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Posted on

hope your ship turns around

Gotta come back to port sometime, it's where there's shelter.
Ever experience something that smacks you in the face and makes you realize how brilliantly lucky you are to have what you have, live how you live, and be as happy as you are? I had that this week. My permanent grin, fat belly and quiet complacence long-since taken for granted and damn-near expected, I was reminded in the most humbling of ways that my life, as I’ve made it thus far, is exceedingly better than many, many others’. When you get down to it, this is no revelation; but you know us meek, we never go about trumpeting our treasures. We don’t talk about it; don’t meet strangers and ramble on about our various successes. No, revelation it’s not; no not by a long shot. But I’ll be damned if those of among the blessed like to be reminded that there are others our there who aren’t happy at all. Those in dire straits, one step out of sync with our blissful fairy tales; suffering. No, it’s easier to ignore all that that nasty business – you end up with less guilt for feeling so awesome in comparison. So, troubled of the world: please hide yourself from my sight – for it makes my perfect life just a little easier. Thanks for understanding; hope your ship turns around.

Flew back in from Oregon with little fanfare, decided not to go into work despite having the afternoon available to do so and no real reason not to. Travel compensation, I’ll call it, when no one asks because no one cares. It’s an awesome sunny day out, but all I’ve managed to do with it thus far is lament over my lack of internet and waste time doing nothing. I did manage to muster a half-assed trip up the road to the local warehouse store, where I made a circuit of the impossibly wide aisles, shielding my eyes from the fluorescents, scouting the vast landscape for one of those pre-fab sheds they sometimes sell. My search impeded by stroller-laden stay-at-homes and big-TV-droolers, I gave up when there was no shed to be found. Somehow, the whole five minute waste of a trip was indicative of my mood this afternoon. Unmotivated; torn between doing and not doing; stuck in some limbo state between being constructive or being lazy; depressed for reasons that aren’t my own.

That’s all, but I like it. Goodnight.

Posted on

vacating

Vacating.
Wrote some of this for the never-happened Tuesday entry, and some of it for an intended-to-happen Wednesday one… but I’m not gonna go back and change verb tenses or preface stuff by when it was written… you can figure it out. Seems crappy to have a solid week last week and then to fall off completely this one… but that’s how it goes. In Oregon today, returning early tomorrow – fast trip cutting into my normal weeknight sleep allotment. Bah.

Haven’t talked about music much of late, guess I really only resort to that when I can’t think of much else to write. After all, who really wants to know what I like by the week anyway. But, in the spirit of writing for me and not you, I’ve been listening to the new-to-me (but in reality, dirt-old) album (link contains lotsa streamy goodness) by the Shout Out Louds lately, stuck it on my cellphone for the flight and general listenin’ while traveling. Damn fine album I think… right down to the Pole Position “doot-doot-doot-deet” rip that kicks the whole thing off. You should listen to it, it’s radawesome. That album and the truly-new Joggers, both been occupying my eartime pretty exclusively.

Hey guys, back from slackin’… no time to write Sunday as I was completely overwhelmed with a late breakfast, mid-afternoon nap, and dinner at Pat & Cyn’s. But now I’m back, writing. Power musta went out at the crib today, welcomed home by blinking clocks and a dead internet connection. And, no doubt as you read this, I’ll be jetting my way up north for a meeting and an overnighter. Don’t want to go, of course, but will go anyway… for wont of paycheck-continuity and all. If I had time I’d go see my folks, but with a one-day turnaround and a quasi-work evening engagement, there just ain’t time. It’s not that I don’t love ya, moms and pops, you just gotta understand the life of a young billionaire CEO.

Was working on finalizing the December travel plans today; India, up to Oregon to visit my folks, then over to Florida for the in-laws. It’s a pretty quick pace… I scheduled the flight out to visit my folks on the same day I fly in from India (tried to change my return, but they couldn’t do it without a hefty penalty). I don’t even leave the airport… fly in after 15 hours, pick up and re-check my bags, meet Sharaun and fly back out. Extreme, yeah… but it’s the only time we had. After blocking off my work calendar to reflect the travel, I was pretty surprised to see that I’m only at work three days the entire month… and only in town about a week. Not bad for a guy who likes his time away from work. Yup; nearly a week off for Thanksgiving; and December’s gonna fly by. Then January, then February, then six weeks off to spend with Lil’ Chino. Bring it on. I won’t even remember what it is I do come April.

