boyd will return

Tanque.org presents -TanqueLogue-

Email - - Current - - Archive

"we scratch and claw, but only at the air--only at each other. And for all of it, we never budge an inch."

Phil, you may have a point. I didn't put two and two together to realize that you had Friday night off. Although, by way of clarification, I rarely if ever invite anyone to do anything. Friday night was no exception. I am a passive socialite, in that I let others make the plans. I'm not saying I don't want people stopping by on their own Friday night; just the opposite, I like that it's just a given that people end up coming by on their own. So, let me set the record straight, for everyone reading this: if you're looking for something to do some night in Bloomington, feel free to swing by Shangri-La and see if anything's hoppin.

Possible update on the big move: Sean and Sonya might be running a day behind, due to the uncertainties of the truck-rental business. Bummer. But they'll get here.

Heh, heh. JimA mentioned this post by Wil Wheaton last night, but I didn't check it out 'til this morning.

Whilst chillin' with the posse last night, was thinking of how soon this type of random socializing will be peppered with Sean and Sonya sightings as well.

Got's ta get me to a market.

There's a whole slew of things I've been meaning to post, snapped here before they leave my sieve-like memory:

• how cool Liz's FIP page is (great tunes - want more!)
• how long it seems when Phil takes a few days off from the web.
• same with Ben.
• Congrats to JimS on the new contract (you crazy glutton for network punishment)
• Carrie, I'm down wit ya.
• gotta get all the new active Drunkenfishies linked from Tanque.org (and filter the dead links).
• John's new look; looks good, no? You say please, senior Nacho!
• Daypop makes Google's design look almost busy.

This week, with the weather getting chilly, I didn't have the dense fog I've come to love on the way to work. This morning, though, there was a little mist. Not enough to mute the sun behind a misty curtain, but still enough to create wispy blankets over the fields and treetops. Nice.

Time to MOVE! Check the bathroom one last time, drop off the keys, start the truck, it's time to hit the road and head south. Sean, Sonya, can't wait to get your stuff unloaded. Seeya this weekend.

Weekend? Yes, weekend. Here at last. You know you're getting lame when Friday night sounds good cause you can just come home, flop into bed and watch Space1999. Maybe I'll do a little more than that, but I've been neglecting sleep the last few nights, and I'm feeling sorta sleepy.

Five Arguments Against War. Albert also has some ideas about what the US response should be.

I haven't seen much of what Nader has to say. Here's a short quote from a tiny article: “It’s up to us not to simply stand aside. It’s up to us to exert a permanent patriotism, not just a patriotism when we’re under attack,” Nader said to an estimated 2,200 audience members. Permanent patriotism means we must have the freedom of our minds to comment, reflect, and feed back because our government can make some serious mistakes, as they have in the past,” he said.

Not much there to go on, but I agree with the sentiment.

Hitchens rallies against the forces of facism, and expresses some of the same sentiments I'm hearing from JimS and Sonya. And I agree with most of his message (even though he's doggin' my boy Chomsky).

It's late.

For Pat: cute kitten picture, via rw.

And for everyone: Jerry Falwell: Is That Guy A Dick Or What? I started trying to decide what to link to in the latest Onion, but there's too much good stuff there. Color me grinning. Correction, grinning ear to ear and giggling like a school girl. Really, this is some of the best reporting I've seen yet. Just what I needed. I mean, I appreciate that they didn't come out with this stuff right away, but some of this stuff is so right on. It's funny cause it's true.

"I believe that some violent methods are, in certain limited circumstances, not only permissable, but also consistent with the notion of love for other human beings. And I feel I can reconcile this belief with the underlying principles of pacifism. This might require some explanation."

More pictures from around the world.

And finally, things like this make me chuckle: "Gartner recommends that enterprises hit by both Code Red and Nimda immediately investigate alternatives to IIS, including moving Web applications to Web server software from other vendors, such as iPlanet and Apache."

Star Trek! But first.... Hmm, maybe "shudder" is too strong. But the sentence Sonya had about killing being the easiest way to bring someone to justice didn't sit well with me. Maybe the "easy" part of it was what was catching my attention. As in, it's easier to kill this guy than to try him in a world court. I'm not positive that's what she meant, but my imagination went from there to other situations, each unsavory and unnecessary to describe here.

In any event, if anyone feels their opinions are in the minority among Tanquers and Drunkenfishers (who seem to represent a fairly wide range of reactions and perspectives, as far as I've read so far), I can only say this: I think the pacifists and the war-resistors and the people who cringe when they hear Bush talk about his "war on terrorism" are the minority. Bush's popularity is through the roof right now.

Anyhoo, I like to read anyone who seems to be putting thought into their opinions, especially when they take the time to explain their perspective.

And now, Enterprise!

I concur with Jimmah, that the opening song was mind-bogglingly bad. Drug-store Rod Stewart was I believe how Paul described it. You may be wondering, as I was, why the show's producers wanted to have a song with *gasp* lyrics; I have no explanation. But I went into this thing with low expectations, so there you go. The montage of imagry that was going on during the credits was interesting though.

