Fall of 2002 in Review: Oct - Dec


October 8

Two new things have happened worth noting:

Pomer-mania!

If you would have told me that two weeks ago, I'd be driving to Middle of Nowhere, Virginia, to purchase a baby Pomeranian in dark in an abandoned parking lot... I would have thought you were from a bad Prune Bran skit. But that's what we did.

When we got Cosmo, Ahfu was overjoyed. He loved that kitten. And the kitten loved him back. But recently, the kitten has decided the dog is no fun and he wants to play with the brain-damaged Siamese, Thisby. Ahfu got sad.

We knew we wanted another dog so Ahfu had someone to play with that played doggie games. Ahfu played with many of the dogs we fostered, as well as visiting dogs. But many were too big, or too crabby. We wanted a small dog that would have energy, but not too much. We basically wanted another Pekingese, but no breeder for thousands of miles had any puppies, and I didn't want to drive to New York or Florida. So... Christine was on a rescue website, and heard about this Pom who was show quality, but not showable, because he has a sort of ... male-related problem where he has to get fixed. Then he can't be used for show or stud. The breeder was a woman who was not just any breeder, but the number one Pom breeder in the United States for nine years running. No fooling, we checked. She showed us this puppy ... and well, we fell in love.

Originally, we were going to meet her in mid-October at her house over a four-hour drive away, but several weeks earlier, we were supposed to go somewhere else, but CR and I got sick. We got better by Sunday that weekend, and Christine said, "Hey, why not see the breeder early?" Turns out that the breeder was on the road, but willing to meet us in Virginia, where she was taking back some of her champions from her handlers (she breeds only, she hires handlers to show and stud), and we all agreed to meet in some midway point called Lexington, Virginia. It was a three-hour drive.

The meeting place was a parking lot of a Shoneys, next to the Golden Corral (both restaurants). The Shoneys went out of business years ago, but none of knew the Golden Corral had also gone belly up. Christine and I made good time, and we got there early. We found the meeting place, and it was like from some Mafia movie. We discussed in a restaurant that this was the weirdest thing we'd ever done, and debated on whether it was actually safe.

It was dark when we met the breeder, Sharon, and two of her handlers. Those men were right out of that movie, "Best in Show." I am not going to say they were gay, but buddy, they could have easily gotten a job in a coffee shop in San Francisco. Very nice, and I mean it in the best way. I saw some of the other Poms, and we got our little puppy with the plea, "If he doesn't work out... pleeeeeeeease bring him back!" Sharon was a very nice woman, and we even have a money-back guarantee on him, but I don't think we'll take advantage of that.

After much debate, we named him "Widget" (get it, a product with no name?). Ahfu loves him, and Widget is doing well in his new home. He's a love bug, and Widget is going through the "don't bark at the cats" and "pee outside, only, please" training. But he's only 6 months old, and I think his future with us is bright.

Bang, bang, you're dead.

As I write this, some guy (or gal) has shot six people randomly all over the DC Metro area. They haven't caught anyone yet, but police say, "We have a lot of leads." It's been days of this. Last one was some kid up in Bowie.

Everyone around here has gone nuts, and with good reason. This is some scary stuff. First, there is no reason to the killing, it's random people, young, old, black, white, male, female, and so on. It happens at night or broad daylight. In crowded areas or alone. One guy mowing his lawn, another putting air into her tire at a gas station. Another just a kid dropped off at school. This "feels" to me like one of those people who have snapped, and just want to be the anti-hero because he can. I can almost sense this guy, and he is a guy in my mind, too cut of from social contact because of bad upbringing, who spent a lot of his life feeling the power of guns and rifles under his arms. He is probably young (under 30), and probably still lives with his parents. He might have had some military experience. He is tired of being alone, an outcast to a society he never fit into. The normal filter that most of us have of "killing is wrong" has been removed, and I don't think he's scared to die. He's getting a thrill, kind of like how some people get thrills from torturing animals. It's a control thing. A kind of "last hurrah" thing because he'll be famous, and he feels there was nothing left in his life to do. Like a cornered rat.

I used to wonder how people got this way. But over the years, I have seen some pretty messed up things. I have studied how humans do the most illogical things, but when you break down the insanity into its individual components, it makes more sense. It's still wrong, but at least you can figure out why.

I used to know a guy who hated cats. I guess everyone has a right to do so, but he really, really hated them. I like cats, so I wanted to know why. His reasoning was interesting. "They are sneaky." This means that his assumption of cat behavior is that cats are at least self-aware, and that they are aware of other's thoughts, which puts them at a mentality of about a 4 year old human child. I have lived with cats all my life, and while I think they are smart, and probably self-serving (I mean, what pet isn't to an extent?), that I have seen no proof of strategy or manipulation of other's thoughts through lying or other means. So I asked him "How he knew." "They just are, Punkie. They just are." His factual arguments about stealing food and wanting love when there is no food were weak, because they could be explained by other things. I also brought up that dogs, which he called loyal, were just as likely to steal food and wanting more love when there is no food. I don't consider this a BAD trait, mind you, I mean, it works on a very uncomplicated basic level. He said that dogs were meant to be subservient. He's never seen my dog, but that's another topic. But then he said something I'll never forget. "Punkie, cats are all the same. They are like one big oily force, and they should all be killed." That's when I started to understand the "unified" thought process of the enemy.

Over the years, I have also met many men who think of women as the same way. In fact, people often compare cats and women as being "mysterious" and "manipulative." You don't see many commercials or movies where men have cats. I know this one guy who has a serious problem understanding women. He thinks of them all as aliens. Maybe not literally, but close enough to "What do women eat? Why do they have boobs?" and so on. When he says "Women," he means that all of them are part of some vague unified force. He doesn't see them as individuals past his need to have sex with just one of them. Like part of some big, oily force.

Then someone people start to look at the "not me" the same way. This is where true, medical paranoia starts to set. Maybe you think they are after you (like my dad, he always said everyone was after him), or maybe you look at them like so many clouds in the sky ... untouchable, but could bring rain ... or not. If only you knew! But this one, vast, oily force of "not me" is a depersonalization. Suddenly, the guy you just shot is not Mortimer Smith who has two kids and loves his job. He's one of THEM. The woman you just raped wasn't an aspiring marathon athlete who likes ice cream, she was one of THEM. You and THEM. And there are many more of THEM than you...

I must admit, I haven't ever really fit in anywhere, but some grace of God has made me realize that I am just one of the multitude of characters that make up the human race. I am not better or worse that the person next to me. Every human is a lifetime of experiences, learning, joys, pains, fears, loves, wants, goals, and a whole bunch of other things. I don't recall how used this phrase, but it was a phrase called "Onion World." Onions have thousands of paper-thin layers, just like living on Earth. And if you take the time to peel each layer one by one, when you get the center, there is nothing. Some people say the world is an onion because it smells and at the core is nothing. I say it's a sum of the parts that makes the whole world. The nearly infinite complexities and interactions from the subatomic level to the mega-contact of colliding suns. Take the average penny. It is a line of existence. Who mined the copper and zinc? Who shipped it? Who minted it? Was it recycled? All the people that touched the copper have lives, as complex and rich as yours. Then think of all the people who exchanged it. Think of what it purchased, and how it got into your pocket. Where is it going next? Who will have it? What will happen to the metal 2 years, 10 years, 500 years from now? That's just the basics. You could spend an eternity focusing on just one penny and all the experiences it contains. Just think of a whole person! It's mind-boggling. To kill another person, to exterminate and end the life of someone who had experiences as rich and valid as mine is unthinkable. But that's because I value everyone. There are no insignificant moments, no insignificant people, and I am not the judge to execute my own, teeny will on someone's vast sum of existence. What I don't know, I want to learn.

What this shooter doesn't know, he fears.


November 26th

It's been a while.