Whatever, OK… whatever. Goodnight.

Posted on

one-solid

Do it now.
Evening folks. With this I’ve closed out one-solid (that’s one entry a day for a week), and that makes me feel good seeing as I was convinced I had dried up just last week. It may not be good, or even mediocre, but it’s here… so read it; pussy.

So, I didn’t post it every day this week like I said I would – but there’s still time to make your mark on the sounds familiar Frappr page. Go there now if you’re not representing your zip code with pride yet, or, go there now to help me understand how this page gets hundreds and hundreds of hits a day but only has ten readers willing to admit it (I know, they’re all Levitra and holdem robots… bastards). Anyway, do it now pussy.

Been on an entry-fixing kick since last night, and re-motivated today by a comment posted on an old entry; an old entry full of crazy ASCII artifacts from my the database hacking I had to do to make the move to WordPress. Fixed that one, gave it a title, removed the funny characters – and was then inspired to go back and title/fix some more old entries. With an eventual goal of 100% titled and categorized… I’ve still got work ahead of me though. At least the first months of 2004 seem to be on their way… Anyway, do it now pussy.

9:30pm and I’m beat… heavy-eyes tired for some reason. I think, for the past couple days, I’ve been fighting off a cold, beneath the surface. I get little signs now and then, like fatigue or congestion in the morning, little things that just tell me my immune system is fighting a silent battle somewhere deep inside me… fending off whatever it is that’s determined to take me down. Way to go immune system, we’re all rooting for you; we’ve put little yellow ribbons on the back of our SUVs as a show of support for you and we pray every weekend for your safety as you protect our wellbeing.

Y’know (stay with me, it’s semi-related), I don’t just get Maxim for the babes… they occasionally have some decent writing. This month’s issue actually had a piece I really enjoyed, not for the writing style, which I found kinda hackneyed, pandering, and overly heartstring-tugging, but for the story. It’s a collection of sad tales about American vets, recently returned from our latest wars/engagements. For those of you thinking I’m trying to make some political point, I’m not; I’m sure there are just as many happy and triumphant tales of homecoming to balance these. I’m just saying I liked the article; anything that’ll keep me in the bathroom, breathing the stench of my own feces, has got to be a pretty compelling read. If you wanna check it out, they’ve got it online in its entirety here.

Guys I dunno… I just don’t think I have another paragraph in me. Now… go to the Frappr page, pussy.

Goodnight.

Posted on

a lot of words, nothing to say

So much for keeping it short and sweet.
Fresh out of wrote-last-night canned content, this one’s gotta come correct with original content – written on-the-spot. It’s not as easy to do as you may think. Go home tonight, try to write a few paragraphs about something… I swear it looks easy but it’s not. So, when I sat down and thought about what to write tonight, this is what happened. A heavily back-linked entry, which is good because all the trawling through old posts gave me a chance to fix posts where things some WordPress conversion artifacts were still hiding, and give titles and categories to those still un-titled/categoried. At least I’m still putting-out; enjoy.

I think it’s funny the things I can remember from early childhood. Some are just random snippets, seemingly disconnected; some I don’t trust as true memories and some I’m almost certain are remembered incorrectly or to an exaggerated extent. I’m gonna go through some of them now, and maybe link to some that I’ve written about previously so I don’t have to write about what I’ve already written about. Here’s how I approached this: I know about how old I was when we made our first move, and about how old I was when we made our second – so I can use the “where” of the memory to help date it, at least to within a +/- range of years. Our first move happened when I was about five years old, and our second when I was about seven. Anything from the first house I remember happened at five and under, which is pretty damn impressive; and anything in the second house between five and seven. I’m gonna start from the later memories and work back.

5-7 years old: I’m swinging on the swingset in the backyard (in my memory my brother is with me, but it doesn’t seem to work with the age-range), listening to the radio. We were waiting to hear either “Eye of the Tiger,” or “We Built this City.” “We Built this City” came on, and we swung furiously to the beat, whipped into a frenzy by the ‘Starship.

