Year 2

It began at 8:00 AM this morning.

Last night, I watched Ghost World, again. I've decided that when I'm in a certain mood I shouldn't watch the end of that movie. It makes me wistful. That means I won't be watching it again until some time after Easter.

I've spent much of this day looking at the state's website looking for a new job. There's nothing local and I still don't have enough money to move, but it's nice to dream, right? I discovered that I can search based on the department and I've spent a lot of that time looking through the Department of Consumer Affairs listing. I think that could be a really interesting department to work for. Even if it isn't, I'd get a better picture of how corrupt the state is.

Well, here's to another potential year working here and continuing to bitch about it.

Goals for my next year worth of work:

1. Not to buy a gun. I'll only hurt people.
2. Lie to my mom about making friends, wherever I end up.
3. Stop correcting the older people in the office by telling them that it was Kenny Rogers, not Roy Orbirson, who sang "Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)" and other such trivia about music, movies, TV shows, and books that were made before I was born.
4. Thank Bunny Christ, if he deems my humble tortilla for a visit, for the pay raise and "bonus" that will come with my pay check in October.
5. Other things that I haven't thought of, yet.

Thanks

My thanks go out to Ragnell for linking yesterday's post to When Fangirls Attack.

It's a bit frightening to see a spike in my numbers, but it's also nice.

Comic Book Monday

I didn't get many comics last week. My usual bi-weekly shipment didn't make it because of the holiday.

I haven't been able to read Mystery in Space because I was, for some crazy reason, expecting Jim Starlin art along with the Jim Starlin writing. It's just his writing which is fine, just a bit disappointing. I'm sure I'll be able to get through it soon.

I've been thinking about the JSA recently. The new series will, hopefully, be coming out in a couple of months, which is nice, but I still don't understand why it was cancelled the last time. Were sales dropping? Infinite Crisis didn't destroy the JSA like it did the JLA, so that's not a reason to cancel the book. What happened?

The only answer I can come up with is that DC figures a new #1 will bring in higher sales and that they don't want JSA to have a higher number than the new JLA. I think DC cancelled it to re-establish the JLA as the premier team of the DCU line. I hope that's not the reason, but I still suspect.

Anyway, I've been staring at this picture way too much today. (And not just for the obvious reason.)

The first thing that gets me is how lanky both Hourman and the new Liberty Belle look. I'm not denying that Eaglesham and Thibert can draw some very nice pictures, but those two characters look wrong to me, stretched out, especially in that first panel. Maybe it's because they're not standing on the ground, but "Damage Smasher's" face. Maybe the coloring will solve that problem. In the second panel, though, Liberty Belle still seems wrong. Maybe it's because she's posing and Jesse Chambers has never struck me as the type of woman who would "strike a pose," especially the way she has her arm curled around Hourman in the first panel.

I have to admit, I don't have a clue what happened to her after the Savitar stuff in The Flash, so I don't know what she was like when she was a member of the Titans. (Was she ever a member of the Outsiders?) Did she pose a lot there?

I'm of two minds about Jesse joining the team as Liberty Belle.

I'm glad to know that she's out there doing the superhero thing. She's the kind of person who would do it even if her parents hadn't been heroes in the past. She's also a legacy character, which I'm a huge fan of. (She was the first legacy character I experienced because I didn't know about Hourman until both "Hourmen" appeared in an issue of JSA.)

On the other hand, I always thought of her as a normal person with superpowers who would help out if she needed to, not as a full time adventurer. She didn't fit in with the Conglomerate, which is why they never came back after that JLQ. And she certainly didn't fit in with the Flash family; she was only there to be a patsy which made her look stupid which she should never be. And I still don't know about her time with the Titans because I don't want to look it up.

Wasn't she the curator of the JSA museum after Alex Montez finished drinking Eclipso's diamonds? Or was that when Ma Hunkel came back? She was involved some how, right?

I always pictured Jesse as a normal person first/superhero when she had to be because she decided to go to school rather than be a superhero like her father was. She wanted her degree more than she wanted to be a hero. She should be running the JSA organization full time. She should be in charge of watching their budget. She should be signing the checks for the museum tour guides. She should be managing the JSA charities. And if her help is needed, she'll put on the tights, head out, and help save the day, but when it's over, she's back to work making sure the janitorial staff has enough cleaning supplies.

Maybe it's just me.

Although, I must admit that she looks really good in those tights, especially with that Veronica Lake hair thing going on.

September 11, 2001

No Comment

Too Much Coffee Man - Opera

I wasn't going to post anything today because I couldn't bring myself to answer some e-mail, but then I came across this poster and had to share it.

Then I decided to explore what Shannon Wheeler had about the opera and I found this wonderful animation to watch. You have to watch it at least twice because you have to read the Italian "translation."

Tickets are reasonably priced. If I could afford a trip to Portland, I'd be there.

The world needs more Too Much Coffee Man.

What I've Been Trying To Do At Work

I'm not finished. This is a first draft with a quick run through MS Word's spell/grammar check.

I just thought I share.

It doesn't have a title, either.

---

Herbert sat in the classroom hating. He hated his classmates. He hated how they could all get together in pairs or small groups and he was stuck without anyone. He hated the teacher for letting them ignore him. He hated the school for having a few too many students for the third, fourth, and fifth grades and creating a class for the extra. He hated that his only friend, Anne, was in that other class. He hated that the other class had recess at a different time because the third graders were just little kids and needed it earlier. And he hated his name.

Herbert.

To the kids he hated his name meant he was either a sort of ice cream, even though there's no "r" anywhere near the "t", or dry, green things sprinkled over a chicken before it's roasted. After the movie came out, he was a car. There was just no way for him to win with his name.

He once asked his mom if he go by his middle name, Arthur, so that no matter what other thought and said, he'd know that his name was one shared by a great leader. She said that he couldn't. She said that his name was his grandfathers and then asked him if he'd like to disappoint his grandfather by choosing to be called Arthur rather than Herbert. He just hung his head and mumbled no before shuffling off to his room.

Herbert was stuck with his name just like he was stuck with his classmates. There was nothing he could do about it.

"Take out your readers," said Mrs. Janowski, lifting up her copy and opening it. "Turn to page 173, please."

Herbert lifted the top of his desk, pulled out his book, and placed it on his desk. The rest of the class seemed to have trouble because there was talking between students and clunking in desks and Alex fell out of his seat. Herbert sighed, rolled his eyes, opened the book, and wondered what was wrong with everyone else.

"Settle down, class," said Mrs. Janowski. "Settle."

Mrs. Janowski was old, but not that old. Not as old as his last teacher, who was about the same as Herbert's grandparents. She was older than his parent's, though. She had short blonde hair that was sort of puffy. He liked to imagine that the way she got it cut was by sticking her finger in a light socket so it stuck up everywhere then made a force field around her head in a perfect bubble which cut all the hair poking out, but he knew that's not really how her hair was cut. She also had glasses that she only needed when she read something, so when she would ask the class a question, she'd move them to the end of her nose and look over the frames or she'd put them up in her hair, where they never seemed to move, not even a jiggle, like she had some creatures with sticky fingers and sticky feet living in there who were only there to keep the glasses on her head because she always seemed to give her glasses a sharp tug to pull them out. He also knew that there weren't any creatures on her head, unless she had lice, like Jamie did last year, but those didn't have anything to do with glasses.

"Class, settle down," she said.

Herbert didn't know how long she had been teaching, but even with his few years in school he knew that saying "settle" wasn't a way to calm kids down. He thought that a bomb dropping in the room probably wouldn't settle these people down. He knew, though, that no bomb would be dropped on the class and it was silly to even think it.

He sighed again and started to read the story on the page. It was a chapter from a book about a boy and his dog, like too many of the stories in the reader. He rolled his eyes at the story because he knew how it would end: either the boy would start to grow up and leave the dog behind because the older he got the more he just forgot about the things he liked as a kid, or the dog would do something heroic, probably rescuing the boy from a bear or mountain lion, and die which would make the boy sad, but losing the things that were important to a kid is part of growing up and the boy will be a better person because the dog died.

Herbert hated stories about a boy and his dog. He wished he could read a story about a kid who was normal. A kid who lived in a little town and went to a little school. A kid who had a pet lizard that was magic and would make the day more fun by changing erasers into tiny pigs and pencils into little men that liked to wrestle the eraser pigs. And they'd go on adventures in the playground by shrinking and trying not to get squashed by the other students or by encouraging the trees to get up and block the doors so no one could get in or out.

"Class," said Mrs. Janowski in her no-more-nonsense tone.

The class quieted.

"Open to page 173," she said. "Today, instead of splitting into our usual reading groups, I though it would be nice to read out loud together. Who wants to go first?"

Jamie's hand shot up and started to wiggle around. She sat right in front of Herbert and always came to school in light colored (today's was a light purple), fluffy dresses. She had really short hair that was almost black and freckles all over her cheeks and arms. Jamie was always the first to volunteer to do something or answer a question for the teacher. She was like a little yappy dog, too. She couldn't be still when she was excited. Her hand shivered when she put it in the air. At recess, while waiting in line for the swings she'd start shaking and the shaking would get worse the closer she got to it being her turn. Sometimes, Herbert thought that she could shake herself apart if she had to wait too long for the swings, but he knew that people didn't shake apart. He figured that if Tinkerbell was real, she'd look and act an awful lot like Jamie.

---

For the record, even though she hasn't appeared yet, I created Anne during my last year of college in a short story I wrote for my only creative writing class. I don't want anyone to read into her character when actually does appear.

Car Report

On Sunday, my dad and I drove to my grandparents' house, pushed the car into the shade, and struggled with getting the belts around the damn fan and onto the pulleys. One belt is just a little too short (like a quarter of an inch, but the belt that's one size larger is too big, the slack just isn't taken up) to get on, so it had to be forced, the other went on fine. Then we added water, and added water, and added water. I figured this was because the car had gotten so hot all those weeks ago. All this car stuff took about an hour, much better than the last time we replaced the belts.

We puttered around the house making sure the cats had food and the garden was water because my grandparents are in Washington visiting my uncle and his daughters and then headed back to my parents' house.

I noticed that my car was driving a bit hotter than it usually does and figured that it just didn't get quite enough water.

I parked my car and decided to let it cool off so I could check it later.

Later, I popped the hood, took the cap off the radiator and looked down the deep dark hole. Nothing to be seen. I took the hose off the porch and added water, and added water, and added water.

I got in the car and drove it for a while. Down to a shopping center then up a back road. Past the house Heels and Johnny Logic live in to see if I could remember the way, and back to my parent's house. At first, my car was running nice and cool. Soon, the needle pointed about halfway. A bit later, it was back at the 2/3rds mark, trying to sneak above. I drove it to my parent's house, parked, popped the hood, and heard a hissing.

Shit.

I got my dad and he listened.

It was decided that something was leaking. We pulled the spare tire out (yes, it's on top of the engine), broke out some flashlights and looked around. We poked and prodded at hose. We tried to peer around immovable parts. We could see a little water in one part, but it didn't look like it was pooling. The engine was turned on and off several times.

Eventually, I got sick of looking and turned around. When the hissing stopped, my dad got on his back and squeezed under the car. He called me over. There was a drop dripping.

"I think it's the water pump," he said.

I started cursing.

The car is still in Cowtown. I borrowed a different car to return to North Bay.

We'll see what the future brings.

Comic Book Tuesday

Solo

The last issue of this wonderful series came out last week. It featured Brendan McCarthy. I'm not going to write about the single issue, though. I want to write about the series.

The day I picked up the first issue, Tim Sale, I knew I was holding something really great. Every issue was set to spotlight a different penciler who, if he (since they were all guys) wanted, could do everything else in the issue. Some did write and ink and letter and color, some didn't. Each creator had the entire DC universe to explore in anyway he wanted as well as create new things.

What other series would have a story about Robin and Batgirl in the future in one book and the story of a creature who steps out of his bones every night in another and a story about how Sergio Aragonés killed Marty Feldman? None that I can think of.

This series varied wildly from issue to issue in both art and story. It existed only to give artists a chance to do whatever they wanted and, hopefully, bring their work to a larger audience.

Before issue 12, I never knew about Brendan McCarthy. Same goes for Damion Scott in issue 10. These are two artists that I'll try to watch out for because they're something different from just about anything else out there.

It's really hard for me to write about this series because I liked it so much. I liked how each issue was different from the last. I liked how different each of the stories within an issue could be from each other. I never knew what to expect, even from artist I've seen before, like Tim Sale, Darwyn Cooke, and Mike Allred. Each issue was exciting for all those reasons and more.

My only problem with the series was knowing it was doomed from the moment I picked up issue one. I read it, saw who the next artist was, and figured I'd be lucky to get a year's worth of books out of this series. The average fan doesn't want anthologies. The average fan doesn't want to experience shifting styles of art. The average fan is content sticking with what they know. The average fan may have picked up an issue for an artist they know, but there weren't many of those in Solo. Maybe if there had been a Bryan Hitch, Frank Quietly, or *shudder* Michael Turner issue that spike would have been enough for another issue or two, but we'll never know and I'm happy with the ones I got.

In an alternate universe, Solo is still coming out and the next two year's worth of artists are Dave McKean, Kyle Baker, Sam Kieth, Robert Crumb, James Kochalka, Mike Wieringo, Lauren Weinstein, Moebius, Stan Sakai, Bill Sienkiewicz, Al Jaffee, and Chuck Wojtkiewicz and my alternate self is thrilled. It's too bad we can't cross the universal divide so I can read the new issues, too.

Actual Fun At Work

I'm off to Cowtown for the weekend. I'll be visiting my parent's and fixing my car. Last night I was told that new belts have been purchased all that is needed now is time and effort to get the thing running safely again. Let's all hope it won't be too hot.

In other news, I had an interesting conversation with SHTK earlier.

It all started with an attorney asking, "Is there a way to call the judge?"

After he was dealt with I looked at SHTK and said, "It's funny that so many of them ask if there's a way to call the judge because every time I hear them say that I want to say, 'Sure, just stand there and scream. She may hear you.'"

"When they ask me that," she said, "I stand here like this." She put her hands around her mouth, squinted her eyes, and pretended to yell. "Some of them don't think it's funny, though."

"People should be more precise when they speak," I said. "It's like when I was little and we were at my grandparents' house for a party or something and someone asked me if we have a bathroom. I said, 'No, it has a toilet, too.'" SHTK started to laugh. "My grandma wasn't too thrilled with me. I guess it was a sign that I'd end up being an English major in college."

"What about 'restroom'?" she asked.

"I know."

"I don't know about you, but I don't do a lot of resting when I'm in there."

"Maybe if there was a couch, or something," I said.

"Yeah but if it was near the toilets, I wouldn't want to sit there."

"It could be called a 'restroom,' though, because there'd be a place to rest after the strain."

We both laughed.

"Another name is 'the loo."

"I always thought of it as an insult, like calling it a 'John."

"I don't think it's spelled that way."

"Still, that's what I've always thought. It's like the first time I heard someone say, 'I'm going to hit the head.' I was confused. I was wondering why anyone on a boat would want to hit their head on anything."

"I wondered why they'd hit their heads on a toilet."

We started to laugh again.

"My grandmother," she said, "refused to call it perfume. She'd go around saying, 'It's nothing but toilet water, plain and simple!'"

And with that latest fit of laughter, we were told to get back to work.

HOORAY!

After Mark Waid told me "NO!" at WonderCon in February, Beefeater is showing up in next weeks 52! Just check out the page! Sure, he's not fighting Kilwog, destroying a JLI embassy, mouthing off at a Frenchman, or telling a story about his father, but it's nice to know that this crazy Brit wasn't punched out of existence.

Thank you, 52 team. Thank you.

A Green Lantern Problem

I went back and re-read Green Lantern: Rebirth last night. (I couldn't find issue 1, though. But I remember the important stuff: Coast City reappears, Hal whines, John gets mad at Batman, Guy explodes, Kyle crashes.) While I'm still not a fan of the whole idea that it was a giant bug that infected Hal, that's not what I'm here to write about.

The Yellow Impurity is.

After Rebirth, yellow is the color of fear and green is the color of willpower. The Green Lantern's power is a mixture light and willpower collected from the universe.

Ever since Rebirth, I've read and heard that it's really cool that yellow is fear and that the color yellow is part of the color green because to get to willpower, people have to push through their fears. So, it makes sense to have that color scheme. But it doesn't.

White light, like pigments, is composed of three primary colors: Red, Green, and Blue. From these three primary colors of light, all other colors are derived. The primary pigment colors are made by mixing the primary light colors. Magenta comes from mixing Red and Blue. Cyan comes from Blue and Green. And Yellow, on the RGB scale, comes from Red and Green. (Feel free to learn more from the Wikipedia article.)

Anyone who has done enough editing in HTML to change the colors of a blog page and anyone who has used Photoshop to play with a picture should be familiar with this. They've all seen the hexadecimal scale that shows #000000 for black and #FFFFFF for white... I'm not going to get into the science of RBG color, although I'd like to.

I'll admit, the fear being part of willpower theory is a nice one, but it doesn't hold up. Fans have known for years that the Green Lantern energy is light based. Light doesn't work like the pigments we learned when we were little. It's science, sorry.

And if Geoff Johns came up with the fear/willpower thing thinking it'd be cool for fans to discover, then maybe instead of taking a flight in an F16 he should have looked up some basic color theory.

Discoveries

I've discovered a few things about Beta Blogger:
1. I can greatly skew visits to my blog, and I have been, by accident. I've been going through old posts and adding labels (or tags or whatever they should be called) to them. Afterward, I have to repost. Each time I do it my blog becomes the next in the cue for the "Next Blog" button. I only have around 500 posts left to update.
2. My blog no longer has a "Next Blog" button on it, but I'm sure the good people at Blogger are working on that.
3. So far, I like Beta Blogger a lot. I just hope that the html editor will be back soon. I really miss the Comic Sans font.

Secretary

Yesterday, working as a secretary for a half a day a week was voluntary.

Ten minutes ago, I found out it's mandatory.

I don't get an increase in pay.

I just get skills I don't want and time to waste in another space.

Messin' Around

I'm playing with Beta Blogger today. This may look odd for a while because I'm not allowed to screw with the html, but there are labels. Keep your fingers crossed that it's coming soon.

PS If you know how to create a post like this the one Ragnell created on August 20th and August 23rd, the check the archived week, would you please post a comment about how to do it, or e-mail me? Thanks.

... something.

The day is almost over
and that makes me... something.
All day long I've been
really, really... something.
One of the secretaries
had her last day today.
Pizza was served at noon
and we were supposed to eat
together as if we were all... something.
Now we're down two secretaries
and once again we OTs
are supposed to... something.
On my desk are five bits
of work that I haven't... something.
They've been sitting there
since two-thirty all because
I'm trying to... something.
Wasting six to seven hours
a day at work isn't as
much fun as... something.
Wasting six to seven hours
a day outside of work
and not acheiving anything
is really something.

365 Days Ago At This Time...

I was in Pittsburgh visiting friends. We had left the Warhol Museum (where I watched old people watch porn and take it seriously, even though there was Kleenex for people to clean up with) and were on our way to a baby shower for the expecting parents thrown by people she had worked with at Home Depot before she started working at a coke factory.

Sometimes, it's hard to believe that was a year ago. Sometimes, it feels like it happened yesterday. Sometimes, it feels like it happened a decade ago.

Comic Book Monday

Justice League of America #1

For being 38 pages long, noting happened.

Okay, I'm exaggerating, a bit. Members are introduced, but there weren't any scenes when someone actually said that they'd be a member of the new league. Three mysteries--Who want's Red Tornado's body? Who ambushed Vixen? Who's killing "super villains"?--were introduced, but I'm pretty sure that they will all come together neatly in the end. But there was no action.

When Giffen, DeMatteis, and Maguire started their league, the UN was attacked.

When Morrison started his league, the last league's satellite crashed to earth and Metamorpho died, again.

When Meltzer starts his league, Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman sit around a table and talk, Vixen goes to a bar, Green Lantern and Arsenal go to a boxing match, and Black Lightening talks to a junkie.

I know that this is all setup for what's going to happen in the rest of Meltzer's run, but it doesn't help. The first issue of any superhero comic should jump out and pull the readers in. We shouldn't sit there full of exposition and be expected to buy the next issue because the guys writing and drawing it have done some good stuff in the past. The first issue should show why the second issue is worth buying, not sort of hint at some things that might, possibly, happen.

I am only going to pick at three nits (knits?) for this comic:

• The first is the cover. Why wasn't this a wrap-around or folded cover so all of us out there could get the full picture on one book? Even if (probably when) I buy the other cover, there's still going to be that annoying line down the center of the picture, and I always have trouble lining these things up well. If DC wanted to do two covers, they could have done one book with the wrap-around with this artwork and one with the awesome promotional artwork.
• The second is the fact that Kathy Sutton knows who Hal and Bruce are. She's a civilian, the wife of Red Tornado. It should be unlikely that she'd know the secret identity of Green Lantern and there's no way she should know Batman's secret identity. Meltzer started this with Identity Crisis, the having all the heroes and their families know all the identities, and I don't like it. The best thing to come out of Dan Jurgens run on his version of the JLA was that no one knew Superman's secret identity. I thought that added a nice bit of tension. Obviously, Mr. Meltzer disagrees.
• And third, when someone decides to do the retro dot coloring, make sure the colorist has actually seen a comic with that sort of coloring. That means, when it comes to back-in-the-day flesh tones, there is no cyan, only magenta, yellow, and white. That's why all the white heroes were the same color. Cyan was used only when they were in shadows. There was no shading in the 70s. Also, don't do the dots over modern day coloring. Do not dot blonde hair that fades to white to show highlights. Do not dot a face that has obvious shading. It just looks bad.

Will I be back for the second issue? Yes, I will.

Why? Because the first comic I ever bought was a Justice League comic and I'm hoping that this one will get better. Even if it doesn't, Meltzer is gone after issue twelve and the roster and the tone of the book will probably change with the next writer, hopefully for the better.

Jeez, I hope Geoff Johns is going to be on the new JSoA for the long run. Comics are so much better when the writing is consistent.

More Than Doubled

I was doing my daily perusal of my Site Meter statistics and I noticed that there's been a huge (for me) jump in readership.

I'm sure it won't last, but it's nice to feel like a big blog for a short time.

So, I am going to thank kalinara (I've read several of her posts that ragnell has linked to in her posts. kalinara is really good, too.) for linking this post at When Fan Girls Attack.

Thank you.

Oh, and for those of you who left my praise post and found the last post more offensive than funny, sorry.

I had to get it out of my system, though. It's been stuck in my head since I was shaving this morning and it made me think of the episode of Leave It To Beaver where Wally dulls Ward's razor blades by shaving off nothing at all and that led me to wondering what Ward was like beneath his "father knows best" exterrior and what it would be like if he showed it on accident.

I think it's funny.

A Leave It To Beaver We Never Got To See

And perhaps, never should see.
Written by me.

Wally: Dad, can I ask you for some advice?

Ward: Certainly, son.

Wally: Well, there a dance coming up at school and I don't know who to ask.

Ward: Who were you thinking of asking?

Wally: There's Cindy. She's really neat. She's a member of the pep squad. And then there's Sarah. She pretty and she gave me a plate of cookies she made in her Home Economics class.

Ward: I see.

Wally: I just don't know which one to ask. What should I do?

Ward: Son, have you considered asking both of them to the dance?

Wally: Gee, dad, I couldn't do a thing like that. What if they both said yes?

Ward: (wistfully) What if...?

Wally: I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

Ward: Wally, the way I see it is there are three possibilities: First, they both say no and you need to find someone else to take. Second, one says yes and the other says n" and that solves your problem. Third, they both say yes and that opens up a whole world of possibilities.

Wally: What do I do if they both say yes?

Ward: You tell them, separately, that you'll meet them at the dance.

Wally: But won't they get mad when they see each other?

Ward: Maybe, but what if they don't, son? What if they're into it? What if, after the dance, they want to see more of you and they take you to that seedy motel out by the highway? Think of the possibilities?

Wally: Dad...

Ward: And what if they both get angry. Cindy may run to her big, mean, football playing friends and have them rough you up. They might throw you to the ground and give it to you until they're too exhausted and have to fall asleep.

Wally: Dad?

Ward: Either way, son, I want you to tell me all about it when you’re done. What's the point of having a son in high school if you can't live your life through him?

An Astronomical Week

On Monday, NASA put out a press release saying it found proof that dark matter exists. Today, the San Francisco Chronicle reports that the International Astronomical Union voted that Pluto is not a planet. (Scroll to the bottom to find out what a planet is.)

*sigh*

I guess "My Very Eager Mother Just Us Served Nine," now.

Holy Fucking Jealousy, Batman

I was walking to the comic book shop on my lunch (The new Wonder Woman is the only thing I've read so far. The last page was hilarious, especially after the third issue of All Star Superman.) when I heard a guy and a gal talking behind me.

She was, sort of, talking about enjoying a Suicide Girls show that was near here last October. She said, "We really liked that band that was with them. Who were they? Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi?"

"Tsu Shi Ma Mi Re," he said. "Go back and read the interview I did with them. None of them could speak any English. The could only say things like, 'Having very much fun.' and 'We make many new friends.'" He laughed. "And then I'd tell them to put the next girl on."

He laughed again and they continued to chat.

We walked past the newspaper building and they both went in the employee only door. He may sound like a jerk, but I totally want his job.

In other jealousy news, my mom is posting stories and pictures from her (along with my dad) trip to Baja California.

Dream

Early this morning, I dreamed that two friends, who are already married, asked me to be in their wedding party.

I also found out that, even in my dreams, my fat feet won't fit into All*Star shoes.

New Readin'

The woman formerly known as "The Supervisor" is "training" the woman who's supposed to become The Supervisor. That means I don't have to watch over my shoulder as much as I waste time reading stuff on the 'net. Which is a great thing because I found a blog that I really enjoy.

Basically, it's a woman who likes comics and likes to talk about comics and she does it with a bit of a feminist slant. On my own, I rarely think of comics in anyway except as a form of escapist entertainment and I like the way she, on her own, looks deeper into the stories and art.

I think I should explain what happens to me when I find a blog with a front page I like. I start reading the archives. From the beginning. I see how the blog started. Usually the first post is a generic this-is-my-blog post, but her fist one is called This is My Sister's Fault. Wonderful. I'm now up to the 25th week of her archives.

An early post compares members of the Green Lantern Corps to the Knights of the Round Table. That was when I knew I'd be checking back daily.

My favorite post, so far is Where's My Adolescent Power Fantasy?

People like her make me wish I participated in more discussion groups. It's unfortunate that most discussion groups quickly devolve into insult-the-poster time rather than actually discussing the topic.

Oh well, at least I have this blog to read.

What?

My sort of/somewhat/perhaps future sister-in-law wrote in her blog that she's "been in this sorta family mode....like wanting to have a kid, get married, be a stay at home mama...you know, all that cheesy shit." Then she goes on and gives a glossing over of some of the weirdness she's gone through with a certain member of her family and other family things. To me, it seems like she misses having a family that she doesn't have to take care of, that she doesn't have to be the one trying all the time.

I wish that I felt comfortable enough to yell at her that being a sort of/somewhat/perhaps future sister-in-law of mine, she does have a family, mine/my brothers/possibly hers. There are two problems with that though. The first is that the majority of the family is about 150 miles to the east. The second is that parts of the family did try to get to know her a while ago, but something horrible happened in her life and it stunted whatever sort of relationship may have developed between them and any steps the family tried to make at that time were rebuffed, but steps tried more recently have also been rebuffed (mostly by my brother, though). That means to start new a getting-to-know-you period she'd have to take the first step. I doubt she will.

I wish she would, though. I really like her, even if she does admit to enjoying Brittany Spears for the music and not the cleavage. She's smart and funny and has a wonderfully insane amount of pop culture trapped in her brain and has a lot of energy. I'm waiting for the day when she finds something that interests her enough that she really focuses her entire being on it. Nothing will stop her when she finds that thing.

Anyway, my day has been spent thinking about that, and looking busy... and trying to remember the Thundercats's theme song.

TEST!

How evil are you?

F---ing Cars

I left my parent's house a little after noon, last Sunday the 13th, for those who maybe confused),thinking that it’d be a good way to beat the crazy traffic heading out of Cowtown. And it was. There were people on the road, but it wasn’t insane, and I figured that I’d beat the most horrible traffic. I was probably right, too.

I was singing along to the music (I don't remember what it was) when I saw a CHP car behind me with its lights spinning and its headlights doing that bizarre alternating flash thing. There wasn't a siren, but I figured that I'd better follow the law and pull off to the right. The CHP car passed about ten more cars when it turned to block the lane at an intersection. The officer got out of his car and started to drop orange cones in the road. I knew what that meant: a grass fire along the highway. Some jackass probably threw a cigarette out the window into the dry grass.

That sort of thing has happened to me before, so I cut my engine. The last time it happened it delayed me over an hour and I was stuck behind a full garbage truck in 100+ degree weather. Misery. That sort of a time delay was not to be, however, and I knew it from the get go because we were right at an intersection and with a left then one right and then one more left, I'd be back on the correct highway. Of course, it took fifteen minutes before the CHP officer let us make that first left. Ah, well, it was time basking in the rising temperature of my car as the sun caressed me through the windshield. I finally started when I saw the officer stand and, as usual, my car started with a groan and a growl.

The left, the right, and the other left later, and I was back on the highway cruising toward, in a roundabout way, The Northbay.

At the point where they highway goes from two lanes to four and then the opposite directions split apart all together, I noticed that my battery was at a lower number than it usually is when I’m driving. Then I heard this strange sound; I even rolled up the windows to hear it better. Then I looked at the gauges again and noticed that the temperature had climbed to near the red. (Whenever the temperature gets that high, I get a little freaked out, since I have killed an engine through overheating. The guy who drove the car before me put the damn hose on backward, so the reinforced end was in air and the regular end was up against the hot, hot, so very hot engine.) I immediately pulled over and hoped that, even though I added some before I left, the water was low. As I was moving on to the shoulder, I turned on the hazard lights. This was just over the top of the first real hill after the highway split, miles from any pay phone.

I popped the hood and stepped out of my car, after checking to make sure there was no traffic whizzing by that could rip the door off my car. Immediately, I heard the hissing of steam trying to blow the cap off the radiator. I started to curse at my car. Then I realized that, even though I doubt it, if my car could hear me, it probably wouldn't like the cursing, so I turned my back to my car and started cursing at the landscape. I raised the hood and looked at the water reservoir, empty. I looked at the engine and noticed that one of the belts was loose. I looked closer. Sure enough, one belt was loose, and so was the other. The other, in fact was shredded. I was going no where.

See, my dad and I replaced the belts in my car once before. It's not easy. A six year old would have trouble getting his arm to fit in there and a crowbar is needed to apply tension to the belts. We decided that the easiest way, but not the cheapest way, to put belts on my car would be to pull the entire engine out, slip new belts on, tighten it, and put the engine back. I think it took us about five hours to get the belts on last time. There was no way I was going to be able to do that on the side of the road. Plus, I don't have any tools in my car to do it with.

For the next twenty minutes, I tried to wave down a car, or truck, or whatever so I could use a phone and call a tow truck. No luck. So I decided to walk back the way I came because, even though it was far away, I knew there was a pay phone in that direction. I put some water in my bag and started walking. I passed two ranches on my walk, both had locked gates. A CHP car drove by, but didn't stop. After an hour of walking, I came across a stranded mobile home (Which ironically had shredded a belt, too. But for them, to replace a belt, all they needed was a new belt, a ratchet, and a person willing to do the work. They were waiting for one of the people's mother to bring a new belt.) and borrowed a phone.

I called a tow truck.

Twenty minutes later, it picked me up at the mobile home. Five minutes later, my car was loaded up. Thirty minutes later, my car was being dropped off at my grandparent's house (about 10 miles away from my parent's house) and I was using my credit card to pay $155 for the tow. Fifteen minutes later, my uncle was driving me back to my parent's, who were in Baja California, house. After I arrived, I started looking for keys to their cars so I could "borrow" one of them so I could get back to The Northbay. I did.

Nine and a half hours after my first one, I was in the shower washing the dust and sweat from my walk off of me.

Finished

Last night, I finished reading To Kill a Mockingbird. I have one question: Why wasn't I handed this book fifteen years ago?

Subjects

The movie was funny, like the TV show it was based on. The food was not had because the movie an hour later than I thought. Didn't want to hang around for an extra hour after eating. Brie on croissants and zapped in the microwave was enjoyed instead.

To Kill a Mockingbird was started yesterday and I am enjoying it far more than I thought I would. Hope I'll be finishing it tonight, but that depends on how phone call goes.

Been seriously considering buying Alan Moore's (along with Melinda Gebbie) new book. It's expensive, though. Bet a lot of people will be talking about it without having read it. Want to be one who talks about it because he's read it.

Was asked about my passion a few weeks ago. Was asked about my hobby on Sunday. The two different people asked about the same thing. Hobby or passion? Bliss? Wrote these two comics about bliss over a year ago. They're still true.

Need something outside of work to make work worth it. Something besides TV and Mario Kart and Fresh Air.

Would I Be Able To Bring My Toothpaste On A Plane?

Ever wonder "What If 9/11 Never Happened?" I know I do. The best in the series is the one written as a blog. The most accurate one is the one with the picture.

---

In other news, I'm taking myself to the Chinese buffet place tonight and then I'm going to see Strangers With Candy for the low price of only $4.50. I think I deserve it after my car went kaput on my way back to The North Bay (A story I won't be telling here until Thursday, I'll explain then.), don't you?

BOOKS!

Today, I visited my favorite used bookstore (I've been to bigger, but not better.) and the shop that mails (most of) my comics to me, which also sells used books. I didn't go to the third used bookstore I planned on hitting because I thought that I had spent enough money for the day. It's amazing how a pile of books can make me so happy.

Here's the novels I bought and why:
The Wild Shore by Kim Stanley Robinson
Sure, the last two books he wrote about Mars were pretty bad, but the first two were good and his one off science fiction books are pretty incredible. I highly recommend, if you can find them, Icehenge and The Memory of Whiteness, excellent books. I've been in search of his California trilogy, where he imagines the future of the state in a different way in each book, for a couple of years. I guess I'll just have to give in and buy them new.

Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson
Johnny Logic has told me several times that I should read this book and I also really enjoyed the other two Stephenson books I've read, The Diamond Age: or A Young Lady's Illustrated Primer (I always include the other title, because it should have been the name of the book.) and Zodiac (A book paced like a summer blockbuster, but better. It's the most fun movie that isn't a movie that I've ever read.). This book is huge! If it's as well written as his others, though, it'll be a quick read for it's size.

1984 by George Orwell
I've never read this book, which is probably as much a surprise to me as it is to some of you, and I've never seen a movie based on it. I know some of the language from it--newspeak, "War is Peace," doublespeak, thoughtcrime--but only in passing. There are so many allusions to this novel in modern films and TV shows--Who didn't think of Big Brother when they saw the High Chancellor appear on that giant TV in V for Vendetta? And how many of those people have actually read 1984?--that I sometimes thing I already know the whole book. It is in the public conscious and I want to know how accurate that conscious is.

The main reason I finally picked this book up is because I just finished re-reading Brave New World (at least my fifth time reading the book) and I wanted to compare its version of the future (which, in many ways, is more a utopia than a distopia) to the future in 1984. I'm pretty excited about that.

As I Lay Dying (The Corrected Text) by William Faulkner
I really wanted Absalom, Absalom! because I really dig that exclamation point at the end. Who, at almost any point in history, puts an exclamation point in the title of a novel? William Faulkner, that's who. The bookstore didn't have Absalom, Absalom!, though, and as I was perusing his novels I came across this one and it seemed more like short stories as opposed to a novel. I like the Faulkner short stories I've read and figure it's time for me to move into something bigger, but not too big.

Wizard's First Rule by Terry Goodkind
I need a new fantasy series. Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time series is supposed to end in one or two books (I'm hoping for two more because 13 is an important number in the series). Terry Brooks keeps putting out Shannara books, but the last two trilogies have seemed liked cheats to me (They cheat in the same way Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy cheats.) and that bugs me. I'd rather Brooks wrote another Magic Kingdom of Landover or Word/Void book than another Shannara book. I can only hope that his pre-Shannara/post-Word/Void novel, that comes out later this month, is better than the last two Shannara trilogies.

Anyway, there are, I think, ten Sword of Truth books out there, so if this first one is any good I'll soon be at another used bookstore looking for the rest of the series.

To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Like 1984 I've never read this book and I've never seen the movie, but know a lot about it. I had a creative writing teacher who thought this book was the greatest piece of writing... ever. I didn't like that teacher, but he did tend to make good suggestions when it came to short stories and novels.

Platitudes by Trey Ellis
The cover caught my attention and when I read the back it seemed like it could be funny. Plus, it was cheap. The last book I bought in this way, Hey Nostradamus! (ECLAIMATION MARK IN THE TITLE!) by Douglas Coupland, was an excellent find and an introduction to an excellent writer. I hope this one will work out in the same way.

Worlds of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Volume One: Cardassia and Andor by Una McCormack (Cardassia) and Heather Jarman (Andor)
Worlds of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Volume Two: Trill and Bajor by Andy Mangles & Michael A. Martin (Trill) and J. Noah Kym (Bajor)
Worlds of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Volume Three: The Dominion and Ferenginar by David R. George III (The Dominion) and Keath R.A DeCandido (Ferenginar)
All the DS9 books that were written after the show ended actually take place after the series. Things change. Characters grow. Worlds expand. And these books will help to give me the Star Trek fix I need to function in life. The only thing that would have made finding these books more exciting is if Andrew Robinson had written the Cardassia section.

Things I wanted, but didn't find:
Anything by Douglas Coupland that I haven't read.
Another copy of A Confederacy of Dunces because when I went to re-read it, it fell apart. It's now in three pieces and the tape I put on it didn't hold.
The Neon Bible, John Kennedy Toole's other novel.
Anything by Michael Chabon I haven't read.
A Long Way Down.
The DS9 novels The Lives of Dax, Mission Gamma: Cathedral, Mission Gamma: Lesser Evil, The Left Hand of Destiny Book 1, The Left Hand of Destiny Book 2, and Warpath. I'm a DS9 junkie, I know it.

I like books.
Books, books, books.
I like owning them.
I like reading them.
I like smelling them; especially the old, musty ones, but I also like the used ones that smell a little smokey because then I know a little about the previous owner.
I like talking about them.
I like writing about them.
I like holding them.
I like piling them on the floor because I can't find room on a shelf.
And if I knew a good song about books, I'd like singing about them.
I like books.
Books, books, books.

Can't Sleep

"Do I know where hell is?
Hell is in 'hello.'
Heaven is 'Good-bye forever,
It's time for me to go.'"
--Ben Rumson

It's almost 11:30 and I can't sleep. I'm sure, to most people out there, 11:30 is nothing. For many of the internet savvy 11:30 means things are just getting started. For me, it means I should have been in bed at least a half hour ago because I know that even without an alarm clock I'll be awake around seven. I can't help it. I like getting around eight hours of sleep, but I doubt I'll be getting it tonight.

So, here I am typing, listening to music and hoping that I'll eventually get tired and climb into bed. My brain just won't shut up, though. I doubt that when I feel really tired my brain will have quieted at all.

One of the things I'm thinking about is a blog post that I read earlier today. I really hate reading things like this. (The first time I really came across lists like this was my sophomore year of high school when I went on a trip with the marching band. We took a bus up to Seattle and I only brought one book which I had already read half of. When I finished my book I started to read the magazines the girls had brought with them.) When I do, I immediately start ticking off the things I am, or at least the things that I think I am, but doubt that I'm very objective when it comes to me. Anyway, I usually (think I) fit a reasonable portion of the list which is good, right? My problem is either the parts of the list that aren't written down or the ones that I don't fit are not equally weighted against the ones that I do fit.

I've lived my life knowing that I'm not really anyone's type. (Or for the people whose type I am I'm either a fetish, which isn't really like being a human in any way, or those people are as much of a coward as I am or likes to live by the idea that it should always be the guy asking.) Most of the time, I'm okay with that. Tonight, apparently, I'm not. I wonder why? Why do I suddenly feel lonely. Why do I feel like my life will forever be empty? What purpose does it serve?

On Saturday, I was visiting with some friends, Heels and Johnny Logic, and at one point Johnny Logic had stepped out of the room and Heels and I were talking about working at places we don't particularly like to work. She told me, to the best of my remembering, that she'd really love to quit her job and just spend the day with her son, but, she said, she has to go to work.

"You do it for him?" I asked, looking down at her son, who was getting very interested in my big toe.

"Yep," she said.

"That's what I need," I said, sighing a little. "Something outside of work that makes work worth it."

"It's the only way to do it," she said.

---

So, the speakers crapped out last night a little after midnight and I decided to go and read rather than write without music. I fell asleep, eventually, which probably means writing this actually made me feel a little better. That's a nice change.

Harvey!

My brother found this receipt in the bottom of a bag and sent it to me because, well, I had (have?) an obsession with the person who signed it.

Today vs. Tomorrow

Once (Well, really several times, but that's just not a great way to start anything, is it?), someone told me not to worry about tomorrow, only think about today because today is really all there is.

I immediately went on the defensive and pointed out that eventually tomorrow would eventually become today, so isn't thinking and worry about tomorrow actually thinking and worrying about today, just in advanced.

He just smiled at me and the conversation ended right there. He knew I was just being argumentative because I didn't want to actually talk about what was wrong with me.

The reason I worry about tomorrow so much is because at least I can pretend that tomorrow will be better than today. Today is more or less stuck the way it is. There's very little I can do to change today, but I can lie to myself and convince myself that I'm going to do something, anything, to make tomorrow better. Unfortunately, doing that is sometimes very reassuring, even though I'm pretty damn sure I'm not actually going to do anything to make tomorrow any better than today.

But, then again, maybe I will. There's no way to know until tomorrow actually becomes today. Is there?

Evil?

The Supervisor is going to a training thing next week and tomorrow is her Friday off. She told SHTK that SHTK would have to do all the calendaring, including all the requests that come in.

The Supervisor slacked off on setting the requests. I don't think she only set three yesterday and, the last time I looked, three today. The cart with new requests is quite full.

SHTK didn't want to have to do all the calendaring and she went to The Supervisor to express her concerns. The Supervisor then went to JSIN to find out what, if anything should be done. JSIN told The Supervisor that he didn't want SHTK to set new requests because she's worked out of her class too much recently and shouldn't do it anymore.

That means when The Supervisor gets back on the 14th, there will be at least two carts full of hearing requests!

SHTK told me about this nearly an hour ago. I've had a little smile on my face ever since.

Run-Off

You ever worry that you're being to angst-y and people will start to think that it's all just being faked to earn sympathy and then you decided not to post something you wrote because you'd rather not worry people but you really want to post it even though it'd do no good because you didn't want sympathy you just wanted to vent and you planned to turn the comments off to make sure you won't have to read the oh-you'll-be-okay and I'm-there-for-you comments since those sorts of things just make you feel worse and then you end up posting something that makes you seem both angry and even more angst-y?

Yeah.

Anyway, here's a Shortpacked! and a How To Be Happy and a PVP... nuts.

BURN!

I got a little sunburned this weekend. Just enough of a burn to turn my take my face from its normal pasty color past a healthy flush to a bit too much red in the pink. It doesn't hurt at all, unless I poke it with a fingernail or crinkle my forehead. In fact, there are only two ways that I can even tell I'm burned.

The first is if I look in a mirror, or some other reflective surface, and see how my face is now the color of a pink Necco wafer.

The second way is when SLFC says, "You're sunburned." of "You got some sun this weekend." or "You sure are red." or "Doesn't that hurt?"

She. Does. This. Every. Time. She. Sees. Me.

All. Day. Long.

Yesterday. And. Today.

It's a little irksome.

Each time she points out my sunburn to me, I tell her that it doesn't hurt; that I don't even notice it; that I've had so many sunburns in my life time, what's one more.

What I'd like to say (and do) is much more cruel.

Tomorrow the burn will start to peel. Two days later, my face will be its usual color. I'll probably be burned again soon enough and I'll have to put up with her pointing it out to me too many times a day again, though.

California Hills in August

By Dana Gioia

I can imagine someone who found
these fields unbearable, who climbed
the hillside in the heat, cursing the dust,
cracking the brittle weeds underfoot,
wishing a few more trees for shade.

An Easterner especially, who would scorn
the meagerness of summer, the dry
twisted shapes of black elm,
scrub oak, and chaparral, a landscape
August has already drained of green.

One who would hurry over the clinging
thistle, foxtail, golden poppy,
knowing everything was just a weed,
unable to conceive that these trees
and sparse brown bushes were alive.

And hate the bright stillness of the noon
without wind, without motion,
the only other living thing
a hawk, hungry for prey, suspended
in the blinding, sunlit blue.

And yet how gentle it seems to someone
raised in a landscape short of rain –
the skyline of a hill broken by no more
trees than one can count, the grass,
the empty sky, the wish for water.

Tickle This!

My day has consisted of pretending to work so I could read the 2002-2003 strips of It's Walky (I'm currently on this one.) and trying not to think of the things that worry me. I think I'll be taking off early on Friday so I'm away from work for a little bit longer.

Meh.

Witness the fear of those who enjoyed Transformers.

PBS vs. The FCC?

Animated Heaven.

Art I want.

Weekend, everyone.

So,

I'm not going to post what I was originally going to post. It made me sad... Well, more sad.

I wish I had something to write about, but I don't.

I don't have anything right now.

I know, read this. I liked it a lot.

Blah Blahblahblah Days, Blah Blahblahblah Nights

Yesterday was a very good day. (And that vague-ary all you're getting from me about that.)

Today was not, until I decided to purchase a soft-serve vanilla ice cream cone dipped in chocolate and that made the earlier part of the day fade from my memory and made the rest just seem silly.

Damn it!

I'm the responsible one!
I don't want to be the God damned "responsible one"!
Fucking first child syndrome!

Now, Later, Soon

Have you ever been to the beach and been buried in the sand? Do you remember how with each scoop the sand put a little more pressure on your body? Can you remember how, after your siblings or friends were finished burying you, the pressure the sand put on your body felt like it was trying to push you into the earth, to become part of the earth?

That's how I've felt all week. That's how I feel now.

And Q, thanks for quoting my favorite Violent Femmes song.

Short Post

Since Friday, I'd rate myself at a steady 4. (To get a better idea of what "4" means, read this post and the link found somewhere in the first paragraph.) The 4 is why I don't feel like posting. I just thought I'd give some explanation why there may not be any posting for the rest of this week and why all comments will be read, but not responded to.

That is all.

I Don't Want To Be Here

Today, I'd like to be curled up in a ball under my covers. That's why I'm just giving three links.

Here's my favorite comic, so far, from Kawaii Not.

The second is for The Ultimate Showdown. Many of you have probably watched this animation, but it's worth looking at again.

Last is a link to the "live" blogging of Michael Ausiello at the Gilmore Girls session at the CW press event.

If I were A Rich Man

I'd buy a decent sized ranch near my hometown, but I wouldn't raise any animals. I'd have a garden and use much of it to make my own salsa each year. I'd grow lots of herbs and then dry the extra to give to friends and family. I'd have a cold smoke house so I could make salami, pepperoni, and other hard sausages. My dad could keep his bees on my ranch and we'd build a little work house where he could keep his equipment and spin and bottle honey each autumn. The fence at the roadside would be made of stone and somewhere along it would be a plaque with Robert Frost's "Mending Wall" because I don't think most people think it means what I think it means. The house would be specially built so that it'd truly be mine.

I'd pay the mortgages on my parents' and grandparents' houses so they'd have one less money thing to worry about. I'd help one brother pay for grad school and, if he wanted it, beyond. I'd help the other one with his art in any way I could. My cousins, who want to go to college, would be able to go, on certain conditions, of course. Future nieces and nephews would be buried in books and would have trusts for when they're old enough.

I'd spend my days reading and writing and riding my mower around the place. I'd go to New York City once a year and drown myself in the plays on and off Broadway. Once a year I'd travel out side of the US, starting with England and Tintagel to see where people say Arthur reigned. From there, the whole world until I've at least walked a mile on each continent.

I'd support charities that battle for first amendment rights. I'd support charities that are trying to bring vaccines and other treatments to the world. I'd support people's rights to vote. And I'd rage against the war machine so much of this world has become.

I'd do these things, that is, if I were a rich man.

Today

I don't think that I've gotten one but of useful work finished today. Busy work seems to be all that The Supervisor wants me to do. Around here, busy work is having me write over the numbers on all the files to make them more readable and having me put the pre-online cases online (even though the files were destroyed years ago and it's impossible to add all the history to the file) and putting things in files for GICS (who isn't a secretary). Then she puts a big pile of work in my basket and tells me to continue with the busy work until it's finished, except that she wants the regular work completed as soon as possible because everything is date stamped.

Right now, I have piles of sorted work by my desk by my computer waiting to go where it needs to go tomorrow. I have pile of folders waiting to be filled on the desk that's usually empty. Also on that desk are piles of yellow file cards to be entered online. And I had to find a new pen because my old one ran out of ink because I had to copy over hundreds of numbers on a couple of hundred files.

Today was going to be the day I turned in my application to try for the Senior Legal Typist position, even though no one has been able to tell me if I'd end up in group A or B, but I didn't turn it in. I spoke with NPWH about how I wanted to move out of this area as soon as possible and I didn't think that the new position would be able to keep me here. She said that if I thought way, I shouldn't bother since, according to the scuttlebutt around here, I'm the first choice, even though I don't have any training.

An Inconvenient Truth

Who really wants to go and see a movie like An Inconvenient Truth? It's a documentary about global warming starring Al Gore. Just reading that last sentence makes me want to fall asleep and I was a fan and big supporter of Mr. Gore six years ago. I wasn't going to see this movie until I saw the trailer a couple of months ago. Not only did it make the topic sound interesting, it made the star funny. Could it be sustained for ninety minutes?

The simple answer is yes. It's both informative and very funny.

This is a really hard movie to write about because it's so dependant on the visuals. Gore has all sorts of amazing graphics. He shows the first picture ever taken of the Earth as one of the Apollo missions orbited the moon to see the first ever Earth rise. He has a map of the Earth where every bit is lit to its fullest and there are no clouds. There's a time lapsed clip of the earth rotating taken by one of the many probes sent out to explore our solar system. The last picture he shows of the planet was taking by that same probe from millions of miles away and showed the Earth as a tiny blue dot, no larger than the rest of the stars in the picture. While showing this picture, he says that this little dot is the place where all of human history has happened; all the tragedy and triumph; all the art and war; the tiny blue dot is it for mankind.

Along with the photos of the Earth, there are all sorts of graphs to support his thesis. He has a graph showing the annual rise and fall of CO2 in the atmosphere and how the trend is for the amount of CO2 to go up more an more each year. The most amazing graph, I thought, was one that showed the amount of CO2 in the air compared with the average world temperature for the last 600,000 years and the natural cycle of warming and cooling is very visible. He even points out each ice age and also points out where the CO2 has peaked each time. The graph extends to show where the CO2 levels are now, higher than any other peak. Then the graph extends even farther to show the estimated levels in fifty years, a very scary level. And finally it's asked of us to imagine what's going to happen to the temperature? Another graph showed the mile per gallon standards of other nations compared to the US. When he was talking about solutions to slow the release of CO2, he showed a graph that showed each of the things individually wouldn't make a large impact, but all of them together would be a huge step toward the goal of zero carbon emissions.

He also shows a series of photos of glaciers and snow, from around the world from years, ago compared to now. In each case, there's been drastic melting. The one the effected me the most were the two pictures of Mount Kilimanjaro. I remember reading about the eternal snows of this African peak when I was young and I thought it was amazing because this was, I thought, a continent of heat, of deserts and jungles, but there was one mountain that was eternally covered in snow. Now, the snow has been pushed farther up the mountain and it's estimated that within ten years, the snow won't be there any more.

Then the change in weather is brought up. How there was flooding in one Chinese province, while a neighboring province was suffering a drought. In India, they're used to monsoons, but not one that dumps forty inches of rain in twenty-four hours. And he ends by talking about Hurricane Katrina, which, to me, still feels like a kick to the gut, but a storm that size that grew so powerful after making landfall once already. And the there were the animations showing possible flooding of so many major cities along the coasts. These are the things, he said, we need to expect if the planet continues to warm as quickly as it is.

There's more he show and talks about, so very much more, but I don't want to put it all down and I'm pretty sure that you don't want to read me getting all sciencey and statisticy, but it's there and very important.

Throughout, the film breaks away from the global warming slide show and lets Gore talk about other things and shows him preparing for the lecture and even giving it in China. It also follows him to his family farm where he speaks about some of the things that impacted his life and made him realize that he needs to be pushing the his global warming agenda (my word, not his). While I found these glimpses into Gore the man interesting, I thought they were jarring and interrupted the flow he develops in front of the audience. I'd have rather just seen the slide show from beginning to end, but I can understand why the filmmakers wanted to show why this subject is so important to Mr. Gore; it makes him more human than we, ever saw during his presidential campaigns which, for many, will probably make the message he give easier to listen to.

For me, the movie was informative, frightening, important, and funny. I laughed quite a bit more than I expected to. Others out there will not share my reaction, but I hope they at least see the movie before judging it.

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For those who are interested, I'm also mirroring my movie reviews over at Cornerstone Cafe. It seems Blog Dog is wanting to start a 'Zine thing and he asked me to join him. I'll still be posting them all here as well, though.

Meditation

I've never been able to do it. Ever.

I remember when I was little, my dad used to meditated every morning. He'd sit cross-legged in the living room, close his eyes and just be, or something. Sometimes, I'd sit near him and imitate his posture. After a few minutes, my back would start feeling sore from actually sitting up straight and I get up and leave. I didn't get why he'd did it each morning. Eventually, I asked and I was told that it was a way for his mind and body to relax so they'd be ready for the day ahead.

To this day, that answer satisfies me. I know that meditation done right is more complicated and can lead to an opening of the mind and body, but I think the relaxation is something more immediate.

At on point in college, I was going a little nuts. I thought of meditation and thought that maybe it could help me focus and relax.

I didn't want to join any yoga or Eastern philosophy clubs, so I went to the library and read about meditation. The gist, that I got, was that one should sit in the "power" position and try to concentrate on one thing until that is all your mind is focused on and then let it go so your mind is free.

On a day that I didn't have to go to class and my roommates were gone, I cleared a place on the floor of my room and sat. I closed my eyes and thought of a candle flame. (It was on my mind since I had just re-read The Wheel of Time books.) At first everything seemed to be okay. The flame was all there was. There was nothing else.

Then a question popped into my mind: What's feeding the flame?
Followed quickly by another: Why yellow and not orange?

Soon came even more: Is it the fuel? What kind of fuel could make it blue or green? If there isn't fuel, how’s there a flame? Is the flame just floating in space? Is that how a flame would look without gravity? Is it air pressure that defines "up" for a flame? Would it look more like a ball than a drop in zero g? Would it still look like a ball if there's a wick? How would a flame thrower look? The gas is propelled, but would the actual flame still billow that way or would it look more like a cylinder?

More and more questions came until I wasn't even thinking about the flame any more.

I only lasted a few minutes that time before I realized that it wasn't going to work for me.

The next time I tried to meditate, I fell asleep for an hour. And like every nap I've taken that I could remember, I woke up tired, angry, and with a headache.

Then next time, I tried concentrating on a sound. Just a monotonous hum. Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Hummmmmmmmmm. I had to try hard not to hum a rhythm and not start singing in my head. Eventually, I gave up.

I tried several more times with the results falling into these three categories. Not once did I feel more relaxed or focused afterward.

Occasionally, I still try to meditate. It still doesn't work. I'd like it to work, but my brain just doesn't want to shut down.

Once Upon A Time...

My alarm buzzed at 1:30 AM. I hit the snooze, flipped the switch to turn the alarm off, rolled out of bed, and stumbled across my room to the light switch. My ride would be there at two. I flipped the switch and my squinting eyes stung when the light hit them. I squinted at the messy floor searching for a cleanish pair or shorts to wear. I found a pair then thought that maybe long pants would be better; after all it was going to be much cooler where we were going. Pants seemed the best way to go.

I walked to my dresser being careful not to step on the comics, the books, the Transformers, and other assorted things on the floor. I pulled the pants out of the drawer and they smelled musty, unused. They'd been in the drawer for nearly six months waiting for the cooler weather to come back. I slid them on then proceeded to search for clean socks, my sweatshirt, and a flashlight that worked.

It was the August after I had graduated from high school. All my friends were still friends, or at least they were still friendly, with each other. In less than two weeks, those who were going away to semester schools would be gone. A week after that, those still in high school would be returning for their senior year. I still had about six weeks since my school was on the quarter system. These were some of the best friends that I had. They were the ones who had made high school bearable. Even this late in the summer, it was still odd for me to not see them at least five days a week.

August, for some reason, seems to be the best time to watch for shooting stars and someone, I'm not sure who, had suggest the weekend before that we should all head up the hill and watch the skies. A date was decided on, calls were made, rides were secured, and a place for all the cars to meet was arranged.

By 1:50, I was dressed and had triple checked that all the pillows and blankets I had promised to bring were by the front door. I carefully paced around my room, the flash light in the kangaroo pouch of my sweatshirt bouncing against me, looking at my alarm clock every few seconds wondering when my ride would be there.

At 1:58, the phone rang.

"Shit," I said as I threw open my door and charged toward the phone in the living room hoping that my parents and brothers weren't woken up. I picked it up and said, "Hello?"

"Are you awake?" I heard the sleepy voice of my best friend ask.

"Yeah I'm awake. I said I'd be awake."

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, I've been ready for a while."

"Okay," she said, "I'm comin' then. 'Bye."

"'Bye," I said and heard her hang up.

Three long minutes later, headlights shone through my window. I hurried out of my room to the front door hoping that she wouldn't honk the horn, which she had been known to do when she was impatient. I opened the front door, waved to her, and picked up all the pillows and blankets at once. There were so many, my hands didn't meet even though I pulled them as close to my body as I could. I stumbled off the porch onto the step/rock and teetered my way to her car. I tried to squat and keep the pillows and blankets pressed against her car with one hand wrapped around them as the other fumbled for the handle. The door was locked. I could hear her laughter.

"Open the trunk," I screamed into the pillow pressing into my face. I turned my head and yelled, "Get out of the car and open the god damned trunk."

I heard the locks pop and she opened her door.

"You look like such an ass," she said between fits of laughter.

"Just open the trunk so we can get going."

She did and after I stowed the pillows and blankets, I rushed back to the house to lock it up then climbed in her car.

At a little after two, we met the others cars at what I think is an old weigh station, now it's where the people from up the hill park to car pool to their jobs in The Valley and The Bay. All together, there were three cars and, I think, ten to twelve of us. People changed cars and I was forced from my front seat to the back.

Up the hill we drove for nearly an hour. The elevation was around 5500 feet. We pulled off the highway onto a single lane CDF road. There were no other people for miles. The moon had set, so the only light out, once all the cars were off, were the stars.

I pulled out my pile of blankets and so did someone else. We spread them on the road, double layered so it didn't hurt to lie down. Everyone who wanted a pillow got one and we all settled in.

At first, I remember it being very quiet, as if talking would stop the shooting stars.

Finally, someone said, "Whoa! Did you see that one?"

"It was huge," someone replied.

"That's what she says to me every night," said another.

And we settled into our usual bizarre patter filled with innuendo but occasionally veering off into topics about the schools some of us were going away to and college at the local JC and the stupidity of everyone and on and on, occasionally punctuated by excitement over the stars falling above us.

What's in a Name?

One thing that I actually like about my job is getting to see all sorts of different names. Today, a name that jumped out at me is Hemraj. How often, in the US, do you get to see a first name like Hemraj?

Thinking Positive of Power

I'm having a hard time thinking positively today. A very hard time. The only thing that I can think of that's changed since yesterday is that I've come to work. Work didn't affect me like that last week. Why now? Is it work at all?

Also, I have no reason to be thinking the way I'm thinking. I'm relatively healthy. I have a place to live and food to eat. My life is fairly comfortable. Why doesn't it seem to fit?

For some reason, the Barenaked Ladies song "In the Car" is running through my head. It's been a while since I heard the song. I wonder why it's rattling around my head now. I wonder what that means about me?

The first Barenaked Ladies album I bought was Stunt, like so many other people out there. I heard the peppy and silly "One Week" on the radio and figured what the hell, I enjoy peppy and silly. I remember the first time I listened to it because I was shocked. There's a lot of sadness and longing in some of the songs, not in a depressing way, but more in a speculative way. I don't think many people understand this about the Barenaked Ladies.

Link Dump

Today, I don't really feel like talking too much, so I'm going to throw up three links from a link folder with several things that I've been saving for a day like today.

The first is Got Booze?, which is a fake commercial for booze using Meredith from the US version of The Office.

The second is a comic from A Softer World that I'm going to call Squid Cuddling.

The third is an interview with Bill Watterson with questions from fans around the world.

Under Pressure

Many people here at work are trying to pressure me into submitting an application so I can become a Senior Legal Typist, also known as a secretary. I wrote about my attempt to get into the testing and the inevitable let down when I didn't a couple of months ago. Back then, I really wanted the job. Today, not so much.

My thinking is that if I go for it and get it (which seems very possible, based on the fact that The Supervisor told me that she really wants to see me go for the position and she'd be on of the people doing the interview) and take the job, I'd be stuck. Right now, there is only one position open for a Senior Legal Typist within the state. Guess where it is?

I don't want to be stuck here. In a week, I'll have been here for ten months. I've almost been here for a year. I'm ready to move on. I'm ready to be somewhere else. In my current class, there are several hundred transfer possibilities. That's good.

Now all I need to do is get enough money for a deposit and first and last. I guess that means December at the earliest.

That leave a question of where to.

Right now, there are lots of open positions in Cowtown, at the prison where my aunt and two uncles work. I think I'd be okay living there again. The biggest problem would be the drive to and from work. The prison isn't very close to anywhere. But it's my hometown. It's where I grew up. I know most of the crannies there. I like that there are three theaters there to see plays at and I like that the movie theater shows a different independent film each week during the fall, winter, and spring. Also there's family and friends there, which is always a good thing.

The place that seems like the best choice is Cowcity, though. There are over a thousand openings for people to transfer to. It's the state's capital. Right now there are more than twenty positions available for transfers in my class. There's also the possibility for actual advancement or at least latching onto the coattails of some rising politician who'll pull me along. Or not. At least there are lots of jobs to be had in lots of places so there's more of a chance for me to settle into something that won't make me want to jump out a window each day.

For any who are wondering, I could take the job and then, when I have enough money saved, I could transfer elsewhere in my current class, essentially demoting myself, but how would it look if I go through the interview at the end of this month and then three or four weeks later, since that seems to be how long it takes these people to make any kind of decision, I take the job and then three or four months later, I try and transfer out into a lower position? Would it be better to stick with my current class and transfer? Should I bother turning in an application? Is it worth it since I don't want to work in this office any longer than I have to?

I'm not sure.

It's Back!

My mom's website is back up after some... difficulties. She'd appreciate it if you'd head over there and vote for her so she can get back to the front page of the top 50.

Strip About Superman Returns

This comic, from Scott Kurtz, describes how I felt until the damn piano scene.

My Problem With Superman Returns

Last week, I wrote about the new Superman movie but decided not to spoil anything, particularly the one thing that kicked me out of the magic of the film and simply wouldn't allow me to get lost in the last part.

What was my problem? Superman has a kid.

Yeah, I can accept that Superman and Lois had sex. (Remember that this movie takes place five or six year after Superman II and in that movie Superman gave up his powers to be with her and there was that scene where they're under covers in the Fortress. I think there's a good chance that sex was had.) My problem is with the sex producing super spawn.

First, there's that whole he's an alien thing and what are the odds that his alien sperm can combine with human ova? Not good. But I've come to accept human/alien crossbreeds. I'm a Star Trek fan and the second best character on the original series was a hybrid. So, the half human, half Kryptonian thing doesn't bug me that much.

What does bug me is how a super kid takes away from Superman being special. (I have this problem with the whole Superboy, Supergirl, super dog thing that's going on in the comics right now. And don't even let me get started on the super crap they pulled in the seventies. Yuck.)

To me, Superman is an outsider. No matter how alone one of us humans may feel we are still surrounded by other humans who, in the most basic ways, are just like us. Superman, on the other hand, is completely isolated because he's an alien, which would be isolating enough, but he also has powers far beyond those of mortal men, which sets he even farther apart from everyone else. No matter what, he's not one of us. Even when he pretends to be, by being Clark, he's not that successful. Clark's not a popular guy with most humans. He's just a guy trying to make live his life day to day. Sure, Clark has some friends (hell, in this movie Jimmy has a man-crush on him), but even they look at him and roll their eyes in and it's-just-Clark-being-Clark kind or way. This makes Superman the ultimate outsider who tries to do good and actually does good. That's why he's Superman

Giving him a son takes that away. He's no longer the only one of his kind. He's no longer unique. Now he isn't doing the right thing because he knows it's the right thing to do, he'll be doing the right thing because he wants to teach his kid responsibility. And the teaching his kid thing isn't noble, it's mundane. Every parent teaches (or at least should teach) their kids the difference between right and wrong and try to teach them responsibility; it happens every minute of every day all around the world. And while I do think it's really important, it's not super.

So, when that piano went flying across the room to squish the bad guy, I wasn't cheering along with the rest of the crowd (who then started whispering, "Superboy"); I sat there wondering why this had to happen. I was so disappointed that I considered walking out (and I've never walked out on a movie, not even for Battle Field Earth) because I knew I wouldn't be able to really immerse myself into the movie again and enjoy it the way I had before. (I'm willing to admit that the scene where Superman visited Jason and spoke the words of Jor-El, passing words of wisdom from one generation to the next, was touching, but it didn't redeem the kid.) I didn't leave though. I had to stay and see how the movie turned out, but I couldn't become as invested in the film as I was before the damn piano went flying.

Splitting Hairs?

I had the hairs on my head cut on Saturday. The last time I got them cut was last November, a week or two before Thanksgiving. So, it's been a while since I've seen my entire ear without having to brush my hair back.

I waited this long because I can't find a barber in this town that doesn't charge less than fifteen dollars. Let's see, I only want my hair cut. I don't want any sort of styling. I don't want any "product" put in my hair. I just want the clippers to buzz away some of the excess on the sides and in the back and the scissors to trim down the top and front. Oh, I'd also like it to be fairly even so I don't look anymore lopsided than I normally do. (Most of the time, I don't care what the hair looks like because in a week, it'll look totally different.) Usually, if the person cutting my hair doesn't try to hard to chat with me, the hair cut takes between fifteen and twenty minutes from the time I sit my butt in the seat to when I'm through paying for the cut and my time is usually on the lower side of that scale. That means, if people take that amount of time on average, these barbers are expecting to be paid between $45-$60 dollars an hour, plus tip. It seems like too much money for me to spend.

Recently, my hair's been driving me nuts. The weather has been warmer and that leads to misery. Especially during nights when there's no breeze through the window and the oscillating fan only blows warm air at me. The worst thing, and the weirdest, that happens to me with long hair is getting it caught in the magnets when I snap on my sunglasses without realizing it and I push up my glasses and my hair gets pulled. Long hair is just annoying to me.

I think that this is the longest I've ever had it, too. If I pulled the front part down, it came to my chin. The side part covered my whole ear, including the lobe. And I have pretty big ears. I don't really know how long it got in the back because once my hair gets long enough it starts to do this weird curl thing, like it's trying to grow toward the sun.

In the end, mostly because of my growing frustration, I went to the SuperCuts. Yeah, I know the jokes, but it's close to where I live, just a walk away. The rest of the barber shops, the places that aren't full of "stylists," are all a drive away. Plus, on weekends at least, they have a very small window to go in. From 11-2? How many people do you really expect to get through in 3 hours?

An odd thing happened during my hair cut, the woman doing it decided to keep a chunk my hair for a project she had to do for work, or whatever. She said it was the perfect color. Then she kept a second chunk. And she took a third after a little more buzzing. I felt flattered at first. Then I felt confused. And finally, I felt a little creeped out. Well, once it's off my head, it's not my concern, but she paused in her trimming a few times to finger the hair she had set aside or to take a long look at the hair on the floor. Part of me want's to know what she was thinking when she did that. Most of me is glad that I got out of there with my head firmly planted on my shoulders.

This morning, I walked into work with my hair way shorter than it's been in a long time. The first thing I heard after I said good morning to the two ladies was, "You got your hair cut?" "Yeah," I said. "It looks good." I rolled my eyes and sat down. (I've complained about your-hair-looks-good compliments in this post.) I think I've heard "Your hair looks good." or some variation of the sentence twenty times today. It's driving me nuts.

I don't take compliments well. I never have. I don't require my ego to be stroked by people. I especially have a hard time accepting compliments that have to do with the way I look. See, I exactly have a positive view of the way I look. It's not so negative that I'm working toward surgery; it's just that I know that I don't fall into any kind definition of handsome at all. I look the way I look. I'm fat and wear glasses. I'm not so vain that I think I looked any better before I got my glasses and therefore should be looking into contact lenses. And then there's the fact that, quite often, people notice something about the way you look and without even thinking they tell you that you look good with the change and that makes the compliment meaningless.

How do I know the compliments are usually meaningless? Well, at least today and in the story in that link, one person says the haircut looks good and without even looking someone else says, "Yeah it does." Obviously, I'm supposed to be so caught up in the first compliment that I'm not supposed to notice that the second person hasn't even looked at me. At least look and pretend to take a second to decide whether or not you like it. I'd rather hear nothing at all about some change I made in my appearance than just have meaningless compliments thrown my way.

At least, when someone on writes a compliment about a blog post, I can expect that the person has actually read the post and thought about what to say before writing a comment and that actually makes the compliment meaningful.

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In other news, last Friday was the fifth, I think, anniversary since Johnny Logic and Heels were married at her parents house. Congratulations you two.

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I think it's funny that it's so recognized that tomorrow is the birthday of the United States. Personally, I think the real birthday of the United States is September 17, but that's just me.