Codimension4

NaNoWriMo

2009-12-06T04:28:23Z

Well, NaNoWriMo has once again kicked my ass. I seem to have more ideas for stories than I know what to do with. Below you'll see portions of three stories I started. And I'm here making a deal with you, Noble Reader.

I'll let you guys decide which one I should finish/elaborate on. I'll take opinions for a week (optimistically hoping that anyone will voice an opinion at all), and then I'll expand the most popular one to 50,000 words, in accordance with the Novel Writing ideal.

So let me know!

Okay, I'm not going to do it all in November, but I do want to get in the habit of writing every day, and lord knows, I seem to have some ideas...

Cheers, and thanks for your input!!

Jim

The Creek

2009-12-06T04:18:07Z

Tom grabbed his jacket and headed out into the cold air of October, excited and nervous. He knew that today was the day that they would finally find out if their theory was correct. He dashed across the street, and Mrs. Greene answered the door. She was younger than the other moms, and she looked more like the girls on tv than anyone else Tom had ever seen in real life. Being alone with her, even like this, always made Tom feel a little uncomfortable, because she seemed to understand what he was thinking when he looked at her.

“Hi, Mrs. Greene,” he said, without too much nervousness in his voice, he thought. “Can Cary come out to play?”

Mrs. Greene grinned, and said for the hundredth time, “Tom, you know you can call me Pam. It makes me feel so old when you call me ‘Mrs. Greene’.” Tom looked down at his feet, and said nothing. He heard Mrs. Greene sigh. Then she yelled over her shoulder, “CARY? TOM’S HERE!” She walked away, leaving the door open; Tom had not actually been invited in, and he didn’t want to go into the house unless he had actually been invited in. His father had taught him the consequences of making assumptions. He stood on the stoop, looking at the open doorway. Besides, he thought, Cary’s house always smelled a little strange to him, as if someone had always just finished cooking a bad soup made of dog hair.

Shortly, he heard Cary’s footsteps pounding on the stairs, the sound muffled by the thick carpet. Cary was pulling on his down vest, and he called over his shoulder, “WE’RE GOING TO GO DOWN TO THE CREEK!” He slammed the door behind him before Pam could object, and the two of them raced across Cary’s front yard. They veered to the left, following the road, ran across the intersection without really looking, and started down the hill.

Once they were sure that they were out of the range of Pam’s voice, (so if she did decide that they weren’t allowed to go down to the creek, and yelled at them to come back and play in the cul-de-sac, well, they could honestly claim that they hadn’t heard her) they slowed, both panting a little bit. They were now out of sight of their houses, and nearing the bottom of the hill, right where the road turned to the right. Directly in front of them was the new cul-de-sac that had been added at the end of the summer. Houses weren’t there yet, but the bones of houses had risen up out of the ground, summoned from the earth by a magic spell that neither of them really understood. Today there would be two-by-four frames, the outlines of houses; in a couple of months, they would suddenly be just regular houses, with electricity and cable television and families and chimneys. The ground around the frames was denuded of grass, and the red clay made the whole street seem raw and scorched. Somehow, when they became real houses, the grass would suddenly reappear. They speculated on this as they walked towards the construction.

“Maybe,” said Tom, “they peel up the grass from someone else’s yard, and lay it down in sheets in the new yards?”

Cary considered it. “That might be; but then you’d have to have a whole bunch of yards somewhere that just grow grass for no other reason than to cover up the clay and dirt around new houses. Plus, how would you pick up a whole yard? You can’t just roll it up like a carpet, can you?”

Tom said, “Hmm. I can’t see how. Maybe it’s special seeds?”

They slid under the chainlink fence that clearly had signs marked DO NOT ENTER on it in several places. Signs like that, they figured, were for grown-ups who were doing something wrong, like trying to burn down the new houses, or something. Obviously, no one really cared if a couple of kids crossed over the construction; they weren’t even going to touch anything.

As they climbed up through the not-yet-there walls and into what would someday become someone’s living room, Cary said, “Yeah, maybe they use seeds that they shoot with gamma rays. That’d make the grass grow big and green, right?”

“Only when it’s angry,” said Tom. They both stopped, and looked at each other, and laughed. They resumed walking, and Tom looked around at what would be a kitchen, a hallway, a bedroom. “When they move in, we should come by and let them know that we walked through their house. You know, so they’ll know that we’re not total strangers.”

“Right,” said Cary, “they should know that it’s a little bit our house as well as theirs. A little bit, at least.”

Fantasy

2009-12-06T04:16:35Z

1

“Master Grelling,” said Hentris, “we must have words.”

So saying, Hentris pulled the iron spike from the fire, and approached the bound prisoner. Grelling eyed the glowing iron with obvious fear, but was certain that the former knight would never actually harm him. After all, he was a steward to the First Priest himself, and the King’s authority only extended so far.

“Hentris,” he said, drawing himself up as far as his bounds would allow, “you will drop that iron and release me from these chains at once! I shall speak to the First Priest on your behalf, but this has simply gone too far. You can’t simply decide to torture members of the Inner Court!”

“I will address your points each on their own merits, and then as a whole, if that suit you, Master Grelling. First, no, I’m sorry; I will not be allowing you to depart before we have had the opportunity to have words with one another. Second, the First Priest is… no longer relevant to this discussion, and, I’m sorry to say, to your world. And finally, as the recently-ascended King’s Surgeon, I am quite within my rights to torture… well, everyone!” He struggled to control his smirking, failed, and laughed aloud.

