Speech From the Speechless

Rabble

2011-03-03T21:27:00.008-06:00

To whom it may concern,

I recently received a notice via door hanger regarding the pet waste and cigarette butt disposal problem at the Dilapidated Dale apartment complex. I appreciate action regarding this problem; however, I am concerned with the approach apartment complex management has chosen to take.

I agree improperly discarded pet and tobacco waste make the grounds of these apartments unattractive and the apartments themselves less attractive to current and potential residents. Furthermore, I agree the solution to this problem is to deem residents responsible for waste disposal. I do not, however, agree the threat of raising pet rent for all residents is an appropriate way to accomplish this.

My primary concern is that due to the lack of action on the part of management in waste removal, there is no direct cost incurred to the apartment complex due to this problem. Indeed, pet waste in several areas, particularly nearest the building on the side hidden from street view, has never been removed by management. Therefore, raising pet rent for all documented pet owners will be interpreted as a punitive measure and will be associated with no benefit. In addition, no steps will have been taken to actually solve the problem.

Using "pet waste stations" for the disposal of pet waste would be a more direct, productive management solution than posting flyers and raising rent. If such stations exist, they are too far away or not visible enough to residents in the southernmost complex building; I have never seen one. In fact, if necessary to offset the cost, an increase in pet rent would be better received if such a benefit accompanied it.

A lack of grounds and building maintenance is my primary reason for seeking living arrangements elsewhere upon the termination of my lease this year. Management's threat to raise pet rent instead of making progress in this area has not helped to improve my opinion. While many residents clearly don't care, please consider this an opportunity to make real progress toward improvements for those who do. I am a lost cause, but if any remain, you may retain some business.

Respectfully,
Resident of Building 8

Jesus and Status Updates

2010-12-27T12:48:00.002-06:00

If somebody posted daily Facebook status updates or tweets or jingymabobs about how great Jesus was, I'd be a little uncomfortable and consider it sort of inappropriate. Your relationship with Jesus is personal. Indeed, Matthew 6:5-6 warns against public displays of religion, and I can think of no reason other than "being seen" to post "Jesus is awesome" on a regular basis in a public forum of mostly like-minded peers.

I don't see many (er, any, actually) people doing that, though. I've got friends who'll post topical, bible-backed, positive messages once in awhile, and I have no problem with that. You're using your experience to make an insightful comment about some bit of life, and that's what these forums are for.

No, what I do see are a few people who regularly post anti-religious messages, one who posts at least daily. These messages are insulting and almost exclusively negative. For example, "It's not healthy to have an imaginary friend" has nothing to do with anything except the problem you have with religion.

I'd say about half of my Facebook friends are religious, but the hate isn't coming from them. It's coming from you, the self-righteous atheist. I try not to take sides in this battle, but to the side annoying me the most at the moment, please don't let the irony escape you when I ask you to consider messages of tolerance instead of hate.

Little to Say

2010-02-11T19:48:00.002-06:00

I think this says it best:

Ritual

2009-12-11T22:03:00.005-06:00

I've decided to document my nightly ritual because I have nothing more productive to do.

Camellia Sinensis: My "friend" at the tea store wasn't kidding when he said this was good stuff. I asked for oolong, and he got a proud man's smile as he went back to the store and brought this out in an unmarked package.

Pour: Pour hot (just below boiling) water over the leaves. The familiar sound of the leaves rubbing against each other and the water pouring into the pot is comfort.

Cover: The sound of the lid clinking into place on a teapot is quiet and comfortable. This pot is one of my favorites because...

Wait: ... the tea looks lovely inside it. I need to use those tea blossoms, but I don't want to make them run out.

Fill: The sound of tea filling a cup is like none other. They might not come right out and say it, but those burbling coffee table pieces at the nature stores are so soothing because they sound so much like tea. It's true.

Jesca Hoop - Kismet

2009-11-30T21:29:00.003-06:00

I let the last.fm client dictate much of my music listening. It's nifty -- input an artist you like, and it plays you similar-sounding stuff. It's a good way to discover new music, and it's easier than organizing your own playlists.

Recently, I've been listening to a lot of alternative groups with female vocals along the lines of Fiona Apple and Nellie McKay (another recent find). When last.fm plays a song, it also displays the artist and album information on-screen. I find myself running to the computer once in awhile to find out who's making that lovely noise.

Which leads me to today's topic: Jesca Hoop. It seems the last three or four times I've wondered "Who is that?", it's been her. That being the case, I finally decided it was time to find her only (officially-released) album, Kismet.

Jesca Hoop's bio on Last.fm mentions she listened to Tom Waits early on, and it really shows. She's got the clunky, circus-like foundation in about half the tracks on this cut. Her influences, though, go far beyond that; "Out The Back Door" brings back vivid memories of Cibo Matto's distorted vocals and dark, syncopated rhythm, and "Silverscreen" has distinct splashes of Beatles-style elements, including tastefully-executed orchestral swells and a little melody in the chorus that sounds like it could have come straight from Sgt. Pepper.

There's so much variety on this album, every track feels like a brand new experience on the first listen-through, and most remain interesting on subsequent analysis. Best of all, Ms. Hoop manages to completely avoid the trap of neo-cabaret that plagues so many talented young female artists. It's alternative music, to be sure, but with such a wide variety of influences behind it, Jesca Hoop's sound is wholly original and wholly enjoyable.

Random Thought

2009-11-29T23:04:00.002-06:00

I wonder if I could pass the bar exam with a bit of work. I picked up a criminal law textbook at Half Price today, and I'm actually interested enough to continue reading it. That's a good sign, no?

Unfortunately, it appears a Juris Doctor is required for actual admission to the bar in most jurisdictions. That part would be expensive. That said, most of the information itself is available online. Findlaw.com appears to have a decent amount of case law available for free. Would that be enough stuff to get me by?

I Shot my Dad Tonight

2009-11-28T23:50:00.002-06:00

I can't believe I've never bought myself an airsoft gun. Thirty bucks is a lot of fun, and I think it's the beginning of a new hobby. These things are just plain cool.

I did shoot Dad, but to be fair, he told me to as he walked out into the yard and spread his arms. I'm not one to disobey :p

Again

2009-11-28T00:04:00.001-06:00

There be family, and there be friends. Also, I found New Moon at Half Price Books today. Score.

I'm starting to think Twitter would be more appropriate for this sort of blogging...

Turkeys

2009-11-26T19:42:00.002-06:00

I've written two stories now. Both end in death. There's a very simple reason for this: It's an easy way to end a story. I'm not much of a fiction writer, so it's simply a crutch. Seems like a more creative alternative to "and they all lived happily ever after." Besides, man falling from an elevator surely wouldn't end happily ever after, in any case. There's no need for alarm. If I said "it's fun to kill characters," perhaps there'd be some cause for concern. So I'll just keep that to myself.

Also, a seasonal thought: I'm glad I have family in town. I'm glad the family from out of town came to see us. I'm glad turkeys are made of meat.

On Nothing and Terminal Velocity

2009-11-25T20:33:00.001-06:00

*click* 7…

*click* 6…

*click* 5…

At each floor (*click* 4…) the corresponding number above the door lights with a click, punctuating the metallic scrape of an old elevator in an old building descending to the ground floor. Aryn checks his watch. 4:30. Only two and a half hours until this is over.

*click* 3…

“Four days in a row,” Aryn thinks, Thanksgiving break just a couple hours away. This break is necessary. Between the influx of orders this week (everybody gets their work done at the last possible minute, it seems) and some tension between him and the new guy, the last month has been an absolute drag.

*click* 2…

Before that long break, this ten-minute one is the last today. The coffee upstairs is horrid, having been made this morning and left in that decanter for, what, six hours now? It’s even stale by the time he gets to it when he comes in at 10. At least enough people use the coffee in the common room on the ground floor of the office it’s brewed relatively frequently. Aryn anticipates the cafeteria smell and fluorescent lighting and long tables with tattered wooden chairs from the 80s with that awful prickly upholstery on the seats. He’s made this trip twice daily for two years now. There’s no actual cafeteria here – just some vending machines and a microwave. But it’s comfort. It’s not-work.

*click*--

No number. Weird. Light must be out. These elevators are serviced yearly for their vital parts, but the stupid lights keep disappearing, and the lights outside don’t always work when the elevator arrives. There’s no way to tell whether it’s going up or down without that bell.

As the door lurches open, Aryn steps out, checking his watch again. He looks up in time to see his foot miss the floor. He falls. There’s no floor at all here. The light is apparently just fine.

As he’s falling through nothingness, now looking up (there’s nothing down to look at, and some small part of his brain is sure looking at the one thing that exists will make some difference), the elevator door closes, and the perfectly-working exterior indicator light goes out. The elevator has gone to service another patient user. After a few more seconds, the closed door becomes a pinpoint in the distance, then it vanishes completely.

Describing “nothingness” is impossibly difficult. Suffice it to say Aryn still checks his watch every few minutes, partly out of curiosity, having grown up believing all falls end eventually and because this one is taking longer than any he’s experienced thus far, and partly out of simple boredom. There’s not a lot to look at when nothing is around; nothing is very much like a blank canvas without any texture or color. It isn’t even grey. It just isn’t.

After about ten minutes, according to his watch, Aryn begins to wonder whether he’s really falling anymore. Is it possible the door moved away from him as he stepped out? Without a way to orient himself and nothing to indicate movement (surely air exists, since he’s not suffocated yet, but there’s no wind in his face from rapid movement), Aryn believes himself to now be in stasis, suspended in a… what is this place, anyway?

Perhaps ten seconds after deciding he wasn’t moving, he changes his mind. The ground or something equally expansive and flat appears and begins approaching rapidly from his left side. He’s falling. Sideways, in fact. Before Aryn has a chance to wonder what, exactly, terminal velocity would come out to in a place of nothing and whether he’s been falling long enough to reach it, the ground or something equally expansive and flat interrupts his train of thought with a dull thud.

As his mind fades to black (at least there's color now), a mumble: “Terminal velocity, indeed.”

Memories

2009-11-24T23:51:00.002-06:00

When I was a kid, I remember Dad watching math on TV. I thought it was the strangest thing at the time, and I haven't thought much of it since. Until tonight.

I found some math on Youtube. I am amazed. I need to go back to school and learn stuff. I'd be so much happier there.

Better With Cheese

2009-11-23T23:50:00.001-06:00

I am not motivated to blog tonight, but I'm always motivated to complain.

I tore open a bag of Tootsie Pops a couple nights ago and found an unpleasant surprise: banana. Not an actual banana, mind, which would have been quite a lot better, but an artificially-flavored banana lollipop.

Waste of a perfectly good stick. That could have been orange, dangit.

Blast

2009-11-22T23:44:00.003-06:00

Julia Nunes posted a new video. There's a band behind her, and there's no more spontaneity. There's not even a uke. I am disappointed.

She still rocks, don't get me wrong. It's just that this isn't the spunky youtube girl I fell in love with. There's a pop star in this video.

Musics

2009-11-21T20:47:00.002-06:00

It's important to play fun things along with the pieces you're studying to keep burnout at bay, and reading through easy songs is good practice in itself. I found one the other day I like enough to share:

This is Schumann's Traumerei. Traumerei translates to "dreaming," from what I understand. Sounds dreamy, indeed.

<3

2009-11-20T23:27:00.002-06:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojIOLuS1ZU0

Just. Wow. Seriously? Word has it that's footage from her campaign last year. I adore Fox news. They need to add "factual" to "fair and balanced".

La Cuenta, Parte El Fin

2009-11-19T21:56:00.001-06:00

I'm skipping the last paragraph. Self-censorship, maybe.

SEATTLE – The Seattle Fire Department said two people died after a fire swept through the Johnson Lofts building downtown. Firefighters arrived shortly after 4:45 PM after receiving a call from a resident who then evacuated safely.

Witnesses said they saw a woman on the fifth floor attempt to escape from the window but disappear shortly afterward. “It was pretty intense,” said witness John Smith. “The smoke was so thick you couldn’t see much. But we knew that lady was in there. There was nothing any of us could do but watch.”

