on the left side of my blog.
8:13 PM
What the Shadow Sees (For Me)
The Shadow sees darkness. The Shadow sees light. The Shadow sees a winding road ahead. The Shadow sees queues. The Shadow sees money exchanging hands. The Shadow sees danger. The Shadow sees, erm, smells . . . popcorn. The Shadow sees endless advertising. The Shadow sees, . . . ooh, sorry, . . . hears loud, deafening previews. The Shadow sees a stupid clip about turning off your cell phones. (You did remember to turn it off, didn't you?)
What's this?
The Shadow sees a movie. What do you think it is?
What's the movie?
What? Do you think I know everything? Fuck off! :P
The Shadow is a guide to all things mysterious. That'll be $5, thank you.
Heh. :D I'm off to see a movie. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
What's this?
The Shadow sees a movie. What do you think it is?
What's the movie?
What? Do you think I know everything? Fuck off! :P
The Shadow is a guide to all things mysterious. That'll be $5, thank you.
Heh. :D I'm off to see a movie. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
2:57 AM
What the Shadow Sees
I am up late, very late, as usual, keeping the same hours as I do when I'm working, and I am watching "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" on my laptop. I saw this in the movie theatre, and have seen it once or twice since, but I now have my own copy on DVD, and have had for some time now. I only just now got round to watching it.
Tomorrow night, I will likely go to the cinema to see another movie. There are two that have my interest. I haven't yet decided which one I will see.
Tomorrow night, I will likely go to the cinema to see another movie. There are two that have my interest. I haven't yet decided which one I will see.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
11:52 PM
That Girl is Like A Sunburn
I am pissed. Lonely. Filled with heartache. Thoroughly deflated. Just wanting to tell everyone to "Go the fuck away!" even though I really mean quite the opposite. Is that just completely contrarian, or what? Sometimes, it seems like everyone I know is romantically involved—even though I know that's not true about everyone I know. (However, you'd be amazed at how many people I know at the moment for whom this is true.) And seeing that sort of shit going on all around me, I end up having a hard time dealing with the fact that I'm newly divorced. Life isn't always so grand. Often, it fucking sucks . . . and hurts like hell.
I won't deny any feelings of jealousy. I am jealous. I am! It makes me wish I had someone. And yet . . . I sometimes think/feel—at times like this I don't know if what goes on in my mind is intellectual or emotional or a combination of both—I'd just rather be single, enjoy my life as I did when I lived in California.
And then I remember that when I was single and living in Silicon Valley, I lamented that I had no one, and I remember crying as I drove home this one Sunday evening (after having gone to an ice cream parlor) after this one woman told me she had no interest in me whatsoever. (Not her words, mind, but they might as well have been for all the sting they carried.) If she wasn't interested, then there were a lot of things she should never have done. A lot. She did things—I won't relate them here—that said very clearly that she was interested. I wasn't the only person who noticed this, either. Others in our circle of friends had noticed her actions and told her that, to them, it was clear that I was interested. She was told to either make good on her actions, or to come clean and say she had no interest in me. Duplicitous bitch!
Several days later, I was around when she was introduced to this new fellow someone had brought into our circle of friends. This time, I got to see things from a more objective viewpoint. It was the first time she had met him, yet immediately her body language, her facial expression, and even her tone of voice said, "I'm interested in you." It was more than just a casual interest, too, that she communicated. I watched him just light up! and I thought, "You poor, poor bastard! Don't you even think it! Run! Run like fucking hell! She'll lead you on, then tear your heart out. Run!"
I think about how I enjoyed being single when I was in California, and then I'm reminded that I didn't always want to do things in a group setting, as I did fairly often. I'm reminded of the many times I hated going out to dinner alone. Or going to the movies alone. Or anything, really, alone. Friendship, companionship, having someone with whom to do things, with whom to talk when you feel like your world is crumbling all about you. That's what I'd like. Nothing more. Romance is nice, but not absolutely necessary.
I'm not even sure I should've posted this. I'm thinking I should just delete the shit. If nothing else, the song "Darwin," from the CD "Blue," by Third Eye Blind (a wonderful San Francisco band) will cheer me up:
The chromosomes divide
Multiply and thrive
And the strong survive
And the strong survive
And a spaceman fucked an ape
Then cut out on the date
And now it's much too late
The space ship has escaped
Or this lyric, from "Never Let You Go," on the same CD:
That girl is like a sunburn
I've always liked that line, even before I made the connection that I did tonight.
I won't deny any feelings of jealousy. I am jealous. I am! It makes me wish I had someone. And yet . . . I sometimes think/feel—at times like this I don't know if what goes on in my mind is intellectual or emotional or a combination of both—I'd just rather be single, enjoy my life as I did when I lived in California.
And then I remember that when I was single and living in Silicon Valley, I lamented that I had no one, and I remember crying as I drove home this one Sunday evening (after having gone to an ice cream parlor) after this one woman told me she had no interest in me whatsoever. (Not her words, mind, but they might as well have been for all the sting they carried.) If she wasn't interested, then there were a lot of things she should never have done. A lot. She did things—I won't relate them here—that said very clearly that she was interested. I wasn't the only person who noticed this, either. Others in our circle of friends had noticed her actions and told her that, to them, it was clear that I was interested. She was told to either make good on her actions, or to come clean and say she had no interest in me. Duplicitous bitch!
Several days later, I was around when she was introduced to this new fellow someone had brought into our circle of friends. This time, I got to see things from a more objective viewpoint. It was the first time she had met him, yet immediately her body language, her facial expression, and even her tone of voice said, "I'm interested in you." It was more than just a casual interest, too, that she communicated. I watched him just light up! and I thought, "You poor, poor bastard! Don't you even think it! Run! Run like fucking hell! She'll lead you on, then tear your heart out. Run!"