Grelling collapsed to the ground amid his chains, and could feel the wetness in his pants as he pissed himself. “What… who would place a madman as King’s Surgeon?”

“Mad, indeed, but these are not the words we must have, Master Grelling. No, the words we must have are those regarding your connection to and contacts within the Red Legion. You are familiar with this… subversive group of fanatics, are you not?”

Grelling stammered, “I-I-I’ve heard of them, of course.”

Hentris laid the iron spike against Grelling’s cheek, eliciting a ragged cry of pain.

“Of course,” said Hentris, “of course you have. Haven’t we all? However, I’ll need to know where your meetings have most recently been taking place, and who has been in attendance.” The smell of burnt flesh filled the room, and Grelling’s mouth watered, in spite of himself.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll tell you what you want to know.” Grelling pulled the chains up, trying to fend off the heated iron. “Just… just let me speak with the First Priest. A man has the right to confess his sins.” Grelling pulled as far away from Hentris as he could. “You run fetch me the First Priest, and, I swear to you, Hentris, on my eyes, I will tell you of the Legion.”

"'On my eyes,' you swear. Very well." Hentris smiled, and nodded. He crossed over to the surgeon’s table, upon which laid the tools of his trade: saws, knives, files, and even a pair of large shears, used to break through the breastbone during an Extraction. From this table, he picked up a tiny bell. The tinkling noise sounded disturbingly loud in the cavernous cell. He moved once again to the fire pit, and from it pulled a long, thin dagger, which was glowing white-hot.

The door to the surgeon’s cell opened. A guard, Thomas Tiberd in fact, entered, carrying a heavy sack. He dumped this sack unceremoniously onto the floor. He looked down over his thick, broken nose at the chained steward.

“Your present, Hentris, but by the Mage this thing stinks.”

Wrinkling his nose at the stench, Tiberd left the way he came, shutting the heavy door behind him.

Hentris moved over to the heavy sack, and lightly cut the bounding leather strap. From the sack rolled a head, into which many, many iron nails had been driven.

“You may confess your sins, as is your right, but the First Priest will no longer be able to offer you the absolution you seek.” Hentris laughed again, and approached Grelling with the blisteringly hot dagger.

“What… what have you done?” Grelling said, as tears streamed down his cheeks, both from the heat, and from the fear that grabbed him in his gut. As the dagger entered his left eye, Grelling screamed, knowing that it would do no good. It did please Hentris quite a bit, however.

“The First Priest and I,” the surgeon said, with mirth in his voice, “have had words.”

2

Guard Thomas Tiberd heard the screams as he walked out of the cell, but paid them no mind. The King’s Surgeon was messy business, and Thomas had no interest in it, but neither did he condemn a man for doing what was necessary for King and Court. In point of fact, he thought, if a man enjoys such grisly work, why, then, I suspect the King’s made a proper choice, at that. The screams faded as he climbed the stairway, and soon all he could hear was the clumping of his boot on the stones. He reached the top of the landing, and shoved hard on the heavy wooden door. He stepped out into the Green Court, and into sunlight.

Tiberd enjoyed his job, working for the King as one of the House Guard. The Guard Brothel had no little to do with that; it was understood that life attending the Inner Court was complicated, and that a man would seek his pleasure where he could. Better the Guard Brothel, the logic went, than involving some common slattern in the Court’s business. Besides, not all slatterns were what they appeared to be, now, were they?

Tiberd crossed the Green Court, listening to the songbirds singing in the topiary bushes that grew on the Main, cunningly shaped to resemble some of the more famous aspects of the Mage herself. The Dragon in one corner breathed leafy fire, while in another corner of the courtyard the Innocent Maid frolicked with leafy rabbits; in yet another shaded nook the Spectre lurked amid leafy skulls. Tiberd never tired of visiting the Green Court, and always looked for excuses to walk across the verdant, luxurious grass. He paused for a moment beneath the Behemoth, staring up at the giant, leafy foot which seemed about to crash down on him and crush him. He smiled to himself, thinking again of his childhood in the castle, and then hurried on his way. How many times had he wished the Behemoth real, that he might ride upon those giant shoulders and see the worlds the Mage herself saw? Of course, he was much too grown for such follies, and there was work to be done. He did, however, cast one last glance over his shoulder to see if any of the aspects had come to life when he was not looking.

Just in case.

They had not, of course, and so he continued up the wide, marble staircase at the far end of the Green Court. The sky above was a perfect blue, with the hint of a breeze to take the edge off of the noonday sun. The Main Stair led directly to the Inner Court, and Tiberd pulled open the iron-clad doors, and entered the sacred hall.

He had completely forgotten about the King’s Surgeon and his bloody work by the time he reached the Court proper.

3

King Jareth sat on his throne, with his lovely wife, the Queen Rebecca, seated as ever to his right. Surrounding them were various courtiers, though only the most pressing business was allowed at the Inner Court; all of those in attendance must first get their petitions heard and approved of by the Outer Court, which was no mean feat. As Tiberd approached, he could see that they were hearing the petitioners. He moved to his accustomed place near the entryway, and waited patiently for the reading to end.

Vice Chancellor Yonn read, dryly, from the list of petitioners, calling each forward in his turn. Yonn felt that the Outer Court was letting too many of the trivial cases consume the King’s valuable time. He scratched the farmer’s name from the list, as he read aloud, “Farmer and Landowner, George Hare, step forward and be heard by His Majest the King Jareth, and his soulbound, the Queen Rebecca.” He turned to face the King as the well-dressed young courtier approached the throne. “Your Highness, Farmer and Landowner, George Hare, petitions the court for recompense of crops and livestock consumed by The Army of the Mage, in their recent actions along the Southern Borders against the villainous tribes there yet in rebellion against Your Highness.”

