Friday, May 30, 2003

The Week is Over...

And I am beat. I have had so little sleep because of my allergies, so I am tired all the time. Zzzzz....

I have updated some pages, and finally got the Balticon Photos up. See my friends! See my new catapult! I also have another Widget picture of him with curly hair (humidity and his fur do not mix well).

Sad note, the Web board ThreeWayAction, which was my vestige of "mundane sanity," is closing its doors on June 10th. I will miss it a lot. A lot. It was a great group of people who really knew how to have a good time. But I think Sara (the main sysop) got sick of doing it, dealing with the abuse, and the cost must have been phenomenal for someone with her current financial situation, so I don't fault her. I have been in her shoes before. She must feel a (possible) guilty sense of relief. But I am still bummed in a general "Oh, fooey!" sense. See, I love fandom and I love my techie friends to no end, but 3WA was a place I could get non-fannish, non-techie people to sound off ideas and get a better calibration of what's really going on with the human race. It was a board I could go to where no one would start a flame war on "The Matrix: Reloaded" and false Buddhism, for instance. None of them would care about how to mount a floppy on OpenBSD, but they would have some great design ideas for a small apartment. It was a cross-section of professionals from retail to law to marketing to HR who all had really good and differing points of views. They had a political forum I loved, a sex and relationship thread I think should be mandatory to read when one reaches puberty, and many, many other neat threads. I don't know where I am going to go now. One of them suggested another board, and I have signed up for that, but... it's not the same. When Hissyfit died, I was seriously bummed, but found 3WA and thought I was home again. Now 3WA is gone. Face it, it's hard to host that kind of thing. But Sara and stee put up with it all, from the cost, to the nonsense, to the technical glitches, to the "TMI Thread," and I think they held up well. They did a good job, and they should be proud for the rest of their lives at what they have accomplished. I thank you two, from the bottom of my heart, for your work. [sniff]

Posted by Punkie @ 01:38 PM EST [Link]

Wednesday, May 28, 2003

Yaaawwn...

I am having sleep problems. I am awake a lot more than I used to be, like my mind wants something at night. Even if I am exhausted from lack of sleep the night before, by the time 10pm rolls around, my body wants to get up and do stuff. Trouble is, if I do, I will wake up everyone else. I have always thought my best time to do any housework is during this time, but you can't vacuum or do dishes without someone complaining about the noise. I have had maybe 16 hours sleep, in 4 hour increments, since this weekend. Man I am tired in the morning, but my job is 6am - 3pm, so I have to be awake.

Some of you may have noticed I have no report on Balticon. I have some pictures, and when I get time to upload them to the main server, crop and edit them, as well as write descriptions, it'll be up as a separate page. Short of the long is, I had a good time. I wish I could have had a better time, but there were some personal problems I was having with a few people, and I had actually written two huge, scathing reviews about fandom snobbery, but I have decided to hold off until I have had more sleep and can better control my rants.

One of the problems is that I want, desperately, to tell the sordid truth about some people. But here's the problem: if I am specific and mention names and events, I could start a political war (because the people I'd rant about would probably do such a thing) or seriously hurt the feelings of others I may not mean to. If I am too vague, then some people I am not talking about claim I am talking about them (that just happened recently in a previous entry, and it was exasperating)! Of course, the simple solution seems to be not to write about it at all, which I think makes me dishonest in an online journal. What I write about has already earned me trouble. The reporter's dilemma.

Suffice to say, that while 99.99% of fandom and people who run fandom are nice, decent, people, there are a few outstanding members who are not. My suspicions are that these individuals are sad victims of bad social upbringing, and thus, see fandom as a territory they must rule. I have seen some desperate acts of power this weekend, which I have seen before; it's nothing new. But it's disheartening to show up at, say, some NASFIC bid party, and hear one of the staff slamming another NASFIC bid or the people that run it.

So I wrote some fiction to blow off steam. The following did not happen. I don't think there really is an AltoonaCon or DundalkCon (if there is, I humbly apologize, and will change the names in an edit). None of these people really exist, and yet, they represent an abstract collection of real people I have witnessed. But they are fake. If you think I am talking about you then you are a paranoid freak, and I can't help you. But I must spit some of this poison out before my tongue burns off.

"The people who run DundalkCon," says a fat man with greasy hair, a thin beard, and a tee-shirt from a government contractor, "are whores, sluts, and thieves." His voice is bursting with a nerdy laugh that could explode out his nose in some attempt of snobbery escape. He's probably quoting a movie line he heard somewhere. His air is arrogant, the swagger in his voice suggests he's at the height of his power, holding a plastic cup of vodka and Mountain Dew as a gesture like he's toasting to the noblemen that surely must surround him at the Round Table he is picturing, instead of the disheveled hotel room he's really in. "All Hail AltoonaCon! Huzzah!" He swigs from his cup, dribbling it into his beard to mix with some fried egg he had yesterday. He holds his cup up high while his minions drink, like he's holding a power ruling scepter above his head. Probably a +5 "Staff of the Magi" with 100 charges or something. A skinny woman with gray hair and oversized glasses nods between swallows. She's not tall, only 5' 6", but she's still taller than the person who just gave the toast. "Yeaaaaah!" she says, slightly high on the dozens of M&Ms she had just eaten. She is trying to sound witty, but secretly knows that "Yeaaaaah!" sounded pretty dumb compared to the "sluts and thieves" comment. She takes another swig of her drink. "The trouble with DundalkCon is that they don't know..." she flails; words do not come as easy to her as they do in her fanfic of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," "... don't know what's... the thing they do. And stuff." She looks into her cup, all eyes are on her. The hotel cable plays softly in the background. They want her to finish her slam, but she suddenly wishes she hadn't said anything. "Fuck Dundalk!" she says, in an attempt to sound like a patriotic French revolutionist, like the kind she read about while she was getting her BA in English Literature. She slowly drinks from her cup, hoping someone, anyone, will start talking. "Fuck them up their sorry asses," says a tall man who started balding at 20 and is still bitter about it at 40. His thin and wispy comb-over clings to his forehead with some sort of gel-like substance. He was publicly spurned by a girl once, who now runs publicity for DundalkCon. She actually slapped him when his seemingly innocent lobby back rub turned into something she didn't want. That humiliating incident was over 15 years ago, but he's been replaying it in his head like it happened a few hours ago, and he's still very defensive about it, even though he's probably the only one who still remembers. "Did you know the head of their publicity is a psychodramatic witch?" "Still feeling her slap?" asks the fat man with a sneer, who remembers anything bad that happened to anyone else to drown out the noise of his own self-doubt. The comb-over guy visibly winces, and covers his face with his cup. It's probably a low blow, and not warranted, but the backstabbers of AltoonaCon will feed off each other like cannibalistic vampires if the pain fodder of another group of people is not available. He gently laughs to the silence, but a loud piece of self-doubt alerts him to the fact that no one else is laughing. He drowns out the self-doubt with a hijack of animosity to the people around him. Waves of anger turn to disrespect, then fade to pity. He thinks these people would be nothing without him. He's right about the first part. There is an awkward silence. Some people are hoping that comb-over will run his own con someday, but they don't want to show an alliance to him in front of fat guy. Grey-with-glasses is so relieved the center of attention is no longer on her. She twiddles her con badge nervously. She hasn't removed the cup from her face, and the smell of vodka is making her giddy. In less than six hours, she will make out with comb-over, but it will end badly when her own self-doubt uses logic to disable her emotions and she ends the encounter before clothing gets removed. Comb-over's view of women will be re-enforced, and Grey-with-glasses will be unable to make eye contact with him ever again. This act alone will set the seed that starts a political rift between her and comb-over, which will spread, divide, and eventually destroy the "AltoonaCon 2010" bid committee in less than a year. And no one will remember why.

My, a bit bitter, are we, Punkie? This story does NOT represent 99.99% of fandom, but a few select people who really need to assess their paranoid territorial attitudes that they have. Come on, it's just fandom. We're all friends, right? Get a grip. Stop slamming other people and other conventions. Stop. Stop stop stop! And again, if any of this you feel I am "really talking about so-and-so," (or you) I am not (especially the wonderful people at BWSMOF, which are the antithesis of this kind of garbage). These people are fictional. Don't feel bad if you see a little bit of yourself in any of those characters, I see a little of me in them, too, but at least I don't go around thinking my role in fandom is some high and mighty Poobah. It's just silly and aggravating to me, that's all.

Boy, is this entry gonna cause me trouble...

Posted by Punkie @ 09:51 AM EST [Link]

Tuesday, May 27, 2003

My Thoughts on Guns

Amendment II: A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

This has been a hotly contested amendment to the Bill of Rights [angelic chorus music] since I have been alive, and well before. Over the years, I hear people in a Mr. Mackey voice go, "Guns are bad, n'kay?" and make me think about why this amendment was written in the first place.

Few remember the reasons, or why the Antifederalists (opponents of giving much power to the federal government, kind of like the Republicans today) rejected them, resulting in the first Ten Amendments. However, since that debate still provides the basis for upholding our rights against federal assault, it remains as relevant today as it was back when the rights were written. Alexander Hamiltion thought a lot of these rights were implied by the original Constitution and that the Bill of Rights was redundant, but a man who opposed him (aptly named Brutus), said "Those who have governed have been found in all ages ever active to enlarge their power and abridge the public liberty. This has induced the people in all countries, where any sense of freedom remained, to fix barriers against the encroachment of their rulers." That means "Government tends to gain too much power over time, and thus, the people have had to fight to regain control."