Overall, I liked it. I want to see more. It had it's minor flaws. For instance, I always feel that Vulcans are showing too much emotion, and this show was no different. The Vulcan science officer was clearly disdainful of humans. Disdain is an emotion. But okay, so that's minor. I liked the human-vulcan rivalry/tension. I liked the ships. I'm not so sure I'm interested in having a time-travel thread so early in the series (remember how DS9 had "the emissary"? and then tried to forget about it later?) but if they don't go overboard with it, it should be okay.

Let's see, there were some silly aspects of the episode, like when they go to a cheesy strip club on their first off-world excursion, or when the captain is seduced by the first alien who talks to him. But the real show-stopper, the truly bizarre scene, was the decontamination scene, when the show came to a halt so two crew members could strip to their undies and, under blue lighting reminiscent of a soloflex infomercial, wipe each other down with some shiny substance. I can't describe with words how out of place this was. They tried to give the scene some sense of purpose by giving the characters some dialog, but there's really no way to justify close-ups of the vulcan rubbing her breasts and tummy with oil as part of the plot. If you didn't see the show, you probably assume I'm exaggerating. I'll let the repeats speak for themselves.

Anyhoo, like I said, despite the goofy stuff and the gratuitousness, I like it; the show has possibilities. For what it's worth, I guess this season I'll be watching UPN instead of WB.

Nice slice of life: The Angry Flag Vendor.

Thinking of an album I haven't listened to in years, and the Three Sided Die.

"Well, I'm a jitterbug boy, by the shoe-shine
Resting on my laurels and my hardys too
Life of Riley on a swing shift, gears follow my drift
Once upon a time I was in show-biz too
I seen the Brooklyn Dodgers playing at Ebbets Field
Seen the Kentucky Derby too
It's fast women, slow horses, unreliable sources,
And I'm holding up the lamp-post if you want to know
I've seen the Wabash Cannonball, buddy, I've done it all
'Cause I slept with the lions and Marilyn Monroe,
Had breakfast in the eye of a hurricane
Fought Rocky Marciano, played Minnesota Fats,
Burned hundred-dollar bills, I've eaten Mulligan stew
Got drunk with Louis Armstrong, what's that old song?
I taught Mickey Mantle everything that he knows
So you ask me what I'm doing here holding up the lamp-post,
Flipping this quarter, trying to make up my mind
And if it's heads I go to Tennessee, and tails I buy a drink,
If it lands on the edge I keep talking to you.

A Three Sided Die is a coin, but that didn't occur to me until after the phrase "The Three Sided Die" had been in use for serveral months. In fact, I think the Three Sided Die had already effectively disbanded before I had that pleasant little feeling of connection, listening to Tom Waits' Small Change, and the image of the guy chatting someone up on a street corner, about to flip a coin to see what he's going to do next.

Sonya's throwing some interesting thoughts into the public arena (9/25/01 post). "I'm not Gandhi, so sue me. Now, attack away…" To tell the truth, I've started and restarted a response to her comments a couple times today, and I just feel like I'm going over the same old themes again. Though I don't believe it, maybe killing one, or twenty, or a hundred, or a hundred thousand people will solve America's terrorist threat, and make the world a safer place in which to live. I'm willing to admit that I live a sheltered life, and that I don't really have personal experience on which to base my feeling that military action isn't going to solve much, that it will just perpetuate and accelerate the hatred that makes people want to kill civilians.

Timothy McVeigh is unliving proof that you don't have to be a master-mind with a ton of money or a large organization; any pissant nutjob who wants to put some time and effort into killing people can do it. It doesn't mean that they're justified in doing so. It doesn't mean the zealots of the world who kill innocents shouldn't be stopped.

Though I think I understand what he's saying, I didn't like Jim's metaphor of the student with the knife. If you're a teacher, and you've got a kid who's attacked you with a knife in class, I don't think one necessarily has the luxury of keeping that student in class. The other students should be able to come to class and learn, and in some way it takes away from their education to spend extra time dealing with the knifer. Yes, it would have been preferable to have figured out methods of dealing with this kid's issues before they got to that point, and you can look at expulsion as a failure, but the benefits of keeping him/her in class have to be balanced against the cost to the rest of class, both in terms of their safety and the teacher's limited time being spent dealing with that student. I don't think that student should be making license plates in a maximum security prison with life-long criminals, but removing him/her from the classroom doesn't seem unreasonable to me.

Sigh.

There was a time when secret societies and conspiracy theory was fun. I guess secret societies can still be fun. The Three Sided Die was such a society (or was it? was it only a front organization for a deeper, more sinister organization?) but it never came to much. The real secret societies and conspiracies of the world were so busy manufacturing suffering and crushing the weak that it took the fun out of it. Where's the fun in speculating what happened to Howard Hughes when the CIA is busy killing nuns and human rights activists in South America? When nutjobs are blowing up federal buildings because they think children are "collateral damage?" So many people want to put on the cape, to fight crime as they see fit, but they want to do it without a code of ethics. Where's Rorshack when you need him?