I think about how I enjoyed being single when I was in California, and then I'm reminded that I didn't always want to do things in a group setting, as I did fairly often. I'm reminded of the many times I hated going out to dinner alone. Or going to the movies alone. Or anything, really, alone. Friendship, companionship, having someone with whom to do things, with whom to talk when you feel like your world is crumbling all about you. That's what I'd like. Nothing more. Romance is nice, but not absolutely necessary.
I'm not even sure I should've posted this. I'm thinking I should just delete the shit. If nothing else, the song "Darwin," from the CD "Blue," by Third Eye Blind (a wonderful San Francisco band) will cheer me up:
The chromosomes divide
Multiply and thrive
And the strong survive
And the strong survive
And a spaceman fucked an ape
Then cut out on the date
And now it's much too late
The space ship has escaped
Or this lyric, from "Never Let You Go," on the same CD:
That girl is like a sunburn
I've always liked that line, even before I made the connection that I did tonight.
Friday, May 06, 2005
9:58 AM
The Praises of Merlyn (and Dogs)
Imagine . . . you get home from work. You park the car in the garage. You go into the house and head for the kitchen. You take the dirty disposable tupperware-like container out of your lunchbox and put it in the dishwasher, then put the lunchbox away. Now, you head upstairs. The office is the first door you come to on your right. You open the door, go in, and set down your writing tablet, French flashcards, and the book you've been reading. Next, you head to your bedroom, the second door on your right, to put your money and change, as well as your wallet and keys on the bedside table. No sooner do you cross the threshold to your room and there, on the floor, in a glorious arc, . . . is cat puke. Yuck!
"Thanks, Picks!" I say, rather loudly. Picks, or, more properly, Pickles is my mum's cat. He's adorable. He's almost all black, despite mediæval Europeans' attempt to rid the planet of black cats because of their silly and stupid superstitions. He's moody. He'll let you pet him, and then immediately bat at your hand. That's his way of trying to 'pet' you. I'm not sure what it is when he decides to go for you with his teeth, except that he's possibly pissed and wants you to leave him the fuck alone. Damned finicky cat! My mum has several nicknames for the little bugger:
Here's a photo of the puking Picks.
Pickles is nothing like my Merlyn. I got Merlyn before I got married. In fact, I was still dating my ex when I got him. We had both gone over to the pound and I looked at all the cats they had, then picked out the one I wanted. What drew me to him was the 'beard' of white hair down his breast, the wings of white hair flying out of his ears, his tall white eyebrows, all of which, when combined together, I thought gave him a 'wizardly' look. That is why he was named Merlyn.
Merlyn is great. (Sure, I'm biased.) Merlyn will actually demand that you pet him. He loves attention. I think he's a dog in a cat-suit. I've good reason to believe this. When he was still a kitten, I taught him to play 'fetch.' The end result is that he'll not only demand that you pet him when he wants attention, he'll also go grab his toy mouse and drop it at your feet when he wants to play 'fetch.' Here's how this works. After he's dropped the mouse at your feet, he either stares at you and miaows at you, as if to say, "I haven't got all damned day. What are you waiting for? Throw the thing! Now!" Or, if he feels so inclined, he'll sit at your feet and look around, as if to say, "Don't mind me. Mouse? What mouse? You've got a mouse? How wonderful! Would you please throw it, so that I can run after it? Why, thank you."
Now, once you've thrown the mouse, your entertainment is watching his hindquarters bounce as he runs pellmell to get the mouse. This is made more entertaining by the fact that at the back of each leg is a splash of white. It's like watching a two-tailed rabbit bounce along. (It actually gets quite funny when he flies down the stairs. You'd swear that cat never touches a single stair, yet that hind end still goes boing-boing-boinging along, up-and-down and up-and-down.) Once he's got the mouse, he picks it up and then brings it back to you. You are then expected to throw it again! and woe betide you if you don't. Your ears will be pelted with one miaow after another until you are sickened into throwing the mouse again. This will continue until one of two things happens: 1) he drops the mouse too far from you (because you should be playing 'fetch,' too) and you decide you're not going after it again, or 2) he drops to the ground panting and bloody winded.
Let me continue to sing the praises of Merlyn.
Are you a confirmed arachnophobe? Then Merlyn's the cat for you. He'll chase the spider, bat the spider, watch the spider, play with the spider, and then, yes, eat the spider.
Are you afraid of wasps/bees? Then Merlyn's the cat for you. He'll whack that fucker out of the air so he can play with it. And, yes, he'll even try to eat it. Stupid cat.
Hate moths? While I've never seen him go after one, I've no doubt whatsoever that he would. He's just that way. He's your kind of cat.
Can't stand crickets? Merlyn will watch them jump-jump-jump and will bat-bat-bat at them, and when he's done, why, yes, he'll have himself a crunchy snack.
Mice? They're another story altogether. Here's the story:
Phredd, my ex's huge, leviathon of a cat, or Phoo-Phoo as he was affectionately known, weighed in at about 24 lbs (approx. 10.9 kg). (Merlyn weighs about 14 lbs/6.3 kg; Lewis, our third cat, named after C. S. Lewis, weighed about 22 lbs/10kg.) How each of these cats dealt with mice just shows how different they all were. They quite literally covered the spectrum. Lewis's idea of what to do with a mouse was to be somewhere else altogether . . . sleeping. Phoo-Phoo's idea was to hunker down and watch Merlyn. Merlyn's idea was to go after the bloody thing. He'd bat at it, and the mouse would play dead. The mouse would jump up, then Merlyn would bat at it again. And so it went, until I took Merlyn's plaything away from him and threw the wee, little bugger out into the backyard.