I Turned 34

I don't feel much different as an adult. Piers Anthony once said, "An adult is nothing more than a broken down child." I have always felt like a broken down child. No parents, horrible childhood memories, and barely any family to support me other than my little island of happiness in a big old sea of lonely. I, of course, am speaking of my wife and son. Oh, and the dogs and cats.

The lovely little bundle of love I call Christine threw me one of the most successful parties to date. It was a punk/goth mystery party. There were like 30 people there, and we all had fun, ate cake, had potluck, and I got to introduce some of my new friends like Diane, Julie, and Anya to everyone else. Pictures will come shortly, please stay tuned.

When I was young, and first discovered math, I thought the year 2000 was so far away. I calculated I would turn 32 in 2000. Wow. 32. When I was 8, this was 4 times my age. Golly, that's for*EVER*! Then 2000 came and went. 32 came and went. I was barely paying attention, but the back of my mind, an 8-year old me was sitting in the dark, looking at the squarish red glow of "32" in my LED calculator display. Now I am 34. I have creaks and pains, mostly due to me being so fat, but all in all, my health isn't as bad as it could be. But I have this goal of being rid of my childhood traumas by age 36, which I based on the fact it's 2 x 18. I was 18 when my life REALLY started, and I was able to heal a lot of crap from the first 18 years (see, it took 18 years to get screwed up, 18 more to unwind... right?). But I am way behind schedule. I still have to deal with sucking depression, and themes of abandonment, fear of conflict, and other stuff left from the years of fear, pain, humiliation, grief, and other emotional scars that make me wonder if I'll ever get over it all. There is just so much, and while I have climbed and struggled up a mountain of forgiving, the peak is still way off in the clouds above me. And vultures are circling. But if I look down, I go, "Woah, I am pretty high up! I can see my whole childhood from here!" And what a mess of pain and regret. But I must continue upwards, for the struggle is what makes us human, I am told.

Racist Witch! BURN HIM!

About ten years ago or so, I was alerted to the fact that a person whom I thought was a friend of mine was telling people that I was "a pathological liar who liked to pit people against each other and make them fight." When this got back to me, I was appalled, shocked, and hurt. I confronted the person who said that, who lied about saying it, and lied quite badly. It was one of those, "I never said that" that turned into "they misread what I said" to "they misread my intentions" to "I didn't mean it" to "I was drunk, give me a break!" and finally, "I don't know/remember what I said." Typical of people who spread lies so easily, they don't have the strength of time to plan what happens when they are caught.

Most people are under the assumption I never defend myself, this error comes back to haunt some people. Some bad people. This "friend" was a bit shocked and caught very off guard. Same with another "friend" who thought aggressively cornering my wife at a party for the invitation into some lewd behavior would go unnoticed. I told him, to a crowd, that if he did anything like that to her again, I would rip his heart out through his throat and smash it into his face. He laughed. I didn't. I told him I wasn't laughing. I swear the whole party suddenly went quiet, because no one had ever seen me mad. Nobody ever expects it.

Today, a bunch of people sunk to a new low as I was blatantly and publicly accused of racism because I made a comment about how Chinese used fireworks to scare off evil spirits (in a suggestion I made to a friend who seemed to be plagued by bad luck). One person immediately jumped down my throat with a comment of how none of the Chinese people she knew used fireworks to drive off evil spirits. I pointed to some literature on some web sites that proved otherwise, but made sure she knew that just because China has a past with people afraid of evil spirits does not detract in any way from their great cultural history and slews of useful inventions like gunpowder, the typewriter, ink, astronomy, martial arts, pasta, ice cream, and a bazillion other things we take for granted in modern society. Then someone else commented that I was ignorant of other races, and would never "admit it to an Asian persons face." Since this was an online forum, I have no idea what race anyone is, but I will state for the record, if you are Asian and/or of Asian descent, whether it be Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai, Malaysian, Cambodian, or whatever... I like you. In fact, you are so normal to me, I had to sit and think of how many Asian friends I have. I never keep count because I don't have a tally sheet of my friend's races, sexes, religions, sexual orientation, or whatever. I don't sort my friends into categories that crude, and since none of them are stereotypes or even act like them (I have NEVER met anyone, Asian or not, who confuses "R" with "L") ... sorry, I can't answer "how many Asians do you know?" What divides whether someone is "Asian" or not, anyway? I would suggest technically Russians are Asian, if all we go by is geography. When I was young, I used to know old people who could tell what "type" or Asian they were just by their face. I have never had that skill. Never needed it.

I know my Aunt Angela is from Taiwan. She's cool. But she's cool because she's a nice person and a seasoned professional career woman who can speak several languages fluently and makes some good food, not because she's Asian. Been married to my Uncle for... 30 years? More? You'd think the "nifty Asian" thrill would have worn off by now, she must have something else to stay with my Uncle.

But alas, saying, "But-but I, have Asian friends..." never is a good excuse because it has been used by racists. I once heard one woman say, "Don't you accuse me of being racist, I went to college with FOUR colored girls!" Wow, a whole four? You once knew a guy who knew a Jew? Amazing. You are so worldly.

Of course, whether I know I am not a racist or not is immaterial. Like crying "WITCH! HERETIC!" in colonial America, being branded a racist puts you under close scrutiny. And so I am on the defensive once again because people who don't know me or care about me wish to grace their lives with some intrigue at another's expense. And it bums me out. So I got angry. And defended myself. And got a lot of support from those who went, "Wha...? YOU? Racist? They guy I had to convince Jedi was black? HAH HAH HAHAHA! Oh gees, what idiot said that?"

To all who supported me: thank you.

The Death of the Online Group

Then there is my little voice that goes, "Why do you want online friends? They only turn against you." That voice sounds like an evil little girl up to no good. But she has a point.

I have been online for ... gosh, 13 years or so. Started with little single phone line BBSs. I helped start two of them, and many of them came and went before I found Usenet in 1991. I lost my access in 1992 when my free connection went away, but came back years later when the Internet took off. I have been on countless boards, e-mail lists, and online groups, and I see the same pattern:

  • Phase 1: Birth. New group, if it doesn't die, gets bigger. Cool people make it even more fun.
  • Phase 2: Growth. New people join. Two circles start to form, a small "core" circle and a large "newbies" circle form. Maybe people start to meet outside the list, in the real world.
  • Phase 3: Maturity. The top of the game. Posts are frequent and full of good wit and advice. A few flame wars but not many. "Core" people are "senior members" and the previous wave of "newbies" are now not newbies, and some want to be core really bad. Political ties, friendships, even bonding relationships start. Parties are held. The peak of coolness has now been achieved.
  • Phase 4: Old Age. Lists become too big. New people join and quit all the time. People get sick of the same posts over and over. "Didn't we cover that topic?" FAQs become longer and longer. Requests for donations are made to keep the operation going. Flame wars much more frequent. A lot of "core" people quit in disgust, and some of the "used to be newbies" are vying for power. Political rifts more complex than your average chess game form. Anger spills outside the lists to real life.
  • Phase 5: Death. People quit in droves, no one's manning the ship. Ownership of the forum changes frequently, and the lists starts to fill up with unattended wars, flames, and spam. A few people hang on ... but soon, they all drop off like dying leaves in winter. Finally, a technical glitch or a response to the straw the broke the camel's back shuts down the list for good.
  • Phase 6: Memories. Some friendships still linger, and anecdotes and a few legends form. "Remember so-and-so? What was his real name? Whatever became of him?" Maybe an answer to "so how'd you two meet?" gives the fleeting name of a BBS, Forum, or list long dead.