He bowed, backing away from the throne, leaving young Master Hare to begin his entreaty in earnest. “Your majesty,” the young man began, “my family has worked the fields from Cooper Valley to the Longfalls River since before the uprising. We had no part in the-”

The King lifted a hand, silencing the young man, as Rebecca leaned forward to whisper into his ear. Yonn knew what she was likely saying. Oh, your highness please give the grubbing peasant some money, as he’s fine to look upon, and we have an infinite supply of gold and jewels and will never need our surplus in any event, thought Yonn. Piffle. If the King would only exert his authority, these beggars in borrowed clothing would stop claiming the profits of the war for their own. What was the good of winning the victories if your commoners recouped the spoils?

The King nodded once, curtly, to Yonn, who (controlling the impulse to roll his eyes), moved forward and handed the farmer a scrip. “You may redeem this at any Church of the Mage, and His Highness thanks you and your people for their leal service to the crowns.” King and Queen acknowledged the farmer’s bow, and as he swept out of the main hall, Yonn moved forward with the list of petitioners once again.

4

Hare, clutching his scrip, moved out of the main hall, passing a large guard near one of the doors who paid him no mind in the slightest. It seemed to the young farmer that the guard in question should at least take a passing interest in those moving about the Inner Court, but then, what did a farmer know of such things?

He turned to his right, and as he made his way down the window-lined corridor, he caught glimpses of the Green Court through the smoky glass. He noted that the windows were fixed, and could not be opened. He thought that perhaps this would be a liability should the castle come under attack, but then, what did a farmer know of such things?

He eventually reached the Grand Hall where the Outer Court was still going on. A lovely young lady was crying her lovely young eyes out, as apparently her petition had been denied. A strong, aloof man was standing nearby, notably ignoring the tears, and trying to lead the sobbing lady from the court. Hare at once grasped the story; a husband had overstepped, and the bride would now suffer even more horribly. He may have been angry that his dinner had not been properly spiced, perhaps, and raised his hands to her in anger. Now, of course, as the Outer Court had denied her, she would be beaten, and there was little anyone could do about that.

Hare passed the Warden of the Court, and as he did, he tipped his fingers lightly to his forehead, and then shot a meaningful look in the direction of the young lady. The Warden didn’t even acknowledge him, but quietly moved moved to address the Outer Court in hushed undertones.

A guard moved to lead the young lady back to the Inner Court, and her cries of thanks rang from the stone walls. She clutched the guard fiercely, shielding herself from her husband’s furious eyes. Hare was aware that the man was watching him, and he slowed his pace slightly, and made a point of once again examining his scrip.

Hare moved out of the main doors of the Outer Court and into the crowded market square, with streets from all over the city converging before the castle. He paused at a fruit vendor, considering one apple, and then another, before finally flipping a coin to the vendor. He turned up Grave Street, heading for the Common Stables, where his horse was waiting to carry him back to the south, and away from these petty intrigues.

As he turned West and into a side-alley, a rough hand grabbed him and spun him about. The husband glowered at him menacingly.

“You seek to interfere between husband and wife, do you?” he asked. His eyes narrowed with menace. “I’ll have that scrip for your insolence.”

Hare looked astonished. “Oh, but sir, I have no idea your name or your province! I’ve done nothing to your or yours, and, as for the scrip, why, that’s the gift of the King hisself, surely, and I’ll not be giving it up, I suppose, until I can find myself a money changer in the nearest church.”

“You’ll be giving it up to Manfred Linn, Master of Roughing Shale, as that’s my name. You southern farmer types think you can simply walk in here and make off with a man’s tax, and spit on a man’s honor? That scrip is mine, says I.” With that, he pulled a large dirk from his leather belt, and brandished it at Hare.

Hare looked at it, wide-eyed. “Good sir! I am shocked to see that you would bare a naked blade here, in public, in the stark light of day!” He looked about at the dim alleyway. “However… yes, well, there does seem to be a certain lack of good citizens about at this time, does it not? Though sticking a man with a blade such as that can cause a nasty mess, to be sure.” He sighed, heavily, and pulled the scrip from his pouch. As he was about to hand it to the man, he noted, “Of course, had I such a blade, this might be a fair fight.”

And with that, pulled the throwing dirk from the small of his back, and flung it with great force into his adversary’s throat. Mannfred Linn, Master of Roughing Shale, slid to the ground in the alley. George Hare looked down at him, as the blood flowed between the cobbled stones.

“But then, what would a farmer know of such things?”

Vampire

2009-12-06T04:11:05Z

“Being a vampire,” Jason said, “is not quite as glamorous as Hollywood has made it out to be. In fact, it’s pretty disgusting. For one thing, you have to drink blood, and it has to be the blood of a human. There’s all this crap out there about drinking pig’s blood, which is just ridiculous. It would be sort of like telling a human to drink sand.”

Greta cocked her head to one side. “Well, have you tried, like, monkey blood? That’s pretty close to human blood, right?”

Jason looked at her, and sighed. “No. No, Greta, I have not tried monkey blood. You may go ahead. Let me know how that works out.”

Greta said, “Well, there’s no reason to be rude.”