You have to understand, this was a very new and abstract concern back then: self-governing. We take it for granted nowadays, which is why the government is gaining too much power, IMHO. Which is why I want the second amendment as a good backup in case it goes to far. I feel that by the time the government removes the ability to resist us overthrowing it, it's already too late.

"But what about gun deaths?" I hear people cry. I see statistics, and I don't know what to believe. I have seen numbers from 11,000 to 40,000 gun-related deaths per year quoted, and then they are always paired with England and Japan having something like only 30 - 100 deaths per year as a comparison. "Oh no," we say. "Guns are bad." Of course, statistics are a little warped. According to the Population Reference Bureau (PDF file), the US has a population of 287 million people. Japan has 127 million. The UK has a little over 60 million. So the per-death ratio starts to skew a little. Japan and the UK also don't have a significant poverty rate compared to the US, and both have WAY better education standards. Education = civility = less crime. Plus, it's true, since they ban guns, less deaths would happen by them. But does that mean murder rates also go down? Again, statistics vary. Pro-gun advocates say no. Antigun advocates say yes. Both have conflicting data. In fact, it seems hard to get any data standards at all on this (at least over the Internet). But all seem to point to one thing: more people get murdered in the US per 100,000 than any other country in Europe or Pacific Asia. And not all by guns. The problem is, the US is a violent country, which is a different problem altogether, and will be a topic for another entry at another time.

So, back to guns. Frankly, if there was a magic wand that would make all guns go away, and then be effectively banned from coming back all over the world, I'd be for it. To be honest, I don't think it would stop war and violence, but at least hand-to-hand combat would weed out some cowards. Not many, since we'd still have bombs, spears, arrows, and other projectiles. Then we'd also have to think about the increase of murder by poisoning. But besides that, there are two sayings pro-gun people say that I think are very true.

If we outlaw guns, then only outlaws will have guns. This is one of those self-referencing logic loops like saying "If I get rid of my money, I will no longer have money." But the double entendre many people miss here is that most criminals do not get guns legally. They are stolen or sold on the black market. Sure, probably some people buy guns legally and then murder someone. But a criminal who wants a gun will get one somehow. There are just too many all over the world.

Guns don't kill people, people kill people. A gun, by itself, lying unloaded in a drawer will probably never kill anyone. It takes someone loading bullets into a gun and then firing it at someone to kill them. I see antigun people citing accidental gun deaths a year to counteract this wisdom, but that's still a person who made a choice. Either they didn't watch what they were doing, or didn't get enough education to use the gun properly. I would think that better gun education is an issue there.

I have held several guns and fired them in my life. I have held a .38 snub nose, a .35 pistol, and a 12 guage shotgun. All of them were at a shooting range. There is something to be said about holding a gun. It is metal, so it is heavy and unbalanced in your hand. But the weight of a tool that could end a life of a living being was the heaviest weight of all in my opinion. A lot of emotions went through me as I fired these guns. Fear. Respect. Pain.

The guy who let me fire his .38 was a bit off-center, but he gave me some lessons I'll never forget. He loaded the gun, and pointed it straight at my head. He told me that if I ever saw this again, the look on the person's face would not be one who knows how to hold a gun. It would be the face of a coward; someone who was scared and unable to control their behavior. It would be the face of someone who feared me. It would be the face of an uneducated person who had made a lot of bad decisions. He told me that if this ever happens to me, to not look at the gun, because the gun would not hold the answers to my survival: the face of the holder would. The face would tell me if I had a chance or not to talk my way out of this situation. The face would tell me whether I could save my life by tossing a wallet on the ground and run, talk them down, beg for my life, pretend to faint, do nothing but listen, or possibly the only hope would be to rush them and point the gun at me before they fired. The gun holder had made his choice, and now the choice of my life was up to me alone. And his or her face would be my only clues. I'd never point a loaded gun at someone and give them this lecture, but he said it was how he was taught, and thus, remembered. And thus, I remembered. Because no matter how well you know the holder at the other end of the muzzle, there's a direct unbroken line of attention between you and the man holding the gun. That's why they call it the "business end."

When I held the gun, it was heavy. This bastard also did not tell me about kickback, so the first time I fired, I bruised my forehead. Besides the goose egg on my forehead, and in spite of the earphones I was wearing, the sound is what startled me the most. Whether you hate guns or not, if you have never fired one from your own hand need to understand how final a gun blast is. It's not Hollywood or TV. It's not a simple bang bang sort of thing like a capgun. The sound was so loud and deep, I can't imagine the sound without the ear protection. It had a roar with the thud, like the hammer of a Norse God making a decision against a mortal. The feel of the bullet leaving the chamber pulses into your hand. This is a weapon created to kill. The shock ripples down your arm and into your chest, and your heart skips a beat in response. A person who was struck by the projectile I fired would most likely die as the bullet thrust itself into their body and raped it with the shockwaves that shredded all the soft tissue in a cone of utter destruction from the impact site. You inhale slightly. All the victim's life experiences, their memories, their hopes, dreams, and fears would be erased from the physical world. They invested all their years of life to collect these experiences, and you would have just ended it. A whole life. A living being. Just like you. Your ears ring a little. I am sure those who have fired repeatedly don't notice anymore, but for me, it was an awesome experience that made me realize just how serious a gun really was. I have deep respect for the weapon, and deep anger towards those who would use it to take another life without thinking. A gun is final.

This is why I believe everyone should fire a gun (at a shooting range with a guide who is very knowledgeable about guns and gun safety) at least once, and think about their experiences. A few years later, I fired some guns again at a FanTek shootout event. One guy even brought a musket, although, he caused grief when his wad of black powder didn't fire properly, and a huge flaming clump landed only a few feet away from the muzzle (they had to stop everyone from shooting while the range owner angrily put it out with a pitcher full of water). I fired Bruce's .35, and Frank's 12 gauge shotgun at clay pigeons (it was an outdoor shooting range).

A shooting range is mega-ultra safe, too. People see them on TV and think you just go in and shoot, like a bowling alley. Not so. First of all, the shooting is done in a series of firing followed by breaks. You go in, sign up, show them your ID and UNLOADED gun. Then they explain the rules. You MUST have hearing protection and goggles of some sort. They make sure you have that. Then you wait. When the shooting is in "break mode," you are allowed in to the shooting range itself. There you pick an area (usually these areas are sectioned off with short walls that prevent you from seeing the person next to you and to protect you in case the gun fires in the wrong direction), and put your gun on the table with the chamber open and exposed (so they know it won't go off). You wait while the previous shooters are done picking up their targets and setting up new ones. You will probably also set up your target on the range at this time. The staff them makes sure no one is on the range, and rings an alert bell. You put on your goggles and ear protection. When the staff is satisfied it's all safe the alert goes off again, and you can load your gun and fire. When the alert sounds again, you open up the gun chamber and leave it on the table that way. The staff makes sure everyone is done, and then sounds another alert telling you all clear and you can go see your target and put in a new one. Repeat as often as you like. It is very rare that someone gets hurt on a shooting range. More people get hurt in bowling alleys, in all likelihood.

Do I own a gun? No. I would never own a gun unless I had training on how to use it when I needed it, which I would guess would be only when an intruder enters my house. But would I have the response time to grab my gun, load it (I'd never leave it loaded, what a dumbass thing that would be), and then fire it with accuracy? Probably not. If an intruder came in with a gun, he'd either shoot us while we were sleeping (then steal my gun, and then that would mean I bought a gun later used to kill an innocent), or probably not shoot at all. Most thieves in my area are the "smash and grab" kind; taking stuff they can carry away as quickly as possible from sliding glass doors left unlocked or open. I haven't heard of many armed home robberies in my state that would be worth thinking it was an epidemic I should protect my family against. I mean, houses get hit by lightning, and I don't have a lightning rod, either. Hell, I don't even have termite protection and that's something I should spend my money on. If burglars come in, one points gun at me, and demands my stuff, they can have it. I have insurance. And honestly, not much stuff worth taking. If I get attacked, I do have knives and swords by my bedside for that purpose, but honestly, picturing myself getting all Samurai Jack on some intruder is fairly laughable. If I am really scared, I'll get a big dog to supplement my two small ones, which while I have seen them attack, I doubt it will do much good against a foe who is not a cat. A gun in this chaos would just be too much.

As a last footnote, one of the deepest memories I have is how much my father hated guns. I was not allowed to play with them as a kid, and when I got a toy for my birthday when I was eight, he destroyed it. It was a plastic rifle that only shot sucker darts, but I loved it for the week I had it until my father found out. He found it in my hiding place, and broke it. I discovered it broken in his bathroom (his den had its own bathroom) when my mother had me go in there to look for something. We confronted him about it, and he became furious, claiming I was "parading it around" like it was some vast threat in the house. Years later, a friend casually mentioned that maybe my father was afraid I'd rise up against him or something. Yeah, and sucker dart him until he got circles in his forehead, I guess. But those words stuck for years, and as a final underlayment of what I had learned from him: tyrants don't want you to have symbols of freedom. I learned early on what the right to have guns meant, and cherish it as much as I cherish my knowledge on how to read.