Pickles' idea of what to do with a mouse was to sit and watch the mouse drink his water, as if to say, "You will leave some for me, won't you?"
Mice? Are you surprised? Merlyn's the cat for you.
See? Do you now know why I sing his praises? He's purr-fect! Heh. You had to see that coming.
Well, having said all that, je te présente Lewis (a.k.a. Louie, Louie-boo, and Loo-Loo), Phredd (a.k.a. Phoo-Phoo, Phoobie, Phoobie-boo, the Phoophenator, the Essence of Phoob, and Phoobs), and Merlyn (a.k.a. Millicent, Merly-poo, and Merl):
In the topmost photo, Lewis is left, Phredd is center, and Merlyn is right.
As irrational as it might sound, when I saw the present Pickles had left for me, I thought, "I'm done with cats. I'm tired of hairballs." Stupid, really. Dogs are just as capable of giving you equally lovely gifts. Actually, I'd just like a dog again. It's been a long, long time since I've had one. Phredd and Lewis are no longer with us. They both died a couple of years ago. Merlyn is still around, boing-boing-boinging along, still demanding to be loved, still demanding that someone play fetch with him, even though he's now something like 10 or 11 years old.
I've mentioned before the breeds of dogs that I like. Well, sometime around the beginning of the year, I went and purchased a calendar of dogs. Shelties. Here's the dog featured for May:
I'm going to get me one, once I've moved to Georgia . . . and then I'll get presents of a different sort. Heh. :D
"Thanks, Picks!" I say, rather loudly. Picks, or, more properly, Pickles is my mum's cat. He's adorable. He's almost all black, despite mediæval Europeans' attempt to rid the planet of black cats because of their silly and stupid superstitions. He's moody. He'll let you pet him, and then immediately bat at your hand. That's his way of trying to 'pet' you. I'm not sure what it is when he decides to go for you with his teeth, except that he's possibly pissed and wants you to leave him the fuck alone. Damned finicky cat! My mum has several nicknames for the little bugger:
- Pickle-poo
Picks
Picadilly
- Little Shit!
Here's a photo of the puking Picks.
Pickles is nothing like my Merlyn. I got Merlyn before I got married. In fact, I was still dating my ex when I got him. We had both gone over to the pound and I looked at all the cats they had, then picked out the one I wanted. What drew me to him was the 'beard' of white hair down his breast, the wings of white hair flying out of his ears, his tall white eyebrows, all of which, when combined together, I thought gave him a 'wizardly' look. That is why he was named Merlyn.
Merlyn is great. (Sure, I'm biased.) Merlyn will actually demand that you pet him. He loves attention. I think he's a dog in a cat-suit. I've good reason to believe this. When he was still a kitten, I taught him to play 'fetch.' The end result is that he'll not only demand that you pet him when he wants attention, he'll also go grab his toy mouse and drop it at your feet when he wants to play 'fetch.' Here's how this works. After he's dropped the mouse at your feet, he either stares at you and miaows at you, as if to say, "I haven't got all damned day. What are you waiting for? Throw the thing! Now!" Or, if he feels so inclined, he'll sit at your feet and look around, as if to say, "Don't mind me. Mouse? What mouse? You've got a mouse? How wonderful! Would you please throw it, so that I can run after it? Why, thank you."
Now, once you've thrown the mouse, your entertainment is watching his hindquarters bounce as he runs pellmell to get the mouse. This is made more entertaining by the fact that at the back of each leg is a splash of white. It's like watching a two-tailed rabbit bounce along. (It actually gets quite funny when he flies down the stairs. You'd swear that cat never touches a single stair, yet that hind end still goes boing-boing-boinging along, up-and-down and up-and-down.) Once he's got the mouse, he picks it up and then brings it back to you. You are then expected to throw it again! and woe betide you if you don't. Your ears will be pelted with one miaow after another until you are sickened into throwing the mouse again. This will continue until one of two things happens: 1) he drops the mouse too far from you (because you should be playing 'fetch,' too) and you decide you're not going after it again, or 2) he drops to the ground panting and bloody winded.
Let me continue to sing the praises of Merlyn.
Are you a confirmed arachnophobe? Then Merlyn's the cat for you. He'll chase the spider, bat the spider, watch the spider, play with the spider, and then, yes, eat the spider.
Are you afraid of wasps/bees? Then Merlyn's the cat for you. He'll whack that fucker out of the air so he can play with it. And, yes, he'll even try to eat it. Stupid cat.
Hate moths? While I've never seen him go after one, I've no doubt whatsoever that he would. He's just that way. He's your kind of cat.
Can't stand crickets? Merlyn will watch them jump-jump-jump and will bat-bat-bat at them, and when he's done, why, yes, he'll have himself a crunchy snack.
Mice? They're another story altogether. Here's the story:
Phredd, my ex's huge, leviathon of a cat, or Phoo-Phoo as he was affectionately known, weighed in at about 24 lbs (approx. 10.9 kg). (Merlyn weighs about 14 lbs/6.3 kg; Lewis, our third cat, named after C. S. Lewis, weighed about 22 lbs/10kg.) How each of these cats dealt with mice just shows how different they all were. They quite literally covered the spectrum. Lewis's idea of what to do with a mouse was to be somewhere else altogether . . . sleeping. Phoo-Phoo's idea was to hunker down and watch Merlyn. Merlyn's idea was to go after the bloody thing. He'd bat at it, and the mouse would play dead. The mouse would jump up, then Merlyn would bat at it again. And so it went, until I took Merlyn's plaything away from him and threw the wee, little bugger out into the backyard.