“For another thing,” Jason continued, “if anyone ever finds out that you’re a vampire, they’ll almost certainly try to kill you. Sometimes they kill you for other reasons, too. I was electrocuted a while back. Good times.”

Jason paused, then shook his head like a horse shaking off a bothersome fly. “Okay, kiddo, here are the ground rules,” he said. “Yes, you can walk around during the daytime. You can see much better at night, but you can get around well even while the sun is up. A stake through the heart will not kill you, though it does sting a bit. You have no aversions to crosses, garlic, or running water. You can fly a little bit, but don’t go crazy with that, since it’s a good way to tip people off that you’re a vampire, and they will then…”

He looked at her, waiting.

“… try to kill me?” she said.

“Yes. Yes, Greta, they will then try to kill you. Um… what else… oh, you can’t have sex ever again. I mean, you can, but you won’t enjoy it. I’d suggest staying away from that altogether.”

Greta said, “Well, if a stake to the heart won’t do it, and sunlight won’t do it, what can kill me? Permanently, I mean.”

Jason sighed, and said, “Well, nothing, as far as I can tell. And I’ve tried everything, for more than fifty years. I tried a woodchipper, for cryin’ out loud. …A woodchipper, for the record, hurts a lot.”

Experiment

2009-12-02T15:47:23Z

Do not use the internet, or any other reference, and see if you can answer the following questions. In the case where you don't have an exact number, a ballpark estimate will do.

1 - How many people died as a direct result of the Chernobyl accident?
2 - How many people died as an indirect result of the Chernobyl accident (developing cancer due to exposure, e.g.)?

I'll post the actual answers tomorrow.

Fun with translation

2009-12-02T14:22:37Z

A friend of mine posted a recent blog entry in German, and, while I understood some of it, I thought I'd just run it through the babelfish translator to make sure I was interpreting it correctly. This is what it spit out:

"I have completely badly Treffenblues - and as one cuts oneself to length best? One collects information together! : -) I times the meanings out of your discussion stones picked. I believe bissel on sowas. Whether your stone fits you, or simply only a memory to a mad weekend is, must it out find!"

... Well, thanks, babelfish. That helps in no way whatsoever.

Films for People Who Love Films

2009-11-25T02:21:44Z

I don't generally recommend documentaries, but the film "Dog Soldiers" is a truly incisive look at the modern Scottish army, and well worth a look.

FWIW

2009-11-24T16:25:04Z

For what it's worth, I'm two years sober as of Nov 23.

Whee!

:)

NaNoWriMo

2009-11-01T17:38:49Z

It's November 1, which means it's officially National Novel Writing Month! Get on board!

It doesn't have to be polished, and it doesn't have to be finished. You just need to write 50,000 words in the month of November on exactly one story. Get in the habit of writing daily!

Check out the official website here: NANOWRIMO.ORG

Cereus

2009-10-28T04:29:57Z

Sent Cereus a present, just to see if anyone is still out there. Also sent a letter to Ynari.

Cheers!

-- Bezheron --

PVP Timeline of DEATH

2009-10-19T07:18:41Z

If you don't play World of Warcraft, this isn't going to mean anything to you.

/played 1 hour 51 minutes 38 seconds - killed by a level 8 bear while running for the safety (!) of the Maclure Vineyards. Stupid Fargodeep Mine...

/played 1 hour 55 minutes 1 second - killed again by the same bear. Stupid corpse-camping bear...

/played 2 hours 17 minutes 46 seconds - killed by Sabana's "Divine Storm". Her overkill was more than seven thousand points of damage. To be fair, I was jumping in on a pvp fight that I was waaaaaaaay too low to be in, but I figured I'd give the Stormwind guards a little help. Ungrateful bastards.

/played 2 hours 29 minutes 57 seconds - killed by a spider and a Fargodeep mine kobold. "You no take candle!" indeed.

/played 2 hours 44 minutes 51 seconds - killed by a mass of kobolds in the Jasperlode mine. On the upside, the wool cloth my level 45 night elf warrior sent me has sold, so I'll have a gold or two to spend on the (apparently much-needed) upgrade of armor.

/played 2 hours 47 minutes 52 seconds - killed by the same kobolds. Stupid corpse-camping kobolds...

/played 2 hours 49 minutes 51 seconds - as my armor was getting in the red, I opted to resurrect at the spirit healer... and was promptly killed by a wandering wolf. Gah.

/played 2 hours 51 minutes 52 seconds - saved from the exact same fate by Seventhia. Bless you! I know this is supposed to be a blog about dying, but Seventhia really earned a mention here.

/played 3 hours 15 minutes 48 seconds - killed by quite a few kobolds in the Jasperlode Mine... but I DID finish the "Scout the Jasperlode Mine" quest!!

Why are you so slow?

I realize that a number of you are probably now saying to yourselves, "Hey, wait a minute, why are you still in the starting area after nearly 4 hours?" Well, the answer is twofold. One, I'm doing these updates, which can't help my time at all, and two, I really am having fun running around at this level. I wish I had some company... (Bezherin/Daggerspine)

Why Daggerspine/Why PVP/Why not MY server?
These are really three separate questions.

Why Daggerspine?
It's the server I started on, back when the game was launched. Nostalgia, let's say.

Why PVP?
A PVP server, wherein you can be killed at nearly any time by a player from the other faction, really does add quite a bit of salt to the game. You may not want that salt (I know for a fact that Jay does not), and that's not "wrong". I just enjoy the sensation of wondering if the fellow riding over the hill is coming to help... or to send me to hell.