So, what does all this mean? Having a gun is an American right. But like all rights, it comes with a responsibility. If we are not responsible, we'll lose that right. And I want to hold up my end of the bargain; even if I don't own a gun, I'll defend my friend's rights to have them as long as they own them responsibly.

Posted by Punkie @ 11:08 AM EST [Link]

Wednesday, May 21, 2003

How my writing's going

It's not. SURPRISE! Well, I doubt it surprised anyone. I have an email in my inbox from January where the illustrator of my last work is asking, "Are you ever gonna publish that thing?" I should, really. I just haven't had the time. I haven't replied to her e-mail because I am embarrassed to admit it, so I hope she reads this and understands. Or goes, "You suck!" Something. Sorry, Kris. That's why I paid you in advance, see... :-P

I have one major work I am supposed to be working on. "Between the Lines: The Life and Times of Tony Bumper." I have probably 25% of the whole book actually written in a form I'd consider readable, which is Chapters 1-4, and the last chapter. Trouble is, I started writing the book in first person, which made it hard to advance the subplots. I have to rewrite it in third person to make it work. The next problem is I haven't put all the pieces together neatly yet in my head. I know two huge middle pieces, but how they work into the story I want to be clever, not just thrown in there like an odd collection of shorts. There's one big crucial scene that takes place in a mysterious desert, and while I know how he gets there, I want to have a good explanation as to why he agrees to go there. The main protagonist, Tony, keeps getting bumped along his story without much control, which is how the Punk walrus books were, and I am sick of my characters always doing what they are told. Why? Because when they make any decision, it makes them seem out of character. I want these characters to be believable, something the reader could identify with, instead of them shouting, "Come on, fool!" That's a big problem because I feel I am being bumped along the banks of the river of life, without a whole lot of direction except at desperate moments to avoid rocks.

Bits and pieces come to me when I write. Then I have to make them fit the book. That's hard. I enjoy writing characters, but I can't have 500 main characters in my books; the Bible has that problem, which is why it's such dry reading. For example, here's a tidbit from my hard drive:

Koko sat on the edge of the wall overlooking a small parking area next to an apartment complex. The air was heavy with humidity; summer had come early, and summer in DC was always muggy. Tony was glad he could finally wear his outback clothes. While he was following Koko to this area, his hand reached into his pocket and he pulled out a piece of dried leaf. It must have been there since he left Australia. It had been less than a year, and yet, seemed a lifetime ago. He wondered if the bush this leaf came from had any idea it would end up so far away. Too bad it wasn't a seed, because Tony would have liked to plant something to remind him of the place he had come from.

"I think it's over here," she said, peering at the top of a tree that was level to them due to it being rooted at the bottom of the wall. A few starlings hopped around in interest as Koko squinted her eyes and peered about.

"What is?" asked Tony, sitting at the wall next to Koko. The wall was in the side of a hill, possibly holding the dirt back to keep from sliding into the street below them. It gave the hill a cliff to sit on, and swing your feet at the cars parked about twenty feet below.

"The gate. It's here, I know it. There are starlings."

"Koko, there are starlings all over this county."

"Yes, but not so many."

Tony looked at the starlings, made a quick count, and said, "There's only seven," he added with frustration, "and that's counting the two on the roof of that house down th--" but Tony stopped. Koko was gone. In her place was a starling, hopping about the flip-flops Koko had left next to her. Tony looked in all directions. She had totally vanished. Or become a starling. Either way was nearly impossible to believe. Tony's brain looked down, because all logic of such a rapid disappearance could only be attributed to a sudden fall off the wall. Yet he heard nothing, and the car below them was devoid of a corpse of a small Asian girl.

"Koko?" he asked to empty air. Two starlings in the tree tops in front of him argued. "Koko? Where have you gone?" All he could hear was the white noise of local traffic.

"I was about to ask the same thing," said Koko behind him so suddenly, Tony nearly had a heart attack. He whirled around, and saw her walk towards him. "I forgot my shoes," she said, and kneeled down to put on her flip-flops.

"Hang on," said Tony. "How did you do that?"

"Well, I guess we both have to go through the gate at the same time. And there's only one way to do that," she said. She grabbed Tony's head, and positioned it just so. "Don't move." She sat down next to him. "Now, without moving your head, look at where those power lines cross. See how they--DON'T LOOK DOWN!"

Tony realized his head wandered. "Sorry!" he said in defense, and he let Koko rearrange his head. "Is it bad to look down?"

"No," she said. "I just like scaring you. You follow orders better that way," she smiled.

"Okay, look at the power lines where they cross," Tony repeated.

"Yes," said Koko, holding onto Tony's hand. Her hands felt warm and soft, and Tony's stomach did loops. "But look past them. Like I taught you. Like ... the book taught you."

Tony tried his hardest, but try as he might, they looked just like power lines. He could see the dark rubber casing, the dust that had settled on the top ... but then there was more dust, and suddenly, the air went dry and he realized he was in the middle of a vast red desert near a thorny tree. The whole area had gone.

"ACK!" he said, and was right back to the wall and the starlings.

"Really," said Koko. "You must stop doing that."

Posted by Punkie @ 08:22 PM EST [Link]

Monday, May 19, 2003

Bitter World

I have no idea what's up, but everyone seems so crabby lately. I mean, sure, I am pessimistic with the best of them, but I have encountered more people having a bad day in the last week than I have in months. Everyone seems to be having a bad time about something. I watched three people, one moderator, and a misunderstanding turn into an ugly brawl filled with venomous sarcasm so sharp, that even when one of them apologized, he was told, in so many words, to go to hell. On another list, someone posted a link to a website that went down, and he got chewed out by a list manager to "check his links before he wastes bandwidth." Two guys at work refuse to speak to one another, and thus, one of them can't/won't do his work because it involves working with the other guy. I have three friends out sick, two in bad relationships, and one whose cat ran away. One friend's mother has terminal cancer, and it's complicating old family wounds even further. I watched two friends of mine get so angry at each other that they're never going to speak to one another again. Two of my friends started showing severe symptoms of work-related burnout, while another friend of mine wants me to take his side of a future political "anti-somebody" stance I really don't want involved in. What a mess.

My XP box just suddenly stopped seeing both CD-ROM drives. I fixed this by wiggling the IDE cable, but that... shouldn't have fixed it. But it did. Crap, is my motherboard shorting out?

After checking my finances, I noticed that I hadn't paid the power bill in the last two months. This is because I never got a bill. I called the power company, and they deducted the balance from my checking account automatically, but had no idea as to why I never got my last two statements. They verified my address, said they'd send me a new statement, and if I didn't get that one, to call the post office (I got it today, a few days later). I haven't gotten my cable bill for this month, either, and got my American Express bill two weeks late! Luckily, it was only for $7.99, but what's going on with my mail? Now I have to make sure I am getting statements for everything... I suspect the postman is being lazy, since I have also gotten a lot of my neighbors' mail, mostly junk mail, but since January, I have accidentally opened a neighbor's cable bill, a phone bill, and a credit card statement for their gas station card (two different neighbors). I have to watch what I open, now, too. Who do you complain to? I am never home when the mail arrives, and when it does, it's always a mail truck that speeds to the box, puts it in, and speeds off. The driver is shaded behind the roof.

It finally stopped raining. I swear, it was a week without sun until today. It's nice out, today. I have to have sun once at least every four or so days, or I start to go loopy. Maybe that's why everyone was having a bad week.

I am re-reading the Harry Potter series, this time, with a kind of overall perspective of where the story is going, so I can pay more attention to details. Also, I am doing this in preparation for the June release of Book5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I can't wait!

I recently got a copy of Miyazaki's Spirited Away (Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi) and enjoyed it very much. It's a bit more serious than My Neighbor Totoro (Tonari no Totoro), but not nearly as dark as Princess Mononoke (Mononoke Hime). It's about a spoiled girl who ends up (via her spoiled parents) in a place where she shouldn't be, and gets stuck working at a Bath House for the Spirit World in order to survive, and later, to save her parents. It has some good humor, some serious parts, and is well written and directed. Miyazaki and his Studio Ghibli are always good at depicting light and shadow, and he uses a lot of his talents in this movie. I also recently re-watched Akira, the movie that started my interest in anime, on a cable movie channel.

Good news from one friend, though. It seems that my old coworker-turned-very-good-friend Nate is not only moving back to the area (from California), but he's going to work at my company! I don't know if I'll see him a whole lot, because he'll probably be working at our Ashburn office (I work in Reston), but that's so cool! He'll be making tons of money, because he's really skilled, but he's also bringing his wife, Jen, who is also very cool. The only thing preventing this is the selling price of his old house. Get this: my company is paying for him to move out here, giving him temporary housing until he finds a new place, AND paying for his incidentals until he does. That is way cool!

Work was great today, I got a ton of programming done (it always feels good to be productive), and learned new things, which is always good. I figured out how to use Visual Basic 6.0 (the main programming I do at work, Perl is right below that) to get system info like where the desktop and start menu are, how to get memory, processor type and speed, and so on. It's a complex issue of API calls and registry hacks, but it works on both Windows 98 and XP Pro, which was a difficult bridge to cross with one program. I am *supposed* to be using VB.NET these days, but I find the machines we use are too slow (400 and 800 mhz) to make the programs work properly (plus you have to make sure that the correct libraries are installed, and I have over 200 machines to work on; I don't have time to update them all, then on top of that, re-image everything for default installs/repairs...).