Pickles' idea of what to do with a mouse was to sit and watch the mouse drink his water, as if to say, "You will leave some for me, won't you?"
Mice? Are you surprised? Merlyn's the cat for you.
See? Do you now know why I sing his praises? He's purr-fect! Heh. You had to see that coming.
Well, having said all that, je te présente Lewis (a.k.a. Louie, Louie-boo, and Loo-Loo), Phredd (a.k.a. Phoo-Phoo, Phoobie, Phoobie-boo, the Phoophenator, the Essence of Phoob, and Phoobs), and Merlyn (a.k.a. Millicent, Merly-poo, and Merl):
In the topmost photo, Lewis is left, Phredd is center, and Merlyn is right.
As irrational as it might sound, when I saw the present Pickles had left for me, I thought, "I'm done with cats. I'm tired of hairballs." Stupid, really. Dogs are just as capable of giving you equally lovely gifts. Actually, I'd just like a dog again. It's been a long, long time since I've had one. Phredd and Lewis are no longer with us. They both died a couple of years ago. Merlyn is still around, boing-boing-boinging along, still demanding to be loved, still demanding that someone play fetch with him, even though he's now something like 10 or 11 years old.
I've mentioned before the breeds of dogs that I like. Well, sometime around the beginning of the year, I went and purchased a calendar of dogs. Shelties. Here's the dog featured for May:
I'm going to get me one, once I've moved to Georgia . . . and then I'll get presents of a different sort. Heh. :D
Thursday, May 05, 2005
8:00 PM
iShuffle
Instead of listening to an album at a time, as I have been, I've recently taken to either choosing an entire genre on my iPod (such as 'alternative' or 'alternative & punk' or 'folk'), or all 1511 songs, and having the iPod shuffle them up and then playing them at random. This makes for an interesting listening experience, especially when the thing jumps, as it just did, from The Clash (Should I Stay Or Should I Go) to Pro Cantione Antiqua (In Seculum Breve, which is medieval Christmas music) to The Beatles (Til There Was You) to Judas Priest (The Hellion) to Billy Joel (I Don't Want To Be Alone). Jarring? No, not really.
I have to make this sort of change now and then, or I feel like I'm stuck in a rut and, as far as I'm concerned, there's not much in this life that's worse than being stuck in a rut.
I had to come up with an icon of some sort to represent when I'm doing this with my music listening, and the iPod you see at the right is the result. What a pain in the arse! First, I had to find an appropriate image. That wasn't too difficult. I liked that I was able to find one with the option "Shuffle Songs" highlighted. Second, I had to select what was essentially a white image out of a white background. Now that was where I got my pain in the arse. I won't tell you what machinations I had to go through to get this image to look right, to prevent what are called 'artifacts,' since I was taking this white on white image and making it a white on black. I'm not going to explain what 'artifacts' are, unless you're really dying to know about technical computer graphics shit. I'm just glad I was able to successfully make that image look like it had always been on a black background. The image you see, by the way, is not the model of iPod that I've got. Mine is very similar, but the controls are configured differently.
Anyway, whenever you see the iPod, I'm shuffling my tunes.
Did I ever mention that years ago I used to be heavy into desktop publishing and computer graphics? I didn't? Okay. Well, I was. Compared to the pros, I suck. However, I like taking what I learned and applying it to this blog. It's fun. It's fun, but I suck.
Did I ever mention that I once took a photography course and was about as heavily into that as I once was into DTP and computer graphics? I didn't? Okay. Well, I was. Compared to the pros, I suck. Likewise, I like taking what I learned here, too, and applying it to this blog. It's fun. It's fun, but I suck.
Heh. From iShuffle on my iPod to iSuck. uRock, though. :P
Postscript: Good grief! My blogs and my web site have turned into quite the creative outlet for me, haven't they? Much more than I thought they would. Nevermind the writing I'm getting done these days. I need to get out of telecom. I really, really, really need to get out of telecom. I've followed in my father's footsteps long enough.
I have to make this sort of change now and then, or I feel like I'm stuck in a rut and, as far as I'm concerned, there's not much in this life that's worse than being stuck in a rut.
I had to come up with an icon of some sort to represent when I'm doing this with my music listening, and the iPod you see at the right is the result. What a pain in the arse! First, I had to find an appropriate image. That wasn't too difficult. I liked that I was able to find one with the option "Shuffle Songs" highlighted. Second, I had to select what was essentially a white image out of a white background. Now that was where I got my pain in the arse. I won't tell you what machinations I had to go through to get this image to look right, to prevent what are called 'artifacts,' since I was taking this white on white image and making it a white on black. I'm not going to explain what 'artifacts' are, unless you're really dying to know about technical computer graphics shit. I'm just glad I was able to successfully make that image look like it had always been on a black background. The image you see, by the way, is not the model of iPod that I've got. Mine is very similar, but the controls are configured differently.
Anyway, whenever you see the iPod, I'm shuffling my tunes.
Did I ever mention that years ago I used to be heavy into desktop publishing and computer graphics? I didn't? Okay. Well, I was. Compared to the pros, I suck. However, I like taking what I learned and applying it to this blog. It's fun. It's fun, but I suck.
Did I ever mention that I once took a photography course and was about as heavily into that as I once was into DTP and computer graphics? I didn't? Okay. Well, I was. Compared to the pros, I suck. Likewise, I like taking what I learned here, too, and applying it to this blog. It's fun. It's fun, but I suck.
