As noted previously, I'm trying out OpenOffice.org as a permanent replacement for MS Word and Excel. So far, so good. The transition has been easy and almost entirely problem-free. And I get the feeling that there is more functionality in OOo than in MSO, or at least, the options and features have been made easier to use. (and no clippy! I hate that infernal talking paperclip. “It looks like you are writing a suicide note...”)

The most recent trick I've managed with OOo: I've fooled my spellchecker into thinking I'm British. Fun stuff. I'd have to say, it's my favourite feature so far. (I like the idea so much I think I may continue to use it all the time. Take that, Webster! We don't need you when we have Dr. Johnson and the OED.)

(if anyone wanted to get me that 20 vol. set for Christmas, that would be just peachy.)

And since I've started with the links, we may as well see what else has accumulated since the last web trawl:

##

Sunday[sic] Morning[sic] Web Trawl #10
(increasing inaccurate since 2004!)

It's the first of December, so: one more mention of the recently-completed NaNoWriMo, this time from the bloggers' perspective: A quick search on Technorati pulls up 26k or so entries from various commentators and participants. Not too shabby. (one take: Eric on Websnark with his defence of the exercise.)

Of note: Risk (the old Parker Bros. boardgame) implemented in-browser using Google Maps. (via BoingBoing)

"Mmmm... Honey, are you cooking french fries?" "No, dear, that's just the heater." Home heating oil from biological sources, as reported by Wired news

When I had occasion to look up the proper form of address for His Serene Highness, Prince Hans Adam II of Liechtenstein (you think I'm joking) I eventually found the alt.talk.royalty FAQ. For those of you who follow that sort of thing.

Recycle. There's nothing wrong with old games, and in fact, I think the limitations inspired more creativity, and placed an emphasis on actual game play mechanics rather than on the latest flash and dazzle available from high-end hardware. In a recent quest for a fondly remembered favourite, I found the Home of the Underdogs You could spend days browsing the site, and years playing the games. The Underdogs are what the best of the internet is all about. Kudos, and thanks.

Speaking of classic games: Mario, high-school band style. I'll link to the BB article rather than direct to Google Video.

Want to get more done? Pay attention to less. BB article and original link

I pay $50 a month to Netflix, and 99% of what I'm renting & watching is Japanese Anime. Setting aside for a moment what might be wrong with me (it's a long list) maybe we should ask what's so cool about anime. Hm. Well, that can also be a long list, and is likely fodder for at least three more blog entries. At some point. (previously posted: on netflix and anime)

I'm also building an Anime DVD Library of my own. I like the folks at Right Stuf, and have had nothing but good experiences purchasing things there. I also like to use their catalogue to help me pick discs to rent on netflix, since they'll list all the various seasons and releases and spinoffs and sequels and crap that may be associated with a particular title. (the encyclopaedia over at Anime News Network is also a good source-- but harder to browse casually.)

(maybe, at some point, I'll try to pick a few of my favourite Anime series to recommend to everyone. My own picks will likely vary from these selections, but both lists are worth a look.)

Back to the first point: So what is Japan are the Japanese/American Anime & Manga Cos. doing right, and where is Hollywood going wrong? Well, for one, they listen to the fans, and oddly, the fans are responding with more and more money. Go figure. (from Fortune magazine, via Boing Boing.) (I do read other news sites, honest. I might not link them, but I am reading others)

And a final note: awww... cute, ain't they? And tasty too!

One new years resolution for 2006 (and I might as well get started now; dates are arbitrary) is to update daily, nay, even thrice daily, and to increase my overall word output for both the blog and other projects to Websnarkian proportions.

You have been warned.

If nothing else, the local liquor stores are going to be celebrating. The right side (left? how did that work again?) of my brain is, according to all available evidence, a beer-powered device.

I'm standing there in Caribou, using my laptop in it's nylon case like a lunch tray, balancing a couple of fresh toasted bagels from Einstein Bros. while simultaneously digging into a pocket for the wallet, then fumbling-- still one-handed-- for the gift card inside the wallet so I could get my 'free' coffee today when the cashier, who in the course of making friendly conversation no doubt also makes a thousand snap judgements like this each day, asked:
“so, studying this morning?”
to which I replied, “Nah. Writing. It's been a while since I've had to study.”

If I had had another 5 seconds or a half ounce of coffee before this I might have placed a slight emphasis on the word had. With another minute I might have tried to determine a different phrasing, since 'have had to study', with or without the contraction, seems a bit awkward now that I've typed it twice over. But setting aside colloquial vs. proper grammatical English for a moment, my point is the sentiment behind the statement. I don't have to study. I don't have to read European history (Norman Davies, isbn 0060974680) or comparative mythology (Joseph Campbell, isbn 0140194436) or economics or modern psych. or web design or even How to Draw Manga. But since I left college, I've always been reading something. Even more so, since I started working at the bookstore (obviously) but not just because of that. I think I may have noted before (though perhaps not in this space) that I've actually read and studied more since saying my goodbyes to Tech then I did while slogging my way through classes there.

“You should open yourself to learning as more than just a four-year commitment” which may or may not be original to me, but without contrary evidence I'll take credit for it.

I have a still-lingering sense of curiosity, a need to know that wasn't quite extinguished by the fossilized sensibilities and traditions of the American college system. This is one reason I enjoy trivia so much (well, that and the beer. I'm sure there are other ways to play trivia games, but when they have them at the bar, I'm not really compelled to seek others out.) If you were to boil away all the other things (money, fame, women, the accolades of an adoring public; all the illusions of ego and materialism) then the last standing goal of my life, my only real aim, is and always has been the acquisition of knowledge.

Not it's application. Not an academic degree or some other recognition of knowledge gained, just the information itself. I don't care that you know that I know. I just want to know.

It's been a while since I've had to study. That doesn't stop me, though.

One last admission: I don't read as much as I used to. Even as recently as nine months ago, I had a lot more on my plate than I do now. Still and all, I do love books, and I think if I can just kick this recently acquired DVD habit...