In final news, I will be at Balticon this coming weekend. It came a week earlier than I expected (well, bad planning on my part, it's not like they moved it). A lot of my friends are going, so it should be a very social weekend coming up. I still don't have all my programming worked out, but I am told I'll probably have an anime panel to start on Friday at 7pm. I'll probably have a few more panels, but I have to leave early on Sunday, because I can't stay on Memorial Day (work to do). I hope I remember to take pictures!

Posted by Punkie @ 06:36 PM EST [Link]

Saturday, May 17, 2003

What If God Were One of Us...?

Sometimes, I ponder what would happen if I got God-like powers. This summer, there will have been a few movies that will address that. Over the years, I have seen countless TV shows and read countless books that speculate this "what if?" Often, they have some sort of moral message, like "Being God is hard," and "You end up not doing the shallow stuff after all."

First, I'd ask myself, "How did I get these powers?" I think that this is crucial, because it defines my purpose in having them. But let's skip a lot of mumbo-jumbo, and get to the end result: God-like powers.

I'd feel awfully responsible, and would probably spend some time testing them in inconspicuous locations. One of the things I'd test for was based on a lesson some kid learned in one of the stories I read where God said, "Every time you create something, something else must be destroyed. If you summon water to quench your thirst, water has to come from somewhere." I mean, that's something to think about. But we'll leave the realm of physicals and finite matter and just say I have omnipotent powers of all-being and all-knowing and all-doing. Based on this, I have thought it over for years, and have come to shatter some misconceptions about God-like powers, once you think "outside the box."

Myth #1: "The first thing I'd do is get revenge on..." No way. First, why give the person you hate the satisfaction of wasting God-like powers on them? If I was God-like, I wouldn't NEED that revenge. Success is the best revenge, and I wouldn't even CARE what that person or people thought of me anymore. I'd be so busy doing other things.

Myth #2: "Money and wealth would be mine..." I think the only reason I'd desire money or wealth is the security of not having to worry about whether I can afford things I want to do or not. Some people like wealth because of the power. God-like powers removes that need. I'd never use a huge mansion with nubile women, and it'd be a waste for me to take something that I don't need. Money and jewels are only virtual demand supported values, anyway. If I created gold, I'd reduce it's value on the market, and investors would go poor. No, I'd live quietly with my family. Let the people who love gold and diamonds get gold and diamonds.

Myth #3: "I'd help so-and-so get their wish..." In the 34 years I have lived, I have found that what most people wish for, they either say they want but never try to get it, or they don't deserve or realize the burden of what they want. An old Chinese curse says, "May you get whatever your wishes desire..." because often, what we want is the worst thing we could get. Also, I have tried to help many people, and I have found that even with a handout, some people slap it away or never use what opportunities I have given them. That's a hard pill to swallow. I have had several friends who are jobless, and when I find them opportunities, they never take me up on it, or make some excuse as to why it will never work. Mind you, some people will take advice and help you give them, and really improve themselves. I have made many more successful attempts at helping people improve themselves than failures, but it's usually because they wanted to succeed in the first place, and eventually, even if I didn't help them, they'd be okay.

Myth #4: "I'd never tell anyone, because people would constantly bug me for favors ..." I recall an episode of South Park, where someone prays to Jesus to let his team win, and Jesus is a few bleachers away, shouting "Oh, leave me out of this!" Yeah, that's a valid concern, but if you have God-like powers, you have two forks of thought. The first is you will not only be able to help everyone with their favors, but you won't tire of it. You have God-like powers, which means you can do anything and feel any way about it. The second fork is that you can create a force field that makes people forget about you unless you specifically ask them not to. Douglas Adams had one of those in his books, it was called an "SEP Field," where SEP means "Somebody Else's Problem." A ship with this field could never be seen directly, and the closer you got to it, the more likely you'll be distracted and forget what you were doing, because your brain interpreted the ship as something you don't have to worry about, and thus, blends into the background no matter what it looks like.

So what would I do with God-like powers? I'd take advantage of the "be many places at once," and invisibly follow people around to see what they're doing. Just out of curiosity. I'd study cultures and people. Of course, if I was omniscient, I'd already know the answers. Then life would be totally boring. I'd lose my will to exist. Thus, to save myself, I'd force myself to forget I am God-like, and then act as a normal person.

Then I ask, "How do I know that has not already happened?"

[OOOOoooooWEEEEEEEEeeeeoooooo ...]

Posted by Punkie @ 12:29 PM EST [Link]

Friday, May 16, 2003

The Matrix - Reveiwed

I hate movies that have been over-hyped, because they all say stuff like it's the second coming of the messiah, so you get your hopes up to see something so great, so wonderful, that can't possibly be delivered; including the second coming of the messiah. So I tried to ignore the hype, but I did read the reviews for the last week, and it seemed like the standard kinds of things someone might say if Jesus came back: "Man... I thought he was taller or something."

I liked it. I did get to read the plot synopsis in spoilers, so I kind of knew what to expect, and thus, was able to concentrate on the movie and the acting more. Warning: it takes thinking. I don't care what some reviewers said, some of this movie is pretty heady and self-referencing (it has to be, or the movie would be even longer and need a Powerpoint presentation or something). Very Kafka-esque and Orwellian in some areas, especially about who controls whom, what is destiny, and a lot about the illusions of the freedom of choice. I think if you came to see nothing but non-stop Kung-fu fighting, you'd get frustrated by the semi-quasi-religious-theo-philosophic tracks they follow sometimes. This was *definately* a cyberpunk kind of story.

I got to see it with my family, and Sara (whom, along with me and Rogue, form the "Scopion Posse"), amid the pouring rain outside. The theaters in the Fairfax Town Center seem to be woefully understaffed, and this is the second time that some of the trailers went awry, they forgot to dim the lights until partway through the movie, the trash cans were overflowing, and that the theater floor was scattered with loose trash. They give the impression that they are losing money like crazy. Bottled water, for instance, is $3.00 for a small bottle. For water! It costs about $20 just to get a big tub of popcorn, a bag of candy, and three drinks for my family. But they don't let you sneak in your own food... in theory, no one has ever searched anyone that I have seen. Oh well.

Posted by Punkie @ 11:26 AM EST [Link]

Wednesday, May 14, 2003

Don't Do Drugs... okay, not all the time

I recall back in... 1988, I was at a sci-fi con when drugs were really on the rise in fandom. They were still "hippie" drugs, like marijuana, LSD, and the like, but it was causing some concern with elder fandom because a few of them were still a bit angry at the "hippie wave" that flooded into fandom in the mid to late 70s. "See," some said, "I told you they weren't serious fans." This convention's chairman decided to stand up at opening ceremonies and say a few words, and as far as I know, was the first to publicly announce that he wanted a "drug-free" convention. It was a short speech, but serious in nature. When he was done, the crowd was silent and thoughtful, but then the silence was broken by... someone raising their hand in the air. The chairman was a bit surprised, since this wasn't a question-or-answer panel, but he said, "Uh... yes?"

"Sir," said the mousy female voice, tinted with concern, "does that include prescription drugs?"

People talked about that for YEARS. Mostly "what was the dumbest thing you have ever seen?" kind of conversations, but to the chairman's credit, he did state next year that "only prescription drugs, prescribed by your doctor to you, are allowed only if you take them at their prescribed times and doses. All other drugs and verboten!"

I used to be mega-paranoid about illegal drugs. I am sure my father thought I was on them, because he thought so little of me in general that he lumped whatever social ills he knew about in one big definition of "bad kid." My mother drank, and abused tranqs, so it wasn't like I had no way to get drugs. But, I never took them. Not one. I have never been under the influence of anything but legal medications, and I don't even like taking over-the-counter pain medicine very much. Until I was 16, I believed the whole lock, stock, and barrel about "drugs = evil." A regular Joe Friday.

What happened at 16? I woke the hell up. It started when some friends of mine at a party (oddly enough, at a sci-fi convention) who broke out some joints. They offered, I declined, they never pressured. But thus began my introduction into the minor-league drug culture. I began to relax as I saw the real truth, warts and all, about drugs. I think my first big epiphany was realizing that occasional drug use was very common among most of my friends, and that they never "needed" it, but rather used it as a tool. This is how I explain marijuana:

Marijuana is a tool, like a drill. You use a drill to do a job, like drill a hole in your foundation to put up a shelf, and then you put it away until you need it again. But some people think drilling holes is a lot of fun. They get addicted to the vibration of the drill, and soon cannot imagine a life without it. While this is happening, friends and family try to say stuff to warn them of their drill use, but the noise of the drill is too loud and they don't hear. Soon, they have drilled so many holes that their foundation collapses.

Native Americans saw the spirit (medicine) of marijuana as a dancing woman. You must pay her to dance for you. She will dance for you as long as you have money. But keep in mind, she never cares for you, just the money. Some men see her as mere entertainment, while men have gone mad for her. Some have used her to show them things, and some have confused what she has shown as real.

"Man made beer, God made marijuana: whom do you trust?" I see some people say. Well, God made the hops, malt, and barely that goes into beer. And God never told you to dry his marijuana, crush it, roll it, light it on fire, and inhale the smoke into your lungs, either. I mean, God made apples, and you don't smoke them, do you? How about squirrels?