Firefighters confirmed the two deaths and said it appears the victims were attempting to escape. One was the resident of the apartment were the fire began, and the other could not be identified.

The building, which had been recently renovated for residential use, has been a landmark in the city for over fifty years.

Investigators determined the cause of the fire to be accidental.

La Cuenta, Parte Seis

2009-11-18T22:05:00.000-06:00

When he approached the scene, it was clear he wasn’t going to get in. That was his, though, thick black smoke billowing from the half-open window. Christ. He tried to get some information from an officer on the scene, but the officer brushed him off. There was no distracting him from that window. Everybody was staring. Then he saw it, too, a towel almost draped out the window. Like somebody had tried to wave it for help. The firefighters were raising a ladder now.

Sam took off around the building since the police hadn’t had time to set up any sort of perimeter. When he got to the back door, the smoker’s door (fat lot of good banning smoking indoors did), he yanked it open and took off up the stairs. Why were they going for the window? Why hadn’t she used the fire escape like a normal person? Like an animal, she was, faced with fire, fixating on the nearest thing to “away,” even though it was fifty feet up. He should have shown her what to do.

When he got to his floor, winded, he could feel the heat. He could see the heat, even in the floodlit landing, making the door shimmer. He took off his shirt to protect his hands, but as he was looking down the stairwell hoping desperately for somebody to come running, the door fell on its own. It just tipped over into the hall, landing with a crash. The hinges had melted.

As Sam looked down the hall, he was amazed at how dark it was. The heat poured from the open door now, and he could see nearly invisible flames licking at the brick in the hall, blue where they appeared and heat shimmer where they didn’t. He charged in screaming for her, though he could hardly hear himself over what reminded him of the deep, rumbling sound the furnace at his childhood home made when he listened closely to it. It didn’t crackle. It nearly growled.

La Cuenta, Parte Cinco

2009-11-17T22:18:00.002-06:00

On the way home, Sam watched the helicopters, three of them, hovering around downtown. He’d always been amazed by flying machines, even now into his thirties. He couldn’t tell what sort of helicopters they were, but it wasn’t the police. Theirs was a smaller one that looked a bit like a bumblebee.

He was about halfway home when he saw the smoke. The helicopters were for that – a fire. It looked like it might be even be near the lofts. He picked up his pace. Perhaps there’d be some action tonight, after all. And he’d have a great view if it was on his side of the building.

A bit nearer, as truth started to dawn, Sam started to run. He didn’t want a view of this scene. Watching a drama unfold as he looked on from his loft window was one thing, but he was kicking himself for the thought now. Karma will have her own way. How about a drama actually unfolding from your window, Sam? He didn’t wish for this.

La Cuenta, Parte Quatro

2009-11-16T22:48:00.001-06:00

“How’s work?” he asked.

“Mmgh.” She shrugged, noncommittal.

She’d gotten a job at the grocery at the end of the block, but he didn’t hear her talk much about it.

“Heh. Mine, too. I have a feeling I’ll still be cleaning up yesterday’s mess. That was a disaster. Of course, I took the fall. I always do. I wish they’d quit using me as an excuse when things go wrong.”

“Why do you go if it makes you so miserable?” she asked. “You really don’t have any right to complain. You’ve put yourself in that mess.”

“It’s true. It pays the bills, though. I need to have a job, and I don’t want to work retail. If I could afford to, I sure would. It’d surely be easier than this. No offense, of course.”

At this, she was silent and nodded.

“I’ve got to get going. See ya this evening.”

“Yeah. Thanks again for all this,” she said. “I’ve never lived like this before.”

“What? No need to thank me. You thank me just by being around. I’m glad to have you.” Sam hugged her then he held her at arm’s length. “You really are lovely,” he said, smiling again.

She only lowered her head.

After Sam left, she opened the fridge and checked the date on the eggs. They were still good. Cereal wasn’t nearly as tasty as it used to be. Eggs are real food.

La Cuenta, Parte Tres

2009-11-15T23:11:00.000-06:00

Sam stretched his chin out in front of the mirror, running his fingers down his neck, inspecting his shaving job. Shaving was his own time, and for all the five minutes it took, he had his mind to himself. Morning grogginess made his mind a funny place, with random words repeating themselves for just their sound (he was stuck on Timbuktu this morning) and simple, basic thoughts forming the foundation of his meditation. In the last six months, he’d learned to savor the time he spent shrouded in his morning stupor. He knew she’d be waiting to get in when he left the bathroom. He took his own toothbrush from the rack that now held two and ran the tap. He cupped some water in his hand, splashed his face, and Timbuktu disappeared for the day.

As he opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hall, she was, indeed, waiting. She looked almost domestic these days, now that she had more or less regular meals and slept indoors. Her face was still a bit rough, and she insisted on wearing a mess of randomly kempt, hacked short hair, but at least it was clean. He touched her arm, and she accepted it with a small smile. He smiled, too, knowing how much that meant, and passed her. He’d found out the hard way a couple weeks after their turkey dinner that a friendly hug was not that at all to a girl from the street. He ended up with a black eye, and she didn’t reappear at the side of the building for a few days.

These days, though, their relationship had developed into one of relative comfort. Over a standing breakfast of boxed cereal, Sam looked over her with approval. She’d come a long way, indeed. He didn’t rescue her, per se. But he’d sure helped her get back on her feet. And now he had a friend.

La Cuenta, Parte Dos

2009-11-15T03:57:00.001-06:00

She only acted startled the first time. The second, the very next night, she waved her hand in dismissal and grunted, never taking her eyes from the ground. The third passed the same way, and the fourth became a week. Sam, by this time, felt some small connection to the girl, even though only as a neighbor, which she technically was. And her situation started to bother him. It was just a niggling thing at first, wondering before he started speaking to her how long she'd been out there, but having no friends in town and a soul-sucking job that left him with more money than satisfaction, he was already disposed to find an emotional connection somewhere.

One night, after a particularly stressful day, he didn't make it to his apartment. Instead, he sat at the side of the building and looked for bugs. She'd taken to ignoring him again (she hadn't even grunted in a week), but with him sitting right next to her, she didn't last long.

After about ten minutes, she spoke: "The bugs' world isn't any bigger than ours," she said, still looking intently at the gravel. "They have no idea."

Sam hadn't actually expected her to say anything. He didn't even know she could. He was too stunned to respond. He sat, still staring at the ground. As she started rocking again, he joined her, but he wasn't feeling it. "Why do you rock like this?"

"Are you trying to fuck with me?" She looked at him now, weary.

"I.. no, I just..."

"Are you trying to rescue me?"

"I didn't... I was..."

"Am I a curiosity? What do you want?"

"Y.. You are, yes. You're human. And you sit here staring at the dirt all day. And you're apparently not completely loony. If you weren't a curiosity before, you are now. Why are you here?" In the face of this challenge, Sam was finding his voice again.

She sighed. "Because I am. Why are you here? Seriously, what do you want?"

"For the last month and a half, I've seen you sitting here and wondered what was going on in your head as you stared at those rocks all day. I still have no idea, but you're actually lucid. Now I know you can tell me."

She was silent again for a while, resigned. She broke the silence after a few minutes. "You're freakin' weird."

He just shrugged. Having the homeless girl call him weird put him oddly at ease, and now that he'd ascertained with more certainty her relative harmlessness, he was actually comfortable. She was just human, after all.

She looked at him, less weary this time. "Actually," she said. She paused.

Sam turned to look at her.

She looked back at the gravel. "I know I just accused you of attempting rescue, but I'm... I haven't eaten since yesterday. Do you have a couple bucks?"

"No." Sam looked straight ahead again.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--"

"I've got some sliced turkey in the fridge. It's been in there for a week, but it's probably still good. Preservatives and all, you know. I'm not going to give you money. But I'll share. I'm hungry, too."

Office 2008 on OS X

2009-11-13T22:23:00.006-06:00

I installed Microsoft Office 2008 for OS X at home expecting it to be somewhat similar to 2007, which we use at the office. It isn't.

Case in point:

I've taken a screen shot of the top portion of the screen in Word, the one that would normally contain useful tools. Instead, I have an entire row of buttons I'll likely never use. They're cool features (SmartArt, for example, allows one to insert shiny flowcharts and diagrams), but I'm not publishing. I'm processing words. In a Word processor. One that would do better to have tools like "Center" and "Italics" at the top of the page.

Which brings us to annoyance number two:

The aforementioned vital tools aren't even attached to the program's window. They float. And they disappear after a few seconds by default. I can't modify the toolbars at the top of the window, but at least I can change that horrid behavior.

I hear there are other annoyances (the actual removal of VBA support in Excel from the last version to this one, for example), but I can't account for anything else first-hand. I just know I don't like Word. At all.

Parte Uno

2009-11-12T23:39:00.000-06:00

When they first met, she didn't know it. He was too uncomfortable to say anything, and she was completely engrossed in her studies. She sat in the half-shade on the side of the building, a brick affair from the 50s, wrapped in a too-large flannel shirt and well-worn jeans, rocking a bit and murmuring to herself about the bugs. She studied the ground in front of her. It appeared, at least from Sam's perspective, to be absolutely fascinating.

Sam was new to the neighborhood, so he said with healthy irony as he introduced himself to his neighbor across the hall as they jostled to get past each other. These halls were too narrow. He'd just moved into the newly-finished warehouse-turned-lofts (closets, really) building in a somewhat seedy part of downtown, but it was a step up from the suburbs. It was more expensive at any rate, he told himself, and he could afford it easily. And it was a downtown loft. It may have been a closet, but it was a luxurious one. His bathroom counter was even made of frosted glass. Movin' on up, indeed.

After a few weeks of walking past the girl at the side of the building every night on his way home from work, Sam grew accustomed enough to her to say hello. The first time he did, she snapped her head up and sat frozen, wide-eyed, her mouth moving only slightly to return the greeting.

He knew by now she was nuttier than an ape on happy pills, but he could tell she wasn't the violent sort. It was something about her features; her face was undoubtedly soft at some point in the past but that had all but disappeared with the passage of time. She wasn't yet grizzled, and she was still young (so tragically young -- twenty-five, tops), but her cheek bones stood out, framing her face between them and a sharp jaw line like a painting left outdoors, exposed, becoming slowly more and more like the environment that surrounded it. She hadn't yet been worn down enough to put out the light behind her eyes, but she was no newcomer to the streets. He wondered how long she'd been here. And he knew by her reaction to him she'd seen more than her share of trouble.

A Poem

2009-11-11T23:11:00.002-06:00

I should post something.
Eleven days in,
My muse has skipped town.

I'll write a story before the month is over. And I'll post a song. But not tonight. Bah.

Mull

2009-11-10T23:25:00.003-06:00

50% down would make a huge dent in a house. My payments would be significantly lower than my current rent. What's the catch?

I wonder if a university would let me play a large piano if I wasn't studying one but was still a student.

What on *earth* is that noise?

Resurrection

2009-11-09T23:47:00.003-06:00

I had some herbs this summer. One week, I forgot to water them. One died.

At least, I thought it was dead. The leaves were brown and crinkly, the stems were brittle, and a spider even made a home in the pot. I was apparently wrong. It's come back to life. There's some new green in the middle, and a couple of the stems have even started to turn green again.

Was it faking its death for attention? Somebody ought to tell the plant that dead ones get significantly less attention than live ones...

Terrible Toads

2009-11-08T23:31:00.004-06:00

I went to the same coffee shop several times per week for about five years. A year and a half or so ago, the drama finally sucked me in and I stopped going.

I went back on Halloween, and I went back again yesterday. The same people are still there, up to their same tricks. While many relationships are cool, at best, the place still warms me, and it hasn't yet come to fisticuffs.

I'm not sure if this is such a good idea, but it's too late now. A candle on my table and an oddly-instrumented band on stage playing odd, jazzy-like music and a crowd dressed from jeans and tees to cuff links and ties made the atmosphere a far cry from the sports bar near home. I've missed the place. I'm hooked again.

Love's Tune

2009-11-07T22:59:00.001-06:00

A snippet from train-of-thought at the bar:

This is one of her more croony songs. Whenever I hear Billie Holliday these days, it reminds me of a rather disturbing recording of David Sedaris singing commercial jingles in her voice. He does her well. A bit too well. I wouldn't say he's ruined her, but I can't get his voice out of my head. The influence makes me grin. Like I didn't grin enough upon hearing her already.

Unfortunate Cookies

2009-11-06T21:48:00.002-06:00

That truck will probably stop.

Your hard work goes mostly unnoticed.

The chicken is safe.

Be confident. It's hilarious.

Savor your freedom. It is short-lived.

You will find yourself without an umbrella.

'Tis The Season...

2009-11-05T21:04:00.004-06:00

I hope this sore throat and exhaustion are due to stress, lots of talking, and a lack of decent sleep this week.

I don't fear the sowmonella, but I sure as heck don't want it. I don't want run-of-the-mill crud, either. Y'know, uninhabited mountain tops don't have contagious diseases or stressors that make mental crud. Just bears. I'd do well with bears at this point.

Here's a rather sad photo of a balding bear:

Story.

A First?

2009-11-05T00:33:00.004-06:00

I have seen a lot of shows. When we were kids (from about sixteen through twenty years, I'd say), they were our primary source of entertainment. We attended a few shows a month, mostly small. The bigger ones weren't nearly as much fun.

I saw a man climb to the top of his stack of amplifiers and forcibly dismantle the ceiling with his feet so he could hand out souvenirs. I've seen puddles of not-water, and I've seen people fall right into them. I've seen nunchuck halftime routines and a bust of Mozart. I've seen men and women dive from the stage into the audience. Once, I even saw the lead singer of a screamy metal band whip out a flute for an epic solo.

There are limits, though. So I thought before tonight. Before tonight, I had not imagined any of the following things appearing in a musical act:

Seven-foot stilts

A fire eater

A tea party

Burlesque costumes that made me a bit uncomfortable

A lady on one of those cloth rope trapeeze things like in cirque du soleil

Emilie Autumn is the single most annoying performer I have ever witnessed on stage. She didn't even play most of her music (nor did she pantomime well), and at one point, she even said, "I just know this is going to end up on youtube!" Many members of the crowd started recording with their phones. Clever, perhaps, but desperate much? Even so, the show was enjoyable. Her "band" had character, and there were breaks for what can only be described as campy skit-like interludes between songs. There was plenty to see, as outlined above, and little to, erm... cover it. Which makes me consider whether I'd have enjoyed it as much if the performers had been male. Sadly, it just wouldn't have had the same appeal. Or much at all, really.

It was worth my money, but I wonder about the throng of doe-eyed fangirls. What were they there for?

Fluffy Rabbits

2009-11-03T23:05:00.002-06:00

I was saving the "I'm going to shoot for nablopomo" post for a night I was out of material, and that night has come sooner than expected.

I'm going to shoot for nablopomo.

How Introverts Communicate

2009-11-02T21:50:00.004-06:00

Last night, a friend sent me a link to an summary article entitled "How Introverts Communicate". The article outlines a book by a Dr. Marti Olsen Laney called The Introvent Advantage. Going beyond XKCD's "Just Shy" t-shirt (available at the xkcd store at the bottom), it offers gems of advice like the following:

Ask questions, such as what happened during the day. Introverts may need to be drawn out.

In other words, if we're sitting in awkward silence, I'm likely stuck. I do specify awkward silence, though, because the following is also true:

Be comfortable with silence. Introverts generally like it quiet – but they also enjoy spending time with others. Quietly.

Finally, one I hadn't thought much about:

Use nonverbal communication. According to Laney, shoulder pats, hand holding, kisses on the cheek are effective ways to “talk” to people with introverted personality traits.

Granted, in our culture, a kiss on the cheek would freak most introverts (or most anybody, actually) right the heck out if not from someone very close, but I'm sure the author's point encompasses more than just physical contact. Nonverbal communication indeed carries a lot of weight, perhaps because verbal communication carries less.

Combined with other personality traits, some introverts seem downright cold, but that's seldom the case. There's as much social ineptitude among extroverts as introverts, too; it's not a matter of sociability. We just communicate differently. There's little more to it.

Zoom Zip

2009-11-01T22:57:00.003-06:00

Speeding, while it does make a difference, doesn’t make as large a difference as you might think.

At first glance at the below graph, you’ll notice the time saved on a 30-mile commute by driving at 90mph instead of 55mph is a whopping 12 minutes. For a trip that takes only 32 minutes to begin with, that could turn “running significantly late” into “right on time”. Bear in mind, though, that most highways have a speed limit greater than 55, and 90 in town is downright insane. I included such a large range to demonstrate a very important point: the graph is not linear. Note that while the difference between 55mph and 65mph is still a relatively significant five minutes, the difference between 65mph and 75mph is only 3.7 minutes. Perhaps more practically, the difference between 70mph (probably no ticket) and 75mph (definitely a ticket) on a 30-mile commute is a measly one minute and forty-three seconds. That graph doesn’t look so impressive anymore.

I’ve included a 150-mile trip as well to reiterate my point. You could, theoretically, shave 63 minutes from what would be a two-hour, forty-three minute trip at 55mph by driving 90mph. Once again though, 55mph is pretty slow, and at 90mph, the risk of running out of fuel in 150 miles becomes significant. So does the risk of death by blunt trauma. To be practical, if the speed limit is 65 and you normally drive 70, a ticketable speed of 75 miles per hour will save you eight minutes, thirty-four seconds on a trip that would otherwise take just over two hours.

As it happens, at 75 miles per hour, even in a 150-mile trip, one has still has essentially just as much time in the car for, say, algebra.

Beer-Battered Fish Burrito

2009-10-18T23:44:00.003-05:00

I made food tonight, and it turned out well enough to share.

1 tilapia fillet
1 can of beer
1 handful of flour
1 sprinkling of taco seasoning
tortillas
taco toppings
3-4 tbsp olive oil

Soak the tilapia fillet in enough beer to cover it. While it's soaking, mix the flour and enough taco seasoning to make it flavorful. This will be the fried-ish crust, so use the taco seasoning with that in mind.

After the tilapia has soaked for long enough to be... properly soaked, drag it through the flour/seasoning mixture to coat it. Dip it once more in the beer, then drag it through the flour/seasoning mixture once again. It should be dry to the touch and fairly caked with the battering when you're done.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. While it's warming up, coat the bottom of a glass baking dish with olive oil. Then, coat the fillet with olive oil in the baking dish. It's not necessary to coat the fish completely, but you'll want to get some on there to keep it moist. Also, olive oil is fat and fat is flavor. Bake for 20 minutes or so, depending on the thickness of your fillet.

While it's baking, cut up an onion and a tomato and whatever else you might want to put in a taco. Keep in mind you're essentially frying the fish, so perhaps sour cream and guacamole should be avoided because of their fat content, but it's up to you.

After the fish is thoroughly cooked, introduce it to your toppings in a tortilla. I used cheese and tomato and onion and Taco Bell's fire sauce, and it did make for some tasty.

Title

2009-10-17T23:47:00.003-05:00

My parents never pressured, but they provided all the opportunity a child could want. They expected commitment, of course, but they certainly weren't the type to live vicariously through their kids. I had my music and my sis had softball, but we both dabbled in sports and music and art, the things parents do hope their kids will become involved in. There was no pressure to do any one thing, and for that, I owe my love of music to my parents. Even though it was their introduction, I feel like it was my own discovery, and I treasure it as such.

When I was in second grade, my mom told me she had a friend at school who taught piano lessons, and she asked if that's something I'd want to do. I'd had no exposure to the creation of music before then, save the recorders my parents got us as tots and the drumsticks my dad bought for us once that quickly disappeared after a few breakables were discovered not to be percussion instruments. She told me she expected me to stick with it for six months and that it was a serious thing (the sort of things one does need to tell an eight-year-old kid before signing them up for something that costs money), but that if I didn't like it, it wasn't a forever thing. I thought it sounded like fun, having heard her play the piano we had downstairs and staring in awe.

Learning the piano wasn't fun. I remember frustrated tears over a sticky keyboard (I was a kid, after all), terrible nerves and an awful mood before recitals, and agonizingly long waits for lessons with a piano teacher who was chronically behind schedule. That said, I also remember showing up late for a piano recital in a baseball uniform and the first song I played with the damper pedal. That one, the song with the pedal, was the first time I felt like I was really playing. It was just broken chords up and down the keyboard, but it was absolutely lovely. It made me feel like an artist. It was that song that hooked me. Learning the piano may have been a nightmare, but playing it was the best of dreams.

Six months turned into five years with a teacher and a here-and-there of self-study after that. Having recently bought a keyboard with eighty-eight weighted keys that plays as close to the real thing as I could hope, I'm back to a regular routine, practicing an hour or so a day. And it's still not fun. Human fingers don't, by default, perform gymnastics, and it seems an impossible feat to pay attention to both the music in front of me and the keys under my fingers. I get frustrated frequently and mash the keys all at once as though to flush a certain passage's difficulty right out of the instrument. When it doesn't work, I do it again. I don't cry anymore, but I sure feel like I could sometimes.

But I play. After the difficulties have been properly flushed and I don't have to look at the music anymore, the music comes out, and it's still a dream. After years of study, I can play more than broken triads with the damper pedal, and I take none of it for granted. Mozart's trite little romps through the park and Beethoven's gut-punching sforzandos and Chopin's ironic, twisting chord changes (alas, my ode to that particular Romantic is for another day) flow through me, not just from my brain, through my fingers, and into the air, but the other way around. The music comes back after the sound comes out, washing over me, seeping back into my soul, filling me with emotion and romance and peace, filling me right back up so I can pour myself back into the keys. I wouldn't give this up for anything, and I'd especially hate to part with the learning experience. It's miserable. It's intense. It's fuel.

The Mind of a Child

2009-08-07T20:04:00.005-05:00

In second grade, I took the bus one day per week to a different school. The ride was long enough to be boring, and since I was a kid, I had time to use that imagination I seem to have since lost. I’m sure there were other fancies, but I remember one specifically that consisted of gremlins in my brain controlling me.

This isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds. I was still myself, it’s just that instead of electrical impulses, a team of gremlins sat at control panels with a wide screen at the front and countless levers and buttons controlling motion and speech. As I moved my hand in front of my face, I saw the control team making much ado about moving the appropriate levers.

More complex actions required a plan, and on the way back to my home school one afternoon, I formulated a plan for greeting my classmates upon return. One action was a facial expression – a smile, perhaps – controlled by the brown gremlin at the helm. A chubby guy with a hard hat to one side of the control room would wave my hand. He had two levers to choose from, and he’d been trained to choose the correct one. A seemingly simple “Hello”, was the work of the mad genius with thick glasses and a lab coat surrounded by bleeping computer terminals on the upper level. Speech, such an extraordinary system, required extraordinary talent to control, after all. All these actions were divided and assigned and listed on the display at the front of the control room in sequence, and my controllers had rehearsed their coordinated procedure several times, surely making anybody watching think, “So that’s who rides the short bus”.

As I walked into the classroom, my gremlins upstairs sat ready, hands on levers, their moment of action nigh. And nobody saw me. I sat down at my desk in time to be dismissed for the day, and nobody even turned. The gremlins, one by one, relaxed a bit, then released the levers altogether. Their heads hung just slightly, and the brown gremlin’s face held the leader-in-distress “everything is going according to plan” expression. Nothing ever happened.

As the bell rang and we left the building, the image of gremlins faded, but that feeling, the anticipation of social interaction and eventual realization that I had been on the wrong track entirely, has shown itself plenty of times since then. It’s really no more than a curiosity; some people socialize as automatically as they breathe, but I don’t, and that’s just the way it is. Even so, I wonder if a little thing like that had a bigger effect on my sociability than I realized, or if it was just the first time I remember noticing something that was already starting to become part of me.

Downtown

2009-06-19T21:50:00.007-05:00

I had an itch for adventure this evening, so after work, I headed off in search of it. Truth be told, I've been planning this for a week, so it wasn't exactly spontaneous, but it was nonetheless as exciting as I could have wished.

I ended up taking the bus downtown since the area I work in is not quite authentic adventure -- it's where the tourists go. Once I was on foot in the middle of Kansas City, I hiked to a bar I've heard wonderful things about and stopped for dinner and a frothy beverage. After I ate, I took the bus out of town back to the office.

Behold, evidence of my trek:

Permanent evidence of a past dispute.

I couldn't capture the tallest buildings (i.e. the one I was standing under), but there were shorter ones to the west.

My bus. The fare was cheaper than parking would have been.

I have never taken the bus, nor have I eaten dinner at a beer bar. Heck, I haven't been downtown before, not like this. I've been to the city -- I work close enough to qualify -- but this was literally right in the middle of the center of the city proper.

The trip was, quite literally, sensational. Cars echoed against the buildings, which towered higher than I could properly capture with a cell phone camera. I saw a man across the street in a salon cutting somebody's hair, except the stylist had no shirt on and a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and it looked very much like he was actually destroying what would otherwise have been a perfectly sensible haircut. The city smelled, too, the subtle yet unmistakable sweet scent of garbage (likely from the can in that last picture there) mixed with car exhaust and old pavement.

If I never return, I will remember this trip for a good, long time. That said, I can't imagine staying away for long. The city lives on, and it calls me from the north.

Blue Monkeys and Iced Tea

2009-06-17T20:16:00.003-05:00

Redundant survey is redundant:

Sodas

2009-04-08T20:12:00.002-05:00

The John Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health released a study this month which concluded that “liquid calorie intake had a stronger impact on weight than solid calorie intake.” I believe this study can be found in American Journal of Clinical Nutrition. Effectively, this study points an accusing finger at soft drinks and related beverages when it comes to our national obesity problem.

The researchers speculated, as a result of this study, that the body has more trouble regulating liquid calorie intake than solid calorie intake. Though the study didn't go as far as to speculate why, I figure this may be because adult humans have traditionally found the vast majority of our caloric needs in solid food, so we just don’t have the biological mechanisms in place to properly nourish ourselves with liquids.

In addition to that study, another paper released by John Hopkins in March in Biochemical and Biophysical Research Communications concluded with results that led researchers to hypothesize that while glucose tends to curb appetite (glucose is an important carbohydrate, and it makes sense that it would make us full), fructose, also an important carbohydrate, but which is often used in large quantities as a sweetener, may actually increase appetite. This study was not specific to soft drinks, but the lead author did identify soft drinks as the most notable source of high fructose sweeteners.

Coupled together, I’d say these two studies offer still more convincing evidence against daily consumption of soft drinks and sweetened beverages. I won’t say I never consume soda (I do love me some root beer), but when I do, I’m well aware it’s not just a thirst quencher. As a can of soda has140-ish calories, mostly from refined sugars, I tend to imagine an ounce and a half of table sugar in a ziplock bag and consider it a hefty dessert.

Balance

2009-04-06T22:07:00.003-05:00

Without anything particularly interesting to write about, I sort of lost track of the blog. The thing is, I've had plenty of interesting things to write about, like the "Now Hiring" sign in the window of a local moving company called "Two Men and a Truck" and the warning on a cup of noodles that recommended holding the cup in an upright position to prevent spills. And, well, that's about it. I guess it has been a slow couple of months.

Then, tonight, while I was in my thought bubble at the gym, I figured I could write about my experiences there. A blog is but a place for vanity, after all, and even if blogging about health gets boring, it might at least build some posting momentum, so to speak.

One of my favorite things about exercise is the rapidity in improvement; I've only been at this for a couple months now. I'm still pale and stickly, but I feel a lot better about myself. Tonight, I hoisted 40lbs above my head ten times, then I hoisted those same 40lbs above my head ten full times again. Arnold would not be impressed, and that may sound like a silly thing to mention, but I'm proud of myself. That's the first time I've done two complete sets with that much weight.

On a whinier note, the Hip Adduction/Abduction Machine is not a knee-bike. It's a weight machine -- y'know, one of those things you have to focus on so as not only to prevent injury, but to actually get something out of the exercise you're performing. If you've lifted those silly weights thirty times between page-flips in your magazine, you're not lifting enough weight. Beyond the fact that you're just plain doing it wrong, that fat you're clearly trying to cut from your hips is just about as responsive to push-ups. Try out one of these instead. Honestly, they're as fun as they are cool-lookin', and your fat will melt away like ice cream. Even I'm getting slimmer around the middle, and I only consider that a side-effect.

Cheers. Here's hoping for the motivation for another update before two more months have passed.

Recipie

2009-01-29T21:57:00.002-06:00

One of the best things about living alone is the ability to make what-the-heck-ever you want for dinner. I'm still getting over that. Granted, I eat a lot of oatmeal, and not all of my real meals are exactly palatable (kids, never take your parents' cooking for granted), but if I want a meal of boiled beets and fried sardines, well, I'll have one.

Tonight, I made beef stew. I realize there's little point to posting a recipe for stew, but I'm excited to have made a meal that actually tasted good enough for seconds.

Start with beef. When I went to the store, I asked the man behind the counter for a "handful or so" of chopped stew meat, then "a little more". I ended up with a bit over 1/2 lb. I browned said beef in a large pan with olive oil, but I forgot that beef tends to have plenty of fat by itself. I probably didn't need the oil.

While the beef is cooking, prepare the stew stuff. I had five or six of those baby red potatoes, a bunch of baby carrots, a few leaves of cabbage, half a yellow onion chopped into medium-ish pieces, and a handful of mushrooms. I also cut up three pieces of garlic and a bunch of thyme for seasoning.

After the beef is fully cooked, pour in a regular-sized can of beef broth and the same-sized can of water. I used the "low sodium" beef broth because it tastes pretty much the same and has 45% less heart attack, but I doubt it would really matter.

Dump in the previously prepared goodies. I had about a dinner bowl's worth, and it ended up working out pretty well. Add the garlic and thyme and a good bunch of ground black pepper. By "ground" pepper, I mean actual ground black peppercorns. That black snowy stuff from the condiment factory is not pepper.

Turn up the heat and boil. Once it's at a good boil, turn the heat down to where it'll settle down to tiny bubbles. Cover it, and leave it for an hour. Check occasionally for fire and stir while you're there.

.59 lb of meat plus a dinner bowl of prepared plant material plus a can of broth and a can of water looks like it would probably feed three people comfortably or two very hungry people. I "served" it with the standard whole wheat bread because a soup isn't really a soup if you don't have any bread to soak up the liquid with.

Hoo-ray. I'll have lunch tomorrow, too.

Drowned Rat

2009-01-18T15:11:00.002-06:00

I had a strange dream in which the rat was swimming. She'd be underwater most of the time, as she actually lived in a tank of water. I remember wondering how long she had been living there and thinking it was a bit weird for a rat to live in an aquarium.

I had to keep a close eye on her. She would swim around near the bottom of the tank, and when she needed a breath, she would swim to the surface. Unfortunately, she didn't always make it to the surface in time. When she opened her mouth to take a breath underwater, I would have to fish her out and squeeze her to squirt the water out. She would reinflate with air, at which point I would breathe a sigh of relief and put her back in her tank.

When I took her out this afternoon, she kept chasing my feet and biting my toes. I think she was upset about the "wet habitat" thing, even though I was dreaming and didn't know any better.

Old Man Ranting

2009-01-09T00:22:00.000-06:00

Our culture, thanks to a relatively recent obsession with self-esteem, feelings, and an “everybody’s a unique snowflake” attitude, is tainted with self-centeredness and a firm belief in one’s entitlement to whatever they very well please to have. If you remember your parents saying things like, “You can be anything you want, dear,” and, “You’re special just because you’re you,” you’re probably in the affected generations. As time passes, the number of self-important centers-of-the-world will increase. How old are the oldest, now? Thirty? Thirty-five? By the time they fill out the higher age brackets, there’ll be nobody left to say, “Why, back in my day…” and remind us we’re actually not the center of the universe. A society ruled by the principles of selfishness and hedonism will grow from the ashes of one formed from a spirit of cooperation and community.

Our level of consumer debt indicates not only a strong desire to consume, but a desire to consume things for free. A person who racks up thousands of dollars in debt on a credit card should not be allowed to declare bankruptcy and keep even a shred of clothing; he is, in fact, not entitled to a thing he hasn’t earned. To him, of course, he is, but bankruptcy, originally, was not intended as a purchasing mechanism for irresponsible, greedy consumers. [RESEARCH NEEDED]. What happens when more people decide they can’t pay back what they’ve borrowed? When the bankruptcy rate climbs to 5% or 10%, what’ll happen to the legitimate borrower? My sense of community goes a long way, but it does not go as far as paying off some lazy, jobless twit’s loan.

If you’ve worked in the service industry, you know well the sorts of nasty behavior today’s entitlement attitude leads to; an adult throwing a temper tantrum is a terrible thing to witness, indeed:

“I’m sorry, ma’am, all of our technicians are currently assisting other customers.”

“That’s correct. Our service orders are processed in the order they’re received.”

“No, ma’am. Unless you have a service-level agreement, we cannot prioritize your case over others.”

“I understand you run a business from your home. Most of our customers, in the midst of their tantrums, also run business from their homes.”

“Ma’am, listen. Wait. Your. Bloody. Turn. You were the screaming child at the supermarket I wished would earn a smack from her inattentive mother before I walked over and thumped you myself, weren’t you? If I didn’t send a truck (say, for example, they all exploded), you would have an outright stroke!”

“…”

“I know there’s a ‘Delete Ticket’ key here somewhere…”

Perhaps the last couple of lines were internal dialogue, but to overhear such a conversation is completely commonplace in a callcenter. Many people simply refuse to accept they’re no more important than anybody else. It’s denial, if it’s anything. Then, it’s anger. Finally, when they meet Saint Peter at the gates, well. They may be too late for acceptance at that point.

With all that said, some people are, indeed, more important than others. Some are cleverer, some are less apt to stumble over their shoestrings, and some contribute a great deal more to society than their peers. I am more important – more snowflakey – than some. Some, likewise, are more important than me. Most, though, are just as inconsequentially, mundanely average as I am. The mental gymnastics it takes to reach this conclusion are not as impossible as it’d seem. In Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood, I am perfectly unique, special in every way, and exemplary just for being me. In our neighborhood, the same holds true, but I realize in addition that being me takes a bit more than exchanging oxygen for carbon dioxide and carbohydrates for amino acids.

The person you are is defined by the work you do, the standard of ethics you maintain, and your attitude toward others. If you work at a mediocre job abiding by mediocre ethics and carrying a mediocre attitude, there’s nothing about you (save superficial things that don’t matter anyway, regardless of how much our culture tries to convince us otherwise) that makes you unique. This also means you’re entitled to nothing more or less than you earn, and as such, you’ll probably not gain anything – material or otherwise – that’s very far outside the definition of mediocre. There’s nothing wrong with you, mind. You’re just not particularly special. On the other hand, if you work to enrich your mind and better your community (which, I should specify, goes well beyond your “day job”), remain spotlessly ethical, and treat the folks around you well, you’ll be well on your way to greatness. You’ll be entitled to great things equal to the work you’ve put into your life.

Instead of, “You can be anything you want, dear,” and, “You’re special just because you’re you,” we need to adopt a more realistic vision. To my child, if he’s exemplary, I’ll say, “You can achieve any dream you work hard to follow.” If he’s not, I’ll say, “You have the capacity to be a very special person.” Those statements mean something. Instead of patting a kid on the head for simply having a head, those statements are akin to looking him in the eye and saying, “I’m glad you’re around.” It’s too late for the thirty-somethings, but for the kids we have, let’s raise them to be real people, shall we?

Blogging

2008-12-31T23:40:00.002-06:00

Instead of driving around dodging drunks (or partying it up doing the same), I stayed home tonight. Please tolerate the result:

Believe it or not, there's not a drop of alcohol in my system. It's true. I need no assistance butchering a lovely song, as you can clearly see :p

New Instrument -- Of Torture

2008-12-27T23:59:00.003-06:00

Behold the confession-o-matic. In the right hands, this nifty device will extract a confession of murder from the pope himself.

Let me tell you, I am terrible. I've never played a fiddle before (or any bowed instrument, for that matter), and it's proving to be more of a challenge than I'd anticipated. This evening, my family shut the door on me and the dog hid under a chair. I'm determined, though, and I'm already at an advantage, already understanding written music and plenty of theory. All I have to do now is make it not sound like a goose in mortal pain.

Google Suggest

2008-12-19T01:57:00.003-06:00

Google's "Suggest" feature is a fascinating insight into the currents of thought flowing through our society.

I believe there is little left to say.

City Slicker

2008-12-16T21:37:00.005-06:00

The giant wraps itself in its favorite blanket, huddling down, hugging itself. To see it from outside, one would think it was miserable, its breath steaming from vents in the street and its buildings, like limbs, shuddering with cold. This, though, is not so, for inside its blanket of fog and snow, it is quite warm, quite comfortable, and absolutely full of life.

In a well-worn chair in a dark corner of the tea house, Aryn sits, sipping at a snifter of scotch only every few minutes, apparently in no hurry at all. Here, there’s no need to rush. Aryn can sink into his customary chair in the corner, sip his customary whiskey, and stare blankly ahead, his eyes sometimes closing slowly for a couple minutes, just as he does nearly every other night of the year. The familiar voices around him are soft enough, and the light is low enough, that Aryn comes here to wander in the vivid universe between consciousness and sleep. It’s from this stuffed chair in the corner that Aryn departs on his most satisfying adventures. He has only to let his mind drift away while his eyes close.

As he mulls over the atmosphere this afternoon, inviting his mind to drift, the door at the entrance to the tea house swings open, letting in a piercing white light, followed by a puff of snow, a blast of cold air, and, finally, a heavily bundled person, clutching his hood under his chin. As the door closes, the warmth inside readily dissolves the cold it let in. The newcomer shakes off the snow and the cold, lowering his hood and making his way to be absorbed, himself, by the warm atmosphere inside.

After the man disappears into the low hubbub, Aryn drifts again, a picture in his mind of the warmth of the surrounding air absorbing the cold many times again. It begins to absorb him in gentle comfort, too.

It’s so cold out there. People outdoors come in for warmth, and as they do, they relax, opening up, their very molecules expanding ever so slightly as their bodies absorb the readily-provided comfort of the tea house. They’ve been running; they’ve flushed cheeks and heavy breath. Once inside, they stop running. They sit, comfortable, warming, smiling to themselves before they even notice the people they came to see. Something about the surrounding warmth takes precedence even over the purpose people seem to have, despite them not appearing to take notice or even care to notice what that mysterious something is. As the people warm inside, they exude a sort of energy. Their contentedness is tangible.

Aryn’s eyes open again, and he looks around himself, smiling drowsily at nothing more than the comfort of the snug chair he’s in and the soothing sound of low conversation around him. The mild fuzziness from the alcohol – also warm, he muses – makes it easy to slip in and out of full consciousness, thinning the veil between the two worlds. The warmth in the room clearly goes beyond temperature. Aryn takes in the dark paneled walls, the soft human voices, and the sweet smell of a tobacco pipe, relaxing himself against the collective mass of his surroundings. Supreme comfort holds him steady, pulling him back down from the waking world.

It’s not just here. Aryn sees, now, a building from outside, people gathered therein, warming themselves inside it. The building, Aryn notices, isn’t a passive structure at all. It nurtures the precious life within with gentle arms as it keeps at bay the elements outside, powerful, without conscience, and deadly. The building has a distinct interest in its occupants, for without them, it would not exist. Indeed, without being nurtured itself, this protective behemoth would crumble.

Aryn pulls himself out of his vision, and his eyes barely open as he reaches to the table beside him for whiskey. He smiles again as he feels its warmth in his throat and his mind. Upon finishing his drink, he replaces it on the table and moves outward in thought to the walls behind him and around him and the ceiling above. He knows without looking they stand, steadfast, between him and the bitter cold. These walls harbor the coziness in which Aryn now basks.

Aryn’s mind sees grey again, then mahogany or redwood…he sees dark paneling on the walls that surround him, then low lights hanging from the sturdy ceiling above. The wider city materializes into view. There aren’t any more people – they’re there, to be sure – but they’re too deep within it to notice now, like individual cells. The city itself focuses inward. The buildings together appear to be staying as close between themselves as possible, as though taking great care to a minute task at the city’s base. The city has an air of a giant plant, its petals shut tight around itself, asleep on the outside but feasting on the vital nutrients underfoot, waiting for the call of a bright, warm sun…As the vision of the great city-flower’s feast moves more clearly into view, just about to resolve itself, the scene becomes grey again. Dark reds…heaviness. Comfort. Warmth. Aryn has fallen through to the other side of the border lands, and he sees before him an inviting expanse of deep, comfortable sleep. It’s so soft. As it pulls him closer, he gains momentum…

Aryn doesn't stir. This city, while giving of itself security and warmth, takes enough energy in return to put Aryn right to sleep.

It's unrelated to the story, but I took this one today, too. I wonder if I'll ever get over the beauty of the city.

I Smell a Rat

2008-12-09T23:49:00.002-06:00

No, really. She smells a little like berries and spice. It's not anything she's gotten into -- she just smells.

Most fuzzy critters smell, and many don't smell very good at all. A rat, though, has a completely inoffensive (albeit a bit weird) odor.

Random tidbit. I've got nothing else interesting to say.

Fresh Sounds

2008-12-06T15:04:00.003-06:00

It's not my music today, but one I've just stumbled upon. I say, Last.fm is a gold mine. In browsing artists similar to Medeski, Martin and Wood, I stumbled upon a strange group called Béla Fleck and the Flecktones. Odd name, right? Odd music:

If you're not into fusion, bear in mind there's nothing to "get". It's more about form than anything.

Beyond that, his banjo has wings, and the guy on the left (er, stage left) is playing the drums. Whether you like the music or not, you've got to admit it doesn't get much cooler than this visual.

Even Though I Fail Anyway

2008-11-30T23:49:00.002-06:00

I don't have much to say, except to recommend a cool program.

Simply called, "NZB", this handy dandy little utility will load an NZB file and download the appropriate files. I had a heck of a time finding a decent NZB newsreader for Windows until I stumbled upon this gem. Maybe somebody else will find this link useful.

Missed!

2008-11-30T00:46:00.001-06:00

Dadgummit. I almost made it. It's not that I couldn't post, see -- it's that I forgot.

They say it's a problem when it interferes with your life, right? I'm afraid it's become a problem.

Leashed

2008-11-28T22:47:00.002-06:00

I told myself, awhile back, that I'd never take a job that required an on-call responsibility. This job, the one I've just recently begun, does. And it's not so bad.

I don't do much on the weekends anyway, for one, and it's a handy way to make a few extra bucks. I suppose if I didn't like what I did, it'd be a different story, but as it stands, I'm perfectly happy with it. I'm covering the holiday, and I only got one call yesterday, and it was in the morning. Today? Half a dozen.

I'm gonna have me a fun time shopping next weekend, methinks. This weekend, I'm neck deep in the development of a new 'toon.

A Song For the Bird

2008-11-27T13:37:00.001-06:00

I sang a bit of blues for Tom.

Worlds Collide - Part IX

2008-11-26T21:10:00.000-06:00

Giles was waiting. Every minute or so, he’d glance at the clock on his desk, then he would look back at the door, anxious in anticipation. She said she’d meet him at eight, and it was eight fifteen already. Had something terrible happened?

Just as he was nearing panic, a knock came from the door. He bolted up, both startled and relieved, and slid the peep hole door open. It was her. He un-chained, unlocked, and opened the door, preparing himself.

The mousy girl at the door lowered her head, her average brown hair falling over her face. “Hey,” she mumbled. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Oh, it’s nothing at all,” said Giles, stepping aside. “Please, come in. Bella, right?” Giles, of course, knew full well her name. He’d committed it to memory when he first ran into her downtown, the helpless girl who shyed away even from him. She was pinned to a wall by one of the newly-arrived vampires (surely about to be dinner), but Giles was able to shoo him off with a wave of his hand and a few loud noises. For being so invulnerable, the new vampires appeared to be terribly skittish.

Bella nodded, stepping through the door and stumbling over the threshold. Giles caught her by the arm. She remembered their first meeting, too – this strange man with a strange accent had passed by her and Edward, but he stopped to wave his arms about and shout “Shoo! Shoo!” as they embraced. This confused her, but Edward just rolled his eyes and ran away. Of course, he knew what Giles thought he saw, and he explained it to Bella later. Giles asked her name, and if she needed anything, and while she thought it a bit creepy, she was obliged to him for his apparent good will. Maybe he was just peculiar. In any case, he was her first contact here, and since she so badly wanted to go home, she figured she could seek his help in returning. She had no idea if he would be at all able to help her, but he at least seemed harmless enough.

Party it up!

2008-11-25T21:45:00.003-06:00

The internet says I should have a holiday party, so by golly, I think I'm gonna do it. There will be garland and nogg and a shiny tree and presents. Maybe I'll pipe festive tunes in from the internet and hire a couple dancing elv-- err. Hrm.

Maybe there will just be festive tunes.

Almost Missed

2008-11-24T23:52:00.000-06:00

I'm exhausted. I nearly missed, but despite crashing at nine this evening, I woke up just in time to post.

What a strange list of priorities, my internal clock follows.

Ah, but a goodie.

2008-11-23T22:48:00.005-06:00

I spent some time with the grandparents this evening.

Once, quite a long time ago, a man went to an estate sale of a photographer. He bought a roll-top desk, and in it, he found a great number of negatives. This man loaned my grandpa the negatives so he could make prints, and make prints, he did. He's got about fifty of them.

My grandpa, being the technology enthusiast he is, decided to put digital copies of these prints on a DVD as a slide show. In helping, I talked him into sharing.

This photo is of downtown -- it's about two minutes south of my apartment. Apart from the dirt road now being paved and a conspicuous lack of horse-drawn carriages, it looks pretty much exactly the same now as it does in this photo. The only other change is the nearest building on the corner. It was rebuilt after the above picture was taken, and it now looks like this:

This unique historic record is one of the coolest things I've ever encountered. I don't understand the meaning behind a lot of these photos; the school house where my uncle went to kindergarten looks a little like a church, but that's about all I can say about it. Even so, I am quite pleased to have such a thing.

I've got a picture of my grandpa, too, when he was about seventeen. He's on a Whizzer. I look an awful lot like him.

Worlds Collide - Part VIII

2008-11-22T22:42:00.000-06:00

Giles sat in a chair at his desk, tapping an open book with his fingers. Books surrounded him – they were stacked two or three deep on his desk, all open to about the middle, and he had a stack next to him on the floor. The coffee table had half a dozen volumes spread open on it where Willow and Xander and Buffy had been researching. Giles, though, wasn’t looking any of the books. He was watching the door.

These new vampires appeared about a week ago, but Giles hadn’t figured out where they came from. He also didn’t know for sure if they were actually vampires – from what he could tell (by Spike’s account, mostly), they were significantly more powerful than the vampires he knew. There was something in their eyes, too, some red inner fire. Rumor also had it they were immune to sunlight and holy water. Immune. This, alone, had Giles thinking they were some creature other than the true vampire. A hybrid, perhaps? He could find nothing in the texts about actual vampires immune to sunlight apart from a few passages alluding to stories from the sixteenth century, and those were unreliable, at best.

On top of their strange physical characteristics, their behavior was also extraordinary. They hunted in very specific areas – normal enough – but instead of killing primarily to feed, it appeared these newcomers were hunting for sport. Some of their victims were hardly drained at all. Only the cruelest vampires of lore would behave like that (Spike had made sure Giles recognized that he, in fact, knew plenty about being a cruel vampire of lore). Beyond that, their hunting areas were moving in a clearly organized fashion from east to west. To top it off, it’s like these demons were made for the hunt. They attracted their prey with uncanny ease, like a neon mosquito light.

He hoped that by spreading books all about, the gang would get the idea he was knee-deep in research and excuse him from odd behavior. He did get a bit odd when he was onto something, he knew. Shooing Buffy and Willow and Xander from the apartment was a bit extreme, but they didn’t seem to question him. As it happened, Giles wasn’t actually knee-deep in research – in fact, he had scoured most of his volumes already, and he had come up utterly dry. There was nothing in there about vampires immune to sunlight or with blood-red eyes or with the ability to run at what appeared to be light speed. He just needed the kids out of the apartment. Perhaps it was rash and irresponsible to send them into danger, but for all he was unable to find in his books, Giles had a lead.

Time for a Change

2008-11-21T20:46:00.008-06:00

After a couple weeks of oatmeal, dry cereal, and PBJ, I'd had quite enough of all three. Tonight, I had steak.

The only "trick" to fried steak is a single malt soak. I'm not sure how popular it is, but since cooking evaporates the alcohol, it leaves the steak with a shade of that rich, almost smoky scotch flavor. I can't imagine doing a steak any other way.

Any excuse to eat mushrooms an' onions is a valid one.

Don't skimp on the olive oil. If you don't have to cover the pan to prevent a splattered kitchen, you probably haven't used enough.

This here is a dinner of fried steak, beans and corn bread, and steamed frozen corn. I ate well tonight.

Strung Out

2008-11-20T22:21:00.002-06:00

I re-strung today. I wandered around in the music store for about half an hour before I got my strings, plunking on this or that. To my credit, I only left with what I went for -- two sets of guitar strings and a set of ukulele strings.

In stringing, I learned stuff.

If your guitar has a floating bridge and you change string gauges, adjusting the bridge and getting the strings properly in tune is a heck of a trick. Took me the better part of an hour, no joke.

If your strings have been out in the cold, let them warm up inside before you string your guitar with them. Those things whip pretty hard when they break.

Stringing a ukulele is somewhat of an art form. I'd never done it before, and despite getting the strings on backwards the first time, I didn't do too poorly in the end. Those little twisty knots on the bridge are neat looking.

Yes, so I have nothing important to say. It's a day, though, and a day requires a post. There you have it.

Butterfly

2008-11-19T23:08:00.002-06:00

I fell in love with this Weezer song in sixth grade (read: when they were still cool). My rendition here isn't exactly how it goes, but I figured such a pretty song deserved more colorful chords.

And Now, for Something Completely Different

2008-11-18T23:07:00.003-06:00

No, really.

I don't normally do politics, but I must speak this once.

One senator has already been convicted of what amounts to corruption charges (close enough, at least), and he retains his seat. Now, our vice president is indicted on an entirely unrelated charge.

While the charge sounds weak and politically motivated, it illustrates an elemental point -- one which, sadly, is sort of an elephant in the living room by now. I have my doubts about Mr. Change's actual... changiness. To fix a system this broken, I'm afraid we're going to need more help.

Worlds Collide - Part VII

2008-11-17T23:13:00.003-06:00

Something rustled again in the woods, and Xander thought he heard a pained groan again. Sure, he thought, I know this game. I’m not so easily fooled.

“I’m sorry,” a timid voice rose from just behind the tree line. “I fell.” A mousy girl of seventeen or eighteen emerged from behind a tree. The simple dress she wore seemed entirely out of place in Sunnydale and not quite loud enough to suit a vampire, but she was pale enough to pass.

Xander, quite sure of the vampire’s ruse at this point, stepped forward now with his fists raised awkwardly in front of his face. “You can’t fool me!” he said, his voice shaking a little.

The girl cowered.

“Xander, stop,” said Willow. “She’s not a vampire.”

Xander stopped where he was, his fists still raised, and he turned back toward Willow. “What do you mean? She’s all pale, and she’s certainly not from—“

There was a flash of shadow from the woods, and before anybody knew what was happening, Xander was pinned to the ground under a bristling vampire – one of the new arrivals. Xander’s face twisted in fear as he stared, paralyzed, into the vampire’s eyes.

“That’s a vampire!” Willow yelled, pointing helpfully.

The girl, on the other hand, didn’t move. She didn’t even react, apart from a mild look of awe on her face.

The vampire, snarling like a feral animal, looked into Xander’s eyes for a moment, then his face softened, and as soon as he had appeared, he was gone. He didn’t get up and leave, no; just like he appeared, he just… vanished.

Xander didn’t get up. A look of utter confusion joined the fear on his face, and he brushed his hands down and across his chest in a panic, like he was trying to rid himself of the memory of the beast on top of him. “What the… but he just… was that a… am I alive?”

“That was Edward. He can tell what you’re thinking,” said the girl. “He must not have seen a threat.”

“You know him?” Xander’s mouth gaped in disbelief. Then, a bit hurt, “What do you mean, he didn’t see a threat?” Then, disbelieving again, “He can read minds?”

“He’s not evil. Well, sort of. He doesn’t eat people, usually,” the girl explained. Then, she added, “He’s just eaten, anyway.”

“What’s going on?” Xander demanded. Willow helped him to his feet.

“Vampires. I was just on my way to—“ The almost surprised look of just having remembered something came to the girl’s face, and with that revealing bit of information, she stumbled back into the forest. By the time Xander decided to follow her, the sound of her crashing through the woods had faded.

More Singin'

2008-11-16T23:43:00.003-06:00

I start singing, and I can't easily stop. I didn't think to record a video until I was about through, since I was just messing around with Garage Band. This is the last singin' video for awhile, honest.

More Multimedia

2008-11-15T19:02:00.001-06:00

I'm not so good at singing, but dang, it's fun.

Control Freak

2008-11-14T23:07:00.003-06:00

So, I have a problem. I'll admit to it, at least -- they do say admitting it is the first step to recovery, right? No, screw recovering. Need WoW. NEED IT.

I may not have self-control, but I can at least think ahead. I know I'm too lazy to log in and change the settings, and it's a good reminder that says "Hey, dude. Enough."

I'm afraid of losing my life, what can I say? Plenty of people devote themselves so deeply to this game (or any game, for that matter), they don't get to experience their own life. The last thing I want to live is a one-dimensional existence, absorbed in this virtual world. It's not a bad place, to be sure -- I love this game -- but it's not the only place, by any means.

Worlds Collide - Part VI

2008-11-13T22:39:00.001-06:00

Willow and Xander stopped at the swings on the playground and let themselves down into them. They weren’t doing much good at all, and it showed in their disappointed faces. Giles had sent them away shortly after Buffy left his apartment, and with these frightening new vampires recently arrived, the pair wondered briefly if Giles had gone mad in sending them out in the dark. He had, of course, gone mad in the way one does when consumed by a mystery, and the way Giles was acting about this (he had more books piled about his apartment, opened to seemingly random pages, than Willow or Xander had ever seen – and that said quite a bit, there) left it to no great feat of logic to assume he wasn’t thinking about much else. It was alright, anyway. Buffy was around, somewhere, and there hadn’t been any reports of the new arrivals in this area. They sure seemed to stick to certain areas.

As they swung back and forth idly, Willow kicking the dirt at her feet and Xander staring off at nothing in the woods adjacent to the park, the wind blew dry leaves across the grass. It was peaceful here tonight, despite the “super vampire” threat looming overhead. Willow broke the silence.

“Do you think Giles will find anything?” She continued kicking the dirt around at her feet each time she swung forward.

“I’m sure he will. He’s Giles, right? He’s the book guy! We were probably slowing him down.” Xander smiled wide, assuring himself as much as he tried to assure Willow. He seemed distracted, too.

“Yeah,” Willow replied, drifting back off into her own thoughts.

They sat in silence again for a few minutes, neither having much more to say.

This time, Willow wasn’t the one to break the silence. There was a “CRASH!” in the woods, followed by an “Oof” or an “Ohh.” It was hard to tell which, as startled as Willow and Xander both were.

Xander jumped off his swing and put his arm out in front of Willow, expecting the worst, prepared to fight whatever was out there. “Hey! I know you’re out there,” Xander yelled, trying to sound as assertive as he could. “Come out! Show yourself!” He had balled his free hand into a fist.

Worlds Collide - Part V

2008-11-12T22:21:00.000-06:00

“You’re one of them?” Buffy asked.

“I’m from the same place.” Edward’s voice was calm, measured. “I’m not ‘one of them’, though. I’ve made a different… lifestyle choice. Listen, there’s a lot we can talk about. Is there somewhere safe we can go? They’ve just discovered we’re here.”

Buffy, while not completely affected by Edward’s beauty, was still under a bit of his thrall. “… Sure. Giles is probably waiting for me, anyway. I told him I would find out where they’re at, and I figured they’d be here. We can go there.” Buffy seemed to trail off a bit at the end of her sentence, apparently lost in other thoughts. She was staring.

Spike scoffed, stepping forward now. If there’s anything he knew, it was that Buffy was susceptible to pretty vampires. And Spike, well, with Angel out of the picture, he was starting to become more protective. “We’re not going anywhere ‘till you tell us what’s going on. This isn’t right. It’s not right,” he repeated weakly as Edward turned toward him.

“We’re going now. They’re on their way.”

Spike stood, silent. Then he resigned, deflating, and they were off. Edward seemed to disappear into thin air, and Buffy and Spike started towards Giles’.

Worlds Collide - Part IV

2008-11-11T19:38:00.000-06:00

Buffy and Spike both turned to see a pale kid of eighteen or twenty leaning up against the roof access door. He had dark circles under his eyes, and despite his eyes being a rich, golden color (the others, Spike noticed the last time he was up close, had a sinister red in their eyes), he was unmistakably one of them.

Buffy raised her fists, and Spike moved out of her swinging radius. He planned to take a flank, and he didn’t fancy getting caught on the dangerous side of Buffy’s attack.

“I can help you,” said the stranger in a subdued, musical tone, looking straight at Buffy. He took a slow step forward and held his hands out from his side, palms forward. There’s no need for alarm.

Buffy lowered her fists almost as soon as he spoke. She saw a sort of pristine beauty in the man, and the rest of the world almost melted away. She stepped toward him, not thinking much of anything.

“Hey! What the…” Spike, sensing an impending disaster, took the matter into his own hands. He charged, arms wide, inflated.

The young stranger lifted his arm in a flash just as Spike dove to tackle him. The impact was audible, and Spike found himself skidding away on his back before he knew what happened. The stranger stood still, as though he hadn’t moved at all, and he didn’t break eye contact with Buffy.

Spike looked up with his head still down, surprised and hot with anger, and he cradled his ribs with his arm. He sneered and rose to his feet, but he didn’t charge again. He remembered the last time he tried to fight.

Buffy recovered immediately, and she raised her hands again and moved in. Every swing met with one of the newcomer's arms, glancing off harmlessly. As Buffy moved forward, the kid stepped back, but apparently of his own accord. He kept Buffy’s frenzied attacks at bay with no apparent effort.

At length, the newcomer jumped to the top of the roof access door, out of Buffy’s reach. “I can help you,” he said again, as coolly as he’d said it the first time.

Buffy wasn’t as affected this time around. She didn’t let down her guard, but she stepped back a couple paces. “Who are you?”

“Edward,” the stranger said from atop the roof. “Edward Cullen.”

Hooked

2008-11-10T20:43:00.002-06:00

I told myself I'd play Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

I played my weekend away.

Starting now, I'll play Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

It's Monday.

Sorry, I've got to go. Pressing... business. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

Multi Media

2008-11-09T10:19:00.002-06:00

If you have children or small animals who may be frightened of terrible noises, you may want to have them leave the room.

Doomed

2008-11-08T09:44:00.004-06:00

It's been a good year or two. I think I can handle it responsibly. I hope I can handle it responsibly.

At least, when I disappear and fail NaBloPoMo again, you'll know why.

More Media

2008-11-07T20:20:00.002-06:00

So, Twilight. There's a movie coming out. As horrible as the book was, I fancy the concept, and I have hope the movie will do a lot more for character development. I can be sure, at least, it'll contain fewer adverbs than the book (... he said, hopefully). I haven't been to a movie at the cinema in ages, but I think it's time.