My friend Brad is going through that with his Everquest Guild. He's on Phase 5. I fear this online forum I am on is sort of turning Phase 4, although the two people that run it are still going strong (thank you, Sara and stee), and I am probably full of bitter BS because I am still bummed out about this racist thing. I am in Phase 6 of several boards. SNUBBS, ARMUDIC, AdultBliss*, Starlight Trading Post, and others. I see a lot of sci fi cons in a Phase 4 to 5 transition these days as well. Very sad. Christine asks me why I even bother, expecially after Crunchland. Well, I don't know. Part of the reason is I am surrounded by computer and sci-fi tecchie people a lot, and when I worked retail, my balance was always my customers. But when I started programming for a living... forget it. No offense meant to my fellow programmers, but even you must see we have more than our share of weird, opinionated hermits who have less to do with real life than one would consdier socially healthy. I have to keep one foot in the real world, and a lot of online forums give that to me. Plus an audience to bounce off ideas; help me figure out problems and stuff. The human race confuses me, but thanks to online forums, I found I am not alone. Still, there is the risk of getting that one loser and his bored buddies to rally the flag in the name of ego, damn the logic or diplomacy. Christine has a shirt with a little cute bunny crying on it that goes, "You suck, and that's sad." I can relate. I wish I was stronger than I am now. I envy those who can take a public bashing and go, "Oh, they are just idiots," and truly believe it. It's been years and years since Crunchland forced me to leave, and even though their BBS is heavily into Phase 5, and they stopped sending me "funny" hate mail, and objectively the fact that they still consider me a private joke is really pitiful... it still hurts. A little. At least a lot of the people on this forum sent me love mail going, "I can't believe they did that to you," and "what's up that person's ass?" and so on. Even the moderator shut down the thread. And while I did get private criticism, at least it was "Well, be more careful next time," sort of stuff, not "You worthless fat fuck, I hope you die!" I have seen this happen to other people so many times over the years, so many people get placed on a pedastal only to fall from a great height, smashing to pieces on the floor over and over. "You are great!" "You are great!" I heard she picks her nose at her desk..."Auuughh! She sucks! We were so deluded!" It's like I fear praise because I fear being let down in the end.

I am getting older, it seems. And more jaded and bitter. Dammit. Just in time for seasonal depression.


December 2nd

I spent Thanksgiving with two wonderful families.

The first was my own family. My wife cooked most of it, and I made the mashed potatoes. We almost lost the turkey because we got a thawed one free from a friend a few days earlier, but my son put it in the freezer for some reason. We found this out Thanksgiving morning when the turkey was as hard as a rock. Plus, even if we COULD have thawed it, you can't eat meat that's been thawed and refrozen, apparently. Luckily, there were turkeys at the store.

We usually shop for food on Thanksgiving Day because most stores are open, and they are not crowded. Our Giant food store behind our house is busier than New York Grand Central Station at any time of the year, but just before holidays, it's far worse. It's like a Tokyo Subway. Parking is difficult, and the people speeding around the cars are insane. But if you go after 11pm or on a major holiday, it's manageable. But shopping at 11pm is not very fun for the obvious reason that you are tired, and then that's when the Stock Clerks are out and pallets of things are in the isles.

But, that aside, we got the food we wanted, and then had a great meal. Of course, nothing good is without struggle to compensate, and without rhyme or reason, the kitchen sick drain clogged and backed up near the end of food preparation. I had peeled some potatoes, ran the garbage disposal, and then suddenly the water foamed, and refused to go back down the drain. It was like that for four days. You have no idea how a non-working sink will cripple an entire kitchen. This made a bad problem worse, because you see, the previous owners were ... okay with house repair. Not great, not horrific, but they made a lot of questionable repairs to their house that left me with some fairly extensive problems.

For instance, they glued really ugly paneling to the walls, but didn't make them all run the same way (one bathroom has patterned paneling that goes up on one wall, down on another, and the stripes are not totally vertical, so in the corners, the stripes are not parallel to the molding). This kitchen sink is no different. I can even tell you what happened to lead to this. I bet the house didn't have a disposal at one point, so they added one, only to find the pipe from the wall hit the edge of the disposal. So they put in an elbow joint, but didn't really measure anything beforehand. They just added pipes, and when they wouldn't fit, they pushed the disposal to one side, and wedged the pipe to the other and sealed it with plastic gaskets. So for years, the disposal has been pulled to one side, and the elbow joint to the other. This has cracked the PVC, and so when there's standing water in the sink, it leaks. Sometimes the threaded ring that holds the gasket just gives way, and the drain water pours onto the floor and leaks to the rec room below (Grrrrrrr!). On top of this, the seal around the garbage disposal and the drainspout has cracked, and now it leaks around the garbage disposal. Luckily, this is only a problem with STANDING water (like if the sink was full and is draining).

So now with the sink clogged... I have to try and unclog it without the whole thing bursting apart like an over-wound clock. Long story short, I failed. Luckily, I assumed failure was an option, so I had a bucket under the whole mess. Well, now that the elbow joint was exposed, I went ahead and bought a drain snake, and tried to snake out the clog (since plunging wasn't going anywhere with all the cracks and leaks). I swear it felt like I was hitting cement. I snaked and snaked and snaked, and a few potato peelings came free, but nothing else. I poured in a vinegar and baking soda solution, but it just foamed out the leaks in the joints. I sealed the leaks with electrical tape and poured in Liquid Plumber and waited. The drain did empty slowly, like it took several hours for the whole sink. This went on for two days. After two days, I plunged like hell for a few minutes, and the clog came free. YAY! Another bitter house victory for Punkie! Then I had to reassemble the plumbing, and I swear one day, it's going to break for good.

During this time, though, dishes piled up everywhere. And my kitchen smelled.

Luckily, most of Saturday, I was at my friend Betty and Jim's place to have Thanksgiving with their family. Many know Betty and Jim by their other names, Elspeth and Nybor, but Christine and I know them from before those names, so we find it hard to think of Betty as "Elspeth," which too many psuedo-pagan people keep naming themselves (like any name with the word "wolf" or "wind" in it). This was their REAL family, with Betty's children, Ed, Dave, and Patti, her brother Jack, her grandson Jesse, granddaughters Kristen and Rachel (proud former VA Rennfest pickle girl), and great grandchildren Coraleigh and Joshua. Bobbie was there with her son Todd as well, and this was held at Bobbie's house.

Food was plentiful, and everyone was really nice. Jesse composed a song for us, and opened Thanksgiving with a song and a guitar piece he wrote only 20 minutes earlier. Nybor showed us his latest portfolio, as well as the new tarot deck he (finally) got published. I was a bit bummed that they had to change some of the illustrations, but considering some of the original artwork, I could understand, like no sex with wolves or dead bodies, the naked men and children were covered up, and the females had to be clothed around the waist. Nybor and I also talked about Macs and I explained my limited knowledge thereof, but I have to say... Macs are pretty cool.

Macheads

My first experience with a computer (which here I shall define as "electric computational aid," but realizing a computer is technically any computational aid like an abacus, stones in the sand, and one's own fingers) was when my father worked at SRI, and I got to see a lot of their equipment. I also got to play with punch cards and paper tape. Next was my fathers LED HP calculator, where I also learned RPN. Then I got my own LED which was a standard calculator (standard in those days sucked energy like a dying sun from a 9 volt battery). Then I took computer courses, and worked with Apple IIs, Atari 400s and 800s, and of course, Terminals and Line Printers. My first GUI was a small all-in-one box called the "Macintosh." It was at my dad's boss's house, and his two sport-oriented sons thought of it no more than another toy. It must have been one of the original 128k models (the father bemoaned what he called a $3000 toy), but I was entranced by its crisp black and white graphics, clear sound, and Castlevania, which I played while his sons ran around the mansion like crazed apes.

Yeah, I was a computer geek even then.