I can't say that marijuana is bad or good, because it depends on who uses it. I have seen marijuana destroy a good friend of mine. It took a brilliant young artist and killed her will to live or fend for herself. It made her lazy, sick, and addicted. She found all kinds of excuses to keep smoking it, from her "bad back" to her monthly cramps and "crisis du jour." And we all watched, helpless. We watched boyfriend after boyfriend screw her and dump her. She used to be a dedicated worker, and she lost all her jobs until she stopped trying. Her friends all went away. She just sat on the couch, watching TV, coughing and moaning. She doesn't even do art anymore. But do I blame marijuana for that? Not really. No one forced her to smoke it. She was even an asthmatic, and she still kept it up. After looking at this for 12 years, I can honestly say that marijuana was the gun she put to her own head. If it wasn't Mary Jane's dance, it would have been something else.

A majority of my friends haven't done any drugs since they were in their early 20s. Most wouldn't do it now, and not because of the illegal factor, but because they don't need it anymore. Some finally admit stuff they wouldn't have before, like, "I never got high, really" or "I just did it because I was bored." My friend Brad says it gives him a headache.

But then there's the other factor. I work with a guy who is a poster boy for "don't do drugs." He's not a teen, but he's an older guy with a long white beard, dirty tee-shirt, and is totally spaced out most of the time. Sometimes his clothes smell of it, and his actions are very much like someone who has a problem: he spaces out while talking to you, forgets what you or he just said, doesn't do much work, and basically would be the first against the wall if layoffs occurred in my department. I don't know how he stays employed. Even his rare e-mails reflect his state of mind: some of them unfinished, or asking a question you just answered, like "I realize you said that the server is on rack Q42, room 8, but I need to know what rack the server is located on. And what room number?" Sometimes he answers mails that are not for him. Like:

> There is a pile of stuff on the Lab floor, looks like tools and things. If they
> are yours, please clean them up as they are blocking the storage closet

can you describe these tools

> It was a bunch of assorted tools and parts, go have a look.

are they mine?

> I don't know, go look. If they are yours, please move them.

i cant clean them up if I don't know their mine. please give a description of ea

> I am not listing them. Go to the lab. Look at them. If they are yours
> please pick them up

where are they

> In front of the storage closet, that's the problem.

in the lab

> Yes.

whose are they?

> I have met many people, sir, and you are not one of them.

Okay, I didn't say that last part, but I wanted to. He replied to the entire batch of people each time (about a dozen cc'd on the e-mail), even when I replied to him singly. And it turns out they weren't his tools, but someone else's, who replied to me privately only once with a small and polite apology and explanation, and then moved them. For several days, the pot-head would bring up, "Did you see whose tools those were?" even after I told him the person who owned them had taken care of it.

This man has a driver's license, and is driving on public roads. That's what's scary.

But should marijuana be illegal? Canada recently reflected on their minor possession laws. The US balks. Well, America, in my humble opinion, if you allow tobacco and alcohol, you should allow marijuana. I have now seen enough people under the influence to conclude that almost no one (no one I have ever seen or heard about) does violent and terrible things under Mary Jane's influence. In fact, it calms them, makes them giggle, spacey, and gives them a mean case of the munchies at best. I looked at The Dangers of Marijuana at FamilyEducation.com, and here's my responses:

Possessing marijuana is a criminal offense. Well, it wouldn't be if it was legalized. It would also heavily reduce crime by its very definition.

The marijuana available today is stronger than the marijuana available in the 1960s. It also may be laced with other drugs. True, but so was tobacco (added nicotine), and when we found out about it, we at least slapped them on the wrist about it. I think we should learn from that, and have it mandated and regulated like the FDA does with meats and veggies.

Tetrahydrocannabinol, the main, active ingredient in marijuana, temporarily alters brain functioning that affects sensory perception, reflexes, and coordination. Because it changes the way people see, hear, and feel, it can impair judgement. So can alcohol and blunt trauma. None of those are illegal.

Though many people believe it isn't, marijuana is physically addicting. Uh, so is tobacco, alcohol, sleeping pills, and in my opinion, saturated fats. Those are legal.

Studies suggest that marijuana may cause permanent short- and long-term memory loss. I always like "studies show," without a link to the study. There are no "study standards" in the media, so all words like "studies show" mean to me are "I think I have support, I heard I did." Cite your sources. I bet it's funded by an anti-marijuana group. Experience has shown me that flagrant abuse does seem to cause short- and long-term memory loss... but so does abuse of many other things like tobacco, alcohol, and boxing. Again, those are legal.

Smoking marijuana can release inhibitions, causing people to engage in risky social and sexual behavior. No disagreements here, either, but so can alcohol and peer pressure. The desire to be liked, I think, is the greatest inhibition releaser.

Studies suggest that marijuana may cause permanent short- and long-term memory loss. I always like how... wait a minute. Okay, okay, bad joke, I know. I couldn't resist.

As with any excessive drug use, smoking marijuana can interfere with school performance, extra-curricular activities, and peer relations. Heavy smokers often lose their sense of motivation and find it difficult to concentrate. Particularly potent marijuana can even induce paranoia. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, so can alcohol, but you know, from PERSONAL experience, so can a bad home life. I had poor school performance, weird extra-curricular activities, and odd peer relations... but I never smoked pot in my life.

Regular use of marijuana may play a role in causing cancer (particularly lung cancer) and problems with the immune or reproductive systems. Studies also show that someone who smokes five joints a day may be taking in as many cancer-causing chemicals as someone who smokes a full pack of cigarettes every day. I know people who smoke two packs of tobacco sticks a day, and that's legal... hold on a second, *five joints*? Holy Spires of Tuscapin! Anyone who is smoking that much pot is either too rich for his or her own good, or doesn't give a CRAP about anything. That's a personal problem! Even the most adamant drug abuser I have ever known smoked less than a joint a day! Who the hell is smoking five joints a day?

The site the told me to go to the NDIA page, and I read some good stuff here, but nothing seems to really address the fact that we are using and regulating far more dangerous stuff, which leads to my original point: it should be the user's choice. For instance, I realize that eating a bag of Oreos a day would be bad for me, so I don't do it. Besides, I'd get sick of them real quick. I don't drink alcohol by choice, and I could get that anywhere. Almost all my friends drink, but they don't pressure me to.

But pot is illegal, so it's not my choice (in theory). So I guess I'll never know, and thus, don't do drugs.

"Sir?"

Yes?

"Does that include prescription drugs?"

BWAH!

Posted by Punkie @ 02:16 PM EST [Link]

Monday, May 12, 2003

Weekend Wrap-up - Fisk Tank

I recall this one commercial where two guys are painting a boat, and one guy is professing his love to his wife of ten years, and wanted to get her a good gift for their ten-year anniversary. He pauses, and says "I am going to get her a new washing machine." Now, I hate stereotyping of anyone, but the media thinks making fun of men this way is okay. Men are dumb, insensitive, easy to manipulate, and good for manual labor ... but otherwise are clueless. I know that commercial was aimed for women, so they'd realize that if they did not demand baubles and shiny objects from their men, the men would get them washing machines or something equally as insensitive. But what gift do you give a woman who is not shallow, and is, in fact, your life partner. "Your other half," is closer to truth? What do you do for mother's day for a woman who does not shiny baubles, trinkets, and little figurines?

Get her a fish tank.

No, seriously, Christine's wanted one for a while, and I had been saving up some money. So for mother's day, we got a brand-new 45 gallon fish tank, stand, lighted hood, and all the equipment. There are two major reasons she wanted one: she liked my fish tanks when we were dating, and she wanted a major source of humidity in our bedroom.

When I was young (about 8), my mother got a small, ten-gallon fish tank. Shortly thereafter, I ended up taking care of it. It sat in the kitchen and waves of fish lived and died in it. None of the fish lived over a year. Finally, I got a book on raising fish, and one of the passages said that keeping a tank in the kitchen (with all the kitchen grease, oils, and odors) was a bad idea. So was keeping it near a sunlit window. So I was allowed to take the tank to my room, which was cool and damp most of the time.

Over the years, my fish tank collection grew. I inherited a 5.5 gallon tank from someone who was giving it away, then I got a 20 gallon tank for my birthday. I kept tropical fish for many years, but one winter, my father killed my fish. See, one of my "punishments" for whatever crime I may have done was that my father took away my lights in my room. My room was like a dungeon, with very little outside light from windows near the ceiling, and so was dark most of the time, and for a long time I was terrified of the dark. Thus, an effective punishment. But this one winter, our heater was not working very well, and my father hated spending money, so he turned the thermostat down instead of paying someone to fix the furnace. All my fish tanks had heaters, so the tropical fish were okay with it. But when I got "punished" this one time (I don't even remember why), my father took away all my fish tank stuff that had lights. The included my tank hoods and the heaters. Why the heaters? They all had a small orange LED to indicate if they were on or not. So that night, it got so cold in my room, a thin sheet of ice formed on the top of my tanks. Almost all of my fish died within the next few days. When I cried and cried, my father said I had killed them, and that if I hadn't had been bad, my fish wouldn't have died of the cold. My mother was appalled at this comment, so while he was away at work, she had some heating guys come fix the furnace at great cost. She even tipped them. She also said she'd buy me new fish in the spring.