On the other hand, cinema is also a field worthy of study, for the art inherent in the form itself, and for parallels that can be drawn with other forms of story-telling, and the recasting of standard mythical forms as seen through the filter of modern sensibilities, or the allusions (intentioned and accidental) to both classic literature and popular works. (or I could be reading too much into what are, on some level, just cartoons )

A New Year's resolution, or six:

- I should write for at least an hour every day-- 4 hours on my days off.
- I should practice drawing for an hour every day. If I'm serious about improving, that is. I suppose I could remain a hack

Ha. May I present my new business card:

M. Blind. Hack-of-all-trades.

[chuckle]

- I should exercise. Note: not execise more, since I pretty much stopped when I injured my ankle. I need to start all over. (I *think* I've only gained 10 lbs. in the interim. But I never was religious about weighing myself. It could be a lot more than that.)
- I should sleep more, and drink less coffee
- I should try to find a social outlet that doesn't have “bar”, “pub”, or “tavern” as an integral part of it's name. (*additional* social outlets-- the good lord help me, I do love hanging out in a nice, warm pub)

- I should plan less, and actually *do* more.

After years of trying several methods to avoid/ameliorate razor burn, finally, I just gave up. Some concessions have been made, considering I don't actually grow hair in all places on my face, or even all the normal places, but considering it's only been a month, I really do need to give the beard a bit more time.

For reference, there is also a rare photo of me without any facial hair at all. I think I look like a muppet. However, since it is very hard to take back once one has actually shaved, well... there you go.

I positively hate diet coke. However, in a world with only vending machine options (say, you don't want to cough up $3 to satisfy your caffeine habit at starbucks) there are so very few options, and all diet sodas suck.

The only good thing I can say about diet coke is that it tastes so unlike anything I would actually enjoy (including real coke) that I am never even partially fooled. It's not like 'hey, I'm really liking this soda' and then you hit the faintly bitter hint on the back end that reminds you the artificial sweetener is there in spades. Nope. With diet coke, the sucker sucks all the way through the whole sucky can.

The emphasis would be on caffeine and diet in this particular lunch-time choice. One represents a need crutch and the other is my own way of living up to best intentions [insert the 'diet coke' joke here: many variations, the theme of which is something along the lines of 'I'll have two fried chickens, chili cheese fries, the apple pie, and a *diet* coke please.']

Normally I eat healthfully. Or at least as heathful as a bachelor can, with the usual fast food and quick fixes, and given the fact that I'm under the impression that beer is a leafy green vegetable. (I keep cans in the vegetable drawer of the Fridge; beer is a vegetable. QED) However, I think I could still stand to lose a pound or 12. So, diet cokes.

Post parenthetical: This is what you get when you combine the stated goal of daily updates (ref. entries 12/2 & 12/3) with a complete lack of anything to write about. Except that it happens to be my lunchbreak. Unfortunately for us all, we aren't getting Proust out of a Diet Coke. (and a cookie for you if you get that reference)

I'll see if I can do better tomorrow. Or this evening.

One of the governments to recently adopt a restaurant smoking ban is my own home state (well, sort of recent-- the new law went into effect 1 July) and so one my own nasty-but-fondly-held-habits, i.e. pipe smoking, is now an outlaw act at a number of otherwise fine establishments. Unless you smoke outside, which is an option at a few joints although the weather isn't cooperating this year-- it seems like we went from summer straight to 35° lows in about a week.

But thank some higher power (who's up on rotation this week? [checking] ... thank Nin, Babylonian goddess of beer) that a bright lawmaker thoughtfully gave us a loophole. If an establishment steps up and bans anyone under 21 from entering (and, honestly, I prefer that they do anyway) then those of us committing slow suicide are welcome to light up and drink the rich cancerous vapours as much as we damn well please. Mmmm... smoke. The combination of pipe smoke and Guinness is a taste sensation, akin to truffles and caviar and thousand year eggs. Namely: nasty, smelly things that at least some fraction of the population finds, well, nasty and smelly but (for devotees) also a sublime, dare I say a spiritual experience.

So now I find myself in the awkward position of reversing myself. McTighes, the lovely establishment owned by the asshole of the same name, is one of the few joints (that I've found so far) that has decided to embrace the evils of smoking, in the name of keeping their regulars-- a motley ugly bunch of some of the most interesting people I've met, though we all tend to be a bit flat, character-wise. Suitable for a walk-on role in a novel, but mostly one-dimensional. Past the mechanical use in a scene, there isn't much there to fill things out. If I were to write about them, which (come to think of it) I probably will next November (NaNoWriMo, again, with the novel I thought I'd be writing this year.), then a few sentences would be sufficient to give you a handle on each, and with only a very few exceptions, would also be sufficient to describe the whole of the character.

Note the use of the word character rather than Person. These are all people, real folks with lives and histories and problems, successes and failures, loves and losses and regrets. But you never meet the people. We wear our masks. You meet the persona-- the real person hides. (this may be related to the phenomenon of dark bars; we're not suppose to recognise, or acknowledge that we recognise each other if we ever meet in the light of day)
(phenomenon. du doo di du do)

So despite the passionate words and best intentions I find myself returning to the site of past ignominies and giving yet more money to an asshole I don't like because he happens to run exactly my kind of establishment. And I can smoke. And they have Guinness on draught.

(“damn you! Kryptonite! And in my favourite flavours!”)

At least I get to see some old friends and valued acquaintances (bartenders and regulars; the rules of the bar means we're all friends while under the gauzy veil of alcohol's influence, but can someone be a real friend if you only see them in a bar?) And while the politics behind the bar haven't changed, at least when I see that bitch the lady bartender who got my friend fired, I can pointedly turn around and leave. It's not the bar's fault that she works there.

Verizon is buying MCI. Clear Channel already bought all the radio stations and concert venues. Even the New York Stock Exchange is merging.
The problem with most mergers (in my mind) is that bigger isn't always better, even if it looks perfectly good on paper. Vertical integration (whereby you control all aspects of production, say, from rubber plantation to raw latex processing to rubber production to whatever funky machine makes rubber bands) only works when you know that you'll be able to reduce costs, or when the extra expense is worthwhile because you'd prefer guaranteed supplies. Horizontal integration (with the rubber analogy: snapping up companies willy-nilly that make rubber bands, erasers, tires, latex gloves, gaskets, tennis balls-- anything with rubber in it) might seem to be a good idea, but you run into the problem of false synergies.

I call this the breakfast problem.

Executive X: “We make orange juice. Obviously, most OJ is consumed for breakfast. I propose that we leverage our position in the breakfast market by acquiring other segment players.”
Executive Y: “Good call, Xavier. This seems obvious now that you mention it. What do you think, sir?”
Big Boss: “Hm. Perhaps. Let's expand on that.”
X. “Pop tarts. While we could try to enter the market ourselves, I think it would be better to buy out an established brand, and if we don't want to run a bakery, we could just spin off the manufacturing and then outsource our supply while pushing the brand name heavily with a new marketing campaign so that any variation in taste from the different supply-side factors is overweighed by new and 'extreme' flavors, overall public perception that the product is 'new and improved', and new customers brought into the brand family who wouldn't notice a taste difference anyway.”
BB. “Good. Toaster Pastries. Next.”
Y: “um. Cereal, sir? Perhaps we could find a vulnerable target that makes both pastries and cereal, with established brands across the spectrum. Pancakes & waffles, too. We should find a packaged food manufacturer with a strong overall breakfast presence.”
BB. “Good. Noted; we'll make that R&D's new problem. Next.”
X: “Eggs, sir.”
Y: “...and bacon.”
X: “Right, can't forget the bacon. We should start assembling regional suppliers to tackle what I call 'the plate problem'. While it will be slow going, I think if we try it in a couple of test markets, we'll find that these agricultural lines are going to mesh well with our core business. After all: eggs, bacon, these come from farms. We operate a number of orange tree farms already.”
Y: “Trees, livestock, it's all just farming, sir. Easy”
BB. “OK. Write that one up and send it to our Agri manager. It's his headache now. Next.”
X: “Newspapers, sir. We won't truly have a lifetime customer until we control the whole 'morning experience'. Breakfast for many includes sitting down and reading the morning paper.”
Y: “Oh, and toast. If we're looking to be #1 in breakfast, we'll need toast.”
BB: “You're falling behind, Yancy. We've moved past just breakfast now. Tell me, Xavier, how do we become indispensable to morning?”
X: “We look past orange juice to become a 'lifestyle' company. Breakfast, the morning paper, segments placed on morning TV shows, or even our own syndicated TV show at some point, alarm clocks, bath and shower, grooming supplies; and Yancy's right, sir, eventually we will move into small appliances like toasters.”
Y: “And we'll already have the bagels and waffles to put in 'em, sir”
X: “I envision a day when OJ will be the only way to wake up in the morning”
BB. “Excellent! I like it! Write up a five and ten year plan, call our M&A department, get them on the same page.”

The problem with language is that sometimes it is too flexible. While it is possible to make an argument that things are similar (and in business speak, that things that might be very different are in fact part of the same 'core' business) you can paint yourself into some very strange corners this way.

The Breakfast Problem (and the moral of the little story above) is that while people take showers in the morning, and eat toast in the morning, that does not mean one should install a toaster above the soap dish. It makes sense to anyone outside of mergers and acquisitions.

Real life example: AOL & Time Warner. Sure, Xavier and Yancy talked somebody into thinking that was a good idea, but we can all see how that turned out. Media companies are acting like orange farmers, buying everything in sight to “leverage our position,etc.etc.” when all the consumer wants is a glass of juice.

(I'll poke at Hollywood next)

other takes on it:
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New Rule. Indeed, new Bar Rule #1.

No one gets to block the bathroom. I don't care-- there's no where else to stand, she's a supermodel, and you're a schlub who's 30 lbs. overweight; This is the best thing you're ever going to luck into-- Doesn't matter. Move it, schlub.

No one gets to block the only route to the toilet. Even over “tip your servers” this is now Rule #1.

For those of you just tuning in (or not paying attention) I happen to run a music department at a major-chain-bookstore. (It is a small kingdom, but it is mine.) I get exposed to a lot of different things. Here, have some, I feel like sharing.

“Eclectic” isn't going to begin to cover this.


Music Recommendations:
(for the holidays, for gifts, for yourself. Look, how often is someone going to hand you 20-some-odd tried-and-tested CD recommendations? Don't give me grief yet, I'm tryin' to help here.)


Sigur Ros – Agaetis Byrjun
Bonus Features: Unpronounceable song titles! Liner notes in Icelandic!
Pile on: they have three other albums out (Agaetis isn't the most recent, even)

Icelandic down-tempo ambient europop. Or some such; I'd say it's difficult (nigh impossible) to actually describe Sigur Ros to someone who may not have heard it. Weird, but good; but also, did I mention down-tempo? You can't dance to it. I'm sure the band was featured in the soundtrack to something, but I missed it so I couldn't say what.

Imagine a foreign black-and-white student art film where they do funky stuff with death imagery, tasteful nudity, and the contents of a local antique store, while alternating filming sites between a temperate rainforest and a desolate abandoned industrial park. Got a mental image? Good. This is, in fact, in no way helpful for describing the music, I was just trying to think of something equally weird to give you a baseline for comparison.

A few tracks are achingly beautiful in a way that only singing in a foreign language can be. Is it longing? Is it grief? It reaches beyond lyrics and language to tap emotions directly. I won't say it fades into the background, but much like some classical or jazz music it doesn't intrude on your top-level-thinking.


John Elias – the Prayer Cycle.
Bonus Features: All the fun of amateur opera, only with rock stars!
Pile on: Roger Waters or Elvis Costello

All this stuff will be classical someday. In fact, we may want to split a few hairs and start calling the genre orchestral rather than classical, especially as jazz starts to age gracefully. (Ellington may one day be a name in chamber music to rival Strauss or Handel)

The Prayer Cycle is a choral work pulling together great voices (from Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan to Linda Ronstadt to unexpectedly-good-for-this-application-Alanis Morrisette) and tasking them with an eligaic choral work to lament the costs and carnage of war. The result is both excellent and also surprisingly uplifting, even if you aren't a classical music fan.


Beat this! The best of the Beat
Bonus Features: Snarl and swagger and 80s vintage politics.
Pile on: Madness, Skatellites, Save Ferris, etc.

There are a couple of reviews if you click the link. If horn lines and guitar-twang-on-the-off-beat are your kind of thing, then this one is worth a listen. I like the most recent wave of ska-revivalist better, but it's worth your time to go back and hear other interpretations of the mode.


Joshua Bell, et. al. - Short Trip Home
Bonus Features: It's a great conversation piece: “Oh, that. Yeah, I stumbled across that after watching Appalachian Journey on PBS and doing a bit of research...” It doesn't have to be the truth; you can fake it, I'm sure.
Pile on: Edgar Meyer with either Bela Fleck or Yo Yo Ma

The glib one-off description of this would be “classical grass” but the execution is so much better than that. Either for the classical music fan who has everything, or for the bluegrass affeccionado who is stuck in the Flatt & Scruggs era and needs to be shaken loose. O Brother meets the London Philharmonic. (that's not an exact analogy, but then again, quick: name a commonly known chamber music ensemble. Yeah. Let's go with the london phil. on that one, k?)


Try! John Mayer Trio Live in Concert.
Bonus Features: Flimsy cardboard sleeve instead of a plastic case. Is the record company admitting that most toss out the plastic case in favour of massive CD albums, or encouraging the few left to go out and buy one?
Pile on: If this is your first intro to Blues-inflected rock, then I'm sorry, you've got about 50 years of music history to catch up on.

You know, I won't even bother to sell you on this one. If you're a fan, you own it. If you hadn't heard, John got tired of the mellow-guitar-guy shtick, found a rhythm section, plugged in and started to rock. (it may be the most important shift since Dylan went electric) (or not. c'mom. But still, if you wrote him off before-- this is different)


Celtic Circle 1 & 2
Bonus Features: Well known names like Sarah Mclachlan, the Corrs, and Bono to ease the entry into lesser known waters.
Pile on: Celtic Ragas, Celtic Woman, Celtic Requiem, and others; I've got a whole shelf-full of this Celtic crap in the store, ya know.

If the last time you checked into this end of the New Age/World Music waters was an Enya greatest hits album, then maybe you should take another listen-- perhaps not for yourself, but I'm sure you have a relative hanging around somewhere in the ol' family tree that will go ape over this stuff. U2's Bono gives the first set a bit of Pop/Rock cred, while the second pulls from movie soundtracks (LoTR, obviously, but also Titanic and Gladiator of all things) as an incentive.

And if you like Enya, then this is definitely worth a listen.


Sound of the World
Bonus Features: six continents, no waiting. Gillett takes the hard work out of finding new music from unlikely sources.
Pile on: Six Degrees or Putumayo

(mentioned previously)
A compilation from BBC DJ Charlie Gillett featuring the best stuff to cross his headphones in the past year. (apparently he does one of these each year but a casual search hasn't turned up others yet, and I'll finish digesting this one before I move on to a more serious search) Another one of those maybe-not-for-you-but-you-know-somebody gift ideas, though I might recommend something like this to a first-timer who hasn't even heard of Mali, let alone the musical scene there. This is so broad a selection that it defies any easy categorization, lets just say there's something here for everyone.


Ryan Adams - Cold Roses
Bonus Features: Ryan's going to be one hell of a Behind the Music someday.
Pile on: Check both Ryan's output, as well as that of his old band Whiskeytown. Ryan Adams and the Cardinals newest album is Jacksonville City Nights

Back in the 70s, there was a movement blending rock back into it's southern roots, from Allman Brothers to CCR to Charlie Daniels. While Ryan may or may not be a direct descendant of the early seventies southern rock, he is there in spirit, and may be at his best when falling back on his North Carolina roots instead of reaching for rock and roll stardom.


Pink Martini – Sympathique and Hang On Little Tomato
Bonus features: ...and you thought lounge music was dead. You've been hanging in the wrong lounges, apparently. (and we're not talking Bill Murray here.) (”Star Wars... nothing but Star Wars...”)
Pile On: Paris Combo or Ultra Lounge

Jazz never sounded more Muzak. But I mean that in a good way. If your grandma has even an ounce of boogie left, this might be her introduction to a whole new type of music. When someone comes into the store looking for “you know, hip background music for this cocktail party I'm hosting” then I usually steer them toward Pink Martini or Paris Combo. “Hip background music” is a great way to describe it, actually.


Youngblood Brass Band – Center. Level. Roar.
Bonus features: Tuba. Oh, yeah.
Pile On: Dirty Dozen and Afroskull

This. Shit. Will. Rock. Your. Face. Off.
Not that it “rocks”, per se. It is a funk groove more than a rock thing. But the expression “rock your face off” is more evocative, and of course perhaps better known than any George-Clinton-ism I might invoke to express the same sentiment. This is high school band music on meth, acid, ecstasy and special K. This is the sort of music that speaks to my soul, and makes me wish I had stuck with the ol' Bari Sax for that 13th year. Or practiced more. Or something-- this is what I would play if I were about a thousand times better-- I want to, but I know that I have not the mad horn skillz to do so. Still, I recognise genius when I hear it.
Good, good stuff. And DD and Afroskull are good, good stuff too.


Addendum:
Q: ”hey, what's up with the corporate shill links?”
A: I might have mentioned that I work for a large bookstore chain. by now, you'll know which.
”yeah, but I can find it cheaper at...”
then go find it. Jackass. But that doesn't contribute to my 401(k), now does it? And, honestly, what's 50 or 60 cents, if you can source them all from one warehouse? Have you given my [kind] [gentle] [redacted] employer a fair shake yet?

(It's not the comprehensive crap I did last year, but we'll call it a review anyway.)

This past year, I'd have to say I'm moving away from a 'journal' toward what might be called journalism. Over time, and with a certain amount of repetition, I might even get to the point where the regular blog features are, in fact, regular:

Bar Reviews & Field Reports
Web Trawls
Music Recs.
Fiction

This is how the blog is shaping up. As to which features are popular, or easiest to actually write, or eventually regularly updated, only time will tell. (if you had any requests, this would be the time to make them)

And a quick survey of past entries... nah, I don't have time for that tonight. A vague recollection of past entries would also suggest some additional 'regular' features, like blue-collar wine tasting notes (or beer reviews-- same thing, different beverage) ("this is a lovely beverage, what do you call it? Ah yes, beer. I believe I will have more of this what-you-call-beer. what a quaint establishment, too. you may do well, dear sir. ")

Unfortunately, deadlines have never held any peril for me. Even if I were to establish a schedule, I'd only be able to keep it for, say, a single day. We'd be falling behind after that. yeah. well. about that...

Irregular regular features. The only thing I plan for the upcoming, um, decade is a regular daily post. I suppose that for vacations and the like (if I plan to stay away from the keyboard, which gets more and more difficult each day. I'm addicted) I'll need to set up time-delayed posts to keep up the general level of bullshit verbiage around here. My so-called buffer file may in fact become an actual buffer. If I don't care about topic, or content, or revealing personal detail that (to be honest) should probably worry me if I stopped to think on it, then at this point the buffer I currently have would buy me 11 days.

I'm sure I can think of something else to say. write. whatever. No need to dip into that well yet.

(I'd be willing to make a bet on the daily updates, actually. Similar to the daily grind webcomic contest, except it's so much easier to bullshit for a blog, as opposed to drawing art. or even drawing 'art'. (some webcomics are excellent, others... but still, mad props to those who create. You're better than me, I'll admit, no matter the standards we'd use to judge)

A couple of years ago, I started keeping a web log just to keep my friends apprised of my schedule changes and bar trivia outings. It's been a weird series of permutations that have brought us to this point.

A couple years hence... who knows? We'll see what happens.

Can I claim political asylum in another country (Ireland leaps immediately to mind, though NZ would be nice too) because I feel that as a thinking, feeling human being that there is absolutely no representation for me or my kind in the current government and that for the foreseable future, there is no hope for any of us?

(I have no respect left for any of them: the executive branch, congress, the major parties-- or any current 'third' party-- or even the judiciary: now slightly broken and still eroding)

I am a hostage to the whims of idiots. I am a heretic because I choose to question rather than swallow the pablum fed to me. I am a traitor because I disagree.

Hell, if they're going to treat me like a dissident, I should get some recognition of my status.

Of course the 'they' obliquily referenced above is not a major government conspiracy (yet. I don't think. Where's my tin foil hat?) but instead just a loose cadre of normal blathering idiots. So many folks out there are set in their mindsets, so much so that even the truth won't shake them. They selectively watch and read (if they read) and only acknowledge those points that they agree with, and kind of shrug off everything else. And they practically froth at the mouth when you can show them they are wrong, because they would rather watch opinion-presented-as-news (Bill O'Reilly is a fiction author after all) and believe in a mythic 50s America that never existed.

History. Learn it. Your whitebread, Ward-and-June, everything-is-perfect kind of country never was, so there is nothing to return to.

but enough about that. It does no good to rant to people who probably agree with me, and those who disagree will tune me out just like they tune out the news stories that challenge their world view.

In the meantime, I'll be saving my euros and learning Gaelic. I predict a wave of emmigration in the next half century, and if you want to call us rats for leaving a sinking ship, that may make you feel better but won't stop the ship from sinking.

After skipping the regular daily updates (like that was going to last more than a week) and also posting craptastic lackluster entries when I did update, I would now like to make it up to my regular readers (um. reader.) by posting some more fiction.

just not today. Today I have been busy. Yeah. Really busy. Yeah, that's why I haven't been updating.

...

I didn't think you guys would buy that. But I thought I'd say it anyway.

...but no free beer today. In keeping with the bait-and-switch total tease factor of that hoary old saying: Guess what?

no fiction today.

This morning I woke up, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

I had stuff to do, unfortunately, so I (skipping a couple steps) got into my car and drove it to the mechanic. It's only a mile, a mile and a half up the street. I figured I could walk back. I should have checked the weather. It's about 36 degrees out right now here in Atlanta (Marietta, whichever. Urban Fringe, Atlanta, GA. Exact GPS coordinates wouldn't be helpful-- 36 degrees) and it's raining. Lovely.

I'm dressed for the cold, but not the wet. My mother is twitching somewhere; she doesn't know why but it's because her baby boy left the house without a hat or scarf. I could really have used a hat.

Fortunately for me about two thirds of the way back from the mechanic there is a lovely bar with nice warm pizza and nice cold drafts. I didn't need to spend the extra $25 bucks today, but I ain't complaining. Mellow Mushroom doesn't have wifi (free or otherwise) so after a nice long lunch I had to hoof it another 100 yards or so to the local 'Bou for the not-really-necessary coffee (iced coffee; I'm a nut) and-also-the-rather-vital internet access.

In between beers 2 and 3 (and in the middle of a nice calzone) I talk to the mechanic on my mobile about what's wrong with the long suffering beast. Timing belt, water pump, radiator, brakes (I'm surprised it runs)-- needless to say, I can't afford this right now. Actually, I can't afford more than an oil change. I had hoped to get the timing belt replaced this afternoon, but it turns out that's going to be the more expensive chunk.

I'll see if I can get by with the aforementioned oil change, and hope that that plus fixing the fuel problem I had last month will be enough to get me through emissions inspection.

In the meantime... Well, the car runs. Enough for back and forth to work anyway. If I can stop that drunken bastard from blowing all my paychecks on beer (oh, wait. that's me...) then in January I can probably work out the repairs, and their payment.

--
completely from left field: Listen to the #9 track on radio free bender: a sax trio, Tokyo-chutei-iki. That guy laying into the bass notes, yeah, that's the stuff. That's a Bari Sax, my own hunk of pipe. (when it isn't in the pawn shop.) (oh shit. that reminds me...)

You might not realize, even if you met me in person, that I am shy. Almost painfully shy. I can even be in a room full of my friends, and sit and laugh and listen, and in my own way participate-- without saying a word for hours. And that's with my friends.

I don't react well to new people. I seldom make a good first impression. Blind dates (any kind of dates, usually) just suck.

But I've been this way for 10π years. I've learned my own limits, and how to deal with them, how to go past my comfort zone, to work around my own limitations if I can't overcome them.

I am a high-functioning introvert. I have to be; I work retail. Not interacting with customers (or co-workers for that matter) isn't an option. I smile. I chat. I go out and I can be a people person for 8 ½ hours.

And it leaves me drained. Some folks go nuts if forced to spend too much time alone. I go nuts unless I have a fair amount of time to myself. Time to recharge. Time to reflect. Time away from all you [expletive] people.

It's not that I hate people. Or that I'm phobic. But I can be extremely, uncomfortable in large crowds. I can find the company of others very tiring, not in a "oh my god you're boring" kind of way (not all the time) but in a having-to-run-a-marathon kind of way.

I get very possesive of my days off. Friends and family don't understand, really, they think I'm being distant. Or that I don't like them. Or that I'm weird.

Well, screw that. Yes, I'm a selfish bastard. I just want some time to myself. You're not going to understand, and I'm tired of making excuses.

Just leave me alone. Please. For a little while.

Happy Holidays, via PVP

It's a comic strip, an yeah, that about sums up my feelings on this whole mess too.

If it's cough or cold related, then in the past five days, I think I've had it. Whenever I get 'better', that is to say, whenever one symptom disappears-- something else pops up to takes its place.

I went home from work early yesterday, and slept. That seemed to help the fever and the sinus congestion, but of course now I have a runny nose instead. The deathly-sounding cough from Saturday is now a dry, rasping thing, but seems to creep in anytime I open my mouth to talk, rather then just attacking me hourly with a wracking coughing fit.

I'd be using sick leave, if it weren't the 19th. (only 5 shopping days left)

There is no point to this entry. Just me complaining.

(covering my ass: all brand names are the property of their respective owners, etc. etc. and my own experiences are apocryphal, etc. etc. and yeah, it shouldn't work this way but it did, so deal. And don't sue me.)

I don't know what line the pharmas are currently feeding us about OTC medicine, but I have a suspicion that much of the effectiveness of some medication relies on the placebo effect; and other factors.

Namely: Alcohol. Let's take a look at cough syrup. I have no idea what's in that stuff, but it tastes like schnapps to me. (Actually, it tastes like Jager. I hate Jagermeister.) And I have had the opportunity over the past few days to objectively compare the effects of a variety of remedies as it relates to this latest very tenacious head cold.

Best results so far? Any guesses?
Chicken soup and bed rest. Yep. Mom was right.

2nd best: A shot of cough medicine, or 5 beers.
Yep.
It would seem that the two have roughly equivalent effects. “drink plenty of fluids” and all that; apparently some of those fluids can be beer flavoured. I have no idea what mechanism may be acting in this case (is it just a matter of drinking something cooling to soothe the throat?) but I got the same sort of cough-suppressing-action out of Budweiser Select as I did out of Vicks 44.

3rd best, with reservations: The blue demon.
Actually, Nyquil is the shit, and it will take your cold and deal it a WWE style smackdown, blasting it back to last Wednesday with extreme prejudice. And Nyquil can be fun in it's own way (ref: Lewis Black & his standup routine on the subject) but to me, it is all a bit much to take, just for the sake of a cold. I'd rather suffer, than dabble in the gauzy world of Nyquil and it's blue-tinted-dreams. Some of the weirdest shit I ever had cross my neurons came after taking a shot of the blue evil just to overcome a cold.

Eat your vitamin C. If you do get a cold, go the chicken soup route. Unless you're running a fever, give the medication a pass. I can't say that it helps. Though-- if you want to give the six-pack a try, well, you may be pleasantly surprised.

Personally, I have found very few head colds that have managed to survive a concerted attack of beer and hot wings. (a good plate of hot wings is the best decongestant ever.)

I took a small risk, and drove my ailing car 60 some odd miles today. There are reasons...

Number one, and merry christmas, My parents are going to help me out with a large chunk of the repair costs-- whatever that final number turns out to be. And they happen to know a mechanic who specializes in Toyotas, and who comes highly recommended. The problem is that said mechanic is on the south side of town (well, so are my parents) and I live on the northwest side.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Atlanta area, a small geography lesson may be in order: first, Atlanta is an inland city with no major river. There are no nearby mountains. There aren't any other major population centres nearby. So without the restrictions placed on land development by coasts, rivers, mountains, or neighbours, Atlanta can sprawl around as much as it likes. The metro area is somewhere around 100 miles in diameter by this point (depending on how you define it) and so two folks who happen to live in "Atlanta" may in fact be further apart than New York and Boston. (not that folks in the suburbs think that way. Very few would identify themselves as Atlantan unless they're talking to someone from out of town, or they happen to be a major rap act.) (Go figure.)

Anyway... from my front door, to Mum & Dad's, is 52 miles, and then we tack on a few more to get it from here to the mechanic.

Hopefully we'll get good news and the car is in fact repairable, and worth repairing. It's a Toyota. I should be able to put another 120K miles on it easy. For now, I'm just waiting on the diagnosis, prognosis, and financial analysis.

In other news. Well, I happen to be typing this from the kitchen table in my parent's house. Dad has WiFi. Cool Beans. Dinner is cooking, and at this stressful time of year (at work) it's nice to just spend time with the family.

[cue music]
[and dim the house lights, and now, bring up the stage lights...]
[5, 4, 3, ... ...]

Hey, thanks for coming to our Man of the Year awards show
I caught that look, Miss Nesbit. I'm reading off the script here-- there is no male chauvinist conspiracy...

look, we're getting off point.
...and now, after reviewing many qualified applicants, the judges are finally ready to name the Man of the Year!
[kill lights & music. drumroll, and... silence for two beats. Spotlight on the Prof, and]

we'd like to present our Hemingway Award to a man all of us admire, if only because he had one of those only-when-you're-drunk-moments, an idea that balances genius, madness, and idiocy, and then had the balls to follow through on this plan anyway.

His pseudonym says it all, I think: Bar Man, we salute you. His goal was to visit 1000 bars in one year, and to have at least one drink in each. He's almost there. Even though as of today, he is seven bars short of the goal, we felt it was approriate to honor the man now so that everyone would be able to cheer him on as he enters the home stretch.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen and
*applause*

...look am I done yet?
[yeah, Prof. Thanks for filling in.]
what happened to the regular guy?
[he's still out sick. And cue closing music... and fork this sucker, Prof.]

Good night everyone! tune in next year!
*applause*

I go away for a few days and folks are metaphorically banging down the doors to get in here. #1 keyword from search engines: Jagermeister. (at least one search was 'jagermeister + colds', so I'm not the only one who has noticed the similarities to cough syrup.)

So, talk about everyone's favourite liqueur, and you get hits. Actually, there have also been a non-trivial number of folks the past couple of months searching for info on Robbie Fulks & Jonathan Coulton. Since it's been a couple of months and these entries have faded into the archives, I'll make it easier on you by pointing out the original entries for Fulks (Dancing Queen), Coulton (Baby Got Back), as well as Richard Thompson (covering Britney's Oops)...

And one more. Paul Kelly, who does a lovely little song that is part travelogue and part love story (hate story?) that was previously uploaded to Radio Free Bender, only without comment. So now I'm commenting on it. And while I'm at it, I'll thin the playlist a little, and reorder it so those 4 tracks kick the whole thing off.

Done, and done.

Actually, this entry was just going to be a place holder, with maybe a mention of an article over on the Left Coaster about the failing retail holiday season. (you might guess, the Left Coaster has a liberal bent. Still, he does a much better job than most bloggers, like... um... me, in that he researches and annotates his diatribes, with links to appropriate sources.) Eh, it's worth a read if you have a half hour.--

off point again. I do that a lot... "this entry was just going to be a place holder"--
because I'm thinking of a series of posts on the writing process, starting this afternoon (I'll start this afternoon, though it may not post until later). Something along the lines of, "how to write 400 pages without having a submittable manuscript" or some such.

Though, saying that I actually have a thesis and an argument would be giving the proposed article (and me) too much credit. (referring to it as an 'article' or a 'series' may in fact be giving it too much credit.)

I'll be skipping the usual outlining-and-drafting process, at least for the duration of the exercise, and instead tackle the Damn Novel in a series of open letters, written to myself and in the typical conversational style of this journal, though of course open for commentary by others and perhaps subject to later editing, though it may be best to treat each as a separate capsule, time-and-context specific, and save after-thoughts on the subject as the basis for their own, later entries.

so, you know, I have that going for me.

Money is tight for the nonce, but I should see a nice paycheck a couple of weeks down the road from all this holiday stuff. So, no fun bar field trips any time soon, but I should have something to say along those lines as well as we move into the new year. I may even get around to writing new bar reviews. (because I haven't done one of those for six months or more)

There was something else I meant to say... can't think of it. (just as well. this has gotten fairly long for what was going to be a quick 5-min. update.) (some days you just can't shut me up)

I think I might have mentioned before, obliquely, that writing Fantasy is no walk in the park. There are certain expectations that have been foisted on aspiring novelists by, among others, a Old English scholar at Oxford who invented three 'ancient' languages just for fun, a company using a staff of writers (and countless fans) to build massive detailed worlds, that Scottish chick (my apologies, sensei Rowling), and in terms of sheer volume, at least three guys who just can't shut up. (Damn you, Robert Jordan! Would you finish writing that damn thing already? We can tell you're just milking it now. We want closure, not three more hardcovers.)

Aside from the benchmarks set by those-who-have-gone-before, there is also the desire among most (all?) aspirants, to write something new. The ambition to be the next big thing.

Of course, I might argue that there is nothing new in fantasy. The best of the genre rely on mining and recycling the mythic traditions of our past, maybe adding an extra letter to things like ghoblins and orcks, and then putting some hapless (young, fresh from the farm, inexperienced but with great potential) hero or heroine into the standard saving-the-world plot structure

“Here's the standard contract; sign here, and here, and initial here. Great! Now, per the terms, you have to meet up with the other parties to the contract, as specified in paragraph XIV: those who fill the roles of the old guy, the big guy, the dark guy, and the sidekick. You'll also need to collect at least eight plot coupons and the Magic Item(tm), and then you'll be eligible to participate in the Final Battle(tm) and have a chance at Happy Ever After(tm). It's the standard fame-and-fortune boilerplate. Remember, if you have any questions, you can call our support department from your local oracle, and Good Luck! We'll extract our fee after you succeed, or in 90 days, whichever comes first.”
[beat]
“Oh, didn't I mention our fee?” [evil chuckle]

(Has anyone written that one yet? Maybe I should go register orcks and ghoblins right now.)

Folks want exactly the same stuff, only different, and this paradox is the basic problem of many creative endeavours. I have to be cognizant not only of the canonical works of fantasy, but also a variety of myths and legends, and maybe a smattering of religion and philosophy besides. Of course, it might be easier to just write a baldly derivative work (I'm not going to mention Shannara here... oops.) or write to spec for one of Wizards/TSR's intellectual properties, but the urge to write also includes the urge to write something new. Of course, the novelty-aspect of the novel isn't the only problem.

One of the biggest problems is that a novel is a big problem. Epic fantasy is supposed to be Epic. Large scale, large worlds, a cast of thousands and multiple volumes. Life and death, good and evil; big issue stuff. I like epic fantasy, or at least I like reading it, but I have to wonder if my own talents ("ha! he thinks he has talent!") lend themselves to an epic work.

I will go into some of the other aspects of fantasy writing later, tackling issues (magic, monsters, healing, travel, etc.) as I think of them. For now... eh, maybe it's time to share a little. Want to see inside my notes? Well, for the purposes of this exercise I'll assume you just said yes. [no comments from the peanut gallery]

There's the map that I'm working on. Gotta have a map. Just wouldn't be epic fantasy without a map on page iv.


[click here for larger map goodness]
This is a work in progess. Alinth is still labelled as Mithri, for example, even though I changed that elsewhere in my notes ages ago.