This is where Bush's nonsense-speak gets so frustrating. The "dead-or-alive" crap that's designed to sound like he's really gonna git him a terrorist, by golly! The "you're with us or you're against us" crap. It's frightening at times like this to think that I live in a society that seems to eat this garbage up. War on drugs. War on poverty. War on waste. War on sloth. Without war, where would we be?

War on civil liberties.

War on privacy.

I'm not trying to pick on Sonya, but this sentence makes me shudder: "I think they need to be brought to justice and if the easiest way to do that is to kill them, so be it." It's the mixing of war talk ("kill them") with crime talk ("brought to justice").

I am glad that Sonya's putting her thoughts out there for us to read, just as I'm glad Shari did several days back. There's nothing to be gained from sitting around agreeing with each other, patting each other on the back because we all see everything exactly the same. I'm glad to have friends to challenge my perspectives.

One last link about current events, and then I think I may be really burned out on this whole mess (at least for another 24 hours anyways): Red Rock Eater Digest has more good links than you can shake a stick at, along with really good commentary like this Agre's notes on war. via Haughey (who, by the way, is disappointed with the new D).

Fun word of the day:

obloquy: 1. Abusively detractive language or utterance; calumny: “I have had enough obloquy for one lifetime” (Anthony Eden). 2. The condition of disgrace suffered as a result of abuse or vilification; ill repute.

For further illumination, see this article, and this email, both via kottke.

[insert comment re: America's strength and prosperity coming from diversity, not jack boots]

For the record, I liked EdBlog too, even though it fell into disuse. Maybe it needs a new home?

Currently relaxing in sunny Florida with my parents. Swam in the ocean yesterday for over an hour. Nice.

Whew, long post tonight.

Following Phil's link on the Emotional Plague:

"The emotional plague frequently hates work, particularly crea-tive work, for to him it is a burden and a responsibility which he cannot tolerate. He flees responsibility especially from work which demands patient persistence. He may dream of doing important research, writing a book, of excelling in some chosen field but since he is incapable of enjoying creative work he cannot accom-plish the organic development necessary to success in an endeavor. This inability gives him a tendency to engage in activities which do not require patient persistence and organic development." (emphasis mine)

Hmm, sounds like I've got it bad. In fact, I could read that to mean that I am the source of sickness in today's society.

Today's been a wash so far. I didn't get out of the house except to drive Shari to class and then to pick her up. This morning kids were taking geodes from the neighbor's driveway and throwing them against the stone retaining wall that borders his yard. Sweet little bastards. I thought about going out and trying to speak to them, maybe convince them that breaking someone else's property wasn't nice, point out that they were making marks on the wall, etc, but I didn't. Instead I watched them for a while from inside my house, and tried to picture how one of my teacher friends might have acted. And I wished the bus would come soon and pick the little monsters up.

These were little tykes, mind you. I'm a freak.

Writing letters seems like as good a place as any to try to convince your representatives in the government that you don't want our country to kill peasants in Afghanistan; nice work Jim and Heidi. Gotta get around to doing that one of these days. Not gonna make cynical comment on beauracracy and money's influence in politics; need to just write a letter, and send it.

I got a response from the last letter I wrote to the President. At that time it was Clinton, and he had just come into office and decided to bomb a building in Iraq. So the story went, our intelligence people had discovered that someone in Iraq had planned to assasinate Bush, Chapter One, so Mr. Clinton decided he should blow something up. They fictionalized the agonizing decision on an episode of The West Wing, if I'm interpreting accurately. Anyhoo, I typed up my little letter, voicing my disapproval, and my belief that the UN's world court would be a better venue for settling such matters.

The letter I got back said something along the lines of thanks for writing, and blah blah blah. I saved it for a while, and I may still have it somewhere.

I don't expect letters to have much effect. But then again, not writing a letter is sure to have an effect. Every letter not written is a signal to Bush, Chapter Two, that we'd like to see some suffering dished out on the maimed and hungry orphans of Afghanistan.

For some reason I was thinking of the Gulf War days this week. I wasn't a real protester, though I went to a rally or two, and once held up traffic on the square for a short while with a march of sorts. I remember stomping around Bloomington with Jim and with ToddC, putting up flyers and whatnot, before we'd actually started the business of war. And I remember specifically the night war was officially declared. We were at the Kinko's across from People's Park, the one that's a bagel place now, and upon hearing that we were officially at war I balked. Everyone around me was even more determined to step up the protest, to get out more flyers, to get and distribute info, but I suddenly felt out of place.

Is this what it was like during Vietnam? I thought to myself. I didn't want to be one of those people who dissed the men and women in the armed forces. I've got a patriotic streak a mile wide (summed up in the bumper sticker "I love my country, but fear my government"), and I wanted to support the poor bastards who found themselves in the middle of this mess. I even drew Jim and Todd aside, separately. "Now that we're at war, should we really be protesting this?"

Ah, youth.

Which is not to say that I'm any wiser now, but I do see things differently. It's perhaps a subtle thing, but dissention is a responsibility. Like so much in America, it's optional. So it should be, to have any meaning. Forced participation is something altogether different than active participation.