Heh. From iShuffle on my iPod to iSuck. uRock, though. :P
Postscript: Good grief! My blogs and my web site have turned into quite the creative outlet for me, haven't they? Much more than I thought they would. Nevermind the writing I'm getting done these days. I need to get out of telecom. I really, really, really need to get out of telecom. I've followed in my father's footsteps long enough.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
10:24 AM
Artsy-Footsy
It's my opinion that everything is fair game for the blogger, including the artsy-fartsy. But, if it's smelly you're after (you know, fartsy)—I'm twisting it, I know; humour me, will you?—then why not put some sole into it, eh? Heh. :P
Men are quite aware that nearly all dress shoes on the market offer little to no arch support. Although I am one who enjoys dressing up now and again, for the most part, I have to wear athletic shoes, as I was born with fallen arches. Lack of proper support causes me an unbelievable amount of pain on the bottom of my feet, and when that happens not even going barefoot helps, believe it or not. At such times, athletic shoes are pure heaven!
(All due thanks to Caverna do Monstro for the inspiration for this post. Sapatas! Eu nunca pensaria que eu encontraria um borne em sapatas em seu blog, Sara. Você é uma porca! :P I hope the American idiom translated okay, as I have no idea what the Portuguese equivalent would be. I know Google's translator murders whole sentences—as you and others have told me—but what's a man to do when he can't speak Portuguese?)
Men are quite aware that nearly all dress shoes on the market offer little to no arch support. Although I am one who enjoys dressing up now and again, for the most part, I have to wear athletic shoes, as I was born with fallen arches. Lack of proper support causes me an unbelievable amount of pain on the bottom of my feet, and when that happens not even going barefoot helps, believe it or not. At such times, athletic shoes are pure heaven!
(All due thanks to Caverna do Monstro for the inspiration for this post. Sapatas! Eu nunca pensaria que eu encontraria um borne em sapatas em seu blog, Sara. Você é uma porca! :P I hope the American idiom translated okay, as I have no idea what the Portuguese equivalent would be. I know Google's translator murders whole sentences—as you and others have told me—but what's a man to do when he can't speak Portuguese?)
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
10:23 AM
How I Feel
Incredibly pissed off! And, at the moment, overwhelmingly disappointed.
When I arrived home from work this morning, I took my digital camera outside to shoot some photos for a blog entry I was planning. In fact, I snapped off four or five. When I went to do a sixth, the damned camera came up with a screen that said:
CARD SETUP
POWER OFF
FORMAT
At the bottom were instructions on how to select the option I wanted and what to do to execute that command.
Now, I was only taking photos of trees (you'll find out why eventually), but what really pissed me off was that on this xD-Picture Card were all the photos I had taken of my sons when I visited them last March. I had wanted to post those for you folk to see, but now I can't. Now no one can see them. :'( There were a lot of photos on that 32MB card. Fuck. I have no idea why this happened, either.
I went back inside the house to grab another card, to see if the camera was doing the same thing, regardless of the card inserted. It did not. It behaved normally. I took the original card, put it into the card reader attached to my Mac, and got this fucking message:
Obviously, I didn't want to click 'initialize,' as that would erase the card. Clicking 'ignore' would do just that, ignore the damned thing. And 'eject' would dismount the card. I have lost all those images, especially the ones I had taken of my sons, and I don't understand how it happened or why. ~sigh~
I had all sorts of neat ideas for that series of photos, too. Fuck. I'm going to bed.
When I arrived home from work this morning, I took my digital camera outside to shoot some photos for a blog entry I was planning. In fact, I snapped off four or five. When I went to do a sixth, the damned camera came up with a screen that said:
CARD SETUP
POWER OFF
FORMAT
At the bottom were instructions on how to select the option I wanted and what to do to execute that command.
Now, I was only taking photos of trees (you'll find out why eventually), but what really pissed me off was that on this xD-Picture Card were all the photos I had taken of my sons when I visited them last March. I had wanted to post those for you folk to see, but now I can't. Now no one can see them. :'( There were a lot of photos on that 32MB card. Fuck. I have no idea why this happened, either.
I went back inside the house to grab another card, to see if the camera was doing the same thing, regardless of the card inserted. It did not. It behaved normally. I took the original card, put it into the card reader attached to my Mac, and got this fucking message:
Obviously, I didn't want to click 'initialize,' as that would erase the card. Clicking 'ignore' would do just that, ignore the damned thing. And 'eject' would dismount the card. I have lost all those images, especially the ones I had taken of my sons, and I don't understand how it happened or why. ~sigh~
I had all sorts of neat ideas for that series of photos, too. Fuck. I'm going to bed.
Monday, May 02, 2005
10:08 PM
Sheer Heart Attack!
If I might borrow a phrase from Queen, that title describes rather well part of my day today.
I found my floor! Can you believe it? I've got a fucking floor! Now, you need to remember. I'm still a clutterbug, so if I were to show you a photo of this floor (which I won't; or I might later on), you'd still see piles of things. But that's how I am. I don't file stuff; I pile it. You could say I have my own piling system. (That's a pun. You can laugh. It is permitted, you know. Not all puns are groaners.)
I found my floor because I found myself in a panic earlier today. I had sat down to pay my bills, when, lo and behold, I found that I was missing a bill. My car payment, to be precise. I couldn't find the envelope with the bill to mail to the finance company. I about died! I cleared up my floor in less than two hours. That's unheard of. Especially for me. And after I had gone through all that trouble, I still didn't find my bill.
I was ready to call the finance company, to get the address to send the bill to, when I thought, you know, it's late enough in the day, I might as well check the mail. Perhaps they haven't mailed it yet. When I had looked through my cheque book earlier, I saw that previous payments had been made on or before the last day of the month. That at least told me I paid this bill with money from the last payday of the month.
While clutter does bother me, I can live with it. What I can't live with are unpaid bills. I'm usually (far more often than not) very good about making sure bills get paid on time, which is why I bloody freaked.