Why not MY server?
There are a lot of answers to this, but the main one is that I really enjoyed Daggerspine when I started, and if I'm going to be on a PVP server, this is the one I'm going to be on. If you'd like to join me, GREAT! If you want me to migrate to your server, well, give me a week, and I'll probably create a character there. In the end, though, this is my home.

Okay. Back to the dying!

/played 4 hours 14 minutes 36 seconds - killed by Riverpaw Outrunner Gnolls, while hunting for Hogger.

/played 4 hours 38 minutes 58 seconds - killed by a "longsnout" boar, after recruiting a level 80 to help me kill Hogger; the Hogger hunt was, in fact, successful. I just didn't get out of the area alive. Le sigh.

That's all the update for today, kids. See you tomorrow!

A Gripe, and an Observation, and a Recommendation

2009-10-12T06:34:41Z

A Gripe:

This regards my recent trip to and from Mississippi. This is more of a personal bitching, so let's put it behind a cut. You may read it if you like.

Is this worth it?

Okay. This past weekend, the GF's family invited me to their vacation home, which is located less than forty feet from the University of Mississippi's campus. I'm always happy to join them, and I really did have a good time. The trip thence and back, however, I felt could have been handled differently, at least from my perspective.

I'm going to discuss only the trip home, since it's the one that I really noted times for.

I'm going to use EST times, for clarity.

4:30 p.m. - Leave Vacation Home, the five of us packed into a rental car
4:31 - Realize we are lost (I wish I was making this up)
4:35 - Find the right road
6:00 - Arrive at Hertz rental return
6:10 - Arrive, via shuttle, at Memphis, TN airport
6:51 - Scheduled departure
7:15 - Boarding begins (the flight crew apparently faced lots of headwind coming from NYC)
7:55 - Depart Memphis, TN
9:40 - Arrive Charlotte, SC
10:20 - Note that the "Long Term 2" shuttle is full
10:30 - Join the next "Long Term 2" shuttle
10:40 - Depart Charlotte, SC Long Term Parking
12:30 - Arrive Columbia, SC - My car was parked downtown, so we parted ways here
12:45 a.m. - Arrive home

All in, 8 hours and 15 minutes. I was uncomfortable for the entire drive up to Memphis (crowded into the car), irritated while delayed, a little terrified while flying (my own hangup, and I recognize that), and exhausted for the drive home. Whee.

This cost me $228, including the parking fees. Granted, the GF's family paid for the rental car, the GF's plane ticket, and for the meals all weekend. The $228 only includes what I paid.

Now.

I consult Google Maps, and it gives me a travel time of 9 hours, 4 minutes; assuming we take nearly an hour for food and gas stops, let's put our car travel time at 10 hours.

Putting in two tanks of gas at $2.30 (the optimal price in our starting city of Oxford, MS), I spend $46. Let's bump that up to $75, to more than compensate for vagaries of prices along the way. Put on another $25 for dinner on the road (I'm not going to hit fine dining on the way back, amirite??). So $100, all in.

The question is, and I'm actually asking for feedback on this, is it worth $128 to shave 1 hour 45 minutes off of my travel time?

Thanks for your input!!

An Observation:

Barack Obama has been widely decried in the media for "not deserving the Nobel Peace Prize", and not doing enough to have earned it; this has been particularly prevalent in America, which is just embarrassing. I submit that maybe Americans don't understand WHY he was chosen for the award, to wit:

"for his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples."

It may be that they're comparing him to George W. Bush. It may be that they compared him to everyone else who was eligible for the prize. The fact is, he IS deserving of the prize, for the one and only reason that matters: the people GRANTING it believe that he is. It's just possible that Americans critical of his award are not clear on why it was granted; maybe they just misunderstand what it's granted for?

A Recommendation:

In completely unrelated news, GO SEE DAVID SEDARIS LIVE. This was the high point of our trip, and, man, that's the best money I've ever spent. I'll happily join any of you, at any venue, to listen to that guy. Funny, painful, beautiful stuff. From completely fictional bits to his notably amazingly soul-baring-ly honest autobiographical tales, he was made of Chuck Norris* from beginning to end.

I'm going to do a "highlights reel" of the David Sedaris lecture, but the comfy bed is calling. Thanks for reading!

Cheers!

Jim

* "Win" is made of Chuck Norris.

Kung Fu Fighting

2009-10-06T02:10:47Z

I'm now taking Taekwon-Do again. For the first time in twenty-five years. I'm a little embarrassed that I've been alive long enough to have not done something for that long.

Exacerbated by the fact that the "junior belts" instructor is a fifteen year old girl who comes up to my elbow when she's on her tiptoes, and can STILL kick my butt...

Best Prayer

2009-10-01T04:42:06Z

"...and as we remember, please let them forget, oh Lord... so they can be little again. Amen."

Red Dawn is way more awesome than you remember.

Electrically Safe

2009-09-25T01:31:09Z

One of the things that's hammered into us in the Navy is that water and electricity do not mix well. Given that our power plant generated quite a lot of electricity, and all of it was underwater, we were constantly vigilant for any source of water that might negatively impact our power grid, our equipment, and our personnel. Being electrically safe was paramount.

We have large servers at my new job. These servers are critical to our business, and cost many thousands of dollars. Because they must be cooled constantly, they have dedicated Air Conditioning units. These units are not well maintained, and sometimes leak a little.

To combat this, a trashcan was, at some point, set up to catch these droplets of water.

The servers are just behind us, out of frame. About two feet away. Note the wires on the floor that connect our servers to the power source.

