Okay, I admit it's more than a bit hackneyed to use a line from a overplayed 70's radio hit as one's blog-post title, but that's about all I could muster up this time.
To quote myself: "Oh. My. God. I'm tired." This particular census operation has proved to be mentally draining and even physically a bit brutal. In the past week, I've fallen asleep on the couch, while in the middle of a conversation with my girl; on my 'perch' on the porch - where I try to write, blog, tweet (or - shameless admission: play vast amounts of online RPGs if the muse - that bitch - hasn't struck me); and, last night, in the living room floor while playing with the dog.
I sound pathetic, I sound weak, and yes, I sound old.
I discovered about half an hour ago that it has been a week since I'd even glanced at this thing. I slept in today, and I'm still tired enough that I still haven't quite seemed to grasp the absence of it. Hm. Bad sentence, that. In other words I wasn't even aware that I'd missed it, because I didn't realize that I hadn't been there.
Still not much better. Oh, well. That's about the speed my cortex is functioning at.
I've missed two meetings of my writers' group because of this operation; I simply don't have the energy to consider driving into the North County right now. Frankly, I'm afraid of passing out while driving. As both the dog and my girl know...it could happen.
As of the end of the past month, I also missed a chance to submit my short story, A Chilling Wind (shamless plug - the link is here) to the "Writers of the Future" contest. I'd decided it was good enough to submit something for the first time, but now I'm going to have to wait several months to try again.
On the other hand, I've decided to step back and do a "reconceptualization" of The Wyrd Magnet - which might start showing up in a month or two. I've also worked out some of the kinks of another previously-mentioned short story, "Shooting Pool." And I've come up with something quite out there - something unlike anything else I've ever written. It's called "Dead Beld," and I'm feeling pretty strong about it. Tonight, I'm going to start working on it.
No, I haven't forgotten about Heroes... It's my pride and joy, but right now, my brain needs an injection of something else. I've decided to give it that.
Yes, my time seems to be slipping, slipping, slipping into the future, but at least it seems to me that it's not going away quietly.
Later, y'all.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
A Bit of Wit From Days of Yore (or Yellow Cab Role Reversal)
I went to dinner tonight with my girl and a friend of hers. Whilst munching on a lovely roast pork-and-green chili burrito, my girl enticed me to tell a story or two (or several, lets be honest) about some of my 'stories.'
These are not the things I write; these are the ones I collect. I'm a firm, firm believer in talking with - and listening to - as many people as possible. To me, a good conversation is an incomparable experience. What may seem prosaic or banal in the present may become funnier or more insightful in the past.
Over time, I've found that I'm a pretty good judge of conversations; I can usually tell if I'm in a good one. Sometimes I even amuse myself in a conversation even if no one else is entertained. I will freely admit that I allow my own wit to take control sometimes, even if it annoys the bejeezus out of others. What I like best though is when someone is able to match me - or even best me at it.
One such one popped into my head at dinner, and apropos of nothing, I mentioned it. It entertained me as usual; it entertained my dinner company as well.
For lack of anything else to put into this spot, I thought I'd share a bit of the wit from days of yore, back when I was driving a Yellow Cab in Jackson, Mississippi.
I got a call to pick up at the downtown Marriott. I swooped in to avoid the vultures of the other companies and picked up one gentlemen: "Take me to the airport," he said.
I asked if he wanted to go the quicker way or the cheaper way. Quicker meant taking interstates; cheaper meant a short slog along Highway 80 through Pearl to the airport. He instructed me to take the cheaper way. Money clearly wasn't an issue to him; he looked pretty well-off, but he was in no hurry.
The gentleman was African-American and an excellent conversationalist. Before we cleared the downtown, we were chatting and joking, and I was already impressed with his wit.
As we slipped into Pearl - which I've always considered the redneck capital of the free world, this urbane gent leaned forward from the backseat, looked around, and asked, "Is this one of those cities where perhaps I shouldn't be at sundown?" I answered that it might be, and asked if I should hurry. He laughed and told me to cruise on; he enjoyed a challenge.
As we passed by the charming farm-implement stores, the tattoo parlors, the secondhand underwear shops, the all-you-can-eat buffets and the fifteenth or sixteenth check-cashing joint, we saw a tall, young woman run across the far lane of the highway into the median. (Of course Pearl's main drag is a highway. Was there any question about this?)
I began to slow for the turn that would take us to the airport. As we did, we both found ourselves looking at the girl - tall, blond, good figure. Our heads swiveled toward her until we got right up on her.
Rotted teeth covered with a cheap gold grill, skanky ballpoint-looking tats on her forearms and thighs, a pair of shorts tight and high enough for us to see that she was quite familiar with the term "Brazilian." And the blond hair...wasn't.