Fast forward to 1987. I was living in the FanTek household, and Bruce had Atari STs, which had Mac emulation available. Back then a 1040ST would run a cart called "Spectre 128," which ran Mac programs faster than a Mac. So I got an XT. That was my main computer until 1992, when I went to an IBM XT with DOS 3.3 and a terminal connection to a Sun box at the University of Maryland running System V. I saw X-Windows, but never used it. Then in 1996, I got a job working as a Mac tech lead for a call center. By now, Mac was out of favor to Wintel boxes, and I was working with Macheads a lot.

Most of them were snobs.

I hate computer snobs. I hate Microsoft even more, but at least I don't snub those who use it, even when not forced to, because everyone's got a preference for some good reason. Mac/Unix/Windows/BSD/Amiga whatever floats your boat. But there is a distinct difference. Mac snobs are the type who revel in the fact their software never crashes, and it easy to use. Of course, I don't prefer them because not much software is supported on it, it is a proprietary case, and is almost impossible to upgrade. Repairs are costly, too, and try and get a Mac technician if you are not in a big city! But as long as you don't tinker with it too much, it's pretty stable. A lot more so now. Of course, when I did Mac tech calls, you could tell a Mac user because when something crashed, they got upset. Macs never crashed. Windows users at least were used to them, and some people were pretty good at knowing what might have happened. Mac users ... were aghast with how someone's software DARED gave them an "Error 11" and some of them REFUSED to turn on Virtual memory, trying to tell me they had enough RAM, as if the very thought of using VM like a low-RAM commoner was gauche. Of course, there were errors in the OS 7.xx line for the Macs at the time that didn't address some memory leaks and disk swapping, and turning on VM fixed a lot of them, but try telling a Mac head that. "I paid for extra RAM so I didn't HAVE to turn on VM." Did I hear crystal champagne glasses clinking when you said that? Whatever.

Aside from that, I have always had a soft spot for Macs. They are cute little workhorses, kind of like a dependable Shetland pony. Windows are like the famous racehorses that run real fast, and look great, but have short lives, and can't tolerate a lot of rough and uneven terrain. Linux is like some animal with the grace of a cat, the strength of an elephant, and the mystery of the Loch Ness Monster, which makes it rather hard for average Joe user to hunt for simple tasks like just sending mail somewhere. But if someone wanted to do the basic chat/IM/Web/email/makeCDs, a Mac is pretty good choice. Gamers want the racehorse. Someone who wants to compose self-threading byte code needs the Linux. And a life. :)

Recently, Macs have come into my life as a little tug at my pants leg. "Hewwo," it says, "Now that I have Darwin BSD as a base, will you pay attention to me now?"

I'd love to, little one. Have a spare $1000? Care to explain to my wife why I got one?

Pet Updates

Widget is cute as hell. His coat, which is almost the consistency of a cotton ball, is nearly impossible to brush. Or clean. He's not very crate trained, and he HATES being put in a crate. He'll bark all night. He'll sleep on our bed with no fuss, but at about 3am, he wants to go to the bathroom, so we can't have him doing that in the house. He can climb stairs, but for some reason, can't go down them. He'll run up stairs, and then whine and howl to have someone take him down. Ahfu knows this, so to get rid of him, he'll run upstairs (Widget always follows him), then Ahfu will go downstairs again, leaving Widget stranded. "Ow, ow, owwwwwwwwwwwww...!" When you take Widget down stairs, he whimpers like you're going to throw him down the stairs. He fears going down stairs. We think he might have fallen down some stairs as a puppy.

Cosmo is now a teen cat, too cool for anyone, and is trying to get outside. Even though we got him fixed, he's still got a few months of testosterone-laced agressiveness in him.

Thisby is still nuts. Is curious about Widget, but does her usual "get close enough to sniff, then freak out and run away" routine. Widget thinks this is great, and runs after her.

Ahfu's grumpy. He's not getting out much, but when he does get to go out, he loves it. He loves car trips. Widget gets car sick and barfs. Ahfu loves to see people go by in parking lots. We took him to the Thanksgiving Feast at Bobbie's house, and he loved everyone there. Some people didn't know what he was. Two people guessed a cat. A cat? I told them he was a Pekingese, and some went, "Oh, I have heard of them..." Then again, when I first saw Pekingese, I thought they were exotic pandas or something...

Storm is very bitchy, and recently, thinks the food bowl is hers to hiss at anyone who gets near. That cat is bonkers.

Artoo's the same. Loves people, loves me even more. Will do anything for attention. We even put on reindeer antlers and took pictures. You'll see them later.


December 7th

Sixty one years ago... well, boom. Now we watch anime. I hated the fact we got bombed, but not exactly comfortable with how the war ended, either. At least we can glean from the fact that we killed 70,000 people at once (most of them just normal people doing their daily life), that doing it a third time is a baaaad idea. Hope no one else does it, either. At least we bombed who attacked us first, not like... some wars. Anyway!

As I type this, I am sitting in the Guest Room, lying in an Ikea bed, in a very dizzy shirt I just bought off of Ebay. Here's how I got here:

The shirt is a Ralph Lauren Polo, it's 100% cotton, very fuzzy and stretchy and comfortable. But it's small bands of blue and neon green make me realize why it was only $19 plus shipping; it will make you dizzy to look at. When I worked for Cargo Furniture, we had a discontinued line of pinstripe bedding. It was discontinued because we realized when we put them on the showroom beds, under the halogen display lights, that people who looked at the pattern while walking by it became very disoriented. Some work bump into the showroom window, or the edge of the door while entering the showroom or leaving. Many commented the bedding was "hard on the eyes" and it sold a lot better in the catalog then in person, we never had any resells, and even when the discontinued overstock was going for as low as $4 for a whole comforter (and we're talking 200 thread count quality, these were nicely made, if not poorly patterned, sheets), we couldn't sell them at our overstock warehouse in Potomac Mills. It's impossible to describe, but if you ever see a large field of thin dark lines against a lighter background, you'll see what I mean, It might even cause some of you to have a mini seizure. This is not a good effect of a shirt to have, especially if your are a jolly rotund elf such as myself. I think I will wear to work one day, though, just to see if I can make people rub their eyes, suddenly meander as the get near me while passing me in the hallway, or possible make people bump into walls and doorways. I'm a bit twisted like that.

Of course, maybe it's because I am also trying to get used to wearing glasses again. I haven't worn my wire-rimmed pals for about 4 days now ever since I got up, took my comforter, and went to sleep in the guest room a few days ago. Why did I do that? Because as I speak, I am recovering from a flu that hit me like a shotgun through an apple.