5-7 years old: I’m walking to kindergarten with an older neighbor, mom let me as long as he walked with me. One morning, a car pulled up and asked if we wanted a ride. Having been trained from an early age, we knew to decline. After the car left, we both ran the rest of the way to school and told a teacher.

5-7 years old: I found this thing, a kind of toy or something… it’s possibly the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a flat shape about half and inch thick, and shaped in the outline of a skull, it’s filled with some red fluid, maybe meant to look like blood. I found it in the street. For some reason, I cherish this thing, and remember it to this day for how utterly awesome I thought I was. You couldn’t separate me from this red-juice-filled skull thing. One day, while cherishing the skull, I noticed a stinky greasy substance on my hand; the red juice was leaking. I had to throw the skull away. To this day I can see that skull going into the garbage can; it was so unique, I wonder what it was.

5-7 years old: I get my first love letter, to this day the feelings are burned into my mind. Read about it here.

5-7 years old: Preschool. I think my mom works here; we take naps on cots. I remember I was afraid to crawl in the playground stuff because they found a black widow in there. For some reason, I have this memory of having to walk from preschool to somewhere else… I think after preschool or something. I know this part of the memory is likely wrong, but it’s somehow tied to preschool in my mind. I remember my mom, or someone, showing me where I was supposed to go, walking with me, practicing with me – it seems like it was maybe a mere block, around the corner perhaps, from wherever my origin was. But, in a form true to my personality, when I finally had to make the walk solo, I panicked thinking I had made a wrong turn. I just remember the feeling of complete fear and desperation thinking I had gotten myself lost. Then I turned the corner I thought was right, and ended up seeing my destination… I can still remember my relief. What an odd memory.

0 to 5 years old: I did something I’m still ashamed of, even though I was probably too young to hold myself responsible. I don’t feel like summarizing it, but will instead link it directly.

0 to 5 years old: We played with matches and I burned my finger; I hid it from my mom. Read about it in the second paragraph of my all-encompassing fire entry.

0 to 5 years old: We have a huge tree in our front yard, my brother and I call it the “sticky tree.” I remember it as towering above the house, with a full canopy and hanging vines – I know now this must be exaggerated. My brother and I would climb it. We’d swing from the vines, Tarzan-style, we’d camp out un the crooks of branches high above the ground.

0 to 5 years old: The daughter of my mom’s friend and I are jumping on my bed. After we jump around a bit, we fall down together in a heap and I tell her, “You can kiss me now.” She does. We jump some more, laugh, play, and I tell her, “You can kiss me now.” She does it every time. While I don’t count this as my first “real” kiss (I was too young to appreciate it), it ranks high in my list of memories.

One thing I notice about these memories, almost all of them involve my little brother, but almost certainly some happened without him – based purely on how old he’d be at the time. I’m not exactly sure how well on my way to being six I was when we moved that first time, but I’m pretty sure that even if I was right there my brother, who would then be three, wasn’t climbing to the top of jungle trees and swinging on vines with me. I’m beginning to even doubt his participation in the whole Naomi thing… it just seems like I may have “added” him to some memories, I dunno.

I guess this is a “thing” with me, as I’ve done it before. Something I like doing, I suppose. Anyway, the entry on the whole turned out a lot weaker than I intended – but I forgot there was a new episode of Lost on tonight and Sharaun wanted to practice her lesson plan on me.

Goodnight.

Posted on

clouds and clouds of white smoke pour from your fingertips

Amaze your friends!
So sorry guys, I’ve been off on a tangent lately and writing about religion a bit. I hope this hasn’t turned away the God-phobic of my readership, but I can promise you a Lord-free entry today. Stick with me, I’m going all one-track on ya, I promise. Oh, and… I’m still writing… which makes me happy.

You know, when this baby comes, I’m taking time off. No, refining that, I’m taking a state-paid “leave of absence.” That’s right, an extended vacation. Sure, it’s at less than half my pay… but it’s some awesome time I’ll get to spend with Sharaun and our daughter. It seems so far off now, February… but I know it’ll be on me in an instant. It will no doubt seem even speedier with all the travel we have planned for December; the month will be a blur – with not a single week at home the entire thirty-one days. For me, the 1st week spent in India, then directly to Oregon for my birthday with the folks. Then the very next weekend we’re off to Florida for Christmas with her family, only to return a few days before 2006. A short two months after that, and we’re parents. Honestly, I still can’t believe it. I think about it and just can’t comprehend it; the change coming, the new stuff. I guess I really won’t be able to “understand” it until we live through it. Maybe then I’ll know a little better what to expect when number two comes around. We’ll see.

I’ll talk about work a little bit now.

I want to share with you what I think is one huge aspect of my path to success, at least at work. You ready? This is some serious tactical information I’m about to give away. Here it is: be a data hog. Horde, packrat (as a verb), stash things away for future reference. I am convinced that “knowledge” as we normally think of it is about a 50/50 mix of wisdom and resources. What I mean by that is, you have to have some “wisdom,” or common sense, acumen, not-dumbassness, whatever you wanna call it, to even begin to execute. If you’re a drooling retard who consistently makes piss-poor decisions, you’re not gonna succeed even if you save the entire internet to your cellphone for handy reference. But, if you’ve got that basic ability to think… you’re halfway to being perceived as a genius. The other half is simple: store what you can in your brain, but, even more important, keep everything on-hand for quick consultation. When I say everything, I mean everything from a documented history of the past, to reference materials, to a well-maintained a personal network of other “smart” people. It’s that simple folks. What you’ll realize is, people respect someone who can react knowledgeably nearly as much as the do someone who’s truly knowledgeable – if the results are the same. So, strive to know where knowledge is – even if it’s not in your own head.

I’ll talk about magic a little bit now.

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with magic. My brother and I used to put on magic shows in our garage, performing tricks I’d learned from the many books I had, most of them bought at garage sales or used book outlets, written for children decades before my time, and given to me as well-read, coverless, dog-eared gifts. My favorite place at Disneyland was the magic store on Main Street, where I bought my first tube of “Mystic Smoke.” For my 5th grade birthday party, my parents hired a magician who came and entertained my friends and I; I was never happier. By the time I was twelve years old, I knew how to “blow eggs” and stuff them with confetti, pour milk into a rolled newspaper, and pull a card off the bottom of a deck.

Back then, there was one of those costume/magic stores about an hour from our house – in the city where my mom grew up. I would was thrilled every time we had the chance to be in town, and would beg my dad to make a stop. I remember the place having all sorts of expensive masks hanging on the wall, and racks of costumes. What I was interested in though, was under the glass display case and in on display shelves behind it: the magic tricks. The man behind the counter would demonstrate the newest tricks; a knot that seemed to pass through a wooden block, sticks that changed color when you said the magic word, all the latest and greatest. I used to save up my allowance, adding a new trick to my canon with each visit. When we moved to Florida, my obsession waned, but didn’t fade. After all, middle-school makes it hard to concentrate on the latest sleight-of-hand illusion when girls all around you are sprouting boobs and wearing Malibu Musk.

As a surprise one year, my folks got the family tickets to see David Copperfield at the local performing arts place. As a kid, Copperfield was my favorite magician, his illusions seemed amazing, and I was thrilled to see him perform live. As I grew up, however, I learned to resent him. His tricks were so grandiose and his stage presence was repulsive, he was all that was wrong with modern magic. Anyway, even a trip to see Copperfield in person wasn’t enough. Soon enough, I found other things to care about, and my thumb-tip and secret-pocket handkerchief went into a box with my other tricks and up into the closet. I still got my Abbotts catalogs throughout highschool, but I usually only like it for the smell of paper and the kitschy illustrations. In college, I saw David Blaine’s Street Magic, which stirred the love deep within me again and sent me running to the local store for a Svengali deck, Scotch & Soda, and all the staples of Blaine-style closeup magic. After college, I bought some books on “true” card magic, or card manipulation… but could never master the moves.

Yeah, that ended up being boring and void of any meaningful point – but I’m unwilling to delete all that writing. Live with it.

Dishes are washed and put up, Sharaun’s asleep on the couch, the cat’s got food, and now the evening’s chores are done and there’s nothing left to do but sleep. Did I tell you we bought some furniture? Wait, who is “you?” Anyway… we bought some furniture for the front room. We’re dropping dough like live-in girlfriends drop marriage hints… hemorrhaging money, as I like to say. The big outpouring to get the place worthy of our new family member. We’ll be ready for you, Lil’ Chino, we’ll be ready.

Love ya, goodnight.

Posted on

where are the teeth?

Bless y'allz.
This weekend it felt like I had so much “binned” for today’s entry, I slacked in thinking up topics today. Then, when I logged in to check my almost-finished post – it was only a few topic-sentences and one fully-formed paragraph. Well, so much for not having to write tonight, to the keyboard the fingers fly. Lotta God-talk today, so my heathen brothers will simply have to bear with me.

First things first, thanks to those of you who started populating the sounds familiar Frappr page, it’s a good start (although, as of last night, Frappr’s little pushpins were noticeably absent). If you missed the link yesterday, I’ll be putting it in each entry this week to give you plenty of chances to add yourself to the roll. Hit it now! Be there or be somewhere else.

By luck the other day, I caught a preview for a two-part show on the History Channel called The Crusades: The Crescent and the Cross. I set the TiVo with anticipation, as the preview made the program look amazing… a mix of historical storytelling and live-action reenactment. I watched the first two-hour installment tonight and am happy to say it was excellent. A little reminder of the brutality that was the Christian vs. Islam battle of the initial crusade. The history of religion is simply fascinating to me – as are the concepts of religion and faith in general. Anyway, if you get a chance and there’s an encore presentation or something, I highly recommend the show. Whether or not you claim a God, it’s chock-full of world-altering history that provides the setup for so much of the modern global stage – you’re bound to appreciate it. One day, when I have tons of spare money and gobs of spare time, I’d like to take some college-level theology/religious-history classes… maybe this is worth another paragraph…

Sharaun got a bit peeved with me this Sunday on the way to church, as I freely offered my opinion that I thought the pre-service “classes” we attend were of little value. To me, the classes are all the same – always the basics, perennially for the noobs. “God is love,” the Sermon on the Mount, the death, burial, and resurrection; Christianity’s Dick and Jane, the ABCs of faith. Over and over and over, the same simple stories are told, the same banal comments are made, a mass-hypnotized crowd nods in unison to tired themes taken out and trotted around since Reformation Day One. OK sure, so you have to properly indoctrinate the fresh blood… give them them sacred precepts, the bare-bones tenets; fine. But, what got under Sharaun’s skin was my comment, “Where are the teeth?” Where’s the real history, the interesting stuff: the politics, the Dead Sea Scrolls, Gnosticism, the scholarly review? How many times have you sat through a Sunday School lesson on the Prodigal Son? Tired of it? Know it? Me too. Let’s have a series of lessons on the defining years of Christianity, the first-thousand years AD, the ecumenical councils, the canonization of the Bible. Let’s get into the grey areas, let’s air the dirty laundry, let’s talk about all the stuff we’re afraid to talk about, the hard-to-reconcile, the obviously exaggerated; yeah, all that.

Why do modern Protestant faiths ignore the roads that birthed them? I can somewhat understand the focus: evangelize; win souls; spread the Gospel. After all, those who most need salvation are those least likely to care how 1st Peter came to be in the New Testament and more likely to care that their new God will take care of them in rough times. The problem here is that you end up with an army of blind followers… a mass of believers hooked only on the charisma of Christ, the hope of forgiveness, the promise of something better than today. Is this wrong? I have no idea… maybe not – but I can see how it could be dangerous. Simply flipping the faith switch, just believing – exactly the scenario Bible-toting Christians pray upon non-believers – could be cause for concern. Think about it: this “God,” this supreme being beyond all human comprehension – He will feed your hungry children, forgive you your deepest trespasses, provide for your every need; but what do you really know about Him? Would you die for Him? How about kill for Him? What does it even mean, where does what you hold dear really come from?

Wait.. what’s that? You’re tired of this crap, I’m not making sense anymore? You say that, instead of this junk, you wanna know what the hottest tracks have been in my personal rotation last week? OK, here’s a quick snapshot (more details in my ‘scrob link in the sidebar) of what I’ve been swaying my head and slapping my thigh to (all with linky goodness for the curious):

Arctic Monkeys – A Certain Romance
The Joggers – Night of the Horsepills (sadly linkless)
The Strokes – You Only Live Once
Rogue Wave – 10:1
The North American Halloween Prevention Initiative – Do They Know It’s Halloween? (wait for it to load, or grab it impatiently with this nifty Firefox extension)

Ummm… OK, I have nothing more to write (actually, I do, and did, but once again “binned” it for tomorrow). Goodnight.

Posted on

defending the castle

Beware my sword.
I wrote a lot this weekend, so I’m gonna do the famous two-day material split and win myself a night off today. Tomorrow it’ll be old to me, but new to you…

A couple weeks ago, when the Frappr! thing was big, I setup an account for sounds familiar. Then I stopped short of posting the link here for y’all to populate because I was a scaredycat when it came to linking myself with my zipcode. I have no idea why I insist on hiding behind some imagined anonymity… this is the internets, for pete’s sake. So, let’s do it. If you don’t know what Frappr! is about, let me tell you: it’s a dead simple way to graphically plot where people are, usually people with some common interest or theme. In this case, readers this here blog. So, fair people, favor me and populate the sounds familiar Frappr! page, OK? Don’t worry, you can do it anonymously, I’m more interested just how far-flung my readership (those that dare own up to it) is. So, without further ado: the sounds familiar Frappr page. If I get a half-decent turnout, I may add a permanent link in the sidebar so all the noobs can join in the fun.

Friday morning I had a really creepy experience. I had just gotten out of the shower and dried off. Realizing that I had no clean boxers in the bedroom, I walked, naked, down the hallway into the laundry room where I knew some fresh, clean boxers lay in wait in the dryer. As I sifted through the laundry and pulled out a clean pair, a voice rang out from the next room. Although I didn’t quite catch what it said, it was a loud, clear, male voice which sounded to be asking a question. And, from the sounds of it, it was in my house. Immediately I knew something was wrong. It’s 7:30am, no one should be here… and definitely not in the house. My first thought was that it could be the landscaping company – they had warned me that they were having some topsoil delivered that day – maybe the door was open and they poked their head in to ask where to dump the load.

My heart racing, I hastily pulled on my boxers, not wanting to be naked and in fear of my life. After covering my shame, I looked around for something to clutch, some makeshift weapon I could rely on should the need arise to batter my intruder; but in the laundry room blunt objects are hard to come by. So, I edged my way around the corner, calling out, “Hello?! Who’s there?” No one. As I came into the living room, my eyes fell on a sheathed leather sword – a left-behind item from a costumed guest at our recent Halloween party. But this is no plastic costume sword, it’s got a real metal blade, albeit not very sharp, that has a good weight to it. Perfect! I unsheathed the sword and held it at the ready as I continued my search. Picture it folks: Here I am; ready to defend my home. I’m walking around in naught but my boxer briefs (with a pink piggie on them, no less), holding a damn sword in a strike position shouting, “Hello?! Hello?!” What home invader wouldn’t just throw down their arms and run?

Anyway, I still have no idea what the voice was, and I swear I heard it. After clearing the house, backyard and garage, I even poked the mouse on our two PCs to see if perhaps one had been left on one of those annoying webpages that talk – but there was nothing. My only explanation is that I heard the carried sound of someone outside, a voice that maybe caught just the right wind and floated right through a vent or something to sound so present. Odd.

Did you guys see the comment by “Bob” on my entry from a couple days ago? I know Shaine did, because he already commented on it – but I feel the need to make sure it gets some wider attention. I read it with disbelief this weekend. It is most certainly a spam comment, but I’m going to leave it up. Know why? Well, #1 because I think it’s hilarious; but #2 because, whoever wrote it, they actually read my post. Amazing. So, check out Bob’s hair-site if you wanna… and if you see me in two weeks with lush flowing locks not unlike Motley Crew, don’t ask.

I’m writing again. Maybe I shouldn’t write about it, I’ll jinx it. K then, ‘nite.