Our heads swiveled back in disgust and he made a sort of "oooogh" noise. I glanced back in the rearview mirror and saw him shaking his head.
"You know," I said. "I don't understand why someone who is attractive would want to make themselves look so completely white trashy."
He then agreed; she was pretty skanky white trash.
The muse was upon me.
"Hey!" I shouted. "I'm not going to have that language in my cab!"
"What?" He actually sputtered.
"I won't have you using that word in my cab, sir!"
"What word?"
"The 'T' word."
He was quiet for just a second. "The 'T' word? 'Trash?'"
"I told you not to say that!"
He leaned forward. "I can't say 'trash'?"
"No, sir," I said. "It's offensive to us white people." I glanced at him; he was watching me. He nodded and leaned back in his seat.
"I can't say that word? Not at all?"
"No, sir."
"You said it."
"It's a white word. Only white people get to use that word."
"I see."
He was quiet about five seconds. Then he leaned forward and asked:
"Okay, but what if I'm just singing along to a country-and-western song...?"
These are not the things I write; these are the ones I collect. I'm a firm, firm believer in talking with - and listening to - as many people as possible. To me, a good conversation is an incomparable experience. What may seem prosaic or banal in the present may become funnier or more insightful in the past.
Over time, I've found that I'm a pretty good judge of conversations; I can usually tell if I'm in a good one. Sometimes I even amuse myself in a conversation even if no one else is entertained. I will freely admit that I allow my own wit to take control sometimes, even if it annoys the bejeezus out of others. What I like best though is when someone is able to match me - or even best me at it.
One such one popped into my head at dinner, and apropos of nothing, I mentioned it. It entertained me as usual; it entertained my dinner company as well.
For lack of anything else to put into this spot, I thought I'd share a bit of the wit from days of yore, back when I was driving a Yellow Cab in Jackson, Mississippi.
I got a call to pick up at the downtown Marriott. I swooped in to avoid the vultures of the other companies and picked up one gentlemen: "Take me to the airport," he said.
I asked if he wanted to go the quicker way or the cheaper way. Quicker meant taking interstates; cheaper meant a short slog along Highway 80 through Pearl to the airport. He instructed me to take the cheaper way. Money clearly wasn't an issue to him; he looked pretty well-off, but he was in no hurry.
The gentleman was African-American and an excellent conversationalist. Before we cleared the downtown, we were chatting and joking, and I was already impressed with his wit.
As we slipped into Pearl - which I've always considered the redneck capital of the free world, this urbane gent leaned forward from the backseat, looked around, and asked, "Is this one of those cities where perhaps I shouldn't be at sundown?" I answered that it might be, and asked if I should hurry. He laughed and told me to cruise on; he enjoyed a challenge.
As we passed by the charming farm-implement stores, the tattoo parlors, the secondhand underwear shops, the all-you-can-eat buffets and the fifteenth or sixteenth check-cashing joint, we saw a tall, young woman run across the far lane of the highway into the median. (Of course Pearl's main drag is a highway. Was there any question about this?)
I began to slow for the turn that would take us to the airport. As we did, we both found ourselves looking at the girl - tall, blond, good figure. Our heads swiveled toward her until we got right up on her.
Rotted teeth covered with a cheap gold grill, skanky ballpoint-looking tats on her forearms and thighs, a pair of shorts tight and high enough for us to see that she was quite familiar with the term "Brazilian." And the blond hair...wasn't.
Our heads swiveled back in disgust and he made a sort of "oooogh" noise. I glanced back in the rearview mirror and saw him shaking his head.
"You know," I said. "I don't understand why someone who is attractive would want to make themselves look so completely white trashy."
He then agreed; she was pretty skanky white trash.
The muse was upon me.
"Hey!" I shouted. "I'm not going to have that language in my cab!"
"What?" He actually sputtered.
"I won't have you using that word in my cab, sir!"
"What word?"
"The 'T' word."
He was quiet for just a second. "The 'T' word? 'Trash?'"
"I told you not to say that!"
He leaned forward. "I can't say 'trash'?"
"No, sir," I said. "It's offensive to us white people." I glanced at him; he was watching me. He nodded and leaned back in his seat.
"I can't say that word? Not at all?"
"No, sir."
"You said it."
"It's a white word. Only white people get to use that word."
"I see."
He was quiet about five seconds. Then he leaned forward and asked:
"Okay, but what if I'm just singing along to a country-and-western song...?"
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Just a Few Things I Like...