When spring came around, I had learned my lesson: don't have tropical fish. My home life was simply too complex to keep fish that required delicate care. I was also sick of dealing with bully fish killing and eating other fish (I had these 3-spot gouramis that I... ooooohh! What assholes they were!), but I am also sure I was still doing the "sour grapes" thing on some level. There was also the salinity, pH, and cleaning issues I had to deal with, and I since I never got an allowance, it was hard to afford all those chemical care kits. Since those days, all I have ever gotten is cold-water or easy-care fish. Ornamental Goldfish. They rule.

The first one I fell in love with was one at a Chinese restaurant in Tyson's Corner (no longer there, but it used to be next to the upper entrance of what is now Nordstrom's). This huge (probably 80-100 gallon) tank hosted only one fish: a monstrous lion-head oranda about the size of a football. It was a pearl-white, and huge veil tails almost as long as its body. The bumps all over its head had pretty much closed off its eyes, and it was fed by hand by a thin old guy who hand-fed it from a plate with a pair of chopsticks. I don't know what he fed the fish, but it knew when someone came to the tank (it was low to the ground, about waist-height), to swim to the top and open its mouth. I once fed it some small noodles (via permission of the waiter), and I recall looking into this fish's toothless mouth, which opened to the size of a quarter, smacking the water surface. Sadly, the restaurants back then always allowed smoking, and sometimes I'd see people put out their ashes in this tank. I would get so mad, and I think that's why I hated smokers for so long.

I never had a fish get that big. The biggest one was Herman, who started out as a freebie at a pet store. He was a teeny-tiny fish (a redcap veil-tail) no bigger than a pea. He came free with some dwarf gouramis I got because he got stuck in the pet store clerk's net, and looked very damaged by the whole ordeal. "Keep it," he said with a smile and a sigh, "no charge. He might make good food for some fish." The dwarf gouramis were eventually killed by those stupid 3-spot gouramis, and then I stopped getting tropical fish. Because Herman was a goldfish, the cold didn't bother him when the tanks froze over. He stayed out of everyone's way, and survived several tank moves, even when I got Koi (never ever, get Koi for a fish tank... they don't understand glass, never stop growing, and eventually all of them killed themselves when they jumped out of the tank or bashed themselves to death on the glass). Herman kept growing.

When I became a teen, my psychology teacher sold me her old 35-gallon fish tank with stand, hood, lights, and all the accessories including a ridiculously powerful overhanging water pump that could clean a small lake in a matter of minutes. I had to stopper the outflow pipe with tape to reduce the flow that almost turned the tank into a whirlpool. Jeebus! I recall Herman, now the size of a golf ball, bravely swimming against the current to no avail; it just blew him around the tank like a leaf in a storm drain. Finally, with the adjustment of the outflow pipe position and wads of packing tape, I got the pump to blast downwards at a more acceptable volume, which always left a place with no gravel unless I put a huge rock there or something. This tank sat next to my bed from age 16 until age 20, through 3 moves. This is the tank Christine so fondly remembers when we were dating.

When I moved from my house to the FanTek house, all my tanks went with me, but I gave them all but my 35 gallon. Then when I moved in with Tim and Anita, the 35 tank went with me as well. By then, Herman was the size of my fist. He had lost his red cap, but was growing oranda bumps all over his head. He was also turning a pearly white, which thrilled me to no end. Sadly, the water in that house went bad one day (some rust/ground seepage issue), and while refilling my tank, Herman, as well as the rest of the plants and fish, died.

When I got married, the tank went with me, and we tried to keep fish, but they never lived long. When we moved again, there was a flood (that house flooded a lot) where rusty water got dumped into the tank, and all the fish died. And so did any other fish we put in there. Within a week, they died. We scrubbed the tanks, cleaned it with approved fish-tank cleaning solutions, but nothing would live in it again. We turned it into a terrarium, and all the plants died, too. Finally, before we moved to Fairfax, we sucked in our remorse, and trashed it. I watched the garbage truck crush my memories while I mouthed a silent good-bye.

Then, as a promise to my son if he kept sea-monkeys alive (and he did ... even got them to lay eggs and breed), we got him a small tank two years ago. All of his fish have died but one, and the one is still alive to this day. The tank doesn't look so good (big algae problem), but hey, the fish is living happily.

We had been planning to get a big fish tank for a while, but never got around to it. Knowing mother's day was coming up, and knowing that Christine bemoaned the fact we hadn't had a good fish tank in a long time, and wanted the humidity in the bedroom a fish tank usually provides, I started to save up for it, and look at prices. Christine kept a betta (Siamese fighting fish) for a while, but then Thisby broke into the tiny plastic and ate it. Man, Christine didn't like Thisby for a year after that. So I knew I had to have a reasonably cat-proof tank. Luckily, the hoods are stronger now than they were when I was a kid. Thisby has so far been unable to get my son's fish, although when she gets into his room, she'll sit on the tank and think about it, in her own crazy Thisby-like ways.

So this Sunday, we went out, ate at the Outback Steak House to celebrate Mom, and then just bought all new everything. Tank, stand, hood, light, gravel, net, hose vacuum, plastic plants, food, chemicals, statues, the works. I set it, and our good friend Missie came and provided company. We made pizzas, and now we have this gorgeous tank in the bedroom. It's a 45-gallon tall, which I found out is almost too long for my arm to get in there to the bottom unless I stand on a stepstool. It's right next to our bed, and looks absolutely gorgeous. I did a blessing to help the tank be a future haven for whatever fish may come our way.

We're getting the fish today (we had to wait 24 hours for the tank water to cure and stabilize). We're still going with ornamental goldfish, and I hope to get a couple of black moors, and possibly a redcap veiltail, to remind me of Herman. Oh, and a snail. I love snails.

Oh, and BTW: Those dumb 3-spot gouramis did eventually die. After the freeze, one of them died, and so the bigger of the two remaining got all full of himself, and beat the other one to death after a year and a half of merciless teasing and gourami gang tactics. He was alone for many years (where he turned this striped tunafish blue and just looked like a mean badass of the deep, I don't know WHAT the deal was with him), but finally died at the FanTek house in another tank when he was attacked by some vicious mollies, I think. Ha ha! Take that, you evil gourami!

Posted by Punkie @ 11:46 AM EST [Link]

Saturday, May 10, 2003

Shoot My Head Like a Rock Star...

Well, it's 3:09 in the morning, and since the Beef-like BBQ sandwich I got at the DC Improv is keeping me awake, I figured I'd give a kind of week wrap-up. It obviously sucked. Damn. And not just me, either. My friend Brad got very sick, tonadoes touched down around here, they had a mini-layoff at work. In fact, this week sucked fo so many people, I got off lucky! All I have is a huge dark spreading bruise on my right wrist and hand to remind me how it all started...

My wrist is HEAVILY bruised. I mean, it's yellow and red and blue and black, but the soreness is mostly gone. It didn't help when I slammed my fist on the table at work, mad at some other stuff.

My Linux box has a new power supply, and while the PS has a noisy fan, it is less noisy than the fan before it, which totally died. I took apart the old supply, and the fan, I swear to God, the fan was hard to turn even by hand. It was like pushing through clay. Sadly, the fan was hard-wired to the PS, so I tossed the whole thing. It was only 250 Watts anyway. The new (used) one is 300. I shouldn't notice the difference, but my Linux box seems to run faster. It's probably all in my head.

My primary workstation at my office is still down, and our internal help department is as clueless as always. I state my workstation was getting memory fail errors on boot, and the tech only puts down, "Complains his anti-virus software isn't working." (I suppose, because I said that after the anti-virus download, by machine stopped working) Sigh...

But it ended well. I got to see Comedy Central's Dave Atell, and while he was funny, he reminds me of a lot of reasons I never have seen comedians in real life: I know almost all their routines. But apart from 50% of the works I could mouth from my own memory, he did have some new stuff, and I thought was very funny. He is very blue, I must warn you, and not in that BB King way, either. In a Red Foxx way. The featured act before him was Allan Goodwin, and he's funny as hell. He held his own, man, as an opening act. You should go see this guy.

Okay, I have to go. It's past 3:30am, and Artoo has managed to get in my den and jump on my shoulder. No, really. Look to the left here. Artoo meows and meows and meows and meows to get in my den when I am in here, and when I let him in, he won't let me type, jumps on me, chews on my fingers, and then, finally, goes into my closet and starts knocking things around. Then I throw him out. Then he meows and meows and meows and meows to get in my den again.

One last thing: I have (or will be) updating some photo pages. I have new pictures of Little Miss Bitchy, Storm. I also have some great flower pics. Check out my Wot's Noo page. Let me know what you think!

In closing, this weekend will be rainy all weekend, so I can't do lawn work (my yard looks like a meadow; it's been ideal grass growing conditions, but too wet to mow), si I will be doing some badly needed housework (fun!) and then on Mother's Day Sunday, Chrstine is going to get a new fish tank. No, really. She knows, and loves the idea.

Posted by Punkie @ 03:36 AM EST [Link]

Friday, May 9, 2003

When did I grow up? Did I? Surely I would have been notified...