If I remember correctly, standing in the alley next to the copy shop, the one that leads to Bloomingfoods, Todd responded to my question by shrugging his sholders and saying something along the lines of "if you're not comfortable with this, maybe you shouldn't do it." Alot of water under the bridge since then, so I'm not positive about that. I had spoken to Jim before, and he said the same sort of thing, albeit with a higher degree of verbosity. They both were busy getting more fliers, and communicating with other protesters, and doing stuff, so they didn't spend a whole lot of time with my personal moral dilemma.

And while we're walking down memory lane (didn't know what you were getting into when you started reading this, did you?), let's flash forward a bit to the early 1990's, when I'm living with my parents again, and having seen Branagh's Henry V, I pull out a passage from Shakespeare, the one where the king is pumping up his warriors to go into battle against fearsome odds, and read it aloud to Mom and Dad (please forgive the longish quote):

"He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."

It's powerful stuff, and I read it with gusto, and when I'm finished, after letting me settle down a bit, Mom makes an observation: "I'm surprised you like that; it's such gung-ho war talk." I'm paraphrasing, and of course, let's make allowances for water under the bridge, but you get the idea (I hope). I thought about what she said, and tucked it away, and if I'm lucky it's there for me to pull out whenever I feel the blood-thirst rising in me. Whenever it seems like a good idea to bomb something, to kick the shit out of someone, to really, really hurt someone or someplace or somewhere, I have to wonder: where is this coming from? Is it great poetry that's pumping me up? Is it pomp? Am I thinking, or just reflexing?

Man, this is basic stuff. I'm belaboring the point - and there is one, I'm sure, buried in all this typing. Or a couple. I don't know. I think writing letters is a good idea.

I'm getting on a plane tomorrow morning, just after dawn, and I'm going to fly to Florida and see my parents. I'm only in town for the weekend, but John, if you read this, email me your phone number, and maybe we can get together for a meal or something.

Yeah, I'm gonna get on a plane and fly. I like flying. The seats are too small, but you get where you want to go quickly. I think I should fly more often. My parents called this week, to make sure I was still comfortable with flying down to see them, and I told them I had no problem with it. I don't. I understand some people don't like it, that it makes them nervous even under the best of circumstances, but for whatever reason, I've never been worried about flying. I like looking out of the window and seeing the clouds, and looking down and seeing everything looking tiny.

Picture this: a hijacker tries to take over a plane to get it to land in an alternate destination. Everyone on board assumes they're going to die, so they rush the hijacker. I tell ya, the rules have changed. If Hijackers want to take over a plane now, they'd better be ready to fight everyone on board, because everyone on board will assume they're going to die anyways. There's one thing that's changed since 9-11.

You know, I was going to write something quite different tonight, something along the lines of describing sitting in the front room last night and talking to Jim on the phone after listening to Bush Chapter Two give his speech. Something along the lines of describing the revulsion I felt when Peter Jennings commented on the importance of that speech, on how it was the most important speech given by a president since WWII. I hit mute. See, the original plan was to somehow tie last night's discussion with Jim to the brief discussion we had that night in the alley next to Kinko's, when the US had declared war and we were in college and Dave (who I didn't know then - ain't life strange?) was at sea, when I was so confused, when tension was high, higher than it is now in my opinion. But I typed for a while and the connection didn't take.

If a country is at war against an idea, rather than a foreign country, shouldn't the idea be defined?

Angry Ned might say something along the lines of: 'Bush, you weasel-ly little unelected twerp, if you're going to declare war on "terrorism," let's at least have a working definition of the concept, so we can make sure the United States isn't guilty of it.' That's angry Ned, who forgets that such statements do little to acheive the goal of changing minds. Zen Ned might offer: 'A working definition of terrorism, including a defining system of justification, is required before war can be declared on such a concept.' Hurm.

Ultimately, what do words matter anyways?

I'm typing cynical stuff, but I feel good. I am at home, and comfortable, and free from terror. I am living in the strangest, most interesting times I know of. I am healthy, and surrounded by interesting people I care about. Life continues to be good. There's much I should be doing, too, I know.

Tonight I saw some of the stone-throwers riding bikes up and down our street, peddling and giving each other rides on the handlebars. They're just little kids. They're looking for something to do.

A short photo essay: Life in Kabul. This is a link to a really slow loading personal page with lots 'o Afghani links, many of which don't work anymore (included here so I can find it again later). Photos from Afghanistan, including this one: "Maidan Shar, 20 km. from Kabul: this lady's driver told me he had just been beaten by the Taliban for not obscuring his cab's windows while driving around a woman." "An epidemic of cutaneous leishmaniasis is ongoing in Kabul, Afghanistan with an estimated 200 000 cases." AfghanMagazine looks interesting.

Yeah, some folks inherit star spangled eyes
Ooh, they send you down to war
And when you ask them, how much should we give
Ooh, they only answer, more, more, more, yeah

"Blacks, whites, reds, yellows & browns were all covered in the same ash grey..."

True tales of cruising Bloomington (guest starring Bill).

It's Saturday morning, 9-15-01, and I'm rumaging through my clothes on top of my Dad's old dresser in the guest room (Jimmy's old room), and Bill wakes up. 'Hey, I'm going to the farmer's market,' but Bill's still a little drowsy, so I tell him I'll see him in a little bit, and I'm off. A short time later, at the market, I'm moving through the crowd quickly, not seeing anyone familiar (which is unusual), but the market is gradually moving into fall, there's pumpkins and gourds in addition to the flowers and apples and peppers and stuff. The crowd is thick. I get the parm-peppercorn, I grab some flowers, I pick up a copy of the disorientation guide at the Greens table, and I'm off.

Much (days) later. I'm at the Uptown Monday morning, how strange to be there for breakfast and the place is nearly empty. I'm only ever there on the weekends, when the place is standing room/waiting list only. Bill and I are chowing down, having dropped Shari off at campus for her classes. Yummy grub, and then we're strolling about the square. I miss Classical Film and Music, but I still like the square. And it's early yet, so Secret Sailor isn't open yet, but we head down to Phoenix and check out the comix. I'm in a comic book store with Bill!

See, the events of late had me thinking of The Watchmen, a really cool 12 episode comic that came out the year I graduated high school. In fact, I had just recently pulled my copies off the shelf, and was thumbing through them, looking for the passage that resonated so strongly for me. And I'd found it, the passage I'd been remembering.

Seems the comic world has and hasn't changed since I was a high school loner geek picking up comic books. The Dark Knight came out around the time I was a senior in high school, if I remember correctly, and it was (is) good stuff. The lonliness of idealism; the idealism of heroes; the heroic in the everyday. Man, did Burton ever screw up what could have been an awesome movie. That selfish bastard stole the Batman mythos from my generation with his tripe. Oh well. The Batman I know still lurks in the shadows. Like Rorschach.

Rorschach facing his death: "One more body amongst the foundations makes little difference. Well? What are you waiting for? Do it."

So now I'm walking out of Phoenix, and Bill and I both have comix in hand, and I'm thinking to myself that I don't read enough comix.

Later that night, Monday night, I'm hangin' with Jim and Clint and Shari and Bill, and I'm thinking about how goofy I feel, looking at Jimmy and Clint in their work clothes. And then, even later that night, I'm sitting outside at Samira, and Jennifer and Jim and Bill and I are on the square, eating Afghanistani food, a stone's throw away from the anarchist bookstore, and the food is good, and the company is good, and the night is good.

Little Weirdness Item: we went to Plan 9 Video to check out the selection. In the morning, we were too early. After dinner, there was a note on the door saying he'd be back in 10 minutes. We went to the game store, came back, still locked. As we walked back to the car, a bus passed us, and we could see the Plan 9 guy riding; he was on the bus!

Wacky. Well, the reason I wanted to pull out my old Watchmen comix, was this: the Watchmen story (which I really recommend you reading for yourself; it's good, and it's easy reading, and the art is compelling, and all that) has to do with the idea of what is acceptable in terms of the ends justifying the means. If I could do something horrific, and it would ultimately unite everyone in peace, would it be worth it?

That concept seemed somehow appropriate given the rhetoric.

I meant to scan in the final pages of the story, because they contain such a good, and simple, and obvious message, but I decided there wasn't any point; if you want to read the comic, go ahead. If you don't want to read the comic, then my showing of a panel or two won't mean anything.

"In the end? Nothing ends, Adrian, nothing ever ends."

It's cool that people are united in fear and crisis. It's too bad that people can't be unitited outside of crisis. Oh well.

Bill eventually left town. Sean and Sonya soon will MOVE HERE! Hee hee. It still makes me giddy. Yeah! This little town will continue, despite the fact that our taxes fund unspeakable things. We might figure something out.

Okay. This has been a true story.

More Fisk. I don't believe I'd heard of this fellow before last week. Good stuff.

Sean and Sonya will in fact be but a stone's through away in a few weeks. Their house looks pretty nice. I can't wait to see what they do with it. Now comes the fun part: finding jobs in Bloomington. Feh, no problem for those two.

It's been great having Bill around for the past couple days. Efforts to convince him to move to Bloomington have proved unsuccessful so far, but it's hard to compete with San Fran and everything it has to offer. Seems like we had a pretty crazy weekend, per normal. Next weekend will be quite different for me, as I'll be spending it in Florida visiting my folks, assuming air travel has resumed normally by then. Time will tell. I'm optimistic.

Having trouble with Blogger? If you've posted something, and it doesn't show up on your page, try re-editing it and reposting. On the lower part of your blogger entry page, find the [edit] link for the post that's not showing up and click it. This brings the post back up in the edit window. Then, make a change, like adding a space or two, and then click Post & Publish again. It sometimes works for me when blogger doesn't seem to want to publish.

Whew. I don't have the words. I've tried forming coherent thoughts, to no avail. I don't think the printed word works well for me in times like this. It's too easy to mis-state what I mean, what I'm trying to work through. Two-way communication is much more helpful for me. I've had some good discussions with lots of people this week, and it's helped me put things into some sort of perspective, but it's also helped convince me that I have no perspective for things like this. Cynicism is ascendant.

So, as bizarre as it seems, today's pecking at the keyboard concerns events in my tiny little sphere. Sean and Sonya are moving to Bloomington! There's a part of me that thinks these big city kids are going to be bored with our sleepy little burg, but ultimately the shelfish side of me doesn't care. It'll be quite cool to have ready access to these folks. How odd to have lost our last foothold in the windy city. How nifty to finally find out who's fighting style is supreme; akido v. tai chi! "Your kung fu is very good, but it is no match for my single whip!"

Last night Jim and Clint and I went to a raw & living uncooking class (good idea, Jim!). While I think we were hoping for a little more hand's on, it did give some interesting ideas (as well as make me wish I had a really good juicer). I'm not giving up on sprouting chick peas; in fact, I think my problem must have been a sprouting jar that wasn't sufficiently cleaned out from the previous batch (and Jimmah's suggestion to rinse often is also taken to heart).

At the beginning of class, the nutritionist asked that we have a couple minutes of silence, that he needed that to be able to have class. It was appropriate. No one had anything they wanted to add afterward, and we went ahead with the demo, but it made sense to acknowledge what was going on, to give the evening context (at least for me). Yeah. So anyways, I'm starting the next batch of garbanzoes soaking today, in anticipation of another batch of hummus, perhaps this time with peppers from the garden.

Speaking of gardens, it amazes me that the plants I've neglected all summer long still continue to produce a small tomato now and then. I picked a roma from the backyard this morning, off a plant that hadn't yet produced this summer. Very nice. It makes me excited to think what is possible with a little nurturing, with a little effort. With a little attention to simple things like weeding and pest control, and composting.

I'm looking forward to going to the farmer's market tomorrow morning. I want to be around sunshine and fresh baked bread and vegtables and flowers.

'In 1981, the General Assembly declared that the opening day of its regular session in September "shall be officially dedicated and observed as the International Day of Peace and shall be devoted to commemorating and strengthening the ideals of peace both within and among all nations and peoples" (resolution 36/67). In 1998, the Assembly reaffirmed that the Day should continue to be observed on the opening day of its annual regular session (resolution 52/232 of 4 June). In 2001, the opening day will be 11 September.' link.

FYI, just verified with Michael: Todd and Shanti are not in New York right now.

We just got this email from the Governor's office (I work at a state agency):

I am saddened by the tragic events that have occurred in Washington D.C. and New York City. As we await more information on what has transpired, it’s important that our citizens remain calm and avoid panic.

Let me assure you that the state of Indiana has moved into a state of alert and has implemented precautionary plans to ensure that our citizens are safe. Security at all government buildings has been enhanced. All Indiana State troopers are on standby, ready to respond if needed.

We are still gathering information through our Emergency Operations Center, the state police and the Indiana National Guard.

My sister just called, and wanted to know why I'm still at work. They've evacuated some buildings downtown, including the City/County building and AUL, but I guess they're not sending the state workers home. I don't feel endangered, though I'd like to be able to go home and watch some CNN. They're letting people go if they want to, so maybe I'll get out of here early. I don't know.

What I want is more info. I've been checking out recently updated pages on blogger, and most have posts concerning this morning, but there's only so much info to go around. Scripting News also has several pointers, and a quote from someone in NY claiming that they were able to evacuate the floors below 90 before the towers collapsed. Still working all this through. I wish I was home.

Not knowing how this will all shake out, I can only relate that everyone around me is (understandably) concerned and agitated. I first heard about the attacks this morning when Shari called me. She called back a couple more times as more info came in. Planes hijacked and flown into the WTC. And the Pentagon. The White House evacuated. One of the WTC towers collapsed. All planes are grounded. Ugly, ugly stuff.

There's a radio on nearby, and several people have gone up to the 13th floor where someone has a TV. The web is totally locked, at least as far as the major news sites go.

So I'm in a holding pattern now, waiting as more gristly details come in, listening to my coworkers speculate and comment on the morning's events. They're trading what little bits of info they have, it's rumor central. It's way too early to try to put any thoughts together. Like so many others, I'm just waiting to see how bad this gets.

Back home again in Indiana. I did, in fact, end up videotaping the EP show Saturday night, which I think is a good thing. My enjoyment of the show wasn't greatly diminished (though that bugger gets heavy after an hour or so), and I think the visuals and the sound came out pretty well. Sean is making a copy, but there should be EP video floating around Bloomington before too long.

Beyond the show, what can I say? Chicago's a great place to visit, especially when you get to stay with Sean and Sonya, and especially when buddies from out of town are there like Amy and Bill. All too brief, but fun nonetheless. And I got to see Rob at Around the Coyote, which was cool, but again, all too brief.

I slept long and hard last night. It felt good.

Following up yesterday's breakfast topic of discussion: via RW, this sometimes disturbing site about the benefits of circumcision, where I learned about such conditions as phimosis. I had to stop reading.