My brain has been suffering a world-class meltdown lately. Unable to abstract as a higher life form, most of my (non-US Census) thoughts have been of the "I like this"/"I don't like this" vein. With nothing else rattling around inside the little-grey-cellmelt currently occupying a portion of my skull, I thought I'd share just a few of them with you.
Though it may surprise many - if not most of you - I thought I'd start positive, with some of the things I like.
I like having a community baseball field across the street from my apartment. It's a lovely park, and we look out over right field. Play here is constant and year-round. I think it's possible that they take off a few weeks in December, but that seems to be about it. It's a cheery sound, the popping of balls into gloves, the clanking of aluminum bats, the pepper of the infield. They play until 10 o'clock many nights. When we moved in, I thought it would be a noisy distraction; I was wrong. It is a cheering, warm distraction that I have enjoyed listening to and watching on many nights. I have no idea who is playing or what the final scores are. None of that matters. Only the game matters.
I like my coffee. Oh my Lord, I like my coffee. I freely admit to a caffeine addiction that I'll never shake. (I tried once a couple years ago. I got about 36 hours without before I ripped open a box of chocolate-covered coffee beans and ate them while waiting for a barista to whip me up a triple-shot macchiato - all while I was shouting, "coffee, stat!" at her.) That said, there is nothing like the taste of a good cup. Kona is my current dark master, but I still worship at the altar of the Kenyan AA, too.
I absolutely love the new Phoenix album, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix. For the past few weeks, if I'm not listening to NPR, I'm listening to Phoenix. In fact, I'm trying to see if there's any way for me to just marry the record. (There's apparently a worry that doing so would lead to a slippery slope where a man could marry his dog, a rock, the concept of time, and eventually, even some other guy. Let one guy marry his music and suddenly even "them queers" think they should get to, too.) Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is a pop-music masterpiece, with stupendous, catchy cuts like "Lasso," "1901," "Girlfriend," "Countdown," and "Lizstomania." In a just world, each of them would own the top of the charts for a while. But to me, the centerpiece of the album is the brilliant almost-instrumental double song, "Love Like a Sunset Part I" and "...Part II." It's tense, a bit shambolic, a little brutal, and really hints at these guys' skills. It's also the only pop song of the past fifteen years or so that puts me to mind of early Velvet Underground - and that, my friends, is a good thing.
I like NPR. None more need be said.
I like the fact that the Chula Vista PD took a complaint seriously. Just a couple nights ago, some jackass let his car alarm sound on-and-off all night. As I was heading to work about 7:30 in the a.m., I actually heard him shut it off, so I know he was nearby. The next night, the alarm started again in the evening. I called the police, and was told that a few other people had complained. Not too long after, a CVPD squad car showed up, checked out the blaring convertible, and had it towed away - still bleating. Tonight, there was no alarm; there was just baseball.
I like the crew I'm training for the Census. I feel quite happy. I've got a smart batch of folks. Many of them are experienced - but not all. A few of those with less experience I actually trained in a previous class, and I was happy with them then. It makes my job easier and more rewarding to know that the folks I'm training are taking their work seriously, and seem to be as qualified and capable as any out there. I've said it before, people. I actually take this work seriously. I know they do, too.
As strange as it may sound, I've almost gotten to like walking Adam between 6:30 and 7 in the morning. I'm meeting a few new dogpersons and their people (even though I wish the one guy would wear more than just boxers - with the open fly - and a t-shirt whilst he's hoofing his pooch). There's a good community of dog owners around here. I like that, too.
I like the Thai food at Bangkok Spices Thai in San Diego. I like the carnitas at Miguel's in Chula Vista. I like everything I've eaten at Las Quatras Milpas in Barrio Logan. I've been told I need to try some local Filipino cuisine, and I suspect I'll like that, too.
I like having this silly, third-rate blog. I like knowing that there are folks in about twenty-odd countries that regularly read the stuff I post - that actually seem to care what I have to say. I don't know why, mind you, but I admit I like it. I particularly like the fact that you are all very patient with me when my brain is not at its best.
I like that. I like that very much.
Though it may surprise many - if not most of you - I thought I'd start positive, with some of the things I like.
I like having a community baseball field across the street from my apartment. It's a lovely park, and we look out over right field. Play here is constant and year-round. I think it's possible that they take off a few weeks in December, but that seems to be about it. It's a cheery sound, the popping of balls into gloves, the clanking of aluminum bats, the pepper of the infield. They play until 10 o'clock many nights. When we moved in, I thought it would be a noisy distraction; I was wrong. It is a cheering, warm distraction that I have enjoyed listening to and watching on many nights. I have no idea who is playing or what the final scores are. None of that matters. Only the game matters.