Apparently, someone assumed that this was a Trashcan of Holding; maintenance has never emptied it. That can is FLOATING on the top of the water. It was in the trashcan when this all started, and the water has filled slowly enough that it is still full of air. The can is about up to my waist.

Fun with Electrical Safety!!

Military Vignette

2009-09-22T05:35:48Z

Petty Officer Trace: "Roger, Echo One, we are holding position until we see the helo. Over and out."

{Birrin looks askance at the Petty Officer}

Petty Officer Trace: "What?"

Chief Petty Officer Birrin: "Over and out?"

Petty Officer Trace: "What? What?"

Chief Petty Officer Birrin: " 'Over' means 'I am done talking, and you may go ahead and speak.' 'Out' means 'I am no longer listening.' What you just communicated was 'You may continue speaking, but I am an asshole who will not be listening to you.' You ever say 'Over and out' again where I can hear you, and I'll have to kill myself due to the embarrassment of being associated with you, and I can't do that, because I am too pretty to die. Are we clear, shipmate?"

Petty Officer Trace: "Aye, Chief."

Dinner

2009-09-11T18:15:55Z

Beef Stroganoff Recipe

Ingredients

* 6 Tbsp butter
* 1 pound of top sirloin or tenderloin, cut thin into 1-inch wide by 2 1/2-inch long strips
* 1/3 cup chopped shallots (can substitute onions)
* 1/2 pound cremini mushrooms, sliced
* Salt to taste
* Pepper to taste
* 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
* 1/2 teaspoon of dry tarragon or 2 teaspoons of chopped fresh tarragon
* 1 cup of sour cream at room temperature

1 Melt 3 Tbsp of butter in a large skillet on medium heat. Increase the heat to high/med-high and add the strips of beef. You want to cook the beef quickly, browning on each side, so the temp needs to be high enough to brown the beef, but not so high as to burn the butter. You may need to work in batches. While cooking the beef, sprinkle with some salt and pepper. When both sides are browned, remove the beef to a bowl and set aside.

2 In the same pan, reduce the heat to medium and add the shallots. Cook the shallots for a minute or two, allowing them to soak up any meat drippings. Remove the shallots to the same bowl as the meat and set aside.

3 In the same pan, melt another 3 Tbsp of butter. Increase heat to medium high and add the mushrooms. Cook, stirring occasionally for about 4 minutes. While cooking, sprinkle the nutmeg and the tarragon on the mushrooms.

4 Reduce the heat to low and add the sour cream to the mushrooms. Mix in the sour cream thoroughly. Do not let it come to a simmer or boil or the sour cream will curdle. Stir in the beef and shallots. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Where the Wild Thi... oh, who the hell cares?

2009-09-08T18:25:06Z

People are starting to get pretty amped about Spike Jonze's adaptation of "Where the Wild Things Are." I'm supposed to love this story (and I only have vaguely annoyed memories of the book), and I'm clearly deficient because I'm not looking forward to a two-hour adaptation of what I remember as a very short, unsatisfying, under-detailed tale wherein nothing much happens. In fact, in this week's New York Times interview with the director, the interviewer was surprised by "the lack of any clear conflict or resolution" in the movie.

Then I found out why I remember it that way:

The entire book is only ten sentences long.

Bah. Humbug.

Mathematical Preparation for Physical Chemistry

2009-09-03T02:21:16Z

I made a GREAT find today at the Book Dispensery: a 1928 textbook called "Mathematical Preparation for Physical Chemistry," by Farrington Daniels, University of Wisconson. It's 308 pages (plus two pages of log tables), including an entire chapter on the use of a sliderule. I have one around here somewhere that I'll have to break out to see if Farrington Daniels can teach me how to use it. It's an incredibly dense book, covering all of what would now be College Algebra, Calculus 1, 2, and 3, and Differential Equations.

There are lots of neat little things about it. Apparently, it was owned by one "Sister Saint Mary, G.N.S.H." I'm still working out what that acronym means, but it looks like "Grey Nuns of the Sacred Heart" is a likely candidate. :)

It contains some interesting conventions. In discussing linear equations, for example, it uses

Kx + K'y + K'' = 0

instead of

Ax + By + C = 0

I'm wondering if this gets confusing later on in the notation for derivatives, but I haven't read that far yet. It also includes the answers to the odd-numbered problems, published right beside the problems themselves, while most modern textbooks include these answers in the back of the book. I find this interesting, and wonder if they STILL had to tell their students "You have to show all of your work!" :)

What's also interesting, to me at least, was this line from the preface: "The work is based on a one-semester course of three hours, given to sophomores in preparation for physical chemistry." It's a LOT of material, by modern standards, to cover in one semester! Of course, it does point out that it skimps on "rigor of proof" for "mathematical derivations", but it still speaks strongly to me about the differences between the expectations of college sophomores then and now.

Neat stuff!

America has ceased to be good.

2009-08-31T19:52:16Z

If America ever ceases to be good, America will cease to be great.

-- Ronald Reagan

RADDATZ: Two-third of Americans say it’s not worth fighting.
CHENEY: So?

-- ABC News Broadcast

Sometimes I despair when I compare the America of my youth to the America of today.

First of all, we have no enemy. Well, we sort of have an enemy, if you count all terrorists, everywhere. Or, possibly, terror itself. The word "terrorist" has stopped meaning anything to me. I vaguely translate "terrorist" as "foreign person who attacks Americans but doesn't really represent a particular nation's government". I remember the Russians as a genuine, clearly defined foe. All Russians hated all Americans, and nobody else really mattered.

Also, the "war on drugs" was in full swing in the 80s. This is a fight I could participate in. "Just say no!" I got the green t-shirt, I swallowed the kool-aid, and I've managed to avoid being hooked on drugs (alcohol and cigarettes notwithstanding, and I've even kicked these habits). Today we're fighting a "war on terror", which I cannot participate in in any meaningful way. "Just don't be afraid!" is not only really hard to actively do, it seems very much as if we're constantly told to "Be afraid!"

The fitness craze really peaked in the 80s. This led to people being labeled as "fitness-freaks". So now we're a nation who will do ANYTHING to lose weight... except eat sensibly and work out. You can get your stomach stapled, there are weight-loss supplements that let you burn fat while you sleep, and apparently there's this whole thing where, if you just don't eat bread, you'll end up looking like a model. I had heard that the guy who invented that diet had died obese and suffering from heart-disease, but wikipedia says it was just some mean ice that killed him.

We played with toy guns. I can't IMAGINE a child having a toy gun today. We had toy guns that looked like Uzis (Uzis were the BEST), and made a not-at-all realistic "repeated clicking" noise when you pulled the trigger, to simulate a burst of gunfire. Childhood friends were mown down hundreds of times. In later life, I did not turn to a life of crime, I am VERY safety-conscious with real guns, and I don't own any real guns of my own. It's just much harder to play G.I. Joe when you are using a stick instead of a gun.

Oh, and speaking of, what the hell happened to G.I. Joe?? Shipwreck and Snake-Eyes and Scarlett? The new animated series(es) and the new movie miss something by their very format. We would rush home every day from school to watch the next segment of the "Mass Device" storyline. Snake-Eyes sacrificed himself to save the Joes, silently saying goodbye to Scarlett through the safety glass.

We didn't have car seats, and we all rode on bikes that didn't have fancy crap like "gears" and "handbrakes". You braked by pedalling backwards, and the most fun you could have with a bike was to see how far you could skid with the brakes jammed on. I don't remember anyone I knew owning a bicycle helmet.

It's possible that I'm simplifying the world, because in the eighties I was still growing up; the part of the world that I understood was actually probably a lot simpler. But somewhere along the way, our identity as Americans has gotten completely removed. We have just turned into a bitchy, complaining, obese country who refuses to take personal responsibility for ANYTHING.

Why have we become a people who hopes to magically make money by investing with a guy who -- no one feels suspiciously -- consistently makes money, even when everyone else in the market is losing theirs? Are we really just collectively stupid? Our generation is the least likely to have savings in the bank; is the best thing for us really to have a brand-new car? Is there anyone besides Paul Dini and Bruce Timm who can make a cartoon television show that doesn't just completely suck?

They're re-making Red Dawn... with the Chinese army as the bad guys. They were on OUR SIDE in the original movie. Why the hell would China invade America? Rambo stopped killing commies and started killing... oh, who even knows? Or cares?

Oh, and that Cheney quote up there? I credited the quote to ABC News for a reason: they edited his remarks, to further polarize the country, as if we needed it. He's a criminal mastermind whose response to the investigation of his involvement with torture was along the lines of, "I'll cooperate if I feel like it," but ABC News really overstepped their ethical bounds in this case, no?

The American Dream has always been that a man or woman can work hard, and they will be rewarded. More and more, I feel like the harder we work, the more we're punished for it; we exist in a society where our government and the media conspire to tell us what to think. Is there any chance today that a dirt-poor Illinois farmboy could really teach himself the law and grow up to be president? (Okay, that one's not really from my youth, but still...).

What the hell happened to us?

I don't drink anymore, but if I did, I'd totally do this

2009-08-28T19:43:54Z

Add cooked bacon to a clean pint sized mason jar. Fill the jar up with vodka. Cap and place in a dark cupboard for at least three weeks. Then place the bacon vodka in the freezer to solidify the fats. Strain out the fats through a coffee filter. The yield should be clear, pale yellow bacon vodka.

Can you imagine how amazing the bloody marys would be??

Have a great weekend everybody!!

inglourious basterds

2009-08-27T04:29:08Z

Okay, this is going to be spoilerific: please do not click the link below if you haven't seen it. Also, why the hell haven't you seen it??

Okay, this thing is just RIFE with great storytelling notes, and I wanted to highlight a couple.

1 - The pocket: Early in the film, SS Col. Hans Landa whips out a huge pipe, which gets a great big laugh from the audience. "Mine is bigger than yours," he says with this pipe, and we all get that joke. What is much more subtle is the scene near the end of the film when Bridget von Hammersmark is looking for what might be in the right hand pocket of Landa's coat. What she finds, it turns out, is a plot-relevant shoe. What's the big deal about that? Well, the fact is, she takes quite a while to dig through a pocket of a jacket to find something as big as a shoe, and we buy it. Why do we buy it? Because in the very first act, Quentin Tarantino sets up just how capacious this pocket is. It's an extremely subtle bit of storytelling, but, man, does it work, since we don't all say to ourselves, "Hey, why does it take her five or ten seconds to find a SHOE in a POCKET?"