##

Along with the map I have a city database (a 6 page Excel file), another file with all the city descriptions (roughly 50 pages of text), and some other odds and ends with some fairly basic outlines of cultural and regional notes (at least 9 separate files; who knows how many pages). These are all symptoms of what has been called “world builder syndrome”, where one becomes so enamoured of the fantasy world that one forgets to write the fantasy novel. Yeah, I've got a touch of that.

Speaking of Alinth:
A sample--

Alinth
The Old Capital, Centre of the Imperium
Location: The best deepwater harbour to be found in the west, on the north coast of the Meno Peninsula, south of the Sea of Velarchi, grid x3.2 y 4.1
Population: 425000, excluding suburbs
NDF: original. [NDF is an in house abbreviation for 'name derived from'. Some place names I borrowed from historical sources]
Once known as the Grand Capital, back when there was only one city big enough to merit the name, back when saying “capital’ without a referent always meant the capital of the Imperium, Alinth is now showing its age. Now, it is called the Old Capital, though no one city dares claim (openly) to be the new capital city of the empire. Alinth is home to a corrupt senate for a rotting empire, the full extent of her borders only a fiction politicians tell each other to justify their positions and their excessive wealth. Even though it is the heart of a rotten fruit, Alinth is still the largest city in the world, and all roads, ships, and stories eventually make their way here. Even stripped of many of the trappings of Empire, Alinth is still a beautiful city, some say made even more beautiful by the ruins and untended gardens, the crumbling old manor houses and estates, the ancient landmarks and public works, some so old the original names have weathered from both stone and memory. Wealth still flows into the city, impressive at even a fraction of it's historic value (“They collect gold like a crypt collects dust’) and that wealth brings a vibrancy of life that even the weight of time cannot dim. As long as there is trade (and there will always be trade) Alinth will get by. Alinth has not had an emperor in centuries, as men of power have found it is best to rule from behind the scenes. The Old Capital is ruled directly by the senate, and the rest of the empire is under the rule of various governors, consuls, and bureaucrats, all of whom derive their ultimate authority from the senate. Some Imperial cities are ruled by governors who style themselves “Princes”, but even if one of these “princes” can trace the origin of his office back through his family for generations, that is no guarantee that he and his sons will continue to hold that position forever. All rulers in the confines of the old Imperium are subject to recall at the whim of the senate, and the force of the arms that can still be brought to bear against the senate’s enemies. “The Bear is sleeping, not dead,” as the old proverb goes, and it is best not to provoke him. (Note: all three of the Splinters are ruled by men claiming to be Princes, and part of the struggle to control provinces and cities is to guarantee their position, and eventually claim the Old Capital and the empty throne.)

##

Then there's the character database, which honestly, should be bigger. Or smaller. Or something. (40-odd characters with a write-up, though only 8 or so that have been fully fleshed out. And an odd amalgam from mostly-web-resources that amount to another 6700 'blank' names, give or take. There may be a some duplicates. Hey, you never know when you're going to need 11 character names that all start with Z.) (I've got 140)

sample (a minor character):
Annis
the braggart and bluff, the master of her own (small) domain.
Annis. The cutpurse. A street urchin type, with a slight criminal bent. Meets the party literally by having her hand in someone's pocket, she bulls her way into a paycheck by claiming to be a mercenary -- she says she is an expert fencer and wears the long-and-short blades of standard Amphital style; her natural grace as a dancer lets her carry it off for a while, but later is found out as a fraud and con. Instead of terminating her employment, Trey takes up the matter of her training, forcing her to use the blades she first took up as mere props. Silva obviously gravitates to Annis, seeing a younger version of herself, but Annis sees Silva as competition for the affections of others (even with Silva's current involvement with Ansdahl and history with Rendast).
Annis has deep brown eyes and blonde hair, though she always wears her hair up and hidden, with any number of different scarves and floppy hats, and the colour of her hair will come as a surprise to anyone who sees it for the first time. She is only 15, though she has the height most girls pick up at a young age, so easily passes for several years beyond that. She is slim in the way only someone who spent many years half-starving can be.
Annis dresses in a boyish fashion, both for ease of movement and because she hates the vapid young things that wear frilly dresses and other baubles. However, she herself is not adverse to looking nice when the opportunities present themselves. Between her clothes, and the way she hides her hair, she is much less attractive than she could be if she tried. Part of this is a disguise; one season she pretended to be a pretty young courtesan-in-training to prey on richer targets, at social balls and other functions. She dare not be recognized on the street, or her cover would be blown.
Annis is quite pretty, and old enough to be a real problem in the usual party dynamic -- she is a major temptation to any guy of any age: young, attractive, with a rough façade that hides a true innocence. She's not sure what (or who) she wants, but she does enjoy the attention. Eventually she will get more "attention" than she can handle, if she's not careful.

##

Then I've got plot notes. Which while sizeable, seem pretty anaemic compared to the rest of it. (about 30 pages)

And then, there are all the false starts. A lot of first chapters, and a couple of hundred-page efforts that made it past the first chapter but still didn't seem to go anywhere. (I call it the Damn Novel, remember? A millstone round my neck.) (an exact page count here would be depressing-- is it wasted effort? What can be salvaged?)

What does it add up to? Well, about 80 some odd files, or about 19 megs. It's not so much, really, the map files take up about 70% of that. (non-compressed images, i.e. anything that isn't a jpg, tend to be fairly large) And MS office files aren't known for being compact; I'm not sure what volume of verbiage is actually contained in 5+ megs that are a mix of Word and Excel files. But it will take you a while to read it all, I can tell you that.

And there's nothing that could be called a definitive outline. No clear line from chapter-one-to-final-chapter-and-ending. There is still a large grey area that should be the middle of my novel (or volume 2) (or volumes 2-5) (just how big should my story be?) -- assuming that I will stick with these characters, and this particular tale. Oh, I know I love this little world I've built. The lovely map, the places I've dreamed up, the big-picture-politics and potential-end-of-the-world that lie just under the surface of each of the false starts and partial tellings.

But can I write a story that brings the epic struggle back down to a human scale?