Are We Grown Up Yet? Study Says Not 'Till 26

Based on this poll of "growing up," I parsed my life down like this:

Self-supporting: Technically, age 16 is when I was buying my own clothes, school supplies, and in most cases, food. My mother was drunk most of the time, and my father certainly didn't want anything to do with me, so I was on my own. But then I see:

No Longer Living with Parents: Age 18. I guess I could get all symbolic and say 15 or earlier, but truthfully, I was still living in the same house. I was in a foster home at 18 for a few months (after my mother's suicide), then a mental hopsital for a few more months, then back "home," and then I quickly moved out to live with the FanTek people a few months later, after I graduated high school.

Full-time Job: I had been working doing odd jobs since age 12, but my first real, FICA-deducted paycheck-getting job was at age 16. That was by contract only, and so it wasn't really full-time except during the summer. Then I worked at this government contractor in the summer of 1986. Then back to the other place. My first non-contracted, year-round job was at age 18 as a book store clerk, and got promoted to manager by age 19.

Education Complete: I guess I am supposed to answer "not yet," because I never graduated from a degree-giving institution like college or a university. But when does your education really end? I still learn every day, as this blog illustrates. Even when I die, I'll finally learn what the afterlife is really all about instead of going by rumors.

Being Able to Support a Family Financially: I was 20 when I got married, and had the only job. Christine went to work right away, and with the exception of some periods here and there, both of us have steadily worked full-time jobs, sometimes with a part-time job on top of that.

Married: That's easy to answer: In June of 1989, I was 20.

Having a child: In July of 1990, I was 21.

With the exception of the education thing, I guess I was "all grown up" at age 21, but that couldn't be right. I mean, I still play with Legos and buy the occaisional stuffed animal, and I am 34.

How do you rate?

Posted by Punkie @ 01:03 PM EST [Link]

Thursday, May 8, 2003

What a pisser...

Today has been "one of those days," and proof that bad things happen in clumps.

It started off with not sleeping very well. I had a bad stomach ache, and my usual heart murmurs, so I didn't go to sleep until after midnight, and then all night I kept getting up because Widget was whining to be let on the bed, and then when you put him on the bed, he jumps off a little later because the cats are up to something, and he just HAS to know what! Then he gets so excitied, he poops on the floor. Then he wants back on the bed. Damn the constant yapping he'll do, I'm going to try and crate train him again. We stopped because he yapped repeatedly, so we had to put him down in the laundry room. But this winter, it got real cold, so we let him sleep with us. We got into that habit.

Next, everyone was grouchy this morning, and we got off to a late start. Then Christine saw in an e-mail that someone she cared about a lot, but lately has been a whining, egotistical pain in the ass, had sent out a letter on a public list about how great she is and how bad Christine's brain must be. Of course, Christine was livid, and while she's a nice and kind person... never get her mad. On top of this, it seemed we got stuck behind every bad driver in town. Weaving cars, slow cars, cars making illegal turns, and we almost got into 3 accidents because the driver in front of us was doing something stupid. Traffic was horrible.

I get to work, late, and I start up my main workstation, and I get a prompt to update my Anti-virus software. It's a work mandate, and rarely causes problems, so I clicked "Okay," and BAM! Blue screen of death! On a Windows 2000 box! So I rebooted, and everything was messed up. Everything I needed to do my daily work was hosed. I mean, you'd launch the program, and BAM! GPF. I have backup boxes, yes, but this workstation was my powerhouse. Video settings were munged, nothing saved their settings, I lost my Netscape bookmarks (which, luckily, I made a backup just two days ago, so no real big deal there), and all my programming work was... hosed since the last backup Friday. I mean, yes, it could be worse, and while I have no network connectivity to backup to, my files are still there.

On top of that, a program I built is not working on an Test XP Pro box (it works on XP Home). I can't fix it because the box I program with is not working (see above). F@*&!n' Microsoft!

I went to donate blood, and they rejected me. No, seriously! Because of the gastro-enteritus thing I had in December and I have high blood pressure. Yeah, no kidding!

It's only 11:30. I can't take much more of this.

[... several hours later... ]

It didn't really get worse, but it didn't get better, either. No one came by to fix my computer (no surprise), but I did use the time to build another Red Hat server at work and install Nagios, a sort of GPL "WhatsUp" type of program. I haven't gotten it running at work yet, but it's 7:30 and I am tired. I had this meeting today, where we got to break, and get cake. But somewhere while showing off a report, I found that Excel (again, Microsoft) was changing my neat and tidy ISO formatted dates (yyyy-mm-dd format, eg. 2003-05-08) and mangling them into the old "MM/DD/YY" formats, which suck for dates after 1999. So stuff created today came out as August 3rd, 2005. I spent the better part of an hour tracking down where that was happening, and finally writing a patch for it. Between that and Nagios, and the fact I have to do everything on older (slower) spare machines... I want to go home.

Add to that, back home my Linux box power supply almost died. It works... but the fan on the PS doesn't, and when I was doing routine maintenance on it the case was VERY hot to the touch. So I shut it off before it caught fire or something. Luckily, they are doing this huge cleanup at work, and I can bring in a used PS from the pile of trashed computers in the lab.

Then I got bitchslapped in another meeting by a normally nice person who deragatorily pointed out that "Mr. Larson, the topic which you spent that last three minutes speaking about was already covered."

I knew I shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning.

Posted by Punkie @ 11:26 AM EST [Link]

Wednesday, May 7, 2003

The "Big Essay" List

I sometimes refer to "Big Essays" I will write on here, and I haven't gotten to them yet. Here are a few of them.

My Mother's Death: My mother took her own life in 1987, when I was 18. I found her dead, had to deal with the EMTs and police. Her death was by vodka and tranquilizers. This essay requires a lot of work because there is so much that plays in the background while this terrible end to a hopeful but tragic life concluded. I miss my mother, even though she was a depressed alcoholic. I want the piece to be respectful, but truthful.

My Father's Life: As is so far, that is. This paragraph you are reading right now about the essay has been rewritten several times today, because my father makes me so furious that I go off on some tangent. Suffice to say he was a very complicated individual who was both the devil and a pathetic man in my eyes. Any essay about him will be full of so many twists, turns, and convoluted "WTF?" commentary by me. It's so hard to write without getting so emotional, I relive the hell that was my childhood, and then my teeth clench, my heart races, and I go into a cold sweat. He's pretty much dead to me, even though I know he's alive and even where he lives (despite his comedic attempts otherwise). I feel the least I can do is spill the bile that he filled me with for 18 years. Then I can be rid of him, and let his soulless corpse rot alone.

The Trial that Set Me Free: This has to be separate from the part about my father, but it will be tied to it. Basically, my father was such an ass, and so full of his own hubris and arrogance that when it was suggested I get some help for my suicide attempts, he told everyone to fuck off. So the county got involved. My father did not back down. He was taken to court. He so screwed himself over, I thought I was dreaming. It was like a Hollywood movie where the evil supervillan gets killed by his own powers. I was 15, and by the time the dust settled, he had so lost. So lost. His abuse went to sheer neglect, but by that point, that was a whole lot better. It was because of this event I began to believe in God.

The Birth of my Son: This was a very tough time for us. While my wife lay dying, the hospital made some serious errors that nearly cost me the lives of the two people I hold most dearly. There were periods where people told me my wife or son was dead, and in the end, I ended up getting carried out by the police. But they lived! It was worth it. And God also played a part in this.

All these stories require days of writing. I am not sure if they will ever get done. They are pretty personal, and the only reason I would let the public see them is that I figure it will keep me honest. I have been tempted to make up stuff that would make me look smarter, or at least cover over scars that still hurt. But when everyone's reading your works, and it's a biography, you have a duty to keep them as honest as possible. But they will show some of you the deepest inner joys and triumphs as well as sadness and pain. But I figure if the truth is out in the open, I will be set free.

Posted by Punkie @ 05:19 PM EST [Link]

Tuesday, May 6, 2003

How to Mend a Broken Bone: Wait

Okay, this really pisses me off.

I banged up my wrist and arm on Sunday night, and it swelled up like a softball. But I still had full motion of the hand, wrist, and arm with little to no pain or bruising. The swelling went down. Yesterday, there was maybe the smallest HINT of a bruise, deep in my wrist, but apart from being mildly sore and a bit puffy, it was fine.

But people kept saying how bad my wrist looked, how they could see it bruising, and they talked about blood clots and spiral fractures and future degenerative arthritis all sort of stuff. "It has to be broken!" they said. My wife, boss, coworkers. Okay, okay! But I know how this crap goes, it's going to be nothing. And then I have to spend money, sit in waiting rooms, and all this commotion and inconvenience for it to end up to be "a bruise" or something. "Better safe than sorry!" they all chant. Whatever.

So I bow to pressure, and go to the doctor. I love my doctor, when he's available, which is only by appointment a week or so in advance. The rest of the doctors in that practice can, for all intents and purposes, go to hell. That includes most (although, with notable exceptions) his staff, too. Most are rude, clueless, and seem to be way to busy to speak to you. So I get the last appointment, and even then I have to wait for an hour to see someone who looks at it and goes, "I have no idea, let's X-ray it" (literally, the doc comes in, looks at it, says he has no idea, writes a request for an X-ray... 15 seconds, tops). But no doctor's office ever has anything anymore, so I have to go to another place to X-ray it. The X-ray technician twists and pulls it to get a better shot. Now, up until now, the arm and wrist were sore, but not in pain, mostly because I have been taking care of it (by not pulling or twisting it). Now it's in pain. The X-rays are faxed off, but the doctor's office is closed. I have to wait until tomorrow for a diagnosis.