I like my coffee. Oh my Lord, I like my coffee. I freely admit to a caffeine addiction that I'll never shake. (I tried once a couple years ago. I got about 36 hours without before I ripped open a box of chocolate-covered coffee beans and ate them while waiting for a barista to whip me up a triple-shot macchiato - all while I was shouting, "coffee, stat!" at her.) That said, there is nothing like the taste of a good cup. Kona is my current dark master, but I still worship at the altar of the Kenyan AA, too.
I absolutely love the new Phoenix album, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix. For the past few weeks, if I'm not listening to NPR, I'm listening to Phoenix. In fact, I'm trying to see if there's any way for me to just marry the record. (There's apparently a worry that doing so would lead to a slippery slope where a man could marry his dog, a rock, the concept of time, and eventually, even some other guy. Let one guy marry his music and suddenly even "them queers" think they should get to, too.) Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is a pop-music masterpiece, with stupendous, catchy cuts like "Lasso," "1901," "Girlfriend," "Countdown," and "Lizstomania." In a just world, each of them would own the top of the charts for a while. But to me, the centerpiece of the album is the brilliant almost-instrumental double song, "Love Like a Sunset Part I" and "...Part II." It's tense, a bit shambolic, a little brutal, and really hints at these guys' skills. It's also the only pop song of the past fifteen years or so that puts me to mind of early Velvet Underground - and that, my friends, is a good thing.
I like NPR. None more need be said.
I like the fact that the Chula Vista PD took a complaint seriously. Just a couple nights ago, some jackass let his car alarm sound on-and-off all night. As I was heading to work about 7:30 in the a.m., I actually heard him shut it off, so I know he was nearby. The next night, the alarm started again in the evening. I called the police, and was told that a few other people had complained. Not too long after, a CVPD squad car showed up, checked out the blaring convertible, and had it towed away - still bleating. Tonight, there was no alarm; there was just baseball.
I like the crew I'm training for the Census. I feel quite happy. I've got a smart batch of folks. Many of them are experienced - but not all. A few of those with less experience I actually trained in a previous class, and I was happy with them then. It makes my job easier and more rewarding to know that the folks I'm training are taking their work seriously, and seem to be as qualified and capable as any out there. I've said it before, people. I actually take this work seriously. I know they do, too.
As strange as it may sound, I've almost gotten to like walking Adam between 6:30 and 7 in the morning. I'm meeting a few new dogpersons and their people (even though I wish the one guy would wear more than just boxers - with the open fly - and a t-shirt whilst he's hoofing his pooch). There's a good community of dog owners around here. I like that, too.
I like the Thai food at Bangkok Spices Thai in San Diego. I like the carnitas at Miguel's in Chula Vista. I like everything I've eaten at Las Quatras Milpas in Barrio Logan. I've been told I need to try some local Filipino cuisine, and I suspect I'll like that, too.
I like having this silly, third-rate blog. I like knowing that there are folks in about twenty-odd countries that regularly read the stuff I post - that actually seem to care what I have to say. I don't know why, mind you, but I admit I like it. I particularly like the fact that you are all very patient with me when my brain is not at its best.
I like that. I like that very much.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Ye Olde Random Stuff or Douchebaggery on Parade
Back many moons ago, whilst writing for Jackson, Mississippi's venerable Planet Weekly, a few times I plugged holes in my column schedule by doing collections of - basically - random twaddle. It's a necessity when one has a few little comments or notes to make, but none of them are really worth writing up an entire column/post for.
This is my first official one, though some folks may claim that other bits here have been nothing but that...
Census Update:
You know that old saw about there not being any stupid questions? False. After a week in training, and another day or two to go, I am convinced that there are actually stupid questions.
Trainer: "When you're filling out your E-309C with your WPNO2 (wooden pencil, no eraser, Number Two), you must always do it in this fashion. The only - and I mean only - exception is when you're following up your E-309C with the additional pages from your Q-451."
Trainee: "Okay, but what about if...?"
Trainer: "This is the only exception!"
Trainee: "I get that, but what about if you're doing your E-309C in the office, instead of in the field?"
Trainer: "No exceptions, except for the one we've covered (a lot)."
Trainee: "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, but what about if you just really want to do it the other way?"
Trainer: "No, no, no! For love of God, no! The Q-451 is the only exception!"
Trainee: "Okay, I get that. But what if...?"
Of course, I've mangled facts and document pages to keep some secrets, but you get the picture. It's not just the splitting-hairs questions, either. I swear some of them have been of this vein:
"What if...just saying what if here...what if an asteroid hits the Earth, sending up a tsunami that washes San Diego into the ocean...okay? What if that happens? