All-is-Well

I heard the news today.

2011-07-24T10:16:00.000-04:00

Shit.

on the topic of Love's kinship to the Atom Bomb.

2010-11-08T11:23:00.000-05:00

If the radiance of a thousand hearts were to burst at once into agony that would be like my gift to the world... [Behold] I am become Love, the shatterer of lives.

I am the firepit--drawing you near, but not too near. I am the mermaid, enchanting you but leaving your friends heartbroken. I am the village elder, for my eyes are cold and dark, and I am the youngest of the tribe, my laughter beckons you to frolic.

I am alone, but I am near you. I am kind, but you will feel only the roughness of my calloused hands. I am standing at the edge of creation, do not pass me for the precipice is deep and the danger great.

A Beautiful and Unique Snowflake

2010-06-28T16:32:00.001-04:00

Weathered copies of an art magazine
From ninety-nine and onward through aught five
Chronicle my generation’s need to be seen
Before we really believe we’re alive.

Turn of the century, end of an age
Alias caught by the table of contents
Each artwork reclines alone on the page
We let the art speak the author’s torments.

Fast forward just a handful of years,
Pages printed in two thousand and four.
Italic moniker below each script
Our ‘identities’ assert a bit more.

One more year passed, aught-five was printed
on each facing page, the inventor’s name
large face, bold print, a cry for attention,
we’re desperate for our moments of fame.

To Dance.

2010-06-14T23:32:00.001-04:00

I want to dance with determination
To move as if moving were salvation.

I want to breath deeply and close my eyes
Surrender to music ‘til ev’rything dies

My lungs will fill with blood; my heart with air.
My mind will empty, but I will not care.

I’ll dance as if calories were poison,
Like movement is the only way joy’s won,
Like my rhythm sets the tides of the sea
And when I spin the whole wide world spins with me.

Because if I stop, the stars will darken.
The moon will fall and the demons harken,
to us all, drawn in by my stillness here,
To haunt us with death, and motionless fear.

The non-dreamer.

2010-06-01T10:46:00.004-04:00

When I eat chocolate just before bed,
it has no effect upon my head.
No dreams or visions come in the night
to enlighten or impress, inspire or fright.

I wake in the morning, as normal as ever
crass, bold, unpredictable, clever.
And I wonder if the trade off, in my life so sweet,
is that my dreams are real, but I have untroubled sleep.

Not what I had in Mind.

2010-05-27T18:06:00.002-04:00

I want to be a poet.
I want the whole world to. . .be aware of it.
I want to spin reality away from me
shout screech kick and stare at it.

So I'm trying something new.
Something I have never done before.
A new poem, each week, for you.
At first, rhymes, then just a little more.

I have an essay in mind.

2010-02-07T20:51:00.003-05:00

One that follows my now-standard pattern of lyrics and thoughts interwoven.

Unfortunately, I also have other things that need attending. In addition I haven't thought everything through fully. Confounding the matter is that I just watched Slam, which was incredible, but has me thinking and speaking like a Slam Poet, which doesn't match my normal style at all, and will negatively impact the work I have in mind.

So, a new update coming soon. Promise.

Lala Wins.

2010-01-24T17:59:00.003-05:00

I just paid for music over the internet.

For the first time in my life, I paid for music, delivered entirely digitally.

Why? Because Lala.com has managed to break the barrier. The music available through them is lower than the cost of convenience.

I'll always remember that Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride" was the first MP3 I ever downloaded (hey, I could have done worse). From Scour.net around 1998.

Now, in 2010, Natalie Walker's cover of Colorblind has become my first MP3 purchase. $0.89.

It only took someone 12 years to get it right. Go figure.

Cherry and Martin

2010-01-07T18:10:00.002-05:00

Sure it's a little whimsical and I think the meter is all wrong, but I never said I was a *good* poet.

Cherry and Martin,
Heart of the town,
sometimes they break in
when the income is down,

Next thing you know
it's a call coming through
"get those pedals moving
go find out of its true."

A few pointed questions,
a scuffle, and one muffled crack.
Thank God it's cold
you've got the vest on your back.

Now you're gasping for air
and they're rabbiting fast
at least thanks to the vest
you'll make it, you'll last.

You're a hero, Travoris,
A modern day saint.
Your job is a minefield
innocent children--these ain't.

So a respectful salute,
to Macon's finest in blue
When we've run out of hope,
We'll rely upon you.

For Travoris Wilson and all the fine men and women of the Macon Police Department. You work on the edges of hell every day, and we cannot say thank you often enough for your service.

United States of Fail.

2009-12-24T15:42:00.004-05:00

Let me be clear.

I absolutely do not think we failed by voting in a health care reform bill. While I am confident that it has flaws, I also know that legislation, sausage, blah blah blah, and frankly the American healthcare system is completely fucked and I don't mind the idea of something being done. Maybe we are making it worse, but in that case perhaps we should just make the system so bad that it foments a revolution. Whatever.

Here's my first problem.

Guess what this is:

"To amend the Internal Revenue Code of 1986 to modify the first-time homebuyers credit in the case of members of the Armed Forces and certain other Federal employees, and for other purposes."

I'll give you a hint.

I just talked about it.

Yeah, it's the title of the health care reform bill.

That's a fucking embarrassment. How bad has our political system gotten that this sort of bullshit, mislabeling, disinformation newspeak is allowed?

The destruction of language marks the downfall of society as an institution and as a place for civilized discourse, and this is a prime example. Words have power.

It is always worth being careful with our words. Nothing has spoken more clearly to me of the growing irrelevancy of our elected senate than the title of this bill.

Second problem.

H.R.4314.

Title: "To permit continued financing of Government operations."

Guess what that is, boys and girls?

I'll give you a hint, it's how we're going to cover the gargantuan costs associated with our little "IRS modification bill" above. We voted it in this morning.

Yup. This is the bill that increases the public debt limit from $12.104 trillion to $12.394 trillion.

That's 290 BILLION dollars.

The government just gave itself permission to put you personally ANOTHER THOUSAND DOLLARS IN DEBT and NO-ONE IS REPORTING IT. I note with chagrin that even the senate website has not yet published the vote count. It's currently just listed as "passed". You can bet your broke ass that there are a few republican names on it though, who have been clamouring against all the "waste" in health care reform for months, but who are happily thumbs up on the idea of being able to ream us all further on government spending.

Why aren't we hearing about this? Why aren't we grumbling about it? because it's not news, the Senate does that shit all the time. When else would you approve such a measure if not the same day as your historic health care bill? After all, that's going to get all the attention, isn't it. And it's not like we could fund health care reform by cutting the budget of wasteful government programs, could we?

Indeed, this is the perfect day for it.

Merry Christmas USA, your gift from the senate this year was a pack of mislabeled government drivel and another Pecuniary Jenga Block on the teetering tower that is our current economic state.

Think this'll be the one?

Microsoft Fail.

2009-12-18T19:31:00.002-05:00

So I'm building a new Nikita.

She's fast, she's feature full, and right now, I have to do something rather horrific to her.

Since I was buying kickass new hardware, I wanted a kickass new Windows operating system for the (few) games that I play.

So I purchased a copy of Windows 7 Pro upgrade. I've already got an independent license for XP pro (Thanks Mercer Programming Team!), so the upgrade was the most affordable route to take.

However, this is a whole new computer.

So I found out something really sick about the Windows 7 upgrade install process.

If you have Windows already installed and launch the installer from there, the installer will detect your existing license and activate automagically. No problem.

However, in my case I'm coming from a completely scrubbed system. The previous XP install has been decommissioned and the drive formatted. I'm installing to a totally new drive (Or rather, I'm trying to).

One would think that in this (rare) case, Windows 7 upgrade media (since it allows for clean installs) would have some sort of prompt "Please enter your previous windows license here, then enter your product key for windows 7" but no.

In order to get Windows 7 installed on this machine, I'm going to be forced to do a completed Windows XP install and activation FIRST, just so that I can promptly format the drive and install Win7 in the space it occupied, just so the dumbass win7 installer activates based on the previous license.

So thanks Microsoft, for devouring an additional hour of my life that I'll never get back.

Asshats.

And people wonder why I laugh at them when they claim that Windows is easier to use than Ubuntu.

Fort Hood.

2009-11-06T11:53:00.002-05:00

My prayers and thoughts go out to the community of Fort Hood today. I have dear friends that are currently stationed there, and they were on their way back to Georgia on leave when all of this happened.

There is a strange socioeconomic driver created by standing armies that this event throws into stark relief against the tragedy.

Maintaining a standing all volunteer Army requires that a significant portion of your population (about 1 in 100 Americans, currently) voluntarily agree to serve as soldiers (and associated combat support personnel).

In the 21st century, soldiering has become something for which very few people are fit. I have good friends, close friends, men of strong character and conviction, who have--for one reason or another--been unable to serve more than handful of years, even though they thought military service was to be their whole career.

I know others, of course, who are perfect for the career, but the number of men fit for military service and willing to serve is outstripped by the number of people the US military is told they need, and for which they are funded.

And as a result, we become part of a culture that runs recruitment commercials that ignore the premise of the military entirely. The Army is probably the worst offender. "Go Infantry: You might get Shot!" makes for poor copy, and so we get ads that either run directly counter to actual military culture ("Army of One" anybody?) or ads that mean very little ("Army strong!").

As a result, the Military becomes the way you get out of your small town, the way you pay for college, or the way you get out of your parent's house rather than the warrior culture which you join because you are wired up to fight battles in defense of your country.

Let me be clear: I am not criticizing the military for this problem. I believe in the mission and goals of the United States Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, (and yes, Coast guard). Those organizations did not create this problem, we did.

We did it by funding the military beyond need and beyond sustainable amount, so that when they ran out of people who were a genuine fit they were forced to cast the net too wide. We did it by deciding that we need three million military personnel and millions of civilian contractors. We did it by signing up to play international policeman.

As a single example, we decided that the Global War on Terror meant we should invade Iraq. Now we have over 130,000 personnel there.

As a thought: if we had, instead, decided that the American military should invade our own domestic air transportation system, we could put a trained Air Marshall on every single commercial airline flight (all 30,000 of them per day) and still send 100,000+ people home to their families.

What happened in Fort Hood was tragic, unexpected, and entirely the fault of a single man. A man who has survived, and who will be tried for his crimes and hopefully receive a just trial and sentencing if he is convicted.

But it raises the question: how many people are pulled into the military for the wrong reasons, and are unfit for the assignments they are given?

A little sliver of love.

2009-10-14T21:27:00.003-04:00

"We made a plan that was subject to change
So whatever way it works out we both get the blame
In the arms of this low"

We met for dinner at a cabana themed restaurant with an alliterative name and too much space. Jimmy Buffet was playing when I arrived.

I was late. You were gracious.

"And you took the wind right out of my sails
By sweating me out on all the little details
In the arms of this low
In the arms of this low

I came direct from work, all khakis and pinstripe shirts. You were dolled up in a deep, flat blue dress that set off your white skin. We greeted each other on the sidewalk outside as if we were lovers but we both know better now.

"So thread the light
So thread the light"

Dinner was poorly lit and prepared using a three ring binder and plenty of kitsch but the waiter was cheerful and the bread delicious. We spoke of life, and your place in it. You seemed happy and collected for the first time in over a year. I was content to frolic in that wellspring of joy like a puppy in a sprinkler.

"We made a choice and we knew we would pay
For stealing the joy and trying to escape
From the arms of this low
And if by some chance you break from the pack
You know I'll be waiting to welcome you back
Into the arms of this low
In the arms of this low"

After dinner you spoke of him and your eyes lit up with the hope of a hundred thousand children. Your voice held the shiver of a candlelight burning for someone lost at sea. You spoke of everything that had gone wrong over half a dozen years and how right it all still seemed. You could be so happy if things had just worked out differently.

"Thread the light,
Thread the light,
Thread the light,
Thread the light,
Shine the light,
Don't hide the light,"

I was content to drink from this too. To let my thoughts turn inward to my own histories, to the ones I speak of still with hope and trepidation. I gave you the best advice I could: I said nothing of substance.

"Live the light,
And give the light,
Seek the light,
And speak the light,
Crave the light, and brave the light,"

A part of me wanted to lunge across that too-wide table and upset plates and cups and grab you fiercely by the face and scream at you "SAY YOU ARE SORRY EVEN THOUGH IT IS HIS FAULT. TELL HIM YOU CAN'T FUNCTION UNTIL HE LETS YOU IN OR SHUTS YOU OUT FOREVER. BE HONEST AT THE EXPENSE OF EVERY DEFENSE YOU'VE EVER BUILT!"

But another part of me knew better.

"Stare the light,
And share the light,
Show the light,
And know the light,
Raise the light,
And praise the light,
Thread the light,
And spread the light."

The truth is, I won't say it either, though it all goes double for me.

The real world taught us dignity, it is still teaching us self-reliance. It taught us that sometimes settling is the most mature thing we can do. We are adults now, and all our childhood dreams will fade in time, like a lover that has been so long away that we forget. First the curve of her cheek, then the color of her eyes, and finally the pealing clarity of her laughter when she was surprised by something beautiful.

So there is the best advice I can never bring myself to give, but still take every day. My own personal dose of lithium. Welcome to the real world. Let your dreams fade. You'll be better off.

Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova - This Low

A glimpse of the future.

2009-09-26T16:01:00.002-04:00

Today I was standing in the door of my nephew's room when I had a revelation.

I was noticing that his room, while not unreasonably small, will be cramped when a desk it added for the computer he'll need once he gets into his high school years.

Then I checked myself, my internal monologue patiently tapping the backspace key and saying "no, he'll have a surreally thin laptop or some even more futuristic machine. There's no way he'll build a box himself."

Only the geekiest of your children's generation while have a desktop machine they built themselves, and his predilection for sports of all types means that regardless of his obvious intelligence (visible in both early development and parentage) it's unlikely he'll have the time to be such a creature.

I unpacked that thought for a few moments. The development of the modern 'home' computer has closely followed the adoption of the automobile, and this particular issue is no exception. In fifty years very few people will build their own computers, parts will be available only to repair the ones you bought from a major manufacturer. The few self-built machines will be largely similar to 'kit cars' You might build a 2005 era classic gaming rig, but most likely you'll do it by paying someone to ship you the Alienware kit and will painstakingly assemble the parts with the loving care of an enthusiast, not the breathless impatience of a gamer waiting to power up the latest monstrosity.

The past generation and my own--these will be the only generations that built our own machines, screwing them together and bringing them to life like personal Frankensteins on kitchen counters and dining room tables before eventually installing them in our bedrooms with the pride that only a creator can have for his creation. Carefully setting jumpers to accept the right type of CPU, updating the BIOS and collecting the drivers we'll need before pressing the power button for that fateful first boot will be an experience lost on our children's children.

In a sense, I can identify when any 60s era muscle car mechanic who saved a brooding hulk of Detroit steel from the junkyard and slowly and painstakingly reassembled it in his father's garage. The whir of system fan starting up, and the first fateful clicks of a hard drive will always equate to that engine rumble on first ignition. Loading up 3dMark will always be "let's take her down to the 1/4 mile by the train tracks and see how she runs." That might sound pathetically geeky, but let me put it in perspective for you: using their nerdy home built computers, Geeks conquered the world. Those Detroit muscle boys only had a little fun on the track.

I wonder what my nephew and his children will build? What brilliant amalgamation of scavenged and painstakingly purchased parts will make his eye gleam with the excitement of a builder?

The thick of things.

2009-09-17T15:38:00.002-04:00

Back on the ground.

Feet in boots, meetings attended, documents reviewed, misconceptions corrected. Friends hosted, etc.

And just like that, in just over four weeks, I'm back in the thick of things. Every weekend booked until mid November, every moment tangled up in obligations and promises.

Every promise one I want to make, every visiting friend one I'll greet with a smile. But every moment busy, every stillness merely a gathering of strength for the next push of energy.

When, exactly, will I learn to just schedule time for myself and refuse to touch it? Refuse to host or visit or attend? At least I had the good sense to skip dragoncon this year and ask my parents to visit me instead of the other way around.

I'm getting better, aren't I?

Wand'ring Song -- Continued and renamed.

2009-08-06T03:28:00.003-04:00

Here's the second half, which came to me as I was riding a bus to the Hong Kong Airport. The cadence changes for the third section, and I have no idea how to convey that.

I have turned my face to the west,
and I'm longing for my home
I have learned that life tastes best,
when you savour where you roam.

Lord. I'm on my way back home,
and I hope that you'll remember me
this is a pause in a wand'ring song
but I'll soon be back on the road with thee.

Cheers.

Traveling Song.

2009-08-02T04:32:00.002-04:00

Lord, I'm such a long way from home.

And I don't know if they'll remember me.

I know I've been gone too long,

but my wandering heart won't let me be.

Lord there's a devil on my tail,

and I don't think he'll just cut me loose.

In this quest I must not fail,

but it's hard to win when you search for truth.

Cadence provided by the Indonesian Working Song, which I didn't understand, but was incredibly compelled by, and heard throughout my time there. Words the consequence of being on the road, on my own, for an extended period.

Shame on us all for cowards.

2009-07-30T08:03:00.004-04:00

Editor's Note: Two days after writing this I was talking with an australian friend of mine and he pointed out that there is absolutely no provision anywhere in Australian law for freedom of speech. So basically, until the people revolt and actually get something added to the federal body of law protecting their right to public speech, there's not a lot of room for them to maneuver here.

Also, I do realize that even in America where we do have protected freedom of speech, you can't yell fire in a crowded theatre and not expect consequences. What bothers me is that they are specifically trying to intimidate people who would make light of a situation, not ones who are insighting public unrest. Obviously if someone runs around yelling "I've got a BOMB!" the police will need to do what must be done. I'm not suggesting otherwise,

While I was in the Sydney airport, I saw this sign.

Obviously this is a travel tale, but as it's going to become political in the very next sentence, so it's here instead of on the road.

Australians of Sydney, New South Wales, citizens one and all: shame on you for cowards.

Now, I'm not saying America is perfect. In fact, I'm pretty confident that if such a sign were put up in the Atlanta airport, most people would gulp down their fear, watch their tongues and hang their heads.

Last year, Boston, Massachusetts made itself the laughing stock of the country by hyperventilating and shutting down the city over the 'threat' of lite brite artvertisement (yes, I just made that word up) in public places. And Americans in other cities in other states rolled our eyes and said it was silly when we should have been calling for heads on platters over the shame of such hand wringing in any place where freedom and boldness were once valued societal and character traits.

And now, on the other side of the globe, I discover the same fear-mongering, watch-your-mouth-or-the-police-state-will-get-you tactics in another place that should be bold and proud of its incredibly strong culture society. You're Australia! You are a place where men--most given nothing but a prison sentence--carved a European civilization largely out of dust and dirt in one of the worlds most dangerous and demanding environments.

What right have you to be afraid?

That being said, now I must turn my criticism inward and downward, where I can do some damage and maybe inflict a little change.

I've never seen a sign like this yet in an American airport, and I hope I never do, but if I do, I hope that my readers will join me in making life awkward, embarrassing and uncomfortable for the writers and implementers of any such program, anywhere in a place where you have influence as a voting citizen.

I know I will feel I'm duty-bound to do so, and I hope you would all be willing to join me.

Welcome in from the Road.

2009-06-27T09:43:00.002-04:00

I'm sorry I waxed so poetic at the end of that previous entry. I'll try to keep the politics out of my writing from here on. Don't worry, the road gets whimsical soon--on Friday, you get to see a picture of me at a baseball game with a plastic bag on my head.

This is a welcome notice. Some of you haven't read my personal blog in a long time, or only read it sporadically. Some of you didn't know I *HAD* a personal blog until just now. Some of you read it religiously, or have just done the smart and lazy thing and added it to your RSS reader or personal Google page.

To all of you, hi. I ask only that you read what I write here with patience, and know that I don't write here so that I can talk about things, I expressly write here the things I often do not want to discuss.

A couple of things to remember:
1) I'm probably not writing about you.

2) sometimes I write fiction, prose, or poetry here that is completely unrelated to my life.

3) A lot of my writing here is just IT, digital rights, or engineering commentary. It'll be boring. Sorry. It interests me, so I expound on it sometimes. In general, the technology and politics posts are about the only ones I'll be happy to discuss with you in person, or via e-mail.

As to the rest, I appreciate it if my reader has the good sense to let sleeping dogs lie.

Seodaemun Prison

2009-06-17T20:59:00.001-04:00

What I am about to write about is graphic and unpleasant. I believe, however, that old platitude that unless we study history, we are condemned to repeat it. Thus I'm going to talk about the less pleasant parts of Korean history now.

When I tore myself away from my experience with Jang Gi, it was to visit Seodaemun Prison. First built in the 1908, it was designed to house political prisoners who opposed Japanese Occupational rule. After the occupation ended, it was used as a prison for the provisional military dictatorship that ruled Korea until the 1980s, when it was finally shut down. A few years ago it was reopened as a history lesson for the Korean people and for foreign visitors.

The Japanese, and the Koreans who worked for them, designed Sodaemon with an eye towards shattering the human spirit. The cells are small and overcrowding seemed to be encouraged. Overcrowding meant that so many men were jammed into a cell that they had to sleep in shifts. It seemed intentionally operated such that many Koreans would die of malnutrition, or sleep deprivation. There were a series of solitary confinement cells which no light would enter, which appear to be approximately 4 feet high, ensuring that any prisoner would be stooped for their entire stay in solitary.

When I visited Seodaemun, I took one picture inside before being told that inside the buildings and exhibits, no photography was allowed. Once I'd seen the other exhibits, I understood immediately why. The Koreans took great pains to rebuild exhibits that convey the anguish inflicted upon the prisoners who were tortured as political dissidents and terrorists in Seodaemun. Th4 exhibits include life-size replica scenes of torture--wax figures of prisoners spread prostrate before Japanese guards with torture implements.

There were areas of the prison specifically constructed as torture chambers. These included places where prisoners could be hung upside down and water poured on their faces, or where their heads could be forced underwater. It also included rooms designed specifically for the sexual torture of prisoners, and small rooms alongside the torture chambers where 'confessions' were to be taken, presumably located in close proximity so that the screams of braver prisoners would weaken the resolve of the ones being encouraged to confess. Other rooms contained tables that allowed the guards to completely secure a prisoners hands, so that a long thin knife similar to a flat head screwdriver could be inserted under the fingernails of the prisoner--one nail at a time.

The one picture I took in the 'museum' portion, was this one. What you see there is a prisoner transfer mask. The Japanese knew that some of the people kept in Sodaemon would be political dissidents who were popular with the people, and that their outrage would be difficult to contain if they found out that their heroes were being abducted, beaten, and executed. But Korea is a small country, with many citizens, building a secret prison would be impossible, so other methods of secrecy were employed. These masks were one, allowing a prisoner to be arrested in secret and transfered from a police wagon into the prison anonymously.

Since the Japanese had no Habeus Corpus provision for Korean dissidents, prisoners could be captured and held without trial or official charges, then interrogated and forced into a confession that would ensure their arrest. Alternatively they could be abducted and charges simply manufactured after they were imprisoned.

Like most of Korea, Seodaemun is built into a hillside, this means that the back wall of the prison is flush--on the outside--with the hill for about one and a half stories. This allowed the Japanese to carve a secret tunnel into that hillside, so that when prisoners died in confinement, or were secretly executed, they could be transported under the cover of night to a nearby public grave and buried without anyone finding out. Since in some cases the prisoners had been held without any charges against them, the records concerning that person's abduction could be quietly expunged and no-one (save the person's grieving family and friends) would be the wiser.

Heroes of Korea's bitter resistance against Japanese rule died in Seodaemun. One young woman who helped organize one of the "Korea day" demonstrations died of malnutrition there, but according to legend, not before leading a 3,000 strong riot from within the prison grounds, in spite of all that was done to her to break her spirit. She's considered a national hero now by the Korean people. Other men who lived to see Korea freed from Japanese rule were broken forever, inside. Men described entering in their twenties, healthy and fit, and leaving a few short years later with back problems, eye trouble, permanent hearing loss, and a host of physical maladies brought on by the living conditions and torture they endured.

If you feel I have intentionally chosen my words so that they remind you of current events, pat yourself on the back. As Americans, we are quick to think of ourselves as the aggrieved parties. We strove to break the yoke of high taxes and unfair laws imposed by the British. We helped destroy greedy and evil regimes by being on the "right" side of two World Wars. In the second, we were attacked unjustly and without warning. By hook and by crook, fair means and foul, We saved the world from the frightful shadow of communism. We are taught to think of ourselves as the good guys in all our history classes save for the ones run by cynical men with hooded eyes, and they rarely last more than a year or two before being sent away.

Rarely do our school teachers talk about the hundreds of thousands of American Indians we slaughtered as we expanded westward. Mentions of our disastrous attempts to meddle in political affairs in the middle east are never mentioned. In case you think I'm being hyperbolic, do a little hunting and you'll discover those attempts include funding and manufacturing the revolt against a moderate political force in Iran, supplying weapons to the Taliban in their war against Russia, and even providing training and weaponry to Saddam Hussein in his war against Iran, ironically as an attempt to fix the things that had turned sour after our attempts to control it politically went awry.

It seems to me that we do not study our flaws openly as a nation, nor do we strive to learn from our mistakes. Our founding fathers were angry with the way innocent men were being treated in English courts, and they tried their best to write a foundation for law that would protect citizens from a government that would inevitably attempt to be unjust. I believe those men would be appalled if they saw how willing we are now to turn a blind eye to our current choices.

I drew spidery lines between America's war on terror and Japan's use of Seodaemun. Let's go back over those with a sharpie. Water torture has been used against political prisoners in countries we have invaded--and even justified by our government officials. Sexual tortures and humiliations we'd never permit at home have come to light as common in our overseas prisons. Habeas Corpus, a cornerstone of any good system of criminal law, was suspended for the political prisoners kept in Guantanamo bay for seven years before being corrected in our nation's highest court--longer than the entire length of American involvement in World War 2. We did not need secret passageways and anonymizing masks because we built whole secret prisons at undisclosed locations, and tried people and authorized warrants in secret, clandestine courts, where no press could report on who was convicted, or with what crimes they were charged.

And we, as Americans, did not with one voice cry out for the criminal trial of those in power, men who have torn and twisted a government that was designed to be fair and just into something vile, something evil, something that begged for reform.

Other men have been quietly brushed aside. Men like Ron Paul, who suggested that our enemies in the Middle East are the result of our own poor choices and actions spanning 60 years of history were discredited and ignored. When Habeas Corpus was restored to prisoners at Gitmo, no major news organization (I'm looking at you, Fox News and CNN) had the balls to spin the news in a celebratory manner ("US courts get their heads out of the executive branch's ass after 6 years!" would have looked good on the ticker if you ask me).

We've expected fair and impartial press and we're left with cowards and sycophants. There's been rioting in the streets every day in Iran for the past two weeks, but CNN and Foxnews are only just now picking it up because they've been forced to because the online news sources were eating their lunch.

I'm proud to hear that young American techs are creating a grassroots network of twitter proxies and digital underground railroads for information in and out of Iran. It's the first thing I've heard which really gives me hope that perhaps America's young men and women are not all as complacent and ignorant as I sometimes suspect them to be.

And no matter how much I want to, I can't stop seeing a pair of innocent eyes behind that bamboo mask, every time I look at the image I posted above.

If you fear terrorists, I understand. I'm writing this entry aboard an airplane on my way to a country where men have been abducted and murdered for espousing the tenets of my religion, where rioters threaten the livelihood of entertainers if they encourage free speech with which the vocal minority of fundamentalists disagree. Hell, I'm going to a country where a rarely enforced law says that if a woman bares her shoulders in public she can be tried for charges of pornography. I do feel a measure of tension--yes, even a measure of fear--at the thought that I am entering a place so foreign to me, and with so little preparation and knowledge of local custom and law.

But there is another kind of injustice that I fear more than the wickedness of passionate men who practice the murder of innocents in the streets, and that is the wickedness of dispassionate men who practice the murder of innocents behind locked doors.

Those men I fear far more.

We are not Korea, in the parable of Seodaemun. In our fear, we have abandoned our passion for freedom to the whims of wicked and evil men. We are not Korea, we are the terrible might of Imperial Japan.

It is my great hope that within my lifetime I will see a generation of Americans who will, through their own hard work and sacrifices, usher in a better braver government than that which we currently have.

"I would rather be exposed to the inconveniencies attending too much liberty than to those attending too small a degree of it." - Thomas Jefferson.

Picasa now Alailable in Porblem edition.

2009-06-07T17:50:00.002-04:00

So, Picasa is broken. More specifically, Picasa for Linux is broken, but since I use linux almost exclusively on my personal computers, and the only thing I brought with me to Asia on this trip was a Asus EEE running Easy Peasy, Linux is all I have to work with.

It does a fair job managing files, but there are bugs strewn throughout its upload manager. Trying to get it to upload things is turning into a real pain in the ass. I need to use it to upload things because the built in uploader in Blogger has apparently decided that Hong Kong is just too far away and uploading things is hard work, so now it refuses to accept any images.

Thankfully, due to flaws in the Youtube upload system (that make it simply impossible to directly upload on Linux), I had already discovered Firefox Universal Uploader. It's a badass little program that runs as a firefox extension in its own tab.

While not completely bug free, it's the best solution I can find for handling uploads to these kinds of sites, and it does a fantastic job interfacing with Picasa's web albums, much better than Picasa itself.

Back on the Road.

2009-06-03T18:12:00.001-04:00

Well, tomorrow I leave for Asia, so I figured I'd repost the link for those of you that lost it.

The Road.

The Morning Sun.

2009-05-04T19:31:00.000-04:00

I have turned my face to the east.

I am turning my face towards the morning sun.

Towards home.

Towards my brothers and sisters and lovers and friends. Towards my life, as it was and as it will be.

I have seen dismay, and I have known difficulty.

I have experienced shame, and swallowed pride.

I have begun to learn that to lead men you must support them in each endeavor with zeal and an honest heart.

I turn my face towards Serenity. I have tasks yet to complete. I have a room to prepare for one of the family.

I have plans to prepare. I have imagery to capture.

I am turning my face to the east.

I'm so sorry for everything.

2009-04-20T21:47:00.004-04:00

All night I lay on my pillow and pray
For my boss to stop me in the hallway
Lay my head on his shoulder and say
Son, I've been hearing good things

I am seven stories above downtown Salt Lake City, Utah. I've actually had a really wonderful day, in spite of this choice of songs.

I wake up without warning and go flying around the house
In my sauvignon fierce, freaking out
Take a forty-five minute shower and kiss the mirror
And say, look at me
Baby, we'll be fine
All we gotta do is be brave and be kind

The city sits below me. Sunlight still stark on the square shoulders of high rises. Polite panhandlers wish people a nice day when they brush them off for spare change. People drive slow and the crosswalks chirp so the blind can get around with a little independence, but you get the feeling that when the blind do go out, kindhearted citizens take time from their day to walk them to their destinations.

The place doesn't seem real.

I put on an argyle sweater and put on a smile
I don't know how to do this
I'm so sorry for everything
[repeat]

I'm mentally planning my trip to Asia. My heart is spinning with excitement and anxiety. It is exactly 2200 hours back east. I'd be going to bed in a few minutes, normally.

Baby, come over, I need entertaining
I had a stilted, pretending day
Lay me down and say something pretty
Lay me back down where I wanted to stay
Just say something perfect, something I can steal
Say, look at me
Baby, we'll be fine
All we've gotta do is be brave and be kind

Brave and kind. These are the things I admire.

But my profession is difficult customer. The person who is always asking for more. I always want someone else's work to be a cut above anything they've ever done before.

I asked a three star general to formalize something he said in a lecture today by writing a policy letter. The 300 powerful technology decision-makers around me laughed, half nervously, and half in agreement. I basically asked him to write a policy letter giving us the freedom to do our jobs.

I don't understand why people fear authority in arenas like that, but I guess that's because I haven't been penalized for my behaviour yet.

I pull off your jeans, and you spill jack and coke in my collar
I melt like a witch and scream
I'm so sorry for everything

But I had a wonderful day. I was given free stuff by nice people, I had a delicious dinner, and I found a tiny record store and learned about new artists, and now I'm comfortably ensconced in my personal palace. It is 5 meters wide and 10 meters long. The room came with a beautiful bathroom all done out in marble and a comfortable white bath robe. But at the moment all I can think is that my world is a very small bubble inside a giant adventure that I'm missing, and the bath robe reminds me of a straight jacket.

I guess I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Lyrics: The National - Baby, We'll be Fine

Tired.

2009-04-14T23:17:00.002-04:00

I'm tired. I'm tired of being the focal point. I'm tired of people either thinking they have to do everything for me or they shouldn't do anything for me.

I'm tired of always being the one who gets people together for dinner. Tired of being the one who has to remind people to do dishes or laundry. Tired of being the one who is on the road for 100 days a year and still comes home to a messy house and a calendar empty save for the events I create. Tired of being the one who knows everyone's phone number, and never hears back about what is being planned.

Last year a friend called me and invited me to join him for a barbeque. It might have been the greatest gift anybody gave me all year--just an event that I was asked to attend, but for which I was absolutely not responsible.

Hey friends of mine, Want to give me something memorable? invite me into your lives, instead of just expecting that I'll catch you up in the whirlwind that is my own.

Steve Hartman: Media Rebel?

2009-03-21T08:39:00.003-04:00

I've got an odd entry today.

Steve Hartmab is a sportscaster and puff piece journalist for CBS News. Judging from his bio, he writes pieces that are all over the board, literally.

He was apparently sent to cover a puff story of odd animal relationships. The kind of thing local news is always doing about how a cat adopts a mouse, or two Geese raise a puppy or whatever, but on a slightly different scale.

But with just a couple of extremely well placed sentences at the end of the episode, he makes a point that every American--black or white, rich or poor, red or blue--should remember, every day.

But don't take my word for it, the piece is only three minutes long, and it speaks for itself.

Fuck you, Penguin

2009-03-03T16:46:00.002-05:00

So I'm sure most of you are familiar with I can has cheezburger. I'm a moderate fan. I also follow Pundit Kitchen and Failblog via the same source.

However, sometimes you have to take a stand against impossibly cute pictures of cats. Or puppies. Or presidents. Or whatever.

I mean, let's be clear: That puppy will grow up to maul a child, or eat his own poop. Those cats? Those bastards can't even write--they're functionally illiterate. And our president? He just made up 830 BILLION DOLLARS so he could infuse it into our economy, because what we really need is another dose of magical fairy money to keep the house of cards shored up for 8 years, and then it can be someone else's problem.

So yeah, in the spirit of cynicism, spite, and angst, I present you with my favourite new cute blog: Fuck you, Penguin.

A Softer World.

2009-02-16T15:07:00.001-05:00

I think I've talked about these guys before, but I just discovered A Softer World again.

These two made me smile.

373.

367.

Feedback. And Toilets.

2009-02-11T23:30:00.003-05:00

Today's home improvement lesson, boys and girls, comes to us from the wide and wonderful world of Plumbing.

Specifically, it comes from the toilet in my master bathroom.

Now, modern plumbing is a wonder, it cleans your body, your clothes, and your dishes, while whisking away debris, dirt, dust and even poo with nary a complaint.

The downside of modern plumbing is that it necessitates you having pressurized water pipes leading into your home.

To put this another way, every moment of every day, there are several thousand gallons of angry, impatient fluid pressed against the inside of your valves and faucets like shoppers against the glass at Wal-mart on black Friday morning. They are just WAITING to flood your house. They're desperate for the chance.

Next time you're standing at your bathroom sink, have a look at it, somewhere around the rim you'll probably find a hole, leading back into the porcelain. Run your finger around the underside of that metal disc in your bathtub from which the drain control protrudes, and you'll find a slot.

These are overflow pipes. In the event that a valve fails, they keep the hordes of anxious, moist, and vengeful liquids in your pipes from flooding your whole house and a portion of your yard. The mission of these overflow pipes is to deny you the chance to return home to a domicile that has apparently attempted to stage a re-enactment of the Life and Times of Noah starring your book and music collection as the sinful humans. Instead, these fluids are routed directly into the drain--expensive, to be sure, but cheaper than replacing all of those original G.A. Henty tomes and the complete works of Abba.

There's such an overflow pipe in your toilet, too. You can't see it, because it's hidden in the tank, out of view, but it serves functionally the same purpose.

If you, like a previous owner (or plumber?) in my home, decide to cut that pipe too long, so that it is taller than another outlet for water (say the hole in the tank through which the handle operates) you're likely to leave a mysterious surprise for future operators of that toilet. In your hypothetical future (now my past), when the fill valve gets confused (as they occasionally do) and runs, instead of draining safely into the sewer system, the water will burst joyously forth, run down the side of the tank, and attempt to turn your bathroom floor into the world's tiniest--but most dangerous!--slip-and-slide.

I discovered this evening that replacing a fill valve and flapper meant rather thorough and careful thought and planning. Confirming appropriate lengths for the pipes and chains and configuring the height for the valve and float cup was not unlike tuning a soundboard for a band performance. Each item must be tuned in harmony with all the others. Make one thing too short and you get a feedback loop and the system wastes water. Make another too long and it just won't flush at all.

Truly, plumbing is more than just a science, kids--it's a genuine craft. Beyond that, properly tuned plumbing, is art.

Admittedly art that I don't want to give a shit about, and I wish would just fucking work. But Art, nonetheless.

(House: +2, Patrick, +4).

The Gadget Industry Summarized.

2009-02-10T16:25:00.001-05:00

In one brilliant short, The Onion has sent up the entire gadget industry.

Sony Releases Some New Piece of Shit.

Warning: a heaping helping of extremely foul language ahead.

The impossible death of Amy Lynn Hannigan.

2009-02-06T02:25:00.000-05:00

Blogger's note: I waited a year to post this. Now--I hope--is the right time.

I am not the kind of man who dwells long. Not in one place, not in one mindset, and certainly not on one person.

Therefor I must write now, while the wound is fresh and the questions relevant.

Amy and I were friends. If she hadn't been committed to her boyfriend, we'd have been more than that.

We shared loves of good scotch, great music, and unusual food.

On Wednesday, just after noon, her roommate found her dead in her bathtub, separated from my bed by just 18 feet and two walls.

On Tuesday night, at 8:55PM, she had called me. I was in rehearsal for a play and could not answer.

She did not leave a message.

Later that night I thought fleetingly of missed calls and decided to wait to call her until the next day, as I planned to go running and she and I were running buddies.

Wednesday afternoon my roommate called me at work.

"Amy's dead."

The details were thin, but delivered with as much accuracy and depth as was possible, for both our benefits. She was his friend too.

I told him to call me if there was anything I could do, and to keep me informed. On Wednesday night I had friends over for dinner, and I apologized for my distracted state while I tried to gather my thoughts.

On Thursday I spoke with my roommate, in muted voices about plans and aide and her roommate (now back in NC with family, recuperating from the ordeal). I asked my roommate to keep his ear to the ground--he was a member of the Mercer community, as an employee--and to tell me about any upcoming ceremony or memorial service.

That night he called me as I was leaving the apartment. There was to be a silent vigil at 8PM at the law school.

I grabbed dinner and dashed back to my apartment, and dressed--impeccably and over the top, the way Amy would have wanted it--and went to rehearsal. When I arrived I told them that I was leaving for the ceremony.

I delivered my lines as best I could, but when your entire outfit is based around the concept of a silent vigil, your mood is affected. At 7:50 I drove to the law school.

I walked around the building, thinking about how Amy and I had run the same route just a week earlier.

The crowd inside was quiet, telling stories and comforting one another. I looked through the crowd anxiously, hat in hand--I wasn't even sure who I was looking for until I saw David. Only then did I know. We embraced and he clung to me as few people in my life ever had. We spoke briefly. My roommate and Beth arrived soon.

The crowd quieted as the lights were dimmed and we headed outside, into a cold and damp January night. Candles were lit and we stood in silence together; you could feel the heart of the community break with missing her.

Music was played (the Shins? Elliott Smith?), I still don't know which songs or artists. She would have approved though. This wasn't top of the charts pop, it was rare B sides and unique cuts that seemed as linked to Amy as her crinkled nose and her easy laugh.

Eventually we filed back inside. I said my goodbyes to David and headed for the door.

Amy was a friend of mine. If you knew her, she was probably a friend of yours too.

Goodbye Amy. You'll be missed.

Weak 6.

2009-02-03T20:06:00.003-05:00

So just after Christmas I started Cool Running's Couch to 5k program with my roommate.

It's great. It only costs us about 90 minutes a week, and in another month we'll be running 5k every Tuesday, Friday, and Sunday.

Tonight though, I'm running-buddy-less, because I'm in Albuquerque, NM, on business.

So before the sun went down and the temperature dropped to really-bleeding-cold, I swapped out of my work clothes and into sneakers and windpants and hit the sidewalk outside my hotel.

After my five minute warmup, I started my first stretch of running, 5 minutes of solid leg-pumping action. Ninety seconds in I was sucking wind and cursing the world.

Albuquerque, as some of you might be aware, is about 1,600 meters above sea level. If you're interested, here's a handy chart. That chart says that the pressure at this altitude is about 84.3 kPA, meaning that the partial pressure of Oxygen at this altitude is about 80% of what it normally is.

Let me say this without any science: There isn't any air up here.

Needless to say, running kicked my ass.

Still, what little air there was tasted crisp and free and beautiful.

Here's to life.

Backgrounds at work and play.

2009-01-28T20:35:00.005-05:00

So I've been customizing my desktops to optomize my productivity and my enjoyment of the computing experience.

This is valuable at home, because I want to feel like the computer is 'mine', and valuable at work, because a Patrick with eyecandy is a Patrick who is not as easily reminded that he sold out to the soul-sucking, money-wasting, all-forms-in-triplicate MAN.

With that in mind, I've acquired some backgrounds. The image above is my 'home' background. It's pretty, elegant, and simple, it draws your eye to all the right places without distracting when you need to get work done, and it stretches across my new 22" Acer LCD just fine.

At home I can indulge in a way I can't at work. However, work still smiles upon having a desktop with SOME personality, so I ran across an image the other day that suited itself well to my work desktop (two 19 inch monitors turned 'portrait' style side by side). I especially appreciate the Carrier in the background. It makes a nice finishing touch.

Note: I stumbled across that first image along with dozens of others, a couple of weeks ago during a search around the internet, and I've forgotten which background site it came from. If that is your image, and you'd like me to link to your web presence, I'd love to do so. If, on the other hand, you'd like the link removed altogether, I'll do that too, but sadly.

The second image came from the wikimedia commons, and is in the public domain.

Dammit Redmond. . .

2009-01-13T22:30:00.004-05:00

Just 'cause your shit don't work doesn't mean you gotta go around breaking other peoples!

So I installed Linux yesterday morning.

In particular, I installed Ubuntu 8.10 (Intrepid Insect? Ibex? Something like that).

It does, of course, continue to kick ass and take names.

I intend for this new computer to be my gaming rig, so I also partitioned (using Ubuntu's oh-so-friendly graphical partioner) a section of space off for a windows XP install. Nobody does games like Microsoft, and I've been dying to play Bioshock since I first heard about it two years ago.

So, after spending the morning dicking around and getting Linux set up and Compiz running (leading to the holy-sh!t visual mapping of my virtual desktop that you will see below) I installed XP.

And of course, XP--in its infinite wisdom--assumes that because there isn't anything else in the empty PARTITION it's formatting, that it should overwrite the MASTER BOOT RECORD for the whole gorram machine.

Dumbass.

So then I've got a totally functional Linux install that can no longer boot.

After monkeying around with Super Grub Disk for a few minutes (WTF guys? That's one of the most obfuscated and unhelpful interfaces I've ever touched, and I even tried Frontpage once) I was forced to give up and do a full reinstall of Ubuntu.

But in any case, both systems are up now, with Ubuntu politely installing Grub in the MBR, so now I can dual boot Windows XP and Linux (no thanks to XP!) with minimal effort.

I also decided on a name for the new machine, based on a French name derived from the greek word "Unconquered"

Behold Nikita!

I'm Late, I'm Late!

2009-01-07T23:08:00.002-05:00

2008 was tragic, frenetic, and exhausting.

I lost two beautiful friends to untimely deaths. I spent the whole summer fighting to find a new place to live, and now I've got a to-do list as long as my arm that seems to get longer each day, no matter how many things I accomplish. I shit you not (I would never shit you), it's the hydra of lists!

In short, 2008 was a rough year for me. I'm hoping '09 will be better.

Statuses (Stati?)

Thankfully my truck is now mostly up to par, though I have to climb out of a bed that I expect will be very pleasant and inviting at 8AM on Saturday so I can go have my transmission fluid changed.

My gun collection is coming together, item by item. I'll be a member of a gun club by the end of the month, hopefully.

My house is getting messy, so first order of business will be cleaning. The leaf blower is here (hurrah!) so my treacherous-gateway-of-death-and-ankle-destruction will soon be safe for mortals to navigate once again. In addition I've got to make a couple of tables and a hanging surface for my new (AWESOME) world map. Exciting, but I actually asked for a gift that adds to my workload (maybe I wasn't thinking clearly?).

The bigger challenge comes in a couple of weeks though, when I have to figure out how to support the weight of the heavy bag. . .possibly from a tree?

something tells me this isn't going to go smooth. Why can't things ever go smooth?

The Lads from Top Gear. . .

2009-01-01T10:44:00.002-05:00

So I ran across a reference today to the lads from Top Gear taking a trip through Alabama.

In particular, I heard that they were, at one point, under gunfire.

I thought to myself "damn, that's unfortunate." I like Top Gear, the boys are cheerful gearheads, with little respect for established conventions and an unmatched love for the automobile and the speed that each and every one represents.

They race things that should never be raced and the results are always awesome. Where else can you find a Lotus and a Combat Helicopter playing tag on a runway?

However, after doing some digging and finding the segment in question, I'd say that the lads went cracked, or ran out of ideas. First off, they made the transition from gearheads to imitators of the show Jackass. Then, when the shit that they had heaved towards the fan actually made contact, they became the biggest bunch of pussies ever.

They had rocks thrown at their cars, and it made them flee in a panic. The quotable quotes are worth isolating:

"They could have killed us!"

With a few rocks? Really? This isn't ancient Israel, it's not like they were trying to stone you to death. Exactly how thin is your skin? If you're that vulnerable to violence, why were you driving anywhere with your cars decked out to incite anger in the first place? Plus, just about every small town has a few high school baseball and football stars still sitting around--if they'd be aiming to hit you as opposed to your P.O.S. truck, you'd probably have fewer dents and a lot more broken windows and bruised heads.

And "I really think in certain parts of this country people have started to mate with vegetables."

Which I find fantastic. First off, the educated among us automatically assume he was trying to say "animals" and it was a simple malapropism. Surely no-one trying to assert their own intellectual superiority would do so by making a joke which has as a punchline a scientific impossibility? Secondly, I wonder at the reaction if they'd decided to paint their van with "Man-U sucks and their fans are all faggots!" and circled the stadium at the end of a game in their own backyard? Would they really see a more civilized response from their own countrymen?

People are people. Everyone has buttons that can be pressed. Shocking that at 40+, the Lads still find this a relatively interesting phenomenon. Growing up in a place where we were expected to gentleman up (and mind our Sirs and Ma'ams, even to those we disliked) my experience is that plenty of the south learned those lessons before we left high school. Sure, we've got our violent yokels just like everywhere else, but what is so special about that?

Here's hoping that in their future work they leave the passive-aggressive comedy and incitation to violence to Borat and Jackass, and stick to what they are good at: Cars.

On Vice and Corruption.

2008-12-27T11:41:00.004-05:00

"The young spirit is like a good wine or cheese: without some selective decay, it is very bland." - Mandy, Circa 1998.

I'm sitting on my porch. It is an almost perfect day (overcast and cool).

I have a cup of coffee to my left filled with coffee and liquor. I have a cigarette smoking lightly in the ashtray. One of my firefox tabs is showing Failblog and ICHC. Every once in a while the little indulgences of life should be celebrated, and today I'm celebrating most of the legal ones all at the same time.

David danced before the Lord. It strikes me as gyration with incredible meaning--an immodest explosion of excitement over the blessings of a life made worth living because God is on our side.

I feel like maybe I need another shirt added to the long list of ones I'd like to own.

"My body is a temple. But sometimes the priests go a little wild."

Happy holidays everybody. Party on.

First Christmas.

2008-12-25T15:44:00.002-05:00

I have written here, more than once, in defense of melancholy.

I think that it has a place. There is a time for sorrow and longing and solitude and loss.

My Christmas morning was quiet and sweet. I opened gifts from my parents and sister, called friends and relatives around the country and toasted a few on the other side of the world, already well into tomorrow. I relished every moment of it.

I spend much of my time alone, but I am not lonely.

This day, a year ago, he was rolling in the snow
With a younger brother in his father's yard.
Christmas break - a time for touching home
The heart of all he'd known, and leaving was so hard -
Three thousand miles away, now he's working Christmas Day
Making double time for "the minding of the store"...
Well, he'd always said he'd make it on his own
He's spending Christmas Eve alone.
First Christmas away from home.

However sweet my morning, however, in the back of my mind I thought of friends of mine. Especially vivid were my thoughts of a close friend who writes "A Life of Blessings."

She is spending the first Christmas in a long time without her love. Her husband is serving his country, an ocean away. Today is especially taxing for her.

I imagine that the frustration of the day is compounded by our culture's strong disapproval of melancholy. What better day to be sad, and have a good cry, than Christmas when your husband is overseas?

So I hope she finds time and respite in the day to own the sorrow that she feels.

She's standing by the train station, panhandling for change
Four more dollars buys a decent meal and a room.
Looks like the Sally Ann place after all,
In a crowded sleeping hall that echoes like a tomb
But it's warm and clean and free and there are worse places to be,
And at least it means no beating from her Dad
And if she cries because it's Christmas Day
She hopes that it won't show...
First Christmas away from home.

There are many Christmas stories with a measure of sorrow mixed into them.

Yes, this is a day of joy.

Our Savior is born!

But it is also a chance to reflect, and to miss those that are away.

He was born so that he could die--for us.

In the apartment stands a tree, and it looks so small and bare
Not like it was meant to be
The Golden Angel on the top, it's not that same old silver star
You wanted for your own
First Christmas away from home.

So I hope that as you continue through your busy holiday, you find a small opportunity for peace. Some quiet moment will offer itself to you and I hope you take it and send a prayer to heaven for those seperated from loved ones, from family, or from the basic necessities--a warm bed or a hot meal.

In the morning, they get prayers, then it's Crafts and tea downstairs
Then another meal back in his little room
Hoping maybe that "the boys" will think to phone before the day is gone
Well, it's best they do it soon.
When the "old girl" passed away, he fell more apart each day
Each had always kept the other pretty well
But the kids all said the nursing home was best
'Cause he couldn't live alone...
First Christmas away from home.

I have no passionate words of warning. I come bearing no encouragement that you feed a hungry child or clothe a homeless man.

I only hope that you will find a moment--even if it is no greater than the span of a single, solitary breath--in which you can hear the heartbeat of the world and think far beyond the borders of yourself, and embrace the heartache and love and passion and sorrow around you.

May God bless and keep you all throughout the season ahead.

In the Common Room they've got the biggest tree
And it's huge and cold and lifeless,
Not like it ought to be
And the lit-up flashing Santa Claus on top
It's not that same old silver star you once made for your own
First Christmas away from home.

Stan Rogers - First Christmas

Scoring at the end of the first quarter.

2008-12-18T10:48:00.002-05:00

Well, as we wrap up the first quarter, let's review the play thus far.

In the opening volley, Patrick signs his name countless times, moves in two scant days with the help of close teammates Gilly, Cole, Habit, Mr. Smith, Jersey #80 and The Only Man Who Can Like a Mexican Can, and is completely inhabiting his new home in less than 48 hours!

Score: Team Patrick 1, House 0.

Patrick knew about a few existing problems that gave the house a home-team advantage however, a non-functioning master bedroom sink, paint in need of updating, and wallpaper that needed to come down.

Unable to solve the problems at his sink immediately, he turned his eye to the dining room wallpaper. The house rebuffed him--the stuff was bonded, strongly, to plaster.

House 2, Team Patrick 1.

Having made strong choices about the second bedroom, Patrick benched himself in favor of a smaller, more detail oriented player on his team--Habit swept in and covered the room with a flurry of strokes, resulting in a strong, appealing room ready for the move in of Patrick's season draft pick--Gilly. While this was going on Patrick placed most of his furniture and unpacked.

He also managed to defeat House's strong sealed-windows attack, in which the windows in the second bedroom were painted shut from the inside, caulked shut from the outside, and NAILED IN PLACE. This particular back and forth lasted a few days, but since the damage done to the windows during the fight means Patrick will have to repaint them in the near future, there was no clear score here.

Also, unphased by the red handprints and terrifying howl of House's dryer, Patrick weathered the intimidation play ("I'm haunted!") by Team House early in the first month.

Team Patrick 3, House 2.

Soon Patrick had acquired dining room furniture and a living room set, ignoring House's frustrating refusal to give up and let water run freely in the master bathroom.

House retaliated by developing a roach problem!

Team Patrick 4, House 3.

House launched a second surprise attack as well--yes, it may have come with a garbage disposal, but it didn't work! Tough times for team Patrick!

Patrick struck back on the first count with roach traps and the problem abated, but the attack was still pressed strong and any experienced player in the southern conference knows that the second quarter of the next season will bring another round on that front!

Team Patrick 4, House 4.

In order the regain the lead, Patrick went back to his roots and received advice from the coach of his old team--Team Phil, where he had trained extensively in long rivalry against childhood home (current score in that match is Team Phil finally pulling ahead with a lead of 11,487 to 9,891 over Childhood home). Team Phil told Patrick that the house's playbook included a few old tricks--including a simple sediment-in-the-aerator play that was blocking his sink!

Upon returning home, Patrick had fixed the sink's flow problems in five minutes flat. However, House struck back immediately, springing a leak in one of the sink's valves as soon as the aerator was unblocked!

Team Patrick 5, House 5.

Patrick regrouped his forces, and enlisted a hardware store to supply some necessarry tools and a new valve. The following week, house's counterattack had been properly stopped up. House attempted a weak second try with a slow leak, but this was easily solved with a small tupperware container and patience. The leak began to wane to nothing within a few days.

Team Patrick 6, House 5.

The following week, Patrick ordered and installed a new garbage disposal, enlisting occasional assists from teammate Gilly, and the new disposal works remarkably well.

And so we come to the holiday break, a few weeks of hopeful respite between these two fine competitors. The score sits at 7 to 5, Team Patrick ahead. But don't worry, there's plenty of winter left ahead, and everyone knows that House probably has a few more tricks up it's sleeves! We'll see what winter brings!

A note for the ladies.

2008-11-26T07:18:00.000-05:00

Y'know how sometimes you do that thing (to me, or to your boyfriend, or husband, whatever) where you ask questions via a vaguely catlike sound?

It's sortof a "mar?" or "meow?" thing.

You know how I always respond with English, and as cute as the behaviour might be, generally don't encourage it?

Today's Questionable Content explains why.

Holding Pattern.

2008-11-25T20:20:00.004-05:00

I work for the man.

I own a hundred thousand dollars worth of debt, a decent truck and a very nice gun.

I have a beautiful, terrified, sensitive girlfriend with a basketcase of issues and a penchant for Tight dresses, Chocolate, and Tea.

I make my coworkers uncomfortable, laugh at terrible jokes* and spin my mental wheels every day from 7:30 to 4.

I want my life to be real, but right now it is a holding pattern.

This weekend I might be writing the prologue to the rest of my life.

Wish me luck.

*my favorite for today: a coworker was writing comments on a document in need of a major overhaul. He labeled one section "May be a candidate for appendectomy." Think about it.

Headshot!

2008-11-11T11:12:00.006-05:00

I hold a degree from a prestigious liberal arts university. I claim Christianity--a fundamentally nonviolent religion--as my own. I have never drawn a weapon of any kind in anger, nor have I yet been in any fight I would consider 'real'. I live in a first world country where hushing a person on the phone in a movie theatre is enough to get you fined.

And yet, at my core, I'm a gun nut.

I was raised by libertarian parents in small-town Alabama, that alone should form an explanation for my obsession. In addition, my friends were mostly homeschoolers, lots of them farm-kids--by environment if not by family profession. I grew up around guns, firing the ones owned by friends and learning the language as I went. I was probably first handed a pistol by a buddy when I was no more than thirteen. We had a philosophical conversation about whether the item was evil in-and-of itself. We agreed it was not.

In late high school I learned that .45 ACP is very near and dear to my heart. I had been firing an older model 1911, and even with it having a few issues with the cheap ammo we were using (causing the occasional failure to eject) I was still very much in love by the time the session was over.

I was a poor kid growing up though, and put my personal money towards video games and computer hardware; my interests were more electronic than kinetic at the time. Had I lived 100 yards north, which would have put me outside Tallassee city limits and given me the luxury of firing in my own back yard, I might have grown up very differently.

As it was, I held off on purchasing a firearm. I went through college, subsequent jobs, and even employment at my current place of business when I reached Macon. I focused my money first on other things, and I decided that I didn't want the added complication of my roommates' possible discomfort at having a gun in the apartment. I don't think they would have minded too much, but I figured it was easier to ignore the itch at all.

It is probably a good thing I waited until after I'd secured the house before purchasing my first pistol, a Glock 19, since it kept me from starting the inevitable avalanche of kit buying that would begin as soon as I had my first.

I went with a 9mm first for several reasons. The first is that ammunition is cheap--about half the cost of .45 ACP. It is also plentiful--if the apocalypse starts tomorrow, there will be 9mm rounds floating around like the coins in Super Mario World. Still, my intention is to go up to 45, and down to 22, so I have a handgun for every occasion, be it teaching a new friend to shoot something non threatening, or being the biggest threat in (most) rooms.

Of course, having been bitten, I've now got to step up at least one notch as well. I've started eyeing the AR-15, and have settled on a configuration that I desire. Of course, I should have settled on it a month ago, before the market panicked at the likelihood of a new gun ban when our new legislative and executive branches take office, but hopefully I'll get my orders in under the wire, even if they do cost me more than they should.

Somehow, I hope to avoid the siren song of a tactical shotgun. I don't really need one and I think the combination of AR and Glock will serve me just fine in most situations where one would be required.

I firmly believe in the big three principles of France: Libertie, Egalitie, Fraternitie. All citizens should be brothers, all citizens should be equal, all citizens should be free.

To secure those rights, I think Jeff Cooper is partly right in his comments: "In fact, [the rifle] is the only means of resisting tyranny, since a citizenry armed with rifles simply cannot be tyrannized."

I believe that a well regulated Militia is necessary to the security of a free State. I believe that the right to bear arms has nothing to do with hunting, home defense, or recreational shooting--it has to do with a populace that cannot be tyrannized by its government, because it is too well prepared to defend its freedom. I believe that any attempt to disarm the American people is an attempt to pave the way for fascism, and that it should be fought against in our election booths, in our legislative buildings, and in our courts.

I believe that a free populace governed by a democratic republic will become well educated by nature (one need look no further than Massachusetts before public education to see evidence of this). I believe that within a well educated and free populace there are more good men than bad, and therefore arming that populace will result in a net gain for the community as a whole, and each individual within it.

I say Cooper is partially right because I believe there are other components necessary to the security of a free state. Freedom of communication and association are just as vital to our liberty. It is for these reasons that I was so glad to hear Obama speak critically of our lost civil liberties during this campaign, and why I was so disappointed to hear that he had caved and voted for ex-post-facto telecom immunity after being so critical of it. To hear them go unmentioned by McCain was, to my mind, a terrifying thing.

An ignorant and carefully segregated populace, no matter how heavily armed, can still be destroyed by lies and misinformation. In this way the whole of the country is turned against one small part. We saw it done by Andrew Jackson with the Trail of Tears, we saw it done by Bill Clinton and Janet Reno in Waco Texas in 1993, and I fear we might see it again soon with the current populist movement to demonize Scientology. That's not to say I agree with a single word of the Scientology movement--I don't--but I suspect we are on the verge of seeing our government, desperate for money, declare their religion null-and-void and confiscate their assets in a bid to shore up an economy weakened by bad economic policies (on BOTH sides of the aisle) for the past 90 years.

I wonder, has that ever been tried before?

And yet, these other rights I spoke of are ethereal--they must be derived. To paraphrase Cooper: In many cases these rights can be secured by good men with rifles.

In short, I own a gun because I believe it is the most vital possession of every good man who is capable of firing one in the defense of his family, his home, his country, and his liberty.

And on those grounds I say that yes, President-Elect Obama, I do cling to my guns and religion, every ounce as fervently as I cling to my intellect and my obligation to the civic good.

And so I hope that you will remember that you are my president too.

As an aside, the photograph included with this post is of a silhouette target from my last trip to the range. It shows the five head shots in a 15 round mag, emptied in 15 seconds, at 20 feet. These are the other ten.

I'm voting for Bob Barr after all.

2008-11-03T21:05:00.003-05:00

One of those advantages of having a blog that people read simply out of morbid fascination with my latest misadventure, is that I get to tell them things they don't care about.

So, despite the fact that I firmly believe you should all make up your own minds, and vote for the candidate that you feel best aligns with your own political values, I'm going to tell you who I'm voting for.

Bob Barr.

I know I publicly bemoaned his nomination as Libertarian party nod a few weeks ago, but I've done some research and while I don't feel he's the best choice for the party, I do realize he is a better choice than I at first suspected.

In particular, his strong denunciation of the Waco clusterfuck and losses to civil liberties even while serving as a republican shill for the war on drugs gives me hope that he has more principles than I had at first noticed. It gives me the hope that perhaps he really felt the war on drugs was a just thing, until he saw the two decades of failure that followed. I'm not saying he's not a career politician and at least 1/3rd snake--he is--I'm just saying that I feel that the remaining 2/3rds might be vaguely principled human after all. And I'm going to vote with that hope in mind.

To all of you out there in radioland--go vote tomorrow, motherfuckers, or, in the immortal words of Riley Freeman, "I'll piss on yo' cat!"

You'll win at Home Furnishing!

2008-10-20T21:24:00.003-04:00

So now that I have acquired my last item of furniture (a mattress for the new futon frame) I have officially won at home furnishing.

I can currently host 9 overnight guests before I need to start having people sleep on the floor, I have seating for 7 in my living room, a TV room with seating for 4 and enough floor pillows to scale that number to 8 (I keep about 20 pillows of various sizes in the TV/Sun room at all times).

I have a dining room table that seats 6 currently, and can scale to 10 if needed. I have 2 porches, one with patio seating for five and another with seating for 9, six around a table. Now I just need to finish unpacking, put things away in the back bedroom, and get cracking on the middle bedroom (the so called Versailles room), and fix my master bedroom sink, of course.

It's been a busy six weeks, but I love my new home a lot.

Hopefully each of you will get the chance to fall in love with it yourselves soon. Keep an eye out for upcoming parties and events (Nightmare Before Christmas Halloween Party 25th of October, Quantum of Solace party the 14th of Nov, Christmas meet-and-greet/housewarming/lessons and carols party the 6th of December).

To add context to the title, you should probably see this youtube video. Powerthirst will change your life forever (400 babies will do that to a person).

Currently listening:
I Saw The Bright Shinies by The Octopus Project

Yard Sale. . . Mexican Standoff?

2008-10-11T13:18:00.006-04:00

So I went hunting for furniture today.

I did this by using Google Maps (which is AWESOME, by the way) to create a map of middle Georgia Yard Sale listings and hit up almost a dozen in one morning.

I'm not sure if that was a good choice.

I'll let you see for yourself. On the left is the list of items I went looking for. On the right is the set of items I bought.

A patio table
Dining room chairs
Floor cushions
Living room furniture (side tables, chairs, sofa/loveseat/futon)

A rattan patio loveseat/chair/footstool set
A humidifier
A small knife
A poker case with chips and cards
A Fondue pot¹
A glass jar
three CDs, including Harry Connick Jr.'s classic "Red Light, Blue Light"
A foldable felt poker/blackjack table top.

After this. . . fight to a draw (I guess that's what you'd call it?) I threw up my hands and, already halfway there due to the route I had taken, drove to Forsyth. There I bought.

a patio table
A desk to serve as console table for my mudroom
12 floor pillows

Total damage for the day: 108.77.

1. Seriously? It was three dollars. I couldn't afford NOT to buy it.

Lessons learned.

2008-10-06T22:07:00.004-04:00

I own a house now.

So here are some statements about the joys of homeownership.

1) I own an entire KITCHEN. This is the single most awesome possession I own.

2) I come home to a house that is unquestionably empty. This is amazing and comforting and wonderful.

3) I'm still not unpacked. This is disheartening.

4) One of the 6 hearths in my house doesn't seal correctly, which, if I were a more paranoid person, might lead me to lie awake in bed at night and wait for a brave squirrel to break into my house and jump on my face while I sleep. No, I don't carefully lock myself into my bedroom each night before bed, why do you ask?

5) All expenses are mine to bear alone. I have mixed feelings about this.

6) I have an entire room dedicated to the display, storage, and consumption of liquor. This is wicked awesome.

7) My fridge is bigger than I should ever need, and if I ever fill it while living alone I'm not living right.

8) I need a blender.

9) OMGoodness Toaster Oven! Yay!

10) I made my own screen to put in my bedroom window yesterday. This made me feel handy.

11) My dryer is possessed by a demon.

I do not say this lightly.

For one, whenever I run the first cycle of a laundry day, a noise emanates from it. This noise is difficult to emulate textually but I'll try. "EeeeeEEEEeeeee. . . eeeEEEEeeeEEEEE. . . .eeeEEEEEeeeee. . . " It sounds like a bad low volume recording of half a dozen souls being fed slowly into some sort of ethereal shredder.

Secondly. . . my dryer has a turny-button* labeled "signal". If this button is turned to "signal" it should make a noise when the dryer cycle finishes. This button is mislabeled. Foghorn would be closer to an appropriate except that Foghorns aren't as loud as this fucker. Maybe

ALARM

would work.

Our neighbors know when my laundry is done. And I live alone, so when I say our neighbors, I mean us as a country. MEXICO AND CANADA know when my shirts are dry. If you were outside yesterday and heard something that sounded like a cross between the "wrong!" buzzer from an old Nickelodeon game show and a tornado siren, that was just my dryer.

Seriously, there is ONE ROOM in my entire house from which the noise is only startling as opposed to shit-yourself-then-hide-in-a-closet terrifying, and that's my Sunroom on the complete other end of the house.

12) Lowe's and Home Depot are going to wind up with the deed to my firstborn if I'm not careful.

13) I like being a homeowner.

That is all.

*and as we know. All Turny-buttons lie. Thanks Eddie.

None of the Above.

2008-10-04T22:03:00.005-04:00

I briefly considered sending it to the editor of the local events paper as a submission for an editorial, but I decided against it. Unlike the entire population of Macon however, you, dear reader, will not be spared. -ed

I once saw an old Richard Pryor flick called Brewster's Millions. In it the main character, in a desperate bid to spend 30 million dollars in 30 days (it's complicated) runs a political campaign AGAINST all of the current candidates for Mayor of New York City. He uses a massive advertising budget to encourage write-ins for "None of the Above."

Facing one of the most disappointing elections of my life, I am tempted to do just that.

Over the past 16 years of White House action we've had perjury, extortion, philandering and war mongering. We've had horribly negative smear campaigns, we've had dishonesty and corruption.

In 8 years under Clinton it seemed we had a president more interested in pussy than politics. His most memorable contributions to America seem to be an endorsement for jogging to McDonald's (great message for America's fat-ass youth there Bill!) and encouraging everyone to buy their own home (how'd that work out for us?).

But in 8 years under Bush, things got worse. Our "common man" turned out to have an unfortunate obsession with keeping rich people rich, and in starting un-winnable wars against ideas instead of concrete enemies. A world that once perceived us as philandering and consumer-goods-obsessed now sees us as paranoid, violent, and petulant on the global stage. We've squandered money, destroyed civil liberties, and ignored the coming financial and ecological crisis until everything is stressed to the breaking point.

We had a Senate congratulate themselves on "saving the country from a financial crisis" (by wasting 850 billion of our tax dollars) but they wouldn't even come back from a non-federal holiday to vote on the issue early!

And we're probably going to re-elect some of those fuckers!

But the real crisis of re-election is our current (non)-choice. McCain can't remember how many houses he owns, and the 10% down payment on Obama's current residence is the entire value of my house. Obama thinks trapping children in school desks for an additional month out of the year will help them out, and McCain thinks that he helped save the economy by getting Republicans to pass one of the most frivolous bills in the history of American politics. I've read Obama's book, and I found his statements on the Democratic Convention important and depressing: he feels he's sold us out in order to reach his current level of success. Meanwhile McCain wouldn't recognize a working class stiff like me if I bit him on the leg.

And yet, because we've been trained by mud slinging campaigns over the past 100 years to always vote against the guy we hate and fear, the majority of America is only going to vote for one of these two people, even though we've all learned enough about them to realize that neither of them are ideal candidates for the job!

I say we vote against either of them. Vote for your favorite third pary candidate. Vote for a dead person. Vote for Senator Palpatine [(R) Naboo].

I believe in personal freedom, government accountability, and legalized marijuana. On most years that would mean I'd be voting for the libertarian candidate. But this time around, the Libs have stolent a page from Obama's playbook on choosing a vice president and used it as their guiding light. The recipe is this: Dig up the creepiest Capitol Hill sleazebag you can find and prop him up with a painted-on smile and a promise to help save the country. Seriously, fellas, Bob "lifetime politician and onetime front man for the war on drugs" Barr? I'd rather vote for Timothy Leary--and he's dead! And Crazy!

So good luck making up your minds at the poles this year everybody. The choice between the sellout and the clone is a tough one. I'm probably writing in "None of the Above."

HOUSE GET!!!

2008-09-12T11:17:00.002-04:00

As promised, here is the public service announcement.

Serious moving takes place tomorrow starting at 10AM. This is serious business.

Also, there will be PARTIES! Two of them. A straight laced party and a somewhat more punk/indie/alternative party. Word on each will be posted in the coming weeks.

- Patrick, the newly minted homeowner.

RAWK, and away!

7 Days and Counting.

2008-09-06T22:40:00.004-04:00

In America, through pressure of conformity, there is freedom of choice, but nothing to choose from.
- Peter Ustinov

I went out to dinner tonight, to catch up with an old friend who waits tables at a posh Seafood place in North Macon. You know the one.

I chose my clothes with only minimal thought. All black. Combat boots and battle dress uniform pants, a T-shirt with a block print slogan slammed across it (WHEN I WANT YOUR OPINION I'LL BEAT IT OUT OF YOU). I was not going out to make any good impressions.

I ate alone, chatting with my friend whenever her busy evening (an 18 top at three pushed-together tables near my own quiet booth) would let her stop by. We shared stories of our lives over the months that have passed since we saw each other last. I told her about the house. She told me about the new boyfriend. I teased her about being off the market. She teased me about being on the same. It was pleasant enough. We've missed one another, in the way old friends do, but we've both been busy. Perhaps later, in the fall, we'll finally catch up the way we should.

She told me about the fellow waitress that had been 'checking me out' (a term from the current vernacular that I find somewhat odd. Am I a library book?) and I invited her to send the girl (who shared her name) over. We chatted amiably enough but the spark wasn't there and I didn't manufacture it. If I see her about Macon perhaps we'll strike up a conversation, she seemed like an interesting girl.

And when I left I bought a few books, then smoked a Vanilla Djarum and walked around the open air mall where her restaurant is located.

The spaces in the mall that are not yet occupied are covered with giant nylon signs. Anything could be printed on them. The mall could have chosen works of brilliant art, or bold statements made by famous men (or both. Guernica, anyone?). Instead, the signs merely depicted life-size representations of completely generic shops. One a men's store, full of timeless suits and devoid of logos of any kind. The next a generic restaurant bar, with people sitting at tables and the lifeless, airy feel that it seems only a modern American restaurant can capture on its worst nights.

I finished Orson Scott Card's Empire today, and while the book is nothing special constrained as it is to be the kickoff to a 'media franchise', the tone that Card sets in the epilogue is worth considering. He speaks of a divided America. Rural and Urban people each feeling the others are fanatics and that their own way of thought is the only true path. Scary stuff.

I mulled over the absence of passion in America and wondered how much longer we'll let our politics get more vicious while our tastes get more mundane.

Can we really survive if things don't change?

11 days and counting.

2008-09-02T21:19:00.003-04:00

My check engine light is on.

All is well.

My roommate is occasionally inconsiderate.

All is well.

My stuff is all over the place and wants packing up.

All is well.

My motorcycle will not start.

All is well.

The roof estimates are late.

All is well.

The appraisal contingency date has been passed, and I'm still sans appraisal.

All is well.

I might have friends that are free to help me move. . . or I might not.

All is well.

I spent a lot of money this weekend.

All is well.

Things with one of my girlfriends are going to get tough at the end of the month.

All is well.

One of my Brothers is losing his mind with the boredom of unemployment. Another is losing his wife to the ignorance and impetuousness of a spoiled youth.

All is well.

The future is unclear.

All is well.

The house is going to cost more than I wanted to pay.

All is well.

There are people moving, dispersing, finding new homes(Korea, Seattle, Washington D.C., Ghana)--most are going far enough away that I cannot see them as often as I'd like.

All is well.

My piano sits unplayed.

All is well.

The language curriculums I want to study remain unstudied.

All is well.

There is too much to clean, too much to fret over, too much to plan, and too much to do.

All is well.

11 Days.

Why you should be using Linux in Five Years.

2008-08-20T17:46:00.003-04:00

So I needed to make a knocked-together sketch today.

Nothing high quality--just a couple of lines and boxes, plus some text, to portray the floor plan of my new house when people ask what the pictures depict.

So I went to pull up Paint.

For the reader that doesn't remember, I converted to Ubuntu last November.

When I need to do real Graphics work, I do it in gimp, but for something like the image that accompanies this post, Paint is a far superior program--faster, less complicated, easier UI for the much smaller number of tasks you'll need to perform.

So I went to open what I figured would be called Gpaint. Or Kaint. Or The Snarf, or whatever crazy name that the linux nerds decided during a 4am kernel rebuild sounded professional, and I didn't have it.

I mean, I didn't have a drawing program at all. I had gimp by default, and I had the office draw package. Both of these are a billion features and a ton of power and capability that are aimed at doing things I wasn't trying to do. It's like deciding to hop in your vehicle to run and get a half a gallon of milk and finding the only vehicles available to you are an M1 ABRAMS tank and an F22. Neither create an optimal milk-run vehicles. Ideally you'd have a Vespa.

And here I was, sans Vespa, and in need.

Now at this point you're probably thinking "waitaminute--didn't you say I should be using Linux? You're telling me it doesn't have simple, easy to use tools. Why would that appeal to me?"

The absence of paint isn't the selling point here.

Let me explain.

Here are the total number of steps I performed to acquire an alternative to Paint.

1) I clicked the Applications button at the top left of my screen.

2) I selected "add/remove. . ."

3) In the search field, I typed "paint"

4) I selected three applications, all with four star ratings, that had descriptions matching my needs, from a list of 13 responses. I had these programs automatically installed by the application manager (I did this by clicking the "apply changes" button).

5) I opened each of them and played around for about five seconds.

6) I closed and uninstalled the two I didn't want (by deselecting them and clicking "apply changes" again).

7) I opened the program I wanted.

Now let's talk about the three things that didn't, at any point, happen.

1) I didn't get up from my chair, interrupting the flow of my current task.
2) I didn't even have to search the internet, making me worry that the file I was downloading might be corrupt, or for an unsupported system, or made by a vendor that installed a 30 day time limit on the program.
3) I didn't pay a dime.

In five years, if you're not using Linux, I would go so far as to say this:

Computing: you're doing it wrong.

House Get?

2008-08-17T21:17:00.003-04:00

Well, attempt four starts in earnest tomorrow.

Keep me in your prayers, boys and girls.

Life seems to ebb and flow in a strange rhythm lately. This weekend has felt like molasses sliding by compared to all the others. I think it's the first time I've had a weekend free of any real plans in months. No wonder I've been edgy.

I'm not angry.

2008-08-13T23:09:00.002-04:00

Which I find remarkable.

Not even a little bit. I'm not offended, I'm not even really that surprised.

I am a little confused about things I've learned recently.

I think that inadvertently, one friend proved another friend right: my friends are afraid of me.

Either that, or they are all looking out for number one a great deal more viciously than I have been these last few years.

Maybe I should remedy that?

But I don't really want to bare my teeth and threaten to rip the world's throat out any more.

That's how I felt after the last couple of times this happened. . . now I just feel old and tired and past it.

Everyone seems so desperate to maintain the moral high ground. Why is that? When did post-dating our objections make them somehow justifications for our misbehaviour?

It's a mystery I can afford to ignore. I can afford to let things drift in a way I couldn't before.

I have to make a decision in the next two weeks. . . see the house issue resolved, or sell all my belongings and walk out of the world.

Am I ready for a leap as giant as that just yet? I would like to plant a few seeds here before I go--a grove of comfort and a harbour from the storm would be welcome assets in my later life, but maybe I'm meant to stay adrift?

If so, I certainly bought way too much stuff during this past couple of years.

Ah well, perhaps it is time for a garage sale of sorts?

Facebook Hamlet: Not Really An Update.

2008-08-12T18:01:00.001-04:00

Hi everyone.

Sorry this isn't a real update, life is busy and in a few minutes I drive to Atlanta for a meeting tomorrow--which I found out about at 10 AM today.

Anyway, I'm only logging on to tell you that if you Facebook, this is probably something you'll enjoy.

Yeah, well I didn't want to be eaten anyway! pbbbt.

2008-07-30T18:16:00.001-04:00

strike three.

Famous Blue Raincoat.

2008-07-22T21:21:00.004-04:00

Once at the dawn of an age, a boy looked into the first rays of the dawning of the sun with hope and the open eyes of youth. Everything seemed new, and he was unafraid.

Now at the sunset of youth, that boy looks backwards with longing and forwards with trepidation. He has found the limits of his good fortune and lady luck has kissed him each and every time, good and bad alike. He is an outlier--a statistical anomaly to whom the infinitely improbable happens every day.

His world seems spun entirely out of the gossamer impossibilities that never happen to other people. Sometimes these charms are the luckiest blessings of his life, other times they are his worst curses.

He has learned that he will always be different, and with this he has become comfortable.

Now as the gathering night of adulthood coalesces around him like a shadow borne on the wings of demons, he must find a way to make his unique improbabilities something more than an excuse to feel victimized.

Now, years after all outward measures have long been displayed with a seeming effortless assumption that they were always to be, he must become a man within the claustrophobic confines of his own head.

Good news!

2008-06-22T13:27:00.002-04:00

No, I don't have a house, that would be great news.

But. . . we are getting a Fresh Market.

YAY!

House Get?

2008-06-20T20:33:00.002-04:00

About a dozen times a day now I think to myself that I want a house, and to be done searching. In my mind it will somehow validate the last six months of my existence and prove I'm not a monumental failure if I can just find the right house with the right features at the right price in the right place*.

House get?

*I realize this line of reasoning is horribly flawed, but I still know the house is a wise investment and I still plan to buy one, so I'm clinging to it for motivation.

I learned a definition today.

2008-06-12T17:55:00.002-04:00

For the term "having the rug pulled out from under you."

I mean, I had knowledge of the implication.

But now I know the meaning.

Sometime this afternoon, I found myself standing the perfect house for my needs. Reasonable cost, ideal location, great setup, very little work to do before I could move in, and a shop space and apartment below that I could rent out, in the bargain.

Sometime this afternoon, probably while I was standing in the house, it was removed from the MLS list pending sale.

So, here we go. Again.

Buying a house is a bit like feeding yourself to a lion.

2008-06-07T18:08:00.004-04:00

A large part of you wonders "why am I trying to do this?"

And another part of you wonders "why, if I'm so tasty, is the lion so very, very recalcitrant to eat me? Am I not succulent enough? Am I not properly seasoned?"

This house thing has been one long adventure. Mostly because I was gone for three weeks after signing an agreement on the first house, which made things a little chaotic when I got back and had to get an appraisal and inspection completed in 3 days (eek!) and in this manner discovered that the house has serious problems (I knew that) and I can't use a regular mortgage to buy it (I didn't know that) and it's net worth right now is about the same as a Japanese mid-size luxury automobile with all the extras (I knew it would be bad; I didn't know it would be that bad).

One terminated contract later, we're back near square one. I've sent the seller an entirely new (and considerably reduced in price) offer, which he's "running some numbers" on now, and I expect to see a counter offer made of fail on my desk sometime Monday afternoon.

So I'm creating a new list of properties to view, and will start looking around again next week (sigh). With luck, I hope to be closing sometime before mid-July, which would put me out of this place completely by July 31. We'll see.

Driftwalking.

2008-05-07T11:24:00.002-04:00

Back in Fairfield.

Thinking about life and unwritten things.

I've got a couple of entries that I've been intending to post here for some time. But even though I'm trapped in a hotel room waiting on an overnight package to arrive with nothing to do until it gets here, I'm not in a writing mood of any kind.

It's strange to admit that my priorities have changed. There was a time when I really wanted a readership here. There was also a time when I was a better writer than I am now--my ability with words is dwindling.

Part of me wants to start writing daily again here because of the restorative effects it will have on my writing skills. Another part of me knows I have other work to do. Assuming things go well over the next month, I'll have a house to renovate, an instrument (piano) and a language (French) to which I must return, and a motorcycle to repair.

I have begun to notice how vituperative my conversation has become. This element in my communication is now almost constant, and it seems remarkable to me that I haven't identified and curbed the habit long before now.

I think I've been laboring under the mistaken notion that just because I'm being critical, I must also be brutal, and that is an avenue of thought I must redirect.

My mind wanders, and the world spins again.

On the Road Again.

2008-05-04T13:50:00.003-04:00

Saturday morning. Wake.

Shower. Breakfast. Pack. Check out. Drive. Unpack. Install Ubuntu. Do Laundry. Read for a Friend's Film Project. Dinner. Drive. Iron Man. Drive. Sleep. Wake. Eat cake. Drive. Fiddle with Ubuntu. Pack. Call Hotel about missing phone charger. Eat Crow. Shower. Shave. Buy phone charger. Deposit Tax Rebate. Drive. Dinner. Drive. Check Luggage. Fly. Do BSF Notes. Land. Pick up Rental Car. Drive. Check In. Sleep. Wake. Fax offer for house to real estate agent. Drive. Work. Drive. Attend BSF. Drive. Sleep. Wake. Drive. Work. Drive.

Tuesday evening: Rest?

Why I listen to college radio.

2008-04-26T12:46:00.003-04:00

I listen because every once in a while, in the middle of a set of great works by the masters of early recorded blues, you'll hear something random pop up. In this case it was John D. Loudermilk.

At first, I mistook the song for an earlier, more primitive, 60s era version of that saccharine 'can I buy these shoes' love-song-to-commercialism that makes me nearly physically sick to hear.

However, after a moment of listening you start to unwind the lyrics and realize it's a song about the morbidity of nuclear winter, and the effect it will have on our nation's youth.

Needless to say, I love it.

My little boy with smiling face and dancing eyes
Came bobbing down the steps on Christmas morn
And as he gaily opened up his Santa Claus
I wished that darling child had ne'er been born

Outside the window lay the deadly fallen snow
And on my lap the morning headlines lay
As we tried to find the hoof prints Rudolph left
It was all that I could do to say

"No playing in the snow today, son
No snow ice cream at all today
No snowman makin', no sledding or no skating
Oh, no, no playing in the snow today"

He looked up at me with the tear in each blue eye
And when he asked me why, I nearly died
I said, "Some things are hard to explain"
Then I picked him up and kissed his little eyes

And somewhere 'way off in a tower cold and grey
Power hungry men insanely play
In satanic style, and laughter while
ten million parents sadly say:

"No playing in the snow today..."

Quick!

2008-04-14T08:31:00.002-04:00

I didn't intend to post this morning. I still have to unpack for the week of test review, I have equipment to set up and preparations to make.

But I checked my internet this morning (I do this the way my father reads the newspape--thoroughly but only for the sections that interest me) and everything was normal.

Until two minutes ago, when I read the facebook profile of a new friend--California.

She has an application called "ten second interview" in her sidebar, which just asks you goofy little questions and you quickly type in short responses.

I find such information intriguing and often it endears me to a person by letting me imagine that in using my intuition I'm learning more about them than other people know, but it rarely has any effect on my mindset as I read. Today though, my heart stuck high in my throat when I read this one.

Quick! Make up a new name for a country:
Home

When that is the thought at the forefront of your mind, every moment, every day, what is life like? When you can almost taste that need--so that it seems to leap to the page with a clatter of clicking keys as soon as your eye has lit upon the end of the sentence, how do you focus on anything else?

I don't know, but I'm going to ask her, next chance I get.

A Softer World

2008-03-25T17:49:00.002-04:00

There is an essay coming up about Christianity, but I don't have the time and effort to build it now.

Today I stumbled across something heart wrenching and amazing and funny. It's comic that isn't a comic. I don't know what to call it. Insightful? Bittersweet? Dadaist? Clever? Acidic? Gutwrenching?

It's a lot of things. It's A Softer World.

Go there, and think.

Pass me the Puppy, we have to test this bleach

2008-03-17T21:37:00.003-04:00

Title is from a question on my new Crack, the insidious OkCupid.

A friend of mine introduced me to it, because she is a math geek, and the math involved in OkCupid is admittedly, pretty awesome. Now this girl is a bird watcher, which basically means she takes a lot of life lessons from creatures with central nervous systems smaller than their eyeballs, but I've been ignoring the warning signs of a diseased mind (my own and hers) for years, so this seemed as harmless an activity as any of the others we've shared over the past 7.5 years we've known each other.

What wasn't immediately apparent to me is that it's as addictive as heroin. It's basically WoW where your "character" is YOU and you gain XP by answering questions and tests and can level up--that is, improve the 'completeness' of your profile and the accuracy with which you can be matched to others.

It's insanely fun, and I'm not even actively looking for people to date right now, which means the entire system is essentially frivolous. Listen to me: I'm attempting to become better matched to people about whom I don't care.

Now if you'll excuse me, if I answer another 94 questions my profile will be 82% complete!

Communication breakdown?

2008-03-04T21:46:00.000-05:00

I remember almost everything she's ever written, and almost nothing that she's said.

Is that a commentary on my memory, or her communication style?

Does it matter?

Women in Art.

2008-03-01T13:43:00.000-05:00

This should not be missed.

That is all.

The Girl and the Loom.

2008-02-19T23:29:00.003-05:00

The light pours down on her from above,

The loom tightens a cord and flexes his fingers, picking out the tune. The notes become threads of sound, the resonance of his voice becomes the framework.

Simple man, simple notes. Simple loom, simple threads.

Her voice is the shuttle, and it weaves a fine dance between the threads that the loom plays. And the end of the chorus comes, their voices tight together, pushing back the edges of the sound.

A satisfying gathering as the reeds push things tight, a new verse.

Another pick, another strum, another word, another cry,

The pattern builds and winds, the blanket takes shape, a world of understanding appearing beneath skilled tongues, skilled hands.

She sings a warmth and comfort from disconnected strands. A construction of the soul takes place, even through the saddest songs.

He plays the notes, he strums and picks, the threads are strong, her voice held fast in the net he has created for her, and her voice giving reason to his threading fingers.

The picking slows, the voice tapers away to a whisper, then to nothing.

The blanket is finished, you wrap it warm around your heart, elation in times of darkness, a comfort in times of joy.

Another song is begun, another blanket woven.

Take one off the loom.

Wrap it round your heart.

I love my friends.

2008-02-18T21:35:00.004-05:00

As a reaction to my last couple of outbursts here, a few of my real life friends have written me to express concern and say they are willing to help if need be. I appreciate this, and it's been nice to see them do it in a way that's low key and relaxed, without digging for details or trying to get information on drama they don't need to know the down-and-dirty about.

By far, however, the best response I've gotten so far came from a close friend. It made me smile, and it seemed so perfect I had to transcribe it and post it here.

"Hey man it's [Chaplain Blue], uh, I scanned your web log and I had some cause for concern.

Your first post was kinda angry and I got that, and the second post was a lot more angry, it seemed like, and a lot more out there.

And. . .I don't really need a why or a how or a story or a 'he-said-she-said', just let me know I'm not gonna see your ass on CNN.com or the ten o'clock news and I'll be ok.

Hope whatever it is that's stressing you out gets taken care of and you can go back to being normal.

Otherwise I guess I'll talk to you later, bye."

Anyway, it brightened my evening and I thought y'all would enjoy it.

For those of you that are wondering if I've started taking Soma--I haven't. As you may recall, I'm an introvert, and I haven't really gotten time alone since before Christmas. It's no wonder I was bordering on homicidal earlier. So my current upswing in temperament is the result of a recently completed 30 hour holiday from people of all types, and I'm feeling about a million times better. Now my happy, introvert ass is going to get some writing done, and then get to sleep. Tomorrow is a whole new day.

Third Time's a Charm.

2008-02-17T22:35:00.003-05:00

Burned once, shame on her.

Burned twice, shame on him and me.

The next one, I'm gonna fuckin' crucify.

Watch your step, world.

Don't push me 'cuz I'm close to the edge
I'm trying not to lose my head

Grow up.

2008-02-16T18:02:00.004-05:00

For those of you that like to lay on the guilt that I don't call and give updates: you can shove it. My new phone has a very interesting set of timers built in.

In the past three weeks I've received 55 calls, for a total of one hour, 59 minutes and 41 seconds of talk time. I've dialed 190 calls, for a total of seven hours, 16 minutes and 57 seconds of talk time. At the end of the day, I am keeping in touch with all of you. It's you lot who are failing to keep up your end.

So let us set some ground rules, shall we?

1) It is not my job to keep in touch with you.

2) It is not my job to convey my schedule to you on a daily basis.

3) It is not my job to call you every week and tell you how my life is going. You want to know how I'm doing? Amazing true fact: The phone from which I call you occasionally also receives calls. Or you could e-mail me! Considering all of you know I hate the phone, maybe that would be a more polite solution?

4) My schedule is busier than yours. This truth is universal. I don't give a flying fuck if you're the pope and work 16 hour days, you still have more free time than me. Want that to change? Work your current job, adopt a half a dozen twenty-somethings who desperately need to be babied through into a level of maturity and self-motivated behaviour that you reached a decade ago, and take on a play that eats up another 20 hours of you week. Then sacrifice the mental stability of living alone, the calm of a quiet afternoon without calls and the ability to get anything accomplished without feeling like you're probably not paying *someone* enough attention, and you're getting close to the content of my life.

5) No-one gets a phone call from me for the remainder of this month. I've already stopped cooking food and cleaning house. If you miss the current Theatre Macon production I'm involved in as a result, it's your own gorram fault, because I told everyone about it a month ago.

I just don't have time for you. Learn to live with this fact, or take time out of your busy schedule to contact me.

If you call me, be concise, ask pointed questions, and expect the answer to be terse.

Thank you, Samuel Clemens

2008-02-10T07:08:00.001-05:00

"There are lies, there are damned lies, and there are statistics."

Those numbers are really interesting, and support what I've been saying for the last two weeks. One thing I wasn't expecting from that analysis though -- Obama has an edge over Clinton vs. McCain. . . even when you look at only white voters.

I've decided who Clinton reminds me of, too. Nurse Ratchet, from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. She represents institutionalization at it's most fundamental, anti-American level.

Adorable.

2008-02-03T10:16:00.000-05:00

This is a really sweet instructables, apparently put together by a couple of sickeningly in-love mild exhibitionists.

Enjoy the cute/quirkiness.

Farewell.

2008-01-30T23:43:00.000-05:00

"Pretty women
What we do for pretty women. . .

Blowing out their candles or
(Blowing out their candles, oh!)
Combing out their hair,
(Combing out their hair, and they-)
Even when they leave. . .
(Even when they leave you and vanish)
They still are there.
(They somehow can still remain there)
They're there. . ."

Goodbye Amy. I'll miss you.

lyrics from Sweeney Todd:The Demon Barber of Fleet Street - Pretty Women

Heart of Gold

2008-01-29T18:18:00.000-05:00

I drift from place to place sometimes. Looking for the reasoning that binds my sometimes fragile outlook on life together.

I came here by education, insight, and desire. I stay here by force of will and simple dedication to a few beautiful concepts, but there are some days when the gray clouds roll over my head and the music simmers in the speakers and all I can think is "what if I'm wrong?"

". . .love is also the world's one truly beautiful thing; abandoning it in fear is the worst one could do--worse even perhaps than death."

When I was younger, I loved with my whole heart, and when I stopped, I taught myself to guard my whole heart.

I believe in love, and I believe I do love, but not as I once did. I do not think now that I ever want to love that way again.

But sometimes.

"Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention?"

Sometimes I see shimmering reflections of her. Moments in time or elements of behaviour that are tied entirely to the way she thought and spoke and wrote.

And in those moments sometimes it feels as if my whole heart strains and swells to bursting, pushing against the confining armour I've built around it.

Sometimes.

But at the end of the day I don't want her back, and I don't want a replacement for her. I want my life to continue in the manner that it should, and that manner is free of the kind of love that I see in the eyes of others for each other.

"I ain't her."

"Only people in this room is you and me."

Sometimes.

quotes from: self-private communication, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Firefly-Heart of Gold.

Winter setting in.

2008-01-22T18:48:00.000-05:00

Whenever I think of the joys of life, I think of winter setting in--cold gray days and simple sayings truncated by the brevity that the chill forces on us. We shrink inside ourselves skirting a reality too oppressive to ignore--and I thrive in every day of it, hating the open gaiety of summer and cherishing the frost.

I will write something of substance. I do not know when.

Performing a Civic Duty

2008-01-19T10:09:00.000-05:00

This morning, I performed one of my basic duties as a citizen.

I wrote a letter to my governor.

Here it is. I hope it inspires you to contact your own officials and make your voice heard.

And if you don't know about Real ID yet, I encourage you to do a little research. I expect you'll be just as unsettled as I was.

Dear Governor Perdue,

I was happy to see Montana governor Brian Schweitzer speak out against the Real ID rules that the DHS recently passed.

As an employee of the defense department (I work as a civil servant for the Air Force in middle Georgia) I'm accustomed to extensive ID and background checks--when they are appropriate.

The Orwellian regulations that the DHS have created, however, give me chills. They have generated a system that is inefficient, suspect, still subject to failure (and a higher number of false positives--where innocent civilians are detained or inconvenienced in the name of the safety of "the state") and expensive to boot.

The idea of being required to show Federal papers when I want to travel via our network of domestic airports reminds me of Mother Russia's "papers please" mentality before the wall came down and the communist system crumbled. I've spoken out to my friends and family at length about this, and many of them agree with me--we're a nation where freedom--of thought, of speech, and of movement--is essential.

Even if enough federal funding were available to offset the cost to Georgia to put this plan into action, I would still speak out heavily against it--it is dangerous to give too much of our privacy and security away, and the DHS's willingness to use our inconvenience when we travel as a club to browbeat us into submission is a cowardly trick.

I ask as a concerned Georgia citizen: Please join Governor Schweitzer in refusing to put this plan into action or asking for an extension. I believe our freedoms are precious, and the erosion of essential liberty for the illusion of increased security is too terrible a price to pay.

- [Name redacted]

(Of course, I used my real name with the governor).

Holy, Holy, Holy.

2007-12-29T14:40:00.000-05:00

Holy, holy, holy. lord God almighty.
Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee;
There is a sign at the side of thee, merciful and mighty
God in three persons, God in three persons, blessed trinity!

I have a love affair with Scotch.

I drink it socially, sometimes, but my favorite moments with it are very personal experiences--hidden away in between the stresses of the day and the eternal burden of social grace. It is the moments alone that Scotch and I get along best.

I appreciate it for its strength--the almost supersaturated sensation of flavour that it delivers cannot be easily described.

I drink Scotch neat--no water, no ice, no confusion. And I prefer it in wide, simple rocks glasses, rather than the curving brandy snifters that most scotch drinkers use when sampling it in its pure form.

Holy, holy, holy! though the darkness hide thee
Though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see;
Only thou art holy, there is none beside thee
Perfect in power, Perfect in power, in love, and purity

I was speaking with a fellow Scotch enthusiast a few weeks ago, on another side of the country, and he spoke of the danger of inhaling directly from the lip of a brandy snifter because the scent is so strong and carries so much alcohol with it that the fumes alone can overwhelm your senses. He recommended instead that you sniff carefully with your nose six inches from the mouth of the snifter--to experience the flavour in a more controlled manner.

I realized this is why I prefer rocks glasses. I want my experience to be close, familiar, not formal or reserved. I cradle the glass in both hands and bring my face directly up to the glass, and the wider mouth allows the scent to flow past me without danger.

Holy, holy, holy! lord God almighty!
All thy works shall praise thy name,
In earth, and sky, and sea;
There is a sign at the sight of thee, there is none beside thee
God in three persons, God in three persons,
God in three persons, God in three persons, blessed trinity!

I am not a simple man. For the past five years I have tended towards wanderlust. I have been a gypsy in each place I have lived and I have savoured the melancholy moments and often resented the joyful ones.

I have moved through my life like a wraith, real and present only in certain types of experience--distant or reserved in others. This is something I want to change.

Oh my friends I've
Begun to worry right
Where I should be grateful
I should be satisfied

Oh my heart I
Would clap and dance in place
With my friends I have so
Much pleasure to embrace

But my heart is
Returned to sister winter
But my heart is
As cold as ice

I'm only learning now, in the winter of my youth, that there is a time for laughter. That there is a time for love, I've always known, but now things are changing again.

Oh my thoughts I
Return to summertime
When I kissed your ankle
I kissed you through the night

All my gifts I gave everything you
Your strange imagination
You threw it all away

Now I'm wondering about the possibility that perhaps along with learning joy will come another lesson--stillness.

Now my heart is
Returned to sister winter
Now my heart is
As cold as ice

I have a balcony. The railing is gray and simple--a mechanism to keep one from falling to the marble steps below. I was sitting today with a cigarette and a glass of Scotch and staring at the rail and I noticed that each supporting pillar was turned on a lathe--by hand. They are not identical, each one has it's own special curve, some thinner, some thick, some rough and some smooth. They were created on at a time, by the hand of a man who is, I'm sure, long gone.

All my friends, I've
Returned to sister winter
All my friends, I
Apologize, apologize

I would never have noticed this variation if I were always in motion--it is an observation that can be made only in stillness.

All my friends, I've
Returned to sister winter
All my friends, I
Apologize, apologize

How many more lessons and thoughts would I miss if I spent the rest of my life on the move, on the run--always more interested in where else I could be than where I am right now?

All my friends, I've
Returned to sister winter
All my friends, I
Apologize, apologize

I'm here to apologize to each of you, my friends, whom I'm treated as my temporary environment rather than my present, and have denied the fullness of my attention.

La la la la la . . .

And my friends, I've
Returned to wish you all the best
And my friends, I've
Returned to wish you all the best
And my friends, I've
Returned to wish you all the best
And my friends, I've
Returned to wish you a happy Christmas

I know that I cannot start over, but I will try to begin again.

To wish you a happy Christmas
To wish you a happy Christmas
To wish you a happy Christmas

I hope you understand, and I hope that each of you see a change in me.

Merry Christmas.

Lyrics from Holy Holy Etc. and Sister Winter, by Sufjan Stevens.

I'm considering a couple of new titles.

2007-12-27T00:39:00.000-05:00

It's hard to decide between "the trouble with gilding a palace is that it soon becomes a cage."

and "To be perfectly honest she doesn't like me."

I saw The Graduate and Marie Antionette today--but you had probably guessed that by now.

Merry Christmas!

David Byrne.

2007-12-19T08:28:00.001-05:00

This is what I'm on about.

Rapture, Phase 1.

2007-11-24T16:02:00.000-05:00

Well, she's up and running. She's whisper quiet, the speakers sound great, and Ubuntu is my new playground (and I love it).

In a few short weeks I'll be back to finish the display and interface buttons, then she'll be coming to Macon.

Rapture: look forward to it.

side note: this was post number 555.
For those of you that don't know, 555 is important for two reasons.
1) 555 is the nonexistent area-code/first-three that is used in entertainment to created "nonexistent" telephone numbers so that people won't call numbers used in movies/tv, etc.
2) 555 was the number designation of the 555 timer, one of the most important computer chips to the simple electronics hobbyist.

Soon and Very Soon.

2007-11-22T20:52:00.000-05:00

. . .

Athlon X2 5200+

. . .

2gig DDR 800

. . .

ASUS EN7600 GS Silent (512)

. . .

Ubuntu 7.10 And WinXP pro

. . .

Philco 1941 Radio Case

. . .

160 gig SATA 3gb/s

. . .

Boss Audio CH150 Amplifier

. . .

Pioneer TS-A687R1 6x8s

. . .

Rapture is coming.

Tomorrow.

Now that's tasty.

2007-11-18T09:13:00.000-05:00

Every once in a while, like when you have your primary PC sitting on your dining room table with a cat-5e connecting you directly to your router at 9:15 on a Sunday morning, you get download speeds that are just. . . unreasonable.

I call this one of those times. [grin].

Well, somebody needed to say it.

2007-11-07T21:43:00.000-05:00

Remember how I talked recently about Lore Sjoberg?

Yeah, well, he pointed out something interesting recently.

Heh.

Real Update.

2007-11-04T01:44:00.000-04:00

Sometime soon.

In the meantime. . . I was just sitting here, realizing that I'm supposed to change my clocks over. . .when I realized--my watch battery is dead.

That means that I don't have anything to change. This is the first year that the time change has absolutely no effect on me, whatsoever. My phone, which serves as my normal timepiece when I'm not at my computer, will update itself, and of course my computer has been on-board with this concept for a decade.

The process of the government fucking with me--both with my sleeping habits and with my personal schedule, is now completely automated--I'm not even involved in it anymore, I'm barely complicit, just a bystander.

That's. . .odd.

An Army Wife's Life

2007-10-29T19:50:00.000-04:00

I think there are few acts of love more challenging than marrying an army officer. My Grandfather was career military, and they are difficult to live with and difficult to live without.

The challenge is that the wife of an officer doesn't just marry him, she marries the Army--with all its blessings and faults, all its joys (base life is still often like a throwback to 1950's mid-America, with safe streets and beautiful parks) and all its quiet agonies ("what's that? You're enjoying life in Georgia? Too bad! Say hello to Germany!").

So I must say I am very proud of a dear friend of mine for choosing to marry the love of her life, knowing full well that she was signing up for a harder road than most women ever dream of when they say "I do." Mal is a fierce friend, a talented writer, a gifted interior decorator, a skilled cook and a brilliant photographer. In short, Mac is a very lucky man--she's a woman of substance and character, she's 1600 miles away, with him, and I miss her.

I'm not alone--my friends miss her too. We sent them with as much love and joy as we could pack into twenty CDs and a myriad of stories, memories, and smiles, but we still miss them. Thankfully Mal updates her blog. It is currently titled "An Army Wife's Life: trying to stay sane while adjusting" but I like its longer standing title--a title which I'm sure will be returned to, as life settles down and time rolls on--A Life of Blessings.

May your life be blessed with love, devotion, and adventure--as Mal's life is blessed--and may you enjoy reading her writing as much as I do.

(and Mal--if you're reading this, you might have found this already, but I just ran across this link to "Army Wife Talk Radio" and it actually sounds kindof cool. I hope you're doing well, and I hope you pick up the phone in about 90 seconds.)

Why do I never have trouble sleeping?

2007-10-25T14:29:00.001-04:00

Not as a result of trouble, ever.

About once every season I'll have a night of complete insomnia, where, for no reason, I'll stay up until between 3 and 4 AM. It has happened for years, but never seems related to anything in particular. It's never the result of caffeine, stress, or an especially busy day--in fact it seems that the only consistent factor of the day that precedes it is that the day is very normal.

Aside from that night however, I never really have trouble sleeping. If I'm up around 6 (as my work day schedule demands) I'll comfortably drop off around 10. It doesn't matter if I've just insulted my boss, lost a valuable document, had my wallet stolen, argued with one of my girls or inadvertently run over the world's cutest chipmunk on the way home. It doesn't matter if my actions have been vicious or kind, simple or complicated. I sleep the sleep of an innocent baby when I'm ready.

And the next morning I wake up refreshed, usually from a sleep that is more dreamless the meaner I've been the previous day.

Should that worry me?

Thank you Lore.

2007-10-24T07:45:00.000-04:00

I don't know if any of you read the writings (okay, occasionally they're ramblings, ravings, or rantings) of Lore Sjöberg.

He writes Alt-Text for Wired magazine, among other things.

I was especially charmed by this week's Resting in Pieces: An Alternate-Universe Obituary.

It made something clear to me: It isn't just that I'm bothered at the squander of opportunity in my life. It is that I know that it is completely within my grasp to change it--that somewhere out there, if the alternate universe theory holds, there is a version of me who didn't waste that moment, thought or opportunity.

And that bothers me! I want to be the most interesting version of myself available in any universe.

Wake Up!

2007-10-21T10:54:00.001-04:00

As those of you who follow along at home know, I have been sick all week with some tonsil-related malady that has made me grumpy, tired, unable to swallow without pain, inadventently prone to aquire pie, etc.

I awoke this morning feeling considerably refreshed on all fronts. On inspection my tonsils only look a tiny bit better, but they feel much better when I swallow. In addition, I took my temperature this morning and it was 97.8. Apparently my body is trying to apologize for all that time spent at 100+.

So I sprang out of bed and got breakfast together! Doesn't it just look swell?

For you New York Veterans (and those who know us) the scary looking substance on the cereal is Naked:Rainforest Acai! Yes, you can get Naked in Macon--even while you're sick. And for those of you who hate pills--try not to think about swallowing that many when your tonsils are still almost the size of ping-pong balls--it sucks.

Hope you all are having as good a Sunday as I am. Unfortunately I've got a week's metric-shitload of work to do (that's 2.2 Imperial Shitloads!), so I think the rest of my Sunday is going to be pretty full.

But I hope to be done by early evening. Who is up for some Firefly?

P.s. That top image is the first thing I saw when I woke up this morning, no lie. I woke up by making the superhero flying gesture. I think that's a good sign.

Convalescing boy--Away!

p.s. I just did some research into Naked Juice, because, um. . .Google. And anyway, it turns out that apparently if you were in one of those really crazy Fraternities where people were encouraged to streak, leer at or moon women, or pee off the side of cruise ships, and you thought it was awesome and wish these days were those days--maybe you should turn in an application!

Obligatory Monty Python: "I feel much better!"

2007-10-19T18:42:00.000-04:00

I've been sick since Monday. I think it was some sort of tonsillitis, as my tonsils were swollen, I ran a fever, and I was tired and sore but there were no other symptoms.

People called to see how I was doing, and that was nice of them. I've had to postpone my trip to see my nephew till Veteran's day weekend though, which makes me sad.

In other news, I now have a line of credit with a department store. . . and a pumpkin pie.

Let's be clear: I like pumpkin pie--when it is made at home, by someone I know. when I can sneak into the kitchen at 3AM on a Saturday morning and steal a slice from the half that remains and watch old episodes of Star Trek - the original series, I'm on cloud nine.

However, commercially manufactured pumpkin pie is a different beast, somewhat akin to other American "necessary" evils like frozen dinners and overproduced pop stars. I'm not a fan.

Last weekend, my wallet was stolen. This was less of an inconvenience than you might think, shockingly. However, among one of many cards in it that I had to replace was my Sam's club membership card.

Now, there has been some priority-one shit going down at the office, so, despite the fact that I was sick, and finding myself unable to sleep on Thursday morning, I headed into the office at 6:15 and left at 9:45 after seeing to the Emergency grade stuff that needed my attention.

Intending to come home and sleep away the rest of the day, I swung by Sam's club on the way home to replace the aforementioned card of membership.

When I arrived around 10:30, I had already been awake for six hours or so, and my fever was doing a number on my sinuses (and therefore my hearing) and my will to do anything more than the bare minimum of effort.

So I go up to the lady at the Sam's counter, and ask about replacing my card.

She starts the process and asks me if I would like a line of credit added to my membership card. I decline out of habit, before she can even get through the entire spiel about how if you sign up right now you get some free gift that I don't quite make out.

Then my mind (which is still in second gear and trying to coast downhill at this point) recalls that I was encouraged to open a dept. store line of credit to increase my credit score. As my logical brain is realizing this, my social brain is asking her what the free thing was that I couldn't make out.

So as I'm shoving my instincts to the back of my mind to sign away another sliver of my life she explains that the free gift is a pumpkin pie.

My logical brain is already swapping places with my social one, so now my social brain is accepting her offer and asking her for a pen while my logical brain is shouting:

Wtf? Who wants a pumpkin pie with a line of credit? This is like giving someone a complimentary bathrobe if they buy a Pickup truck!

So as a result of the timing and how out-of-it I was on Thursday morning, I'm pretty sure there is a Sam's club employee in Macon, Georgia who is convinced that I added a line of credit to my membership so that I could get a free pumpkin pie.

Meanwhile, the pie sits on my kitchen counter, unopened. I'm hoping my roommate and his friends will consume it tonight.

Indentured Servitude.

2007-10-08T10:13:00.000-04:00

Let me start with a story.

It is the spring of 2006. I have a new job. I work for the United States Air Force as a civil servant. I am an electrical engineer.

After four years of college, seven months of tending bar and a trip through Europe, I have zero debt, and I am sitting comfortably on a nice fat signing bonus. At this time in my life I have job that nets me just shy of double the median income for an adult male in my city (Macon, Georgia). I am considering buying a house, because I expect to be in the area as much as five years, and I know that even if I sell the house at a loss after that time, I will probably still come out ahead over renting. I have spoken to friends and some have expressed interest in living with me, which would make the mortgage very manageable indeed. Bear in mind--I have never had a credit card, signed a lease, or even had a cell phone.

I go to the bank.

Recall, I have no debt. This means I have no credit history.

At all.

I sit down with a mortgage representative for my new credit union, and she is remarkably professional (she doesn't actually laugh openly during our conversation). She calls in the request to see what her loan department can do.

She discovers there isn't even a credit score associated with my name. I am a non-entity as far as lending organizations are concerned.

She describes my situation to the loan clerk at the head office. The clerk's response (and I quote) is "Wow--is he single? . . . but seriously. . .without a number in this box, I can't approve a mortgage."

So there I sit in a bank at the age of twenty two, freshly employed (by an organization from which it is almost impossible to get fired) and with enough money in my account to put a 10% down payment on a $75,0000 home that very afternoon. It strikes me as comical beyond measure that my financial situation is so attractive that a bank employee would consider dating me sight unseen, and yet I cannot be given a loan.

The loan officer is very helpful, and suggests I take out a secured loan against my own money to quickly generate a credit score and improve it.

I take her advice.

Fast forward 18 months.

I am considering house-buying. Again.

I have a number attached to my name now. It is not particularly high.

This is to be expected. The reason is simple: I haven't sold my soul.

Today, while considering whether I should buy a house, I gathered my personal information together and applied for my free credit reports (Georgia residents are entitled to two per year from the major companies). I found them mainly bleak wastelands with few entries, a barren reminder that I only grudgingly took on a loan in the first place, and paid it off in full the day I was approved for a credit card. TransUnion couldn't even get my American Express account number correct, so I could not view my score (yeah, fuck you too).

I even plunked down a few extra dollars to see my VantageScore, the credit score issued by Experian (it was six bucks, and I was curious).

My score stands at 695 right now, on a scale of 501-990. God only knows why they don't use the bottom 500. I guess they want to make people feel better.

This score means I am considered a member of the "non-prime" category.

What really sent chills down my spine, more than anything else I saw today though, was this entry from Experian:

What factors lower your VantageScore:

Your report does not show any open, recently reported installment accounts, such as an auto loan. Having open, recently reported installment accounts as part of your credit history can have a positive impact on your credit score.

Your report does not show any usable/valid retail revolving accounts, such as a department store credit card. Having valid retail revolving accounts as part of your credit history can have a positive impact on your credit score.

Your report shows too few accounts. Having too few accounts limits the amount of information available and negatively impacts your credit score.

Your report shows that the time since your oldest credit account or loan was opened is too short. Having credit accounts or loans open for a longer period of time has a positive impact on your credit score.

Your report shows one or more inquiries on file. Each time a potential lender pulls your credit report for review, an inquiry is placed on your file. While having inquiries on file does affect your score, the impact is minimal.

Now the last bullet makes a little sense--if I were constantly applying for credit from dozens of institutions, that would be a bad sign, and would appear as a series of constant inquiries into my report, sure.

The one before it makes sense too--it takes time to build a reputation. This is the case in every situation.

But let us talk about those first three.

It has become my opinion that America has discovered a new, 'free', form of indentured servitude, and our middle class has willingly sold ourselves into it.

These first three items are not ways to learn how high of a risk there is that you won't pay back a loan--they are ways to estimate how willing you will be to shackle yourself with debt in order to have things you don't need or want.

How in the hell does a retail store credit card increase the likelihood that I am of solid financial standing and good character? And why, as Americans, do we allow ourselves to be subjugated by this system?

We willingly put our necks beneath the foot of a banking system that has all the benefits of being slave holders (constant income, low cost of maintenance, etc) with none of the responsibilities! If a slave got sick and was near death, it was in a slave-holder's best interest to see to his care out of his own money. Banks have no such compulsion.

And then we stand with our hands on our hearts and sing that we are the land of the free with a straight face. I am beginning to believe that if you can't walk away from every debt you have--today--based on your liquid assets, then you have signed away your liberty.

And for what? A JC Penny card and a late-model Ford Mustang?

In the words of XKCD's Randall Munroe:

Fuck. That. Shit.

Yet another not-an-entry.

2007-09-30T09:41:00.000-04:00

But I'll be gorramed if this isn't the funniest thing I've seen on the internet in years.

"oh, food. . .I'll just. . .WAAAAHHH!"

And in other, cooler news.

Squirrels have the coolest parkour course ever. . .

If'n y'ain't readin' Chaplain Blue

2007-09-25T07:54:00.000-04:00

might be best ya start.

I've been reading his work for a while, and his writing has come a long way. In addition, He is headed for new and more interesting waters these days.

snip:

The part after that was better--the part I consider real youth ministry. The kids queued up outside the youth room and were allowed in in groups of 10. They were greeted as a group by one of the volunteers and were asked a trivia question about something in Scripture. Mercifully, they asked a question relating to what was read at Mass. Then they were allowed to fall upon the table of food like locusts on a harvest. We ran out of cake.

/snip.

I heart Darby Conley

2007-09-23T08:46:00.000-04:00

Because this makes me laugh.

In other news. . .

Things Patrick wishes he had in his apartment:

enough milk so he could make pudding.
bananas.
a magical device that would cause his last wisdom tooth to move to its final position right now, instead of drawing out this damnable process for weeks.

ooh. . .wait, I have oatmeal! [dashes off to make breakfast]

Management By Subversion.

2007-09-21T14:42:00.000-04:00

It's happening again. . .

. . .well, Shit.

PSA:Your car is not a hazard because it is wet.

2007-09-15T09:05:00.001-04:00

Well, Humberto is upon us, and this inspires me to comment on a phenomena I've noticed recently.

Lately it seems to have become fashionable to be intimidated by rain, while simultaenously feeling that you have a right to drive on the interstate (where the posted minimums are usually 45 miles per hour, slower traffic to the right) at whateverthefuck speed you believe to be appropriate.

Let me clear this up: You don't.

If you can't manage to force your foot down on the gas pedal until the needle gets past 45, in whatever weather condition you are in--don't use the interstate.

Furthermore, if you can't bring yourself to add 2 miles per hour to your speed so that your ass gets out of the left hand lane and into the right where it minimizes the amount of other people that you slow down--don't use the interstate.

Let me say this clearly: the interstate is for traveling quickly from place to place. Do not use it if you cannot perform this basic function. Certainly don't use it if you don't know which lane is appropriate for a vehicle traveling 30 miles per hour.

And most importantly, with every ounce of vehemence and vitriol I can muster: do NOT turn your hazard lights on when you have a visibility of greater than 20 feet.

The only circumstance under which hazard lights make sense while you continue to travel is this: the visibility has dropped so far that you are having trouble seeing if there is a car in front of you--if you are overdriving your vision, turn on your hazards, or, better yet, get off the road until the rain lightens. This will usually not take more than half an hour before the worst of the band is behind you.

About a year ago I had the pleasure of picking my mother and a friend up from the Atlanta airport during the fallout from a tropical storm, and just after Interstate 85 had added it's fourth lane, bringing the total to 8, the rain got really, really heavy. And the majority of the traffic around me decided that the best idea would be to turn on their hazard lights and continue driving. So now I'm surrounded by a hundred blinking, slow moving lane-changing idiots with no indication of what direction they're going and a severe reduction in my ability to predict their behaviour.

Have you ever wondered why carnival games or pinball machines have all those flashing, blinking, out of sync lights? It is because that confuses the human eye and mind.

If you, personally, were the only car on the road with flashing lights, it might make your car stand out (at a cost of increased danger to the other drivers) but when a quarter of the vehicles on the road enable their hazards even though visibility is still a hundred yards ahead and the running lights of all of those cars is clearly seen, it creates chaos, disorder, and a dangerous additional driving condition--which I think we can all agree is unnecessary when you are already driving in a torrential downpour.

In short: if you feel that the rain has gotten so bad that you are compelled to put your hazard signal on--think twice, and seriously consider pulling off the road (where hazards belong) and leaving it to the rest of us.

In which Patrick learns something valuable.

2007-08-30T21:48:00.000-04:00

I am not in possession of an infinite amount of self-control.

Furthermore, melancholy and grumpy turns really, really ugly when I decide that drinking is a good idea.

Congratulations, Patrick, you've added to a very short list of choices and moments in your life of which you are terrified and ashamed.

Also, I should learn to keep my gorram mouth shut.

That is all.

It is nice to play together.

2007-08-29T22:27:00.000-04:00

. . .and sometimes, it's nice to sit at home and know that your primary purpose in life is still to be a character foil for others.

In other news. . .it seems my entire local community of friends who blog have given up the practice. (No, your xanga does not count--I do not care what you're currently listening to or what you had for lunch, tell me what you think.)

Also, stop inviting me to add applications to my facebook, you dumbshits. I joined for the stalker newsreel and the contact information.

Furthermore: for those of you who set up your facebook account so that your information no longer appears in the news reel. . . why the fuck did you join the damn thing in the first place?

Girls who have facebook accounts and bitch about the news reel are the female equivalent of guys who pick their noses at stoplights. It isn't one-way glass, people--and it isn't supposed to be.

So, anyway. . . damn kids. . . get off my lawn. . . zzzz.

Consumer Cliché Field in Effect.

2007-08-13T20:35:00.002-04:00

Tickets for two for the Vespertine Rumble and Vespertine Crawl: $61.60

Two gallons of High Octane Amoco Ultimate and four bottled drinks: $9.42

Drinks at AP's in the afternoon and The Hummingbird at night: A Rolling Rock, Sprite, A Blue Moon, An Amaretto Sour, a Strongbow, plus miscellaneous bar tips: $32

Dinner for two at The Rookery: $15.

Albums directly from the hands of Jenny Owen Youngs, Modern Skirts, and Angie Aparo: $32

The.

Perfect.

Saturday:

Priceless.

All-is-Well

I heard the news today.

on the topic of Love's kinship to the Atom Bomb.

A Beautiful and Unique Snowflake

To Dance.

The non-dreamer.

Not what I had in Mind.

I have an essay in mind.

Lala Wins.

Cherry and Martin

United States of Fail.

Microsoft Fail.

Fort Hood.

A little sliver of love.

A glimpse of the future.

The thick of things.

Wand'ring Song -- Continued and renamed.

Traveling Song.

Shame on us all for cowards.

Welcome in from the Road.

Seodaemun Prison

Picasa now Alailable in Porblem edition.

Back on the Road.

The Morning Sun.

I'm so sorry for everything.

Tired.

Steve Hartman: Media Rebel?

Fuck you, Penguin

A Softer World.

Feedback. And Toilets.

The Gadget Industry Summarized.

The impossible death of Amy Lynn Hannigan.

Weak 6.

Backgrounds at work and play.

Dammit Redmond. . .

I'm Late, I'm Late!

The Lads from Top Gear. . .

On Vice and Corruption.

First Christmas.

Scoring at the end of the first quarter.

A note for the ladies.

Holding Pattern.

Headshot!

I'm voting for Bob Barr after all.

You'll win at Home Furnishing!

Yard Sale. . . Mexican Standoff?

Lessons learned.

None of the Above.

HOUSE GET!!!

7 Days and Counting.

11 days and counting.

Why you should be using Linux in Five Years.

House Get?

I'm not angry.

Facebook Hamlet: Not Really An Update.

Yeah, well I didn't want to be eaten anyway! *pbbbt.*

Famous Blue Raincoat.

Good news!

House Get?

I learned a definition today.

Buying a house is a bit like feeding yourself to a lion.

Driftwalking.

On the Road Again.

Why I listen to college radio.

Quick!

A Softer World

Pass me the Puppy, we have to test this bleach

Communication breakdown?

Women in Art.

The Girl and the Loom.

I love my friends.

Third Time's a Charm.

Grow up.

Thank you, Samuel Clemens

Adorable.

Farewell.

Heart of Gold

Winter setting in.

Performing a Civic Duty

Holy, Holy, Holy.

Yeah, well I didn't want to be eaten anyway! pbbbt.