My arm/wrist hurts all night. Visions of what's wrong with my limb float in my head due to one hundred people speculating something based on a story they heard and swear is true about arms that do not heal right. Damn subliminal fear. I wake up in the morning, groggy, but my arm is fine. There's even LESS of a thick bump. Even LESS pain. All indications are that my arm and wrist are healing normally. Maybe a hint, a small green/gray shade of a bruise is deep under my wrist, but I am typing this, and there is a lot of it, with no pain.

I call the doctor's office. They say they got the X-rays, but doc won't be in until 11. I call at 11:15, they say they didn't get the X-rays. I said Monique said they got them in, and then I get "they must be on the doctor's desk, he'll call you back." Noon. Doctor is at lunch. "When will someone call me back?" I ask. "The doctor is very busy with other patients, maybe about 1 or 2." Really? Well, goddmait, I am not important enough for the 15 seconds it takes to look at an X-ray and have someone evaluate whether it's broken or not? "I can't answer that," she says. Of course not. I ask, "Well, if it is broken, do you do the cast there?" No, they do not. I have to make another appointment with an orthopedist. By the time someone gets back to me, I probably won't be able to get anything until tomorrow.

Now, if this were just me, screw it. I have a flexible job. But since my wife has to ferry me everywhere, she had to switch her days in Baltimore with me in case I had to get a cast on. A cast I don't want, and probably don't need. I told her, "Go to Baltimore tomorrow anyway, I'll wait until Thursday to get the cast. But because Christine has a good heart, she switched days for me to get the cast. Of course, I couldn't say, "Oh, don't do that, it will screw you over," because when someone sacrifices themselves for you, even needlessly, that's rude. So I don't argue the point, even though I knew this kind of stupid thing would happen and screw everyone up. Now my pain, which should be my own personal problem and not anyone else's, has screwed up someone else's life. Someone I care about. God dammit!

So this is what's going to happen. The best scenario is that I get a call back, and it's a bruise, just put some ice on it, it will go away. But knowing my luck, nooooooo! It will be some hairline fracture that must be dealt with RIGHT AWAY that you can get an appointment. If it can wait for an appointment, it can wait until Friday, when my wife's back in Fairfax. If, and I say "if" because I am still not convinced, some bone is broken, it's started mending on its own by now, and will be set by Friday, if it hasn't already, and then since it's not causing me any real discomfort and inconvenience, why bother getting a cast at all? Screw it. I spent the first 15 years of my life getting beaten up by bullies and even my own dad once in a while, and even with no medical help, I survived, even when I have a split skull (hairline fracture), bleeding lungs, sprained ankle, and a host of other maladies that I just had to suck up and deal.

What makes me the maddest is that most people don't think like me; they care about themselves and their body and I can't imagine what someone normal would be doing right now. I am madder for them than I am for me. This system must SUCK if you're a little kid with a swollen ankle or something.

[Added later]

No broken bones, just badly bruised with a "muscular contusion," and to refrain from using it for heavy task for the next 4-6 weeks. Just to get that info out of someone was like pulling teeth. I ended up getting it from Monique, who was surprised the doctor didn't call me, nor did the previous people I had spoken to checked the notes on the X-rays.

A friend of mine who was a hospital intern once said, "Remember, there are legitimate, practicing physicians out there who graduated at the bottom of their class. You hope they don't make it professionally (and many don't) or they end up being personal physicians specializing in diseases of the rich. But many end up in hospitals, where they either wise up and leave before they are found out, or get arrested."

Posted by Punkie @ 12:37 PM EST [Link]

Monday, May 5, 2003

Weekend Wrap-up: Nate, X2, Katsucon, and Injury report

Our network doesn't right now. I have nothing to do. Obviously, by the time you see this, out network went up. But right now, it's down, which means I can get nothing done, so I wrote an entry.

This weekend was very odd. It started out with Anya, as mentioned earlier. Saturday, my friend Nate was in town (he normally lives in Lompoc, California), and we went and saw X-2 with him and his family (parents and siblings). We had a good time, but I barely remember the movie because of the theater seats. Theater seats are painful, as painful as airplane seats are. They are small, narrow, have very little leg room, and after about an hour, my lower back is in great pain. So I take pain meds now before I go see a movie. Sadly, this also means I am in a slight fog when I see the movie, so I can't remember it well. I remember most of it, but it's sort of like it happened in a dream. I recall that I liked the film, and thought it was well-written, had some nice points tied up in tidy packages. Like stuff from the last movie were referenced as if they just happened, which really helped with continuity. There were some scientific physical issues, of course, but many of them I went, "That can't happen because... oh, wait, they thought of that. And have an explanation. Okay. Carry on." I give it a B+.

After the movie we had sushi at Hama Sushi, one of THE best (if not pricey) sushi places in this area. The sushi and service, as always, was impeccable. Later we went back home and talked, and Nate related he was offered an interview with my company and wanted to use me as a reference. Hell yeah! When I worked with him at one of my previous jobs, he was awesome. Nate probably wouldn't be working with me, but he might be in my building.

Sunday was the Katsucon meeting. We discussed what went wrong, our pending budget issues due to the severity of the "Kat-snow-con 9.1" fiasco, and announced various department changes and future plans past K10. I had stepped down as pre-reg guy, but I promised to offer assistance and advice to those who took my place. I also offered to help out with advising the registration team in addition to James, our previous registration guy, who sadly (for us) moved to Alaska (James, we miss you. You ruled!). Balticon and Otakon were also discussed.

Then Sunday ended on a really weird note when I lost my temper at my washer and dryer, and slammed my fist so hard so many times in a row, I broke something. My wrist. Not the bones, because I can move them, but my wrist swelled up to the size of a baseball, and Christine was sure I had broken it. I don't know what I borke, but it's a lot better now. Now it's just a stiff puffy area on my wrist with no bruising at all! It doesn't hurt all that much until I actually pull on it (like lifting heavy weight). I can still type and move a mouse, obviously. Dryer seems to be working now, so it wasn't all for naught.

Yay! Network is back up... back to work!

Posted by Punkie @ 10:23 AM EST [Link]

Saturday, May 3, 2003

Lodalpalooza. Oy vey.

Yesterday, Christine, Anya, and I went had had a grand old time at the local Starbucks. They brought back the Brownie Frappachino, and I was very happy.

Anya is sort of a "new friend," but I hate to call her that because it sounds like she's on trial or something. We first met Anya at my local dentist's office. Certain people "shine" like Dick Hallorann said in "the Shining," and she gave off that glow. Often I see people like her at work, the mall, or on the bus, but I never want to go up and go, "Hey, I know you're weird like we are, wanna join our weird circle of friends?" because I haven't developed a resistance to mace and sound beatings.

Luckily Christine has. And like our friends hear so often, "I thought you looked so interesting, but I never got the nerve..." and so we met Anya and her husband Matt. of course, both of us have busy lives, but we finally got to sit and chat yesterday (well, Matt was with relatives). Besides being a cool person in general, Anya shares one very special gift with me: she went to my high school.

In this area, that's like finding a piece of your actual childhood being sold in a flea market. "Hey! That's my wagon from when I was five, living 500 miles away from here! I know, it has the bad wheel, and my name is still on the handle!" I have said in several diary entries before that graduates from McLean High School are rare sites indeed. Not that many failed, only 6 in a class of 344, but it's just most of the kids had very transitory lives, ebbing with the political tides every 4 years. I'd say that only 4 out of 10 kids I was a freshman with were seniors my graduating year. We were all a bit heady, high on the fumes of the trickle-down economy that made our parents rich, and had a general sort of apathy towards school spirit in general.

Anya was class of 1995, eight years after I graduated. And we talked a lot about the insanity that was McLean High school. At the center of this circus was a truly clueless woman, our principal, Ms. Lodal. I could go on and on about her, and how truly bad she was. But Anya topped me: Lodalpalooza.

In the mid 90s, for those readers who might be a bit young, or just out of touch, there was this rock festival called "Lollapalooza." It was a venue of new rock acts that played 29 concerts in 25 cities in 1995, and spawned dozens of imitators. Imitators and jokes ending in "apalooza." Even Weird Al got in on the act. It was a kind of corporate-pushed Seattle 60s free love and peace Woodstock wannabe, and Ms. Lodal wanted to be cool, too. Well, instead of being herself or trying to fit in with respect, she lacked the strength to resist looking cool like a drug pusher for a 1972 Health and Education film on the pitfalls of marijuana. No McLean bands would play, so she hired bands from other high schools to play, and maybe a handful of (Anya said 3) people showed up. Out of a school with maybe 2500 students.

Kate, my very best friend in high school ever, if you're reading this, you are so vindicated for Ms. Lodal's comment in 1987 where she said you'd look adorable in a dress. And the blank look she gave when you told her that was very sexist. She probably thought you were swearing at her.

Oy. You fair and gentle readers have no idea how weird junior high and high school were in McLean. Someday, I plan to totally blow that whole part of my life wide open, for that circus contains so many curious, artifacts, and legends that would boggle the average mind.

Posted by Punkie @ 02:55 PM EST [Link]