It started on Tuesday. Whenever I get sick, it always seems to start of with something weird. The first thing I noticed was that I kept smelling garlic. I don't care for garlic, I once lived with some roommates who used up my love for garlic through 2010 in less than 16 months. They didn't cook everything with garlic, but when they did use it, it wasn't so much what they put it in as much as is was the sheer volume they used. These were the type of people who still think just baking garlic on a cookie sheet and eating it is better than sex. I must say, we never had vampires. I realize that a majority of my readers probably think I am nuts, and that garlic is great for your heart, it tastes good, and is a very nice aromatic substance in good cooking. I agree. I didn't say I hated garlic, just that I don't care for it right now. The last item I had with garlic was some mashed potatoes with garlic I had at my friend's house the previous weekend, so I thought, "Even though I only ate a spoonful to taste it, maybe it was so powerful, it's still oozing from my pores or something." Then I thought, "Maybe someone in my workplace cooked something with garlic. We have this one guy who is a bloated mammal who has the appeal over an overweight and out-of-work redneck, that works in our network operations. I don't know what he does, and his badge is usually kept at his hip, and I don't care. He's an annoying 300-pound lump of judgmental crap in a 100-pound baseball tee-shirt. He's unclean, unshaven, had a mumbling gravel-like voice which spews out the most uncharacteristic thing about him: he's a militant vegan. Now, I like anyone who is committed to diet that doesn't exploit animals. I don't subscribe to the diet mostly because I am lazy, but I fully support anyone's right to eat what they want. But this guy could be recruited by an enemy of vegans as a sort of antichrist poster boy "Think Vegans are harmless?" the enemy would say, "Look at this guy!" and the crowd would go "Ewwwwww...." and I would go, "There are fat Vegans?" (this is probably an unfair stereotype, all Vegans I have known have been healthy looking or on the skinny side of the plate). Now, I know I have mentioned that he's overweight in a disgusted manner a few times. I also acknowledge I am also overweight, and because this guy is shorter than I am, he probably even weighs less. But my rotund friends out there know the type, he's not disgusting because he's fat, he's disgusting because he makes fat people look bad. This guy not only spews forth anti-meat propaganda in shocking waves (Like, "Did you know that Weight Loss Frozen Meal has 2% pig scrotum in it?"), but cooks some of the WORST smelling concoctions on my floor. It's not often, but once in a while, you think, "Christ in Heaven, is someone burning feathers? And put it out with urine?" I used to work in a building where microwave popcorn was banned because people kept burning it in the microwave, and that smelled bad, but this guy's concoctions smell like ... nothing else. Far worse than burnt microwave popcorn. To sum it up, one day, he was cooking a casserole that exploded. I came into the kitchen to see the slightly nauseated cleaning lady scrub the inside of a microwave that looked like a dried set piece of the "chestbursting scene" from the movie "Alien." She was mad, and rolled her eyes at me. Mr. Impossible Vegan was sheepishly sitting nearby, saying in a gravely voice, "He heh. It blowed up like meat." Blowed up like meat. That image, with his voice, and the smell. Ugh. Sometimes, you knew the smell was coming, because you could first smell a spice, usually something heavy like cloves or garlic. So here I was, in my office, smelling garlic all the time. Finally, I had to see if it was this guy. Nope. I asked the guy next to me if he smelled it, and he said he knew someone reheated a meatball sandwich this morning, and that could have been it. Nope. The smell got worse and worse. Then stopped. I forgot about it.

Then my feet got cold. My office has too many computers in it. It runs hot a lot, so I almost never get cold, and even have a fan run across the back of my neck to keep the air from getting stale. But my feet were FREEZING. I have steel-toed boots, so part of me just said, "They have save your toes from countless pain ... just deal," with some self-checking process that said, "Uh. ... how can they get cold? Hello? Red flag?"

I was really busy with ... something, I can't remember now. Some stupid issue with reports. I was having trouble focusing, and I was sweating more than normal. Again, cold feet, hot head? Hello? Woop woop? No, I was in some, "Must concentrate ... on work ... save village..." nerdvana or something. I even worked thought lunch. Hell, I had a good breakfast, two bananas, a yogurt, and a bagel. I would wait for dinner. Save $5 on lunch. That's what I always say. So when I started to get the shivers and shakes, I thought, "Oh, it's because I skipped lunch." Yeah.

But by Tuesday night, it was apparent by my sudden lack of appetite that something was amiss. Crap, I have a cold. I took some meds, went to sleep. I woke up at some point, massively affected by fever. My body was freezing one moment, overheated the next. Our bedroom doesn't heat well, so I chalked it up to that, but I thought, "I won't get better sleeping in a cold room, the guest room has its own heater, and then if I really AM sick, I won't give it to my wife or son." I slept on and off miserably for 10 minutes at a time. By 5:30 am, I called in sick, because this was going to take more than a day. I was sick of the guest room, and so I went back upstairs and slept until about 10am. I felt better, the guilty about not working. I hate calling in sick. I don't care if I am on death's door, I hate sounding like I am a little kid, calling my boss, going, "I am too sick to work today ... boo hoo me..." My wife left for work, my son for school while I was asleep, so I ate some oatmeal (usually a safe sick food), munched some aspirin, and watched the news and spent time online, checking up with work. Then I felt tired, so I went to sleep.

I woke up to a new hell. It was about 5pm, and the rest is kind of a blur. My fever soared. My internal thermostat was as useful as a shredded sail in a hurricane wind. I was losing all sign of reality and perception. Day, night, light, dark, all spun together in a twisted fabric of reality like I'd lost the map, and only had a general notion of where to go. My voice of logic and reason actually became like an external voice, whispering to me in a fierce wind where I could see nothing, but I clung to it, going, "I am on the floor, how do I get up?" I actually recall thinking, "I never realized getting up off the floor involved BOTH arms AND legs," Like I was discovering a fundamental new truth or something. But the voice of reason never failed, and finally it said, "To the guest room, it's our only fortress now." I was barely aware I was moaning aloud, and some part of me didn't want to annoy anyone with the constant, "I am SOOOO sick" type of phrases I make when I am this sick. I am always embarrassed later when I hear I tried to answer the phone with the toaster, had an argument with a plastic tree, or thought I was in 5th grade music class and lost my sticks (we used to bang rhythms with a pair of wooden sticks all the time, did you guys do that? Anyway...) To the guest room I went. I took only my sweatpants, sweatshirt, comforter, and a heating pad (my feet were like ice for some reason, and at the time, it was the worst feeling in the world). I cranked up the heat, and tried to sleep....

Where I still am, this Saturday afternoon while writing this while it's still fresh in my mind. The guest room. The guest room is actually an in-law suite that came with the house. It's modeled like an efficiency apartment, with a living area, a bed area, a full kitchen, a walk-in closet, and its own separate full bathroom (shower stall only, no tub, sadly ... this house has 3 shower stalls and one small tub, they didn't care to soak, the former occupants). In addition, it has it's own heating/AC system independent of the rest of the house. The previous occupants of this house used the suite to house the mother's elderly father, who apparently was well enough to live alone, but not quite independent. He seemed a nice enough fellow. He loved fishing and Warner Brothers cartoons. Might have been a War Veteran from to Korean area. He also owed a lot of people some money, as we found out a year after we moved in and the sheriff came by the house with a warrant for a summons to appear in court over a $100,000 land dispute. The bathroom still has a border in it that shows people fly fishing. It took a year to get rid of the combination smell of chemical cleaner, dog pee, smoke, and that famous but intangible "old people smell." Now it's a cozy little canvas that serves as a nice place for guests, a library, and storage. Someday, we'll really decorate it something spiffy, but right now, it's nice and peaceful.

While in the peaceful guest room these past few days, I suffered some of the worst flu symptoms I can recall as an adult. My fever raced out of control, because we had no flu meds, and all I had was some "cold tea" that a friend makes (which is wonderful, BTW, but even now was far too outgunned). Go to the store...? Well, the timing of this flu was AWFUL. Wednesday night was apparently a big snowstorm. Now, I knew about it, but by then it was as useless a fact to my brain as the name of the female gelfling in "The Dark Crystal." Now when I say "big" I mean "DC big" which is 3-6 inches. My relatives in Sweden, who spent most of last week under a few feet of "light snow" are snickering at me. But with global warming, and the fact that we're overdeveloped, it's been a long time since any good snowfall has hit our area. So people flipped out. Again. I recall the 3 feet of snow in the Blizzards on 93, 87, and 77... and wonder what they hell people will do then? Fox News will claim they see glaciers. But I digress ... everything closed like offices, stores, schools ... even before the snow actually fell. But while in my delirium, I didn't even look outside. I had windows, but that would require getting up, standing still enough to stay steady, open the panels with one hand and peeking through the blinds with the other.

That wasn't happening. I was so weak, so sick, so unable to move that just the thought of watching TV made me seasick. Just thinking of moving objects in an enclosed space ... baaaarf. Luckily, there are a lot of books in this room.

Not that I needed any help. Now to the TMI part (TMI = too much information, an Internet term for "kind of too gross and personal"). If you hate TMI, skip this paragraph. Now, it was bad enough I had motion sickness. That was caused by the fever and souring (yes, as in the flavor) headaches. But sometime on Thursday, the virus decided to have fun with my digestive tract. It was the same style of attack as the fevers. I am one of the few people who has ever had constipated diarrhea. It won't come out easily, but when it does, it's hot and runny, like a red-hot liquid razor. I had to go on the potty so much, that my ass got 100% sore (it gets worse, you can skip to the next paragraph) not just from squirting acidic fire, but from cramping and straining. So, because it had to get worse, my muscles gave out, and the diarrhea became quick, explosive, unpredictable, and with me being too weak to quickly get up and go to a toilet just ten feet away... I went through a lot of underwear. And thank God for the shower. On top of that, because it was so constipated, all this crap had to go somewhere ... so ... yes, the nausea set in. Luckily, nausea is like truth: it can set you free. Of course, when truth backs up your nose, it makes your sinuses bleed. I have a friend who works with bulimic people (people who throw up on purpose to stay thin). She once told me that one telltale sign of bulimia is a remarked decay in periodontal areas like teeth and gums, because the acid in vomit burns them. Now I know what this means. Personally. I have never been one to easily vomit, so I have never vomited much. But after a day of this, sitting next to a plastic bucket, or on the pot wondering which end the next rush of refuse was flowing from... I thought my gums would burn away, and my recent dental cap became loose. The plastic bucket (as well as the kitchen sink) became extremely clean with just an application of Uncle Punkie Puke and tap water. It apparently is a miracle cleaner that will remove price stickers, paint residue, and rust. The things you find out ... blowed up like meat.

Okay, TMI over. Trust me, I only wrote that last paragraph for the fans. By Friday night, the worst was over. Christine was able to get to a food store and get me medicine (Pepto, which saved the day), juices, and popsicles. Apparently, while I was away, the world just kept going crazy. I am afraid to watch the news after this is over.

Some nicely dressed woman, claiming she was a prisoner of her boyfriend who left her on the streets, came to our house, and said she needed money to buy a car to get home. Sadly, because Uncle Punkie has been lied to so much, I probably would have turned her away. But my wife and son paid her $20 to shovel our driveway (stranger offered, wife offered to pay). While she was shoveling, the cops showed up. Apparently some other neighbors were "concerned" by this door-to-door Victorian-age saga, and called the police. So we had all these cop cars in front of our house. Apparently, they talked to her, let her continue to shovel, and then assured us it was okay, and left. But of course, now everyone wants to know why we had 3 cops cars in front of our house.

I have a clock radio in here. I got it as a replacement when a dumb friend lost mine in a move (he left it in a parking lot - I lost a jacket and answering machine in the same mishap). He felt bad, and paid $80 for a new one. He paid $80 for a clock radio worth maybe $40 (at the time) to replace the one of mine he lost worth less than $20 when new, and I had it for ten years. Even in 1991, a $40 clock radio was nice. Then my son broke it two years later. Well, sort of. I am not sure what happened, but it appears as if someone applied a two-ton weight to all the buttons. All the buttons are REALLY pressed in, like some giant with only one working thumb tried all the switches (but still looks nice, I can't just throw it away). It only gets AM now, and when I turned it to WTOP all-new channel, I heard this piece of news:

"... and if you are an employee of [where I work], check your gate pass because layoffs were issued today as [where I work] cut hundreds of jobs. Employees arrived at work to meet a guard at their desk with a cardboard box..."

Christ-o-matic. I hope I have a job, come Monday. My job is fairly important, and since we got a lot of recent praise and new projects, I am not *totally* freaking out... okay, part of me is. I have lost several jobs in my life due to things beyond my control. I have lost two tech jobs because the first one, they outsourced the work to a bunch of cheaper-to-hire, easier-to-fire temps in Tucson, and the second one because the vendor couldn't find anyone to advertise in his combo chat/IM/web browser software because their ad banner could end up on a web page that had porn on it. In retail, I once lost a job because the DM had a new spreadsheet toy, and my salary range was greater than what he had in magic cell "E15." Because I lost that job, I was unemployed for the next two frickin' years. So yeah, you bet a part of me is nervous. I hope they fired the "blowed up like meat" guy, though.

PS: I think I still have a job... I can login to my work account and I had pending work.


December 10th

Okay, wasn't the flu.

Your old Uncle Punkie here was still weak, but went to work on Monday morning. I was exhausted, but chalked it up to not eating, recovering from illness, and so on. But after an hour or so at work... things didn't get better. Things got worse. A lot worse. I don't to do any more TMI junk, but suffice to say, I noticed a lot of bleeding. A lot. And I was getting weaker. So I checked into a hospital, where I had to go through a battery of tests.

They are not sure what's wrong with me, other that I had lost a lot of blood, was dehydrated, and was in bad shape. All they know is it's gastro-enteritis, which is a fancy name for "Massive Intestinal Infection." More details as they come. Lab work comes back this afternoon.


December 11th

Some days, it's not worth chewing through the leather straps to escape.

Okay, not only did yesterday suck in the fact that my lab results didn't come in, but last night, there was this massive ice storm, and it shut down a lot of offices (including school and my doctor's office). As I type this, I am looking at the window to an ice-coated world. My wife drove to Baltimore anyway, and I tried to feel better. The bleeding stopped this morning, which is a positive sign. Of course, I have barely eaten anything. Every time I shift position, my stomach gives off gurgles and rumbles like a moonshine still... only it smells worse. But this is actually an improvement. I ate some fried chicken this morning, and so far, so good. Of course, with as little as I am eating, I bet my body just took and used everything. But I STILL don't know what's wrong with me, because my doctor's office is closed due to the weather. My whole world has gone insane. I feel like the Millennium Falcon in Empire Strikes Back, constantly breaking down, dodging Imperial Ships and asteroids. I got a bad feeling about this...

So now that I have passed the food test, God pulled out the second six-shooter and gave me the stress test. I got a call around 3pm from my wife in Baltimore, stating my pal and co-worker Sean was laid off. Sean I have known since the days of Prune Bran, and is part of how I got in the tech industry, and definitely a steady force at work. He was one of one of their top programmers that they sent all over the world to set up and maintain certain systems. Sean, my friend, is also a paranoid Goth who looks like a Fijian Warrior (some of you may recognize him as pretending to be me at conventions, and as my traveling companion at the disastrous Imaginecon). Suffice to say the whole time I worked with him was pretty fun and while I thought some of his rhetoric was unnecessarily bitter, he has a great family, three wonderful kids, and a comedic timing that was hard to beat. My first thought is that if they let HIM go, as important as he was, and what he did, and as long as he worked there... shit. Shit shit shit. I haven't been able to get ahold of my boss because he's had this sinus infection. I call the lab. No answer. I try and find my bosses boss number... and my Internet connection goes out. I am straining to find a way to call anyone. My cell phone won't work, because Sprint PCS was showing "network trouble, try again later." But somehow, a coworker gets through, and calls me to tell me what I am sure my mailbox will be flooded with when I get a net connection back: Sean is gone. I ask the $64,000 question... and the coworker says I was *supposed* to be on a conference call, but he's sure that's a good thing. No ice cream today (long story, see, we used both work for a company that served bad news with an ice cream buffet... so we equated ice cream with layoffs, and you still hear, "I got called in to a conference today, but there was no ice cream, so it was good news...").

No one called me to come to the conference call. Of course, my boss is sick. He doesn't even know. I get ahold of my boss's boss's admin, and she forwards me to him, and he says, "For now, you have a job. Just keep doing what you do, but don't spend outside of your means this season." Well, that's better than "we have a cardboard box of your stuff out in the freezing rain."

Jesus, I have been in so many near misses of layoffs that I have whip marks from grazing bullets. One day. One day, a bullet with my name will burst into my chest cavity and pierce my heart. My heart that is now thumping with adrenaline like a Mack truck nearly hit me. I have so many employable but unemployed friends pounding the pavements... Jesus. Poor Sean. Apparently the scythe that cut through my company cut wide and deep. It's bad for everyone out here. I just thank God I have been able to hang on as long as I have.

I don't care what the doctor says, I am going back to work tomorrow. Not that I can get ahold of a doctor to say anything. The bleeding has stopped, and I can go several hours without potty breaks, so I can manage that. I'm going to have to take sleeping pills tonight, though. My brain is far too worked up.

Some good news. Balticon wants me to be a guest again. I am more than happy to comply. This time I'll try not to "snub" the BWSMOF again, as I accidentally did last year (I was so focused on my own programs, I forgot I was a BWSMOF).


December 12th

I came back to work to find a lot of empty offices, and while I stare at the open door and empty desk of the guy who used to be my neighbor, I ponder the stages of grief during layoffs, and how they are the same as losing a loved one. You know, shock, denial, anger, and so on. They happen on both sides, and every time this happens, I hate what I have to go through. There's the awkward issue where people you barely worked with suddenly send you resumes like you are their new buddy. Then the usual rhetoric of "Ha ha! No, *I* am the lucky one, you are unlucky to still work for the Devil!" (that's probably part of the Denial stage). I mean, I don't want to sound like a heartless bastard, but I still have work to do, can we not talk about this? Then there's the issue of sending out your daily reports or whatever, only get the mail sent back as undeliverable because there is no longer such an account. "Dammit, Ron got laid off, too?" Then I have to prune my AIM Buddy list, and then work sends out the memo of making sure someone still works for the company *before* talking to them. We had that issue in Australia where an ex-project manager got some sensitive data via AIM because the person he was speaking to didn't know he'd quit and joined a competetor.

Then there's the guilt that I still have a job, while some people that I think were more important or deserving than I am are without a job and I still have one. Then a rush of guilty thankfulness that the bullet didn't get me. But now that some people are gone, I will have to work longer hours to take up the slack. I work long hours as it is. When will this end? Another person who stopped by my office with eyes wide from watching the damage has left, and I wonder about how many hours I will have to work now?

My last non-tech job with with a furniture chain based out of "Foat Wuth" Texas. It was a nice enough company, but they had one major drawback: minimum required hours were 48 hours a week, 6 days a week. Minimum. Required. On salary. Why? Because the company was founded in 1919 back when you didn't get Saturday *and* Sunday off, and they were all "Good-ol-boys." How? I am sure it wasn't legal, but they hired desperate people like me who in 1993 would have sold blood to get a job (I had been unemployed for two years). They got around the work laws by reporting you worked hourly, and your rate of pay was 40 x normal pay plus 8 x overtime (1.5 x normal pay) which would equal your salary. If you worked over 48, you couldn't claim overtime. Most of us worked far more than 48 hours, because each store had two other employees: your assistant (also worked 48x6) and a 10hr/wk part timer. If you didn't have one of those, you worked their hours. For two months, I couldn't get an assistant and I ended up working 60-80 hours weeks. No days off. For two months. Some managers went even longer, because it was hard to find some schmuck that would work a 48 x 6 schedule near minimum wage. We didn't get commission, either, so unless your store made quota and you were allowed to have bonus... that was it. It was even harder to get a part timer to work only 10hrs a week. And sometimes, when a store had NO staff, you had to work the second store, which meant your assistant, who made less than you, had to work 60-80 hour weeks. Vacation was 1 week a year, and you had to have DM approval, but we kept losing people, so she couldn't give us vacation without screwing over another manager. So after working with this company for 3 years, my social life dried up and my writing, after publishing my first book, evaporated into space. I loved the company, the customers, and the people I worked with... but it was killing me.

My first tech job was hourly. I worked from 3pm-midnight at a call center as a Mac tech, then later a Beta Developer. We were allowed to have overtime in special situations, which wasn't often, so I worked mostly 40 hours weeks... after 3 years of the furniture store, this was like heaven. Plus the hourly pay and shift differential (pay you get for working late shift) were a lot more than I made as a manager of a furniture store. But they outsourced our labor to Tucson, and sinze Arid-zone-a was not my cup of tea, I had to look for work elsewhere. I got a job as a call center programmer (you know those voice menus that go, "Press 1 for blah, Press 2 for blargh...?" I programed for those!). This job was for company gone mad. We had several programmers, and were supposed to take shifts being on call for one week a month. But a lot of the people I worked with were lazy, and I ended up being "backup" most of the time. Just before I left, I was on call 24 x 7, and it didn't matter if I spent all night fixing a problem, I had to be at work bright and early at 6am to answer the hotline for morning shift. It was salary. I worked probably 60 hour weeks on average, and I began to LOATHE my pager. That page could be a 5 minute fix, or a 10 hour fix with conference calls through three vendors and two call centers at the same time. My laptop had to be with me all the time. My social life again started to putter out, and the last 3% raise was insulting. I finally got a job elsewhere in the company to manage an International Help Desk. You know I still got calls at my house at 3am by desperate call centers going, "I know you don't work here anymore, but could you PLEASE help us???" for up to a year afterwards. That was annoying but great for my ego.

I should have known. This new job was even more demanding, but the pay was a LOT better. It was also hourly, which meant I got all the overtime I could eat, and buddy, did I hit the sweet spot. My shift was hell, it was 12 hour shifts, midnight to noon, for three days, Thursday - Saturday, but the shift differential for that shift was an astounding 12%. I worked when Europe was waking up and the Pac Rim was in their nightly peak. Our staff was only seven people for a 24 x 7 desk. Seven of the most dedicated and professional people I have ever worked with, but if one got sick... you were screwed. Usually, you had a shift where you did 12, someone else did 12, then you did it, and she did it... for three days. Tag team. If she got sick... you did your 12 hours, then her 12 hours, then your 12 hours again... until another one of the staff relieved you, doing overtime themselves. My record was 34 hours straight. The team record was 53 by our lead during a blizzard where he couldn't get out, and we couldn't get in. During two periods where we had two flakey staff members, I worked up to 80 hours a week. And 40 of those hours were 2.5 x normal pay. Oh yeah. I went into the job heavily in debt, and came out way ahead. While the job was 50% boredom and 50% sheer panic, I loved working with who I worked with, and loved the fact I was working International. But again, my social life suffered. And my health. Badly.

I finally got a better job working for a company that does performance metrics, where I am to this day. I am salary again, and the pay is a bit lower than industry standard, but I like what I do, and I am glad just to be employed in this terrible market! But recently... yeah. I work about 45-55 hours a week. Mostly it's because I HAVE to be here early in the morning, and some days I just end up getting tired, and looking at the clock going, "Damn, it's 7pm already!" Or maybe I have to work that night as well to babysit some process that runs during peak Internet home use hours (7-10pm). Or something that was supposed to take only a few hours ended up taking a whole day because of some stupid putz process. My hours are supposed to be 7am-3pm, but it's usually 7-5, or like today, 7-7. Twelve hour days are more common each month, and this next month, we have several people taking vacations they weren't allowed to take during the year because they were forced to work on a project. One guy hasn't taken a vacation in two years, and HR forced him to "use it or lose it," so he took the whole month of December off. If anything goes wrong while he's gone... I don't want to think about it... We're understaffed as it is, and part of my job is automation so we can do more with less... but there's only so many hours in a day. A lot of those 12 hours are because if I work an extra 4 hours, it will save me 10 hours a week late on down the road. But then they keep adding more projects. And faster deadlines.

Programming is hard. It's not like you can whip up a program any old time, it's like writing. You have to be "in the zone..." and I spend a lot of my time staring at jumbled code more than I do unjumbling it. Lots of things can throw you off, like a worrysome meeting, or a fight in the hallway, haivng a cold, or just plain being out of sorts. I get "writer's block" when coding, too, but oddly enough, not as much as writing fiction. Then you work even extra harder to prove your worth every penny they spend on your salary. Hard work begets reward, which reenforces more hard work, and the cycle continues until you die from an ulcer or heart attack while your kids call you "That guy who slept here sometimes," or just "Mommy's last husband."

Times like this make me SO glad I don't drink. I'd never stop. I see what my mother must have seen in it. Imagine, a substance that eliminates worry to a chronic worrier? Yeah. I'll just have soda, thanks. My life is screwed up as it is without a bar tab.


December 15th

Big Change

Well, they know what it was that punched Uncle Punkie in the gut and laid him flat for the last week. It was a severe bacterial and viral infection in the intestinal tract (same family as the Norwalk Virus). They are not sure what caused it, my doctor said, "It could have been anything. Contact with someone infected with it, untreated sewage, or something you ate, like undercooked food. The only cure is to keep taking the meds they gave you at the hospital, and just wait the rest out." They expect me to be very tired for the next few weeks, partly because to the underlying damage this disease had, and partly because of the drugs that I have to be on. Tired is not even close. I have felt total and complete exhaustion with periods of dizzy spells. I constantly feel like I haven't slept in days, my muscles are like Jell-O, and I space out constantly. Like...

Where was I? Oh yes! Another very big news in my life: I have cut convention work out of my life for the next few years. That means after February of 2003, I will no longer be working Katsucon, Castlecon, and Evecon (or any other con). I have greatly enjoyed working with these people, and I am not quitting because of anything political or silliness of that nature, I am quitting because I have to seriously change something in my life.

In January of 2003, it will be my tenth year anniversary of publishing my first book, "The Saga of Punk Walrus." I have published nothing since then. Nothing. My writing career soared when I was unemployed from 1991-1993, culminating in my first book. Then I got a job working at Cargo Furniture, and while the money was good, my writing died. It essentially cut the engine of the rocket right after launch. I have to refocus, regroup, and go for the real thing. This has always been my goal ever since I was 12. I am now 34, and I am off track. I plan to take 2003 to goof off, possibly publish my second Punk Walrus book (which is "in the can" so to speak, it just has to be printed and distributed), and start setting some goals to get the attention of some of the big publishers.

Now before I get the speech of "For every Steven King, there are a thousand failed authors." Yes, I agree, this is true. And while I'd like to be the next J.K. Rowling, I am not writing with the GOAL of being rich or even self-sufficient. I am writing because I enjoy it. Even if I am never remembered in history as changing the face of literature, I will write for the one sole reason I always write: because I HAVE to. It's not an option, and while my active life has suppressed my writing, it is starting to warp my brain. These stories HAVE to be let free, and from testing readings at conventions, I think the public will like what I have to say. People seem to enjoy my writing, and I like making people happy. And if I can make money do this, dear God in heaven, I will have found life's sweet spot.

For 2003, you should see more on this web site dedicated to my writing. You should see me attending more cons than I work at.


December 25th, 2002

Happy Holidays!

I am having a mixed bag. I think though, in the long term, it went well. I am still recovering from my illness, and had a setback, but more on that later.

The Good

It was a White Christmas. Finally. Since I have lived in the Virginia/DC area, we only had one other White Christmas, and that was in 1972 (I have been told, I am going to research this). Last night, the "cloudy going to sleet and drizzle by Christmas morning..." became a snowfall that lasted from Christmas Eve afternoon until Christmas afternoon (the sun is out, now). This means a lot to me, because... well, I like snow. Always have. I think because my father hated it so much, and tried to force me to hate it as well. He's gone now, somewhere... San Diego I hear. I hope it snows on him.

I got a gool haul: I got some books I wanted, a binary pillow, a Leatherman, some shirts, a lot of chocolate, some caffinated soap, and delicious crackers and cheese (yum!). I also got to spend quality time with my wife, son, and pets.

The Bad

I screwed up Evecon programming. My life has been chaos since the sickness. My house is a royal MESS because I haven't had the energy to clean it, I have been exhausted at work, scared of the layoffs (they are having more over the upcoming months), and generally plummeting like a comet to ... somewhere. I feel I don't know where the hell the year will end. I can barely hold it together. I actually uttered this phrase to myself, "I'd be depressed, but I am too tired and simply don't have the time." I feel real bad about Evecon. I really wanted to help Cheryl out, and while the forces that be tell me I am interfering with *her* lessons, I have always felt a kinship with her and I never want anything bad to happen to her. We both had... similar pasts. More than she knows. I did manage to get a lot of the programming done, but Cheryl had to make so many changes, I don't know if I helped or made it worse. It's probably for the best that I don't do any con "work" work after Katsucon. I made this decision before the sickness, but when I was really sick and alone in the world, it seemed blindingly obvious I was doing too much. I worried so much about Evecon and Katsu Pre-reg (which I am also behind in), that I had a sickness relapse last night. I am not sure if it was stress, or bad diet (a lot of coffee to stay awake, which make have aggravated my ulcer), but I started to bleed again, and had a fever for a while. My body is telling me to stop, stop, STOP! But I have to keep going. But I have to drop something if I want to write, so after Katsucon... I am taking a break (although, I'll still be at cons).

The Ugly

Recently, I have come to terms with my ugliness. Not inside, which I don't think is ugly, but I mean how I look. I look at myself in photos, and I think after the age of eight, my body and face twisted and turned into curious patterns that for the most part... are not that pleasing to the eye. Well, to others, I mean.

Maybe it's because I am happy with my family, and generally my life, but this doesn't bother me. I had an assessment of my situation, and while a lot of the crap I write in the online diary make me look like the biblical Job or something, it's not as bad as it could be, or even has been. I have a wonderful wife, great son, cool pets, a job I like, lots of friends, a nice house, nice luxuries, live in an awesome country (yay USA), and ... well, having and ogre-like features doesn't seem so bad. Then I really thought hard about it...

It's actually kind of cool! I mean, no one is perfect, but when you know "There is no way this pile of pudge can be dressed up nice," you don't have to work as hard. I mean, it may sound lazy, but I never worry about my looks. I tried to define my major "ogre points" and which was my fault, and which wasn't. The only major fault of my own is my girth, which is due to a poor diet and lack of adequate exercise. This I could do something about, and I am not sure why I don't. The other points are my nose (which my father constantly made fun of, and thankfully is mostly hidden by my glasses), my acne scars (hormones and parental neglect), my messy hair (genes), wispy facial hair (genes), and just a generally poor posture (Scoliosis which tilts me forward and slightly to the left). It was kind of a lift to realize most of the ugly points were not my fault, and barring some major reconstructive surgery, I'll just have to live with it. Which I do, happily.

Being ugly has some advantages, too. Being in the con scene, girls don't hit on me. The always-flirtatious ones do, but I know without thinking twice that they mean it only at the level of being a flirt, they don't actually want to sleep with me or anything. This reduces worry by an enormous amount. I can flirt back, and know it will never go further than that. Girls that DO want to sleep with me I know are probably not all right in the head. Not that I have encountered that since 1993, and that was just some psycho who wanted to ruin my marriage because she was unsatisfied with her own husband (she did this to more people than just me). Also, people that DO like me I know like me for who I am, not how I look. This is an enormous ego boost.

Yay ugliness!

My Wife Rules

I want to brag that not only did my wife build her own computer (with only a little help from me), but built it better and faster than I would have. It's cool. It glows blue, has some bubble lights on the front, and is a 2.53mhz P4 with a lot of bells and whistles. New printer and digital camera, too. We didn't spend a whole lot of money, either, we got some really good deals through work discounts and Pricewatch deals. I doubt we spent over $1000 on everything total. She bought it with her own money, too.

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