Shari's car is out of commission, which is inconvenient, but hopefully still within repair. Otherwise, I'm looking at a nice leasurely day at Shangri-La. Jack seems to have picked a fight with the wrong feline, having suffered a nasty scrape on the top of his noggin, but he seems none the worse for wear, and still wants to go outside. The tomato plants seem to be bouncing back as well, producing new fruit where I thought none could develop. Today's culinary goal is to try out the new Chopper/Slicer from Pampered Chef. Potatoes, mayhaps?

Oh yes, and I need to figure out how to successfully sprout garbanzo beans without, well, fermenting them. Yuk!

Let's see, also: I don't know why the link below isn't working (probably something to do with the way Geocities limits the way you can link to pages - i.e., you can't link directly to images stored on their site, as MotorGrrrl found out), but you can get your StreetReady fix by going to their official site, www.streetready.com, or by checking out this GrooveRevolution page. Clint's the singer.

It sure looks like Clint (i.e. "Gus") has been holding out on us. When can we expect a StreetReady reunion, dude?

This may be the first version of TanqueLogue to actually validate properly.

Heidi, one of your posts had an unclosed BOLD tag; hope you don't mind, but I closed it for you. :)

And Ben, (and everyone who could relate to my job description ramblings): I think part of what seems odd is that my job description does describe me to a certain extent. You can't spend years and years doing something and not have it become a part of you. So there's that odd realization too. I didn't set out to become the person with this career. It happened when I wasn't paying attention (cf. Lennon lyrics). Now, I realize too that many people do set out to become something (carpenter, business person, basket weaver, teacher, web super-star, & etc), I didn't. I think Ben and I had the same career plan (i.e. none, or only a very loose one), but he had the itch to move places, whereas I've pretty much stayed in one place (Indiana).

I follow the path of least resistance.

Which is another way of saying creativity too often feels like too much effort.

But that's Monday talkin'; It's Friday, baby-cakes. Phil's offered to lend his camcorder for the EP show. I wasn't planning on taking him up on the offer, but I'm sort of changing my mind....

Alrighty, Phil's convined me to take a stab at getting a hold of A Star Wars Christmas. This is my first incursion into the world of E-Bay, so we'll see how it goes.

The plan as it stands for this weekend: Leave early on Saturday, perferably well before noon, sans Shari. :( There's talk of TaiChi that morning, but I'll believe it when I see it. I haven't seen Rob in years, so it will be good to see him and his latest work. And of course, the men of the EP. Then, of course, there's the late-night Unreal Tourney (don't tell Sean!). No word from Smithy, so I guess he's coming the next time around.

Did I mention that I am in week two of a nice long string of 4-day work weeks? Heh, heh. You may touch me now.

Cool, Sonya's already up on the Around the Coyote stuff. (thanks for the link!) Looks like Rob's in the Wicker Park Fieldhouse.

Sean, we gotta get some networked Unreal Tournament going this weekend! I'm coming for you, Bill.

So Lucas isn't going to finish the Star Wars series? Somehow that seems appropriate. I'd rather let the whole project die after the current trilogy plays out. Lucas has given up control of the SW "universe" with all the comics and paperback books and whatnot; it's clear he's not really that interested in it like I'd like him to be. So yeah, let it finally end, eh? I would like to see A Wookie Christmas again, though.

You know, I dislike malls, but I have to wonder when I drive past the strip-malls of today that seem to take up more space, with each super-walmart/petsmart/garbage-trough store having it's own parking lot, and I wonder if maybe malls weren't a little better. Why can't the developers stack these massive junk stores on top of one another, rather than paving miles and miles of flat, one-story bland ugliness? I'd settle for one huge mall on the west side of town, 10 stories high and 1000 yards square, if it meant that the rest of that asphalt could be torn up and trees planted in it's place. But I don't know anything about planning or development; maybe people wouldn't go to a place like that to spend.

Rob has artwork showing at "Around the Coyote" is this weekend, Sept. 7-9. Location: the Wicker Park Field House on 1425 North Damen Ave (where North, Damen and Milwaukee Ave. converge?); Time: 6-10 on Fri., Sat. 11pm to 10pm and 11 to 6 on Sunday. I'm hoping to make it by on Sunday (assuming EP doesn't rock so hard as to require massive convalescence that afternoon).

Jim, short hair is good. Forget about shampoo, get yourself some Dr. Bronner's PEPPERMINT Pure-Castile Soap. It tingles. It's the only thing I use anymore in the shower (except to mix it up with a little lavender now and then). But then again, I'm a sucker for the packaging.

The weekend's so close, I can taste it.

Geocaching sounds like fun. (via Haughey). I know Phil has a gps. It also sounds like something JimS might be into (cause he's always talkin' about hittin' the woods or the lake).

Man, why am I still awake right now? I gotta go to sleep, and sleep, and be ready to get up in 4 or 5 hours to go to work. I was digging around this evening through my "files" trying to find my MCSE number. I have my diploma-looking-thing, but I don't know what my Microsoft number is. The helpdesk supervisor at work asked me for my info, because they get some sort of deal with Gateway if they can show that they have certified employees in their shop - even though I never touch the PC's the helpdesk puts together. I tracked down my Novell info (I'm really a Novell guy at heart), but I couldn't find my MS stuff. I guess I haven't been too good about keeping up with them, since they recently told me that my NT4 certification would be worth bupkiss in a couple months. I don't plan on using my MCSE anytime soon to bring home the cabbage. Still, I feel like I should have kept track of the pertinent details. Oh well, I'm sure I can track them down if I have to. Computer certifications are bunk, anyway; by themselves they don't mean anything. I feel like I could sit down with anyone (and I do mean anyone - anyone interested in learning it) and get them ready to pass the CNE or MCSE exams in a short time. It's not rocket science. I'm not saying it wasn't hard to pass some of the tests, but it's not rocket science.

On many days, I feel like I could train chimps to do what I do.

In fact, I clearly remember telling one of my ex-coworkers just that. She said something to the effect that I and my team had a lot of difficult work to do, and I shrugged my sholders and said, "you could train chimps to do my job." She giggled. It's a fond memory, not because I think she understood what I was trying to say (I don't think I was getting my point across, or even knew what my point was), but I liked demeaning my job, even though I depend on it for my food credits and housing credits and entertainment credits; my freedom credits, as it were. I liked pointing out the fact that even though I'm responsible for a lot of stuff at work, and even though I do things of value, what I do is fairly simple. For some reason, my job has been defined as more complex than say, a dishwasher's, or a sanitation worker's, or a janitor's, or a maid's, or a daycare center employee's, or a grade school teacher's, or a ditch digger's, or a waiter's.

John mentioned his dislike for the label "waiter," at least at reunions. It's what he does these days, but he's ever conscious of the baggage that goes along with the term. As if the people who serve food are subserviant. As if the people who work in restaraunts work sub-jobs, performing sub-tasks.

Everyone who can afford to eats in restaraunts.

Humans need to eat, and for the most part they appreciate good food, prepared for and presented to them by someone else.

Somehow it might be more appealing at reunions to tell people, "I'm the CEO of MacroMedia," or "I'm a patent-law attorney," or "I'm a dentist." Yeah, I can see how that might be better for your self esteem. Those professions require a certain amount of dedication and skill. They make a bunch of money, too.

Do you remember when you started defining yourself by your profession? I mean, when I was a video store clerk right after college, I didn't call myself that. If someone asked, I told them where I worked, but that didn't define me. But now, when I meet someone brand new, it seems to make sense that they ask "what do you do?" It's social shorthand for "who are you?" Heh, heh. "I freelance as a pornography writer." "I'm working on a web-based credit card scam." "Have you seen those late-night commercials for the Ab-Trimmer? I work in a warehouse packaging those for shipping."

I avoided defining myself by my profession for as long as I could. I still avoid it. But I have to admit, when people ask what I do, I fall back on the old job description; it's where I spend most of my time. "I administer network servers for a state government agency." (sigh). Urgh.

The whole lottery question was about getting away from this. How would you live your life if paying bills wasn't an issue? I'm not sure that I'd be mister creativity if I was rich, which in itself is a depressing realization. But even so, it's a good exercise for thinking about what's important. If the bills are paid, what are you working for? Personally, I feel like I'll be working to pay off past debt well into my late thirties. So there's that. But even if there weren't debts, what would I do differently? How would I live? Where would I live?

And, most importantly, if I was somehow given this freedom of choice, how would that change the world for everyone else?

If I won the lottery and got to spend my time doodling in notebooks in Athens, the situation of the rest of the world wouldn't change. There'd still be people who aren't able to "follow their bliss," who can't stop working their demeaning, dead-end jobs because they've got to feed their children. There'd still be unemployable outcasts that no one wants to deal with wandering about. With each passing year, I find the idea of an ideal society harder and harder to imagine. There will always be those that can't work it out. There will always be dangerous folks. There will always be children born into situations that make them angry and unconsolable.

I repeat myself when I say that you can hate these people, or you can feel compassion for them. Maybe you can do both simultaneously. But I'll be more impressed with compassion than hate any day.

I'm impressed with compassion because I usually want to avoid contact with troublesome characters. Part of what makes me appreciate waiters and waitresses is that they deal with people one to one every day. Same goes with teachers. In my job, I can sometimes avoid direct contact. When I can't, it's often frustrating. I don't like being a servant, a support person, to strangers. People demand that you solve their problem. They rarely recognize that you are doing them a service; rather, they feel that they've been wronged, and that you owe them something. And this makes me want to avoid contact with them. But waiters ....

With waiters, and with teachers, there's no avoiding the personal contact; that's what the job is all about. It's challenging, and it goes unrecognized by most of the world. Those are the tough jobs. But they pay less than my cush job. Go figure.

I gotta go to bed. Happy Tuesday everyone.

Caloric content of various alcoholic beverages, courtesy of the Hacker's Diet. via Cam.

Pants.

My weekend post was this, a scanned page from issue #7 of Hate. It's one of my favorite issues, the one where George gets set up and goes on a date with Lisa. They're an unlikely couple, but they draw interesting things out of each other. George was easily my favorite character in that comic. I could relate to his take on the world, his desire to remain apart from it. I'm no George, but I can relate.

Blogger makes it happen, baby-cakes.

1d3