Well, I went outside to check my mail. There was a good bit of mail, actually, most of it junk. (What else?) After I pulled the mail out of the box, I looked through it and, lo and behold, there's the bill.
Bastards! It's a conspiracy, I tell you. A conspiracy to get me to rid my office of clutter, or to kill me as I try to.
I found my floor! Can you believe it? I've got a fucking floor! Now, you need to remember. I'm still a clutterbug, so if I were to show you a photo of this floor (which I won't; or I might later on), you'd still see piles of things. But that's how I am. I don't file stuff; I pile it. You could say I have my own piling system. (That's a pun. You can laugh. It is permitted, you know. Not all puns are groaners.)
I found my floor because I found myself in a panic earlier today. I had sat down to pay my bills, when, lo and behold, I found that I was missing a bill. My car payment, to be precise. I couldn't find the envelope with the bill to mail to the finance company. I about died! I cleared up my floor in less than two hours. That's unheard of. Especially for me. And after I had gone through all that trouble, I still didn't find my bill.
I was ready to call the finance company, to get the address to send the bill to, when I thought, you know, it's late enough in the day, I might as well check the mail. Perhaps they haven't mailed it yet. When I had looked through my cheque book earlier, I saw that previous payments had been made on or before the last day of the month. That at least told me I paid this bill with money from the last payday of the month.
While clutter does bother me, I can live with it. What I can't live with are unpaid bills. I'm usually (far more often than not) very good about making sure bills get paid on time, which is why I bloody freaked.
Well, I went outside to check my mail. There was a good bit of mail, actually, most of it junk. (What else?) After I pulled the mail out of the box, I looked through it and, lo and behold, there's the bill.
Bastards! It's a conspiracy, I tell you. A conspiracy to get me to rid my office of clutter, or to kill me as I try to.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
10:40 PM
Proofreaders Wanted . . .
I've been thinking about getting some computer speakers for months on end. I am such a perfectionist with my shopping (no matter what it is I'm looking to buy), it's almost sickening. The first set of speakers that caught my attention was the i-Trigue i-3350, by Creative Labs. I like the sleek look, as well as the fact that it's designed to match Apple's iPod. I've got the old 15GB model (they don't make this one anymore), and have barely used up half that space, even though I've got 1,511 songs stored in the thing. More recently, I took a little jaunt over to Klipsch's web site. Now, Klipsch is traditionally a manufacturer of home audio equipment, not computer audio, and what they make tends to be high-end shit. Audiophile quality.
(I've always been an audiophile. Believe me, no two speakers sound alike and it is unbelievably possible to tell the difference. You need only trust your ears. Screw the spec sheets! Spec sheets are for pedantic fucks, guys who like to impress you with their technical knowledge. Just listen to the bloody things! There are speakers out there that don't sound like speakers. With some of them, you'd swear on Odin's missing eye that you were listening to live musicians/singers.)
Anyway, as I browsed Klipsch's site, I came across their ProMedia Ultra 2.0 Personal Audio System.
Obviously, Klipsch provides their potential clientele with reviews that raved and raved about this system. At $99 USD, it's unbelievably affordable (especially when pitted against comparable speakers), and only $14 USD more than Creative's i-Trigue i-3350. I've heard Creative's system at a local computer store, but haven't heard the Klipsch's. Fact is, you'll not likely find Klipsch speakers at some rinky-dink electronics store or office supply store, national chain or otherwise. It's possible, but not too likely. (I'm sure I've seem some, but not this model, at such stores in the past.) One of the more impressive reviews said:
(I've always been an audiophile. Believe me, no two speakers sound alike and it is unbelievably possible to tell the difference. You need only trust your ears. Screw the spec sheets! Spec sheets are for pedantic fucks, guys who like to impress you with their technical knowledge. Just listen to the bloody things! There are speakers out there that don't sound like speakers. With some of them, you'd swear on Odin's missing eye that you were listening to live musicians/singers.)
Anyway, as I browsed Klipsch's site, I came across their ProMedia Ultra 2.0 Personal Audio System.
Obviously, Klipsch provides their potential clientele with reviews that raved and raved about this system. At $99 USD, it's unbelievably affordable (especially when pitted against comparable speakers), and only $14 USD more than Creative's i-Trigue i-3350. I've heard Creative's system at a local computer store, but haven't heard the Klipsch's. Fact is, you'll not likely find Klipsch speakers at some rinky-dink electronics store or office supply store, national chain or otherwise. It's possible, but not too likely. (I'm sure I've seem some, but not this model, at such stores in the past.) One of the more impressive reviews said:
"Bordering on audiophile bookshelf audio, the Ultra 2.0 system will leave you shaking your head in disbelief and secretly scanning the listening area for the hidden sub unit!Judging by the reviews I've read by those who have bought this system, all the raving sounds as if it's justified. I happened to read all the reviews at Klipsch's site, but the one, the only one, that left me very concerned was this one:
(...)
"The Klipsch ProMedia Ultra 2.0 speakers are simply a joy to listen to. You'll be fooling friends and family (and yourself) into thinking that the subwoofer has been cleverly hidden away somewhere in the room. First class drivers and design result in first class sound here—simple as that!"
—Terence Stephen, HWM, January 2005
"The sound from the Klipsch Ultra 2.0 is very impressive. They are without a doubt the best PC 2.0 speakers I have ever heard. I have owned plenty of PC speakers as well as my friends and family over the past 11 years. The sound is rich and has no issues with filling my room. The bass works well and is strong and tight considering there is no sub."Now, either Klipsch needs to hire a proofreader to edit these things for clarity, or we need to send in the S.W.A.T. team to rescue those folk!
—PC Junkie "Euripides" from New York City (ProMedia Ultra 2.0 Owner)
6:50 PM
Gary is . . .
Don't Google your name. Googlism it. What follows are the choice bits regarding me (including my comments):
- gary is cooking (Isn't that nice? I do cook, by the way.)
- gary is in hospital (Or should be.)
- gary is "unbelievable" (I'll leave that for others to decide.)
- gary is a high powered lawyer (Not! But I have friends who are striving in that direction.)
- gary is correct (Of course.)
- gary is the bestest (Need I say more? ~preens~)
- gary is a lobbyist (I never knew!)
- gary is on the far left (A leftist lobbyist, apparently.)
- gary is the flying cow the answer? (Is the flying pig the question?)
- gary is back (He never left.)
- gary is from the future (Insert Twilight Zone theme here.)
- gary is doing? (What?)
- gary is banned from elland road (I'm not going to say why.)
- gary is the reason they can't get over their silly one ( O.O )
- gary is one of america's leading experts on business internet marketing (If that were true, I'd have enough money to pay someone to clean up my clutter.)
- gary is god king (And I gladly accept your obeisance and worship.)
- gary is the blue light special in san diego (You didn't know I could be purchased at K-Mart, did you? Three god kings for only $1. This weekend only. Hurry and get yours NOW!)
- gary is now considered "part of the family" at most major rock stations (...and you can reach him at 1.800.555.2468)
- gary is about to be outted (Those bastards!)
- gary is also part of the sketch comedy group that he writes for (Finally. Something writing related.)
- gary is a vehicle extrication and supplemental restraint system (...and he is available as an option for a small additional fee.)
- gary is a quality artist and although sometimes it seems his work is not apriciated he is still one of the best (Apriciated? I apriciate the thought, but I'd apriciate it more if you could appreciate how to spell the damned word!)
- gary is (True.)
- gary is particularly attracted to the intriguing (I just wish I could find them.)
- gary is well qualified to assist you with any of your real estate needs and/or questions in the greater albuquerque area
- gary is here for you (I am.)
- gary is also a member of kpmg’s caribbean marketing (...and calypso is our thing.)
- gary is unaware of the box's existence (Is it really important that I know this?)
- gary is how his records sound (And a unique sound I am, too.)
- gary is a winner of five regional emmys (I'd like to thank...)
- gary is a real estate agent that is known in the community of sarnia for his dedicated client service (Where the fuck is sarnia?)
- gary is receiving (Enough said.)
- gary is also a designer and holds four international awards for graphics and desktop publishing (I seem to be quite accomplished, don't I?)
- gary is diabetic (Damn.)
- gary is just a fool who loves robbie (I thought we weren't going to discuss that post again.)
- gary is playing at the skanderborg festival in denmark (Tickets can purchased at...)
- gary is not (Gary is. Gary is not. Make up your damned mind!)
- gary is married to heather (I'd like to meet her, especially since I've got the CD Leonard Cohen did for her.)
- gary is an active republican who combines a successful professional career in the insurance industry and the busy life of a husband and father of six children (NOT! I am decidedly left-wing, thank you.)
- gary is not so much a misunderstood artist as he is misunderstood (Oh so true. ~sigh~)
- gary is suspended from bike racing because his hair is too long (What? You don't like the image of me with my hair caught in the wheel, my body whipping round and round and round as the bike continues on after having removed me from its seat?)
- gary is one of the rare individuals among today's saxophone players (I do play the sax, actually, but haven't touched one in years. Maybe one day I'll post a photo of the sax I'd like to buy eventually so I can start playing again.)
- gary is bitter (If we're talking British beer, I'll take that as a compliment.)
- gary is about to take padre juan carlos to kc [that'd be Kansas City for you non-U.S. residents] to catch a flight back to new mexico (Why not old Mexico?)
- gary is very talented in turning the most sensitive subjects into meaningful conversations that help resolve people’s issues (Ye-es. Sort of like me helping Melinda to recognise that she's studying to be a private dick.)
- gary is currently cornwall's golf union coach responsible for senior and junior teams (Cornwall? We don't do that 'round 'ere!)
- gary is currently the director of bioinformatics at the rochester institute of technology (And they've taken me off their payroll, too! The bastards!)
- gary is having a dinner party and invites his (...blog readers to join him out on the veranda.)
- gary is in very good health and is recovering at a faster rate than other liver transplant recipients (That's good news!)
- gary is also midwest field editor for fly fisherman (Ah, more writerly stuff. Don't really care for fishing, though. Boring sport. I'd rather watch Formula 1.)
- gary is a bundle of frenetic fun in this otherwise bleak film (Or so we hope.)
- gary is the national regatta chairman of the leukemia & lymphoma society's sailing program (...and he'd love to win the America's Cup.)
- gary is on stage (...and is pissing his pants from sheer nervousness.)
- gary is me (Who else would I be? Martha?)
- gary is a pagan writer with an archaeological/anthropology background (I can live with that.)
- gary is grecians’ saviour (And I am also god king! ~preens~)
- gary is comin' to the war (...and he is going to kick some serious arse!)
- gary is going to israel your prayers are needed (Shalom!)
- gary is a friend & neighbor of rivers (...and trees, and rain forests, and...)
- gary is unaffected and cuts a good light (~preens~)
- gary is a twat (Do you have a death wish???)
- gary is named to the "snow bike hall of fame" 1998 (What the fuck took you guys so long?)
- gary is the wit (~preens yet again~ I think all this preening is making me bald.)
- gary is just shorthand for a rotten place (And you are shorthand for... nevermind. There are ladies reading this. I know, I know. I just posted the one about me being a twat so who am I to speak?)
- gary is living the american dream (Like shit, I am!)
- gary is the founder and ceo of the self (Now you know why I preen so much.)
7:29 AM
O.O A Shot!
What a morning!
I was sitting at the computer, chatting with a friend in Australia, when I heard a sound from outside my window. I wasn't sure what it was. It sounded like it might've been screaming, but it was going on continuously. It had been going on for a minute or so before I got up to take a look outside. Behind the house nextdoor, I see a fox. A large fox. Nice fat bushy tail. It was sticking its nose cautiously into the woods, and then it went in. Next thing I know, I hear a SHOT! (Or what I thought was the sound of the pop of a pistol.) Off runs the fox! I tell my Aussie friend what I had heard.
"Call the police. Better a false alarm than not reporting an incident where someone might've been hurt," my friend says.
Fact is, I couldn't make out exactly what the 'screaming' was. My window had been closed until after the shot and by then the 'screaming' sound had stopped completely. It was the shot that made me decide to open my window. I'm not sure how long the 'screaming' had gone on. It wasn't for very long, though.
~BIG BREATH~ So, I call the police. When they arrive, I tell the officer the whole story. He explains that they get a lot of calls about screaming sounds that are actually the sounds made by foxes in the area. He said he'd check it out. He had to drive over to Sternwheel, the street on the other side of the woods. So, I'm now back in the office, I'm typing this up, and this time my window is open. If I hear that sound again, I want to hear it clearly.
The view from my home office.
This is where I saw the fox.
Those woods, by the way, are where my story The Wood takes place. That second photo is looking in the direction of the local high school, which sits on the opposite side of Freetown Road, just at the end of our street.
I was sitting at the computer, chatting with a friend in Australia, when I heard a sound from outside my window. I wasn't sure what it was. It sounded like it might've been screaming, but it was going on continuously. It had been going on for a minute or so before I got up to take a look outside. Behind the house nextdoor, I see a fox. A large fox. Nice fat bushy tail. It was sticking its nose cautiously into the woods, and then it went in. Next thing I know, I hear a SHOT! (Or what I thought was the sound of the pop of a pistol.) Off runs the fox! I tell my Aussie friend what I had heard.
"Call the police. Better a false alarm than not reporting an incident where someone might've been hurt," my friend says.
Fact is, I couldn't make out exactly what the 'screaming' was. My window had been closed until after the shot and by then the 'screaming' sound had stopped completely. It was the shot that made me decide to open my window. I'm not sure how long the 'screaming' had gone on. It wasn't for very long, though.
~BIG BREATH~ So, I call the police. When they arrive, I tell the officer the whole story. He explains that they get a lot of calls about screaming sounds that are actually the sounds made by foxes in the area. He said he'd check it out. He had to drive over to Sternwheel, the street on the other side of the woods. So, I'm now back in the office, I'm typing this up, and this time my window is open. If I hear that sound again, I want to hear it clearly.
The view from my home office.
This is where I saw the fox.
Those woods, by the way, are where my story The Wood takes place. That second photo is looking in the direction of the local high school, which sits on the opposite side of Freetown Road, just at the end of our street.
4:10 AM
I Am A Clutterbug
I've been trying to find my desk all morning. I think I've found most of it. I'd post a photo, but I know all of you would call me a liar, so I won't. If that's not bad enough, I have yet to find my floor. At the moment, it's carpeted with paper, . . . and books, . . . and magazines, . . . and useless university catalogues, . . . and God knows what else might be crawling underneath it all.
I am a hopeless clutterbug. I tell friends all the time that I'm trying to straighten this shit up, and sometimes I actually do, but then it just comes right back. I liken it unto 'spring' cleaning. I clean, the mess springs back. I clean, the mess springs back. I'm a clutter magnet. Except when it comes to my car. I refuse to use my vehicle as a storage bin.
Hmm. Maybe I should go live in my car. That might a viable solution to my clutter problems. I shall have to think on this.
I am a hopeless clutterbug. I tell friends all the time that I'm trying to straighten this shit up, and sometimes I actually do, but then it just comes right back. I liken it unto 'spring' cleaning. I clean, the mess springs back. I clean, the mess springs back. I'm a clutter magnet. Except when it comes to my car. I refuse to use my vehicle as a storage bin.
Hmm. Maybe I should go live in my car. That might a viable solution to my clutter problems. I shall have to think on this.
Born and raised an Air Force BRAT, the Garrulus has been to 18 countries and U.S. territories on three continents, as well as to 39 of the 50 states. He has lived in places as diverse as Okinawa, Japan; Biloxi, Mississippi; Bangkok, Thailand; and Bloxham, which is in Oxfordshire, in England, not too far from Banbury. (You've heard of Banbury Cross, right? You haven't? Well, where the hell were you in English class? Good God, if you were going to skip class, why the hell did it have to be English? You coudn't've skipped out on something useless? Like wood shop? Dumbass! Serves you right. You could've learned a thing or two about a certain naked woman on a horse, and you might also have learned something about chocolate. Heh. I'll bet that makes you regret skipping English class now, doesn't it?) Too, the Garrulus enjoys comparative religion and mythology, and he loves to innoculate his fantasy fiction with these interests, as well as with various aspects of the different cultures he has experienced around the world. As he has family in Australia, South Africa, England, and the U.S., you might say the sun never sets on his family. Then again, you might not. (He doesn't give a damn whether you say this or not, to be honest.) His friends are the most motley crew, seeing that they're from, amongst other places, New Zealand, Australia, England, Poland, Canada, and Wales. The love of his life is from Portugal. He also enjoys photography, the graphic arts, languages (including foreign curse words, of course), and travel, travel, travel.