2 - Verbatim subtitles: Oui. (subtitled "Oui.") Merci. (subtitled "Merci.") Wunderbar. (subtitled "Wunderbar.") This is a running gag, and it's funny every time. What's interesting is that, on the second viewing, I missed the first one. Also, "oui" and "merci" are properly subtitled as "yes" and "thank you" some of the time, generally when they are part of a longer bit. Wunderbar, however is consistently subtitled as "Wunderbar." Is this because the actual meaning of wunderbar is just a little bit subtly, culturally different from the normal English translation of "wonderful"? I like to think so. Maybe a subtle point, but it's interesting how consistent this rule is applied to the one German word; for example, it could also more accurately translated as "Excellent!" Especially if you're from the Bill and Ted school.

3 - The first corpse scalped, (and I learned this from imdb) which caused a big laugh from me on the second viewing, is in fact a model of Quentin himself. This is hard to see without that knowledge, since you're looking at the scalping, but it's funny as hell if you look at the victim's face. Go watch it again!

4 - Apparently, the Bear Jew was originally supposed to be Adam Sandler. I liked Eli Roth in the role, but his first monologue (doing a thing as a baseball announcer) really fell flat with both of the audiences I saw it with. I actually think Sandler could have delivered it more effectively. Roth, who has one of the best close-ups in the thing near the end of the flick, when he's tearing Hitler's body apart, has a hard time selling his bad-ass-ness for most of the movie. If you watch it imagining Sandler doing the role, you see how it could have been much, much better.

5 - The Punch Guns: the punch guns used by Donowitz and Ulmer are set up very, very quickly, and the awesome moment where Ulmer crosses thirty feet to use his is over just as quickly. In a lesser screenplay, I could see these introduced as Checkov's Gun in the first act. Instead, Tarantino takes this super-cool idea, sets it up, and knocks it down, in less than a minute. In fact, the payoff is so fast that it actually interrupts a musical sting.

6 - Everything Aldo Raine says is funny. EVERYTHING. "... Grazie." EVERYTHING!!

7 - Right up until her last conversation, the main female lead spends the entire movie failing to react to things. "Okay, your motivation in this scene is to NOT GET KILLED BY NAZIS, and you should do that by betraying no emotion whatsover." What's truly impressive is how well she sells this across at least five separate scenes (under the boards, changing the marquee the first time, getting into the car, eating the strudel, mingling with the Huns in the party).

And now, the (very few) things I really didn't like:

1 - Thick Skin: Every time skin is cut through, it is nearly an inch thick. Scalping, throat cutting, and swastika carving are clearly happening through skin that exists in a world populated by rubber dummies. I know it could be argued that it's stylistic, but it took me out of the movie every time.

2 - The Bear beats Nazis with a baseball bat: exactly once... He never even picks up a bat after that. And why was the lead-up to it so long? The reveal really didn't work; we expected him to be huge, and, while he may have been comparatively huge, he was initially compared only to an empty tunnel. I'd have liked the camera to be lower, to make him seem HUGE.

3 - The last chapter title is "The Revenge of the Giant Face". The clip showing the giant face being spliced in makes the audience just sit and wait for it, when we know it's coming. Leave out the clear shot of her giant face during the splicing scene, and the last scene in the theater would have a lot more power; alternately, just call the last chapter "Cumuppence."

As ever, your mileage may vary. It's still a great flick, and I'd happily see it again with anyone who's interested. :)

There He Is

2009-08-14T06:19:48Z

He picked up the infant in his arms, and looked down on his wide eyes.

He said, "Hey, little guy! Welcome!" He looked up at his sweet wife, lying in the bed. She smiled at him, and smiled down at the little guy. She was exhausted after giving birth, and she slipped quietly to sleep. He kept his voice down, so she could rest.

"Wow. You've got toes and everything," he whispered. "You've got a little nose, there. And you've got little ears, and little fingers..."

The baby burped at him.

"Okay, big guy, that's cool! You feel okay? You warm enough?" He wrapped the baby in another blanket. The baby quieted down. He looked down on him with all the love in the world in his eyes.

"So, here's the thing. I'm going to teach you a LOT of math. And I'm going to teach you how to draw. Your mom is going to teach you empathy. She's great at that. You're going to learn to read. I'm going to teach you how to drive a stick, because your mother doesn't know how. You don't even know what ice cream is! I promise, it's better than anything else. Well, maybe not better than James Cameron movies, but it's very close."

The baby closed his eyes, then opened them halfway.... then closed them again. Sleepy.

"It's okay, little guy," he said. "Go ahead and rest. You've had a big day. It's nothing to how you'll feel the day you graduate high school, or the day you graduate college... and if your mom has her way, you'll get that PhD. In math, if I have any voice in the discussion, but the most important thing is that you're happy, every day."

He rested against the chair, cradling the baby against his chest. He felt the breathing of the infant in time with his own.

And, quietly, they both fell asleep.

And, as it turned out, he was completely right.

Ha!

2009-08-12T19:08:45Z

Kermit: I like adventure!
Piggy: I like romance!
Fozzie: I love great jokes!
Animal: Animal dance!
Scooter: I've got my computer!
Skeeter: I jump through the air!
Rowlf: I play the piano!
Gonzo: And I've got blue hair!
Bunson: Me, I invent things!
Beaker: ME-MEEP MEEP MEEP MEEEEEEEEEP!!!
Nanny: Is everything all right in here?
All: Yes, Nanny.

...That is all.

Above Average

2009-07-09T18:34:44Z

If you dig this chart - Annual Paycheck Breakdown - you'll note that the average household spends $457, or about 1% of their annual income, on alcholic beverages. When I was near the bottom, I was spending $40+ each DAY, every day, so $1200 each MONTH.

It's not entirely out of line to suggest that I was consuming alcohol in a way that is different from the norm.

Yikes.