In other news, I finished Stardust. What a fancy tale! That's two novels I've read by Neil Gaiman so far, and I've not been disappointed by either. I do, being the sap I am, have to admit I liked Stardust better than Neverwhere, but there's no debating the reason. If any man denies liking a wholesome love story, he's probably not telling the truth. At least, I hope he's not telling the truth. Such a man would be sad, indeed.

Worlds Collide - Part III

2008-11-06T21:59:00.001-06:00

With an inaudible groan, Buffy went on. “What are they doing?” She saw them, too, darting around in the shadows.

“It’s like they’re looking for something,” Spike reported, rising to the opportunity to show his usefulness. “They’ve covered the two blocks east of here so far, and they’re moving west. Buggers are fast… they’ve only been at it for half an hour, at most.”

Buffy watched the new arrivals below in silence.

“What are you doing up here?” Spike hesitated a bit, then added, “I thought you’d be at Giles’, looking through the books and all that.”

“I got restless.”

“Well, have you found anything? My last run-in with these guys wasn’t a romp in the park, you know. We’re going to have to do something about this eventually.”

“I’m aware of that,” Buffy snipped. She’d been following a barren trail for days, and she didn’t need to be reminded of the fruitlessness of their efforts. “They got three more, all the way across town. I think there are more than there were a few days ago,” she said, softening a little.

“Are you sure those weren’t just Sunnydale vamps?” Spike asked. As much as he was in awe of the newcomers, he knew well enough that having more around wasn’t a good thing. They were a threat to him, too.

“I was in the park where they attacked. Whatever these things are, they’re not like the vampires we know. One of them tore clean through the side of a garbage dumpster. I can’t imagine why.”

A low voice came from behind them. “They’re looking for something, indeed.”

Brilliant Work

2008-11-05T20:05:00.002-06:00

I've started reading Stardust by Neil Gaiman, and I must say, it's absolutely terrific. It's a fantasy with faeries and gnomes and witches, which I quite like, and it's superbly written. It takes magic, indeed, to portray a prince in a fantasy world as emo. It's quotable, too:

"Every lover in his heart is a madman and in his head a minstrel."

Mmm. I love me a good story.

Worlds Collide - Part II

2008-11-04T21:06:00.002-06:00

Ever since these new vampires (as far as anybody could tell, they were indeed vampires, although they sure didn’t fit the conventional mold) arrived, Spike had entertained grand fantasies involving his immunity to sunlight and holy water, coupled with unimaginable strength. He could practically taste the freedom this virtual indestructibility would provide. Most immediately, the blasted chip the Initiative put in his brain would be no obstacle at all. He wasn’t sure how he’d get rid of it, given superhum— er, supervampire powers, but he was sure it would be a trivial process. Beyond that, though, the world would be his! He fancied himself the slaughterer of cities, harking back to his glory days in Vienna and Shanghai, except now, he’d be flying solo, unstoppable by anyone. He’d kill Angel first, then he’d come back around to Sunnydale and take care of his business with Buffy. In his inner revelry, he could almost smell her in the breeze, and it made him smile with the delight of his imagination.

“They’re--”

Spike turned in a flash at the first syllable, startled by the voice beside him, and his hand flew up to lock Buffy’s neck in a cold, steel grip. The instant Buffy’s face registered, Spike’s head exploded in white light, blinding him with an awful pain. “Augghh!” He reeled, pressing his hand against the side of his head, staggering backward toward the edge of the roof.

Buffy whipped her arm out and caught Spike by a handful of leather jacket and the front of his shirt, pulling him back to safety, just as he’d started to topple.

“You should be careful sneaking up on a vampire like that,” Spike said, recovering himself and readjusting his jacket. Then, with a self-satisfied smirk, “You might get hurt.”

Worlds Collide - Part I

2008-11-03T20:19:00.001-06:00

From this perspective, even in the dark, the blurs of shadow were clearly visible, darting through the alleys, disappearing into shadows, then reappearing again, almost instantaneously, from another shadow yards away. There were three, it seemed, although they moved so quickly, it was hard to keep them straight enough to count. It was hard to tell, too, what they were doing in public. They’d last fed only a couple days ago, as far as Willow could find from the news reports, and by the body count, it was quite a feast.

Spike didn’t really have any legitimate reason to watch these new arrivals go about their business, seeing as he ended up in a crumpled mess the last time he tried to fight one, and there really wasn’t any new intel to gain by watching, but his vigilance wasn’t entirely for the “good of mankind,” as he so liked to make his recent allies believe. To Buffy and Giles and the rest of the Scooby gang, Spike’s enthusiasm was a result of his inability to hurt humans, complicated by a keen taste for violence. This was part of it, indeed, as he needed some excuse for a good scrap, but now, looking down unseen from a downtown rooftop, Spike wasn’t thinking of himself as a savior. He fancied what he could do if he were one of them.

Slacker

2008-11-02T17:27:00.003-06:00

I went to a party last night. It's an exhausting affair, the gathering of dozens of people I barely know with the intent to... mingle. It was a good time, all things considered, but I don't think I'll be up for socializing for another year or so. In the course of the night, the majority of the partygoers consumed copious amounts of alcohol, sang loudly, and made a respectable mess. One lady, included in the "majority of partygoers" mentioned previously, called me pretty. I'll have a large head about that for a couple months, to be sure, but I wonder about the word choice. Despite being quite male, that's not the first time a stranger has directed the same word at me. I'm afraid I may have an unconscious habit of... batting my lashes or something. Odd.

Another day passes with nary a word written of the fic I'd fancied writing this month. Does thinking about it count?

In other news, I'm hooked on a new song. If I get everything together, I may record and post that. That'd make for some amusing content, at least.

It's Time

2008-11-01T14:25:00.002-05:00

So, folks, it's that time of year again. NaBloPoMo is back. I'm too wimpy to write a novel, but I may do a bit of fiction.

Fan fiction, that is. If I can find the courage to post. What happens when the Meyerverse (see the horrid "Twilight" series) invades Sunnydale? I can imagine there'll be a bit of mayhem and some hurt feelings.

Hurt... feelings? Man, this could be pretty awful.

New Moon Rising

2008-10-11T22:01:00.003-05:00

After several years (and countless hours) of Buffy, I've chosen a favorite.

I cry like a sap every durned time.

Adventurin' Again

2008-10-10T19:54:00.008-05:00

I took a lovely hike in the woods today. The lawyers went to Vegas, so the firm was closed, and I had a day completely to myself.

You must realize, I don't hike in the woods without a goal -- there's gotta be something to draw me out there, you see. Indeed, in just about every woods, there is! I picked up four caches today, and I found a bunch of travel bugs (nifty trackable dog tags). Along the way, I found a gigantic patch of poison ivy by wandering into the thick of it, saw a family of deer bounding off into the woods, and heard three or four dozen kids laughing wildly at a man performing on stage. A park ranger waved at me and smiled a big smile (he'd seen me zigzagging, and I have a feeling he knew what I was up to), and a spider tried to eat my nose.

This trip wasn't as wild as the last one (I fell into a creek and trekked in an untamed section of the park a couple weekends ago), but it was quite fulfilling. I totaled about 3.5 miles round trip, so I got a good bit of exercise out of the deal, too.

And, yes. The photos.

First, a collection of travel bugs from the first one I set out to find. A cache like this is called a hotel, seeing as it's a gathering spot for travel bugs. I'd never seen so many in one place. There were five bugs in this one.

I picked up the coin in the next image from a cache about 500 feet into a spot of not-so-dense woods. The deer trails made it pretty easy to get to, and the woods closed behind me pretty quickly, leaving me surrounded by trees. Couldn't be happier in a place like that, no sir. The coin, I'll drop in another cache. They're trackable via the geocaching web site, and the people who plant them intend for them to move from place to place.

The next photo features my caching gear (stick and pack) on the right, and the geocache on the left. The geocache pictured here is the very one in which I discovered the coin pictured above. In my pack, I carry a camera, a bottle of water, bug spray, a notebook, a few pens, small trading items (to leave in caches), the contents of my pants pockets, and a small towel (prompted by common sense, and much appreciated upon the aforementioned dip-in-a-creek incident).

Finally, a photograph of me, and the first, I believe, to be posted to the blog here. Anonymity be darned -- I like my caching hat.

An Occasion to Write

2008-09-25T19:56:00.001-05:00

I saw the most affected young woman at the bus stop today.

I should state at the outset that I don’t ride the bus -- no, indeed, I have nothing to do with it, apart from recently finding its regular stops a great gathering point of interesting personalities. Over time, I assume, I should get to better know the faces and manners of the people who wait, but I’ve only recently discovered this treasure trove of worthy subjects for observation.

I made my way toward the bus stop shortly after lunch, as I’ve usually got a half hour or so to wander before returning to the grind in our 8th floor office. As I approached, I noticed a lady nervously fixing her shirt, only to take off into a brisk walk around the shelter. I thought nothing of it at that point. I sat in my favorite spot beneath the skywalk where the shade is cool and the breeze pleasant, and I eased back against the cement pillar, meditating to the sound of traffic motoring down Main Street.

As I let my worries waft away in the breeze, I noticed the peculiar behavior of the nervous bus-waiter again. She paced, not only around the shelter in circles, but up and down along the grass, looking about in every direction, intently fiddling with a particular lock of hair. She looked at her watch only once, so I don’t believe her to have been in a great hurry, but I began to wonder with some curiosity what had her in such a fuss. She stopped pacing not once, and it looked quite nearly like she was fleeing, the way she looked about herself, as though she was waiting for some well-known danger to creep out from behind a bush in the adjacent park and make a mad charge toward her.

Each time she paced up and down, her steps brought her a bit nearer to my sitting spot, but never closer than twenty yards or so, while in vain I hoped she would find it in her to make her way toward me enough for a reasonable address. That wouldn’t be so, though, as whatever had her in this fit occupied her mind totally. She noticed hardly a thing, and I daresay she even overlooked my rather intent staring (which, of course, I can’t help, as much as I try). I wanted her to approach and ask for directions or, as I fancied beyond reason, to spill her entire misfortune upon me so that my curiosity would be fulfilled. Perhaps it was no misfortune, after all -- she may have only had a particularly strange way about her, in which case, I’d have been equally glad to know it.

As my wonder grew in intensity, I heard some commotion behind me. Two school-aged boys walked past, and behind them, three or four more. Behind those, there were seven, and beyond-- the entire bus stop was soon overwhelmed with children as two orange school buses arrived to load them up. I was quite overwhelmed, myself, and by the time I gathered my wits, the fretful woman had disappeared in the throng. A city bus, robbed of its rightful place by these brightly-colored intruders, soon pulled up behind them, and as the nervous lady suddenly flew past me and into it, I could only think to myself in a flutter that if she was, indeed, behind schedule or in flight, I should perhaps not see such an interesting character again. If, on the other hand, she was only odd, our paths may yet cross sometime down the road.

I've just finished Pride and Prejudice, and I enjoyed it far more than I should probably admit. The characters were absolutely lovable (most, at least), and the one with whom I most identified ended up quite happy in the end. Not only that, but it inspired me to a bit of wordplay, which you've so graciously skimmed above. I might not should put my wordplay in a public place for fear of coming across as pretentious, but be assured, that was not my intent. Goodness knows I don't normally write like that, though I may start...

An Earsore

2008-08-29T20:46:00.004-05:00

I'm bloody tired of having a week's worth of political "news" screaming at me every time I turn on the radio (honestly, this is worse than the biannual fund drive), and I'm not looking forward to another, but it's caused me to actually think about what's going on. It's actually brought out a bit of... opinion!

If you asked me to synthesize a dream president, I'd tell you I want somebody who stands up for my freedom. Not my freedom from terrorists, mind -- my freedom to live my own life, make my own choices, and participate in my own community. I know quite well where I stand, politically, and I have for quite a long time.

Here's the dilemma: If I were a woman, I'd surely not like to be told I had to carry, birth, and care for a child that was forced upon me by a stranger in an unlit parking lot. Likewise, though, I sure as hell don't want to work for the state and pay for Trixie's seventeen kids' day care. Her "family" has six fathers, see, but none have manned up to do anything but make sexy time with a lady.

I'm expected to choose between a socialist party and a religious fundamentalist party ("Family values" is a euphemism, guys. Let's talk straight, here.) How did we get to this point? What happened to the Land of the Free?

When I retire, it'll be to a fancy little world in my head. For now, I can't wait till these political shenanigans are over and I no longer have to be reminded constantly about how who-and-so is screwing me from afar.

Hidden Treasure

2008-08-17T14:11:00.009-05:00

I've found me a new hobby. With a tiny GPS receiver, an interested person can find real adventure, even in your own neighborhood.

I've discovered Geocaching, a sort of high-tech treasure hunt. Since there are four "caches" hidden very nearby today, I took a bit of a walk this morning. I was so excited to find the first, I took photographs.

After about a half a mile's hike from home, I found myself in the middle of a patch of woods. Between the spider webs and the overgrown underbrush, I had a heck of a time getting close to the thing, but after a bit of rummaging around...

This guy was really well-hidden. I opened it up to find a bunch of goodies:

After I signed the log (the paper on my foot, there), I left a plectrum, closed the box, and hid it again for the next person to find.

It's odd, the popularity of these things, considering I had no idea this even existed until a few days ago. The last person to find this cache signed the log yesterday. There's a local meetup posted on the web site for next weekend (by coordinates, of course), and I'm actually considering going. What fun, that would be!

Life and a Bag of Cheese

2008-08-12T20:23:00.003-05:00

Life has sort of interfered with my blogging recently... I'm not sure how you folks do it.

I've got a new job, a new(ish) apartment, and a significantly upgraded budget spreadsheet. Actually, the significant upgrade is only in the "savings" column, but still. I feel richer, and that's what counts.

I work downtown now. I fight rush hour traffic coming and going, and I'm within walking distance to several places for lunch. The view from our 8th floor office is incredible -- we're just south of the skyscrapers, looking north. My key card, in fact, grants me access to the top floor (any, actually) of one of those very buildings. The view from there, while I've seen it only once, is absolutely breathtaking. I'm important, too! I work with a small team, so my work really does make a big dent. That is, it'll count for a lot once I actually start working. There's so much to learn in a gigantic, well-established company. What I'm used to is quite different from a five-week, set-scheduled training course across multiple organizations and departments. Heck, part of my training is with incoming secretaries, learning to do their job, too.

I've only been on the job two days, but I can say with confidence I'm not overwhelmed yet. Yet.

In other news, I've discovered a few smaller, life-related things:

Eggplant is solid, tasty, inexpensive food, and it's not nearly as scary as I thought.
Not only does a person have to clean their living area, they have to clean their stuff, too.
If you account for savings as an actual expense in your budget, it's much easier not to spend all your money. Thanks to my ma to that one :-)

Good, goodnight.

New

2008-07-24T01:14:00.003-05:00

Things are a-changin', that's for sure. More on that after it happens, though. This is a public blog, after all.

I picked up Mass Effect from Wal Mart today after a guy at work said it's "all I play anymore". Usually, that's a good recommendation.

It's actually darned fun. It's a FPS-based RPG, so it's a bit of a combination of questing, exploring, and fearsome battling with guns. My only complaints after a few hours of gameplay are a strange bit of bugginess with the AI (your computer-controlled teammates will sort of warp around instead of walking sometimes, for example) and occasional graphical sputterings, even on the 360. There's no excuse for poor performance on a console. None.

Like I said, though, it's a darned good game overall. I haven't played enough to get very far into the storyline, but even after a few hours, I'm already pretty well engrossed. The gunfights feel great, and while they're not nearly as tactile or explosive as a well-polished FPS like FEAR, the ability to use cover and control your AI teammates' actions adds a fun (albeit a little frustrating, considering some minor AI problems) dimension to strategy. The many available classes also add a good bit of replayability, too, I'd imagine.

In other news, freakin' yay! I'll be posting more on the "yay" stuff in a couple weeks. Just. Yay.

Squeeee!

2008-07-18T04:07:00.002-05:00

*aherm*

Pardon me. I just stumbled upon Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog.

"That's... weird. I ordered one frozen yogurt and they made me two. You don't... happen to like frozen yogurt, do you?"

"I love it."

"You're kidding! What a crazy, random happenstance!"

Brilliance!

New Art?

2008-07-14T17:46:00.002-05:00

I've made another one. I'm getting better at this GIMP thing.

Stores don't sell 8"x12" frames, so I hope it'll hold up to the cropping an 8"x10" frame will require. I hadn't the heart to crop it -- it actually came out of the camera so nicely.

Pictures From Home

2008-07-07T03:12:00.003-05:00

I've decided not to spend hundreds of dollars on original artwork. Instead, I'm making my own.

Observe:

Next, I think I'm gonna try a grainy black-and-white (stupid no lights) of mah ratter:

At about $20 apiece to make, these sure are better than the $150 they'd cost to buy. They're so much more personal this way, too.

As a bonus, for your amusement only, I'm including the raw shot of the photograph last in the sequence the one above is part of:

Yup. She jumped. Right at me. Rats really can't see very well -- she was about four feet away, and three above the ground. At least she came to a soft landing on my shirt.

Tuuuuuuba

2008-06-29T01:01:00.003-05:00

I have a bit of a thing for the fat brassy one, I won't lie. I played through high school, and I must say, I was darned good -- I played outside of school, too.

I never, though, came near anything like this...

I think, once, I got two tones out of it. It was an accident, and I never was able to duplicate it. Dang. What fun, he must be having up there!

A Swell Time, Indeed

2008-06-23T01:49:00.004-05:00

I went to our annual free fund raising concert this weekend, and I must say, it was a great time. The first artist we saw told about his childhood dream of playing for the Weather Channel being finally realized, but the second was a downright party. I took photos. View them.

It's Time

2008-06-17T14:08:00.000-05:00

Heads up, everybody. Firefox 3.0 is out. If you didn't catch wind of my initial excitement, I'll tell you now -- get it. Use it. You'll never turn back.

Three Lessons

2008-06-15T01:44:00.004-05:00

I want to share a few of the core values I hold as an adult. I'd write a personal, private letter about this, but honestly, I'm proud to value these things, and I'm proud of where I picked them up.

Above everything, a man lives for his children. Once he's a dad, there's no turning back -- he'll have that title forever, and it's not one to be taken lightly. That bike trip to Montana you'd dreamed about as a kid? Maybe once you retire and your kids are grown. By then, though, you may be at a different point in your life, and you might never have that trip after all. Worry not about that, though; you've got a new life now, and one that's infinitely more important. One, too, that'll never let you go.

Second, and nearly equally important, a man honors (and occasionally dotes upon) his wife. Those kids I mentioned before depend on it, and if no kids exist, a wife is your most important priority. There's no room for selfishness here, either.

Finally, throughout all else, a man holds his head up, even when things don't go quite the way he planned. There's a silent strength a real man possesses that can't necessarily be taught -- only demonstrated.

Your job isn't over (don't expect I'll let you off that easy :p), but you've already had a smashing success. All these things, you've demonstrated well. They're part of me now, and when the time comes, they'll be part of another generation.

Thanks, Dad.

Rat infestation!

2008-06-13T00:03:00.006-05:00

As I write this out, I've got a fuzzy rat nuzzled up against my leg in the chair. It looks like she's falling asleep, but if I put my hand down there next to her and cuddle, she makes clicky noises with her teeth and licks my finger over and over.

I had no idea rats were like this. I thought they were like big mice, but there's really no "bonding" with a mouse. What we're doing here, though, this cuddling thing, is definitely social.

Now she really is sleepy. She's not licking anymore -- just lazing. If I scratch up behind her ears, her eyes close a little bit more. Heh. She's not even moving.

Also, to the kids in the apartment down a floor and across the hall: I hope you stick around for awhile, and I hope you continue to leave your screen door open when you sing together in the middle of the night. Noise complaints be damned. You guys are darned good.

Halloooo

2008-06-10T23:56:00.002-05:00

I am alive. It's been a terribly busy week or so.

1) I moved. Woo. I even have my own utensils. How awesome is that?
2) Ratter's gonna be alright. I took her to the vet last Wednesday, as she was still awfully sneezy, they kept her for a week, then called today to tell me nothing is wrong with her. BAH.
3) I'm having a party tomorrow. It's going to be terrific.

I hope to post some pictures of the apartment sometime soon. I just get so wrapped up in unpacking and putting things in drawers, it's hard to do much else.

A Real Job

2008-05-26T17:19:00.002-05:00

*falls into his chair*

I got the holiday off work without even asking. Kinda makes this feel like a real job...

*wipes his brow*

What good is a day off, though, if all you're doing is working at home? This deep-cleaning BS is for the birds.

Come to think of it...

Wheee

2008-05-26T02:24:00.003-05:00

Still packing. Who knew that in three rooms, I had so much junk? I've filled so many bags with trash ("memories", actually -- I'm such a pack rat), I'm surprised I had room for all of it.

Speaking of, I've found a friend. Whoever said you can't buy friends had surely never been to the pet store. Meet Ratter:

I've been partial to rodents in the past (mice, particularly), but I figured I needed a more... interactive pal, seeing as I'm going to be alone pretty much always. She's not much bigger than a mouse at this point, but she's growing pretty quickly. In the photo, she's still cowering from "Where the hell am I?" syndrome, but she's since warmed up to a bit of play. If I pinch her behind, she'll jump and dart around and come back to nibble on my finger till I do it again. She still won't come up on my hand willingly (or out of her cage at all, so far), but we're working on her social skills :-)

My only worry is her sneeziness -- she's been sneezing since she came home, and it hasn't gotten much better, despite a change in bedding. The internet says respiratory disease is to be expected in rats, and while she sure doesn't act ill, I can't help but fear the worst. If it doesn't disappear in a week (the internet also says new rats usually go through a sneezy phase), I'll likely take her in for some fixin'.

Ah, fuzzy critters. I can't deny having a soft spot for them. If that makes me a sap, well. It makes me a happy sap, at least.

Urban Adventure

2008-05-19T00:00:00.005-05:00

Been awhile since my last post. I've been busy -- I found an apartment, and now I'm packing up all my crap for storage or transport. Excited about that, truthfully. Like, whoa excited. I can't stop talking about it.

Even between the boxes, I had time for a small adventure this evening. I hadn't done this since I was a tot. I'm actually surprised at how well we did.

Odd Means

2008-05-11T16:43:00.003-05:00

Look down at your keys. See the QWERTY and the UIOP? Some folks don't at all -- they see an AOEU and a HTNS. It's a lot rarer than I'd imagine, using something different from the QWERTY and JKL;. Seems the old standard has stuck around just due to the small bit of effort it takes to change.

Allow me to introduce a better way to type:

I'm truly surprised this isn't more commonly used -- let alone even heard of -- among typists and computer users. It's more efficient, more accurate, and downright easier to learn. It takes about two weeks to pick up to a decent typing speed (35-ish wpm), and a few more months to get up around 100wpm. After that, there's no upper limit. Apparently, the fastest typist in the world flies at over 200wpm using this layout.

Granted, it's a pretty big change. You'll limit your speed when you use somebody else's computer (I haven't retained the ability to touch-type very well at all on a QWERTY keyboard), but at least you can look at the keys and get by. The adjustment period is also pretty tough; it's like having a speaking disability, being unable to communicate fluently for a couple weeks. After you've adjusted, though, and if you still use QWERTY once or twice a week to keep it reasonably usable, you'll be much, much better off for it. You'll type more quickly, more accurately, and you'll move your fingers FAR less than you did with QWERTY. Whenever I type at a shared workstation, for example, I'm always amused at the hand gymnastics folks put themselves through just to communicate.

I've been using Dvorak for a couple years now. I'd never go back, not ever. I couldn't forfeit the fluid, efficient keystrokes and accuracy-by-default. Why would you trade a free Lexus for a $20k Honda? On the other hand, why would you pay $300/mo forever for a Honda when you could work for two weeks and have a free Lexus for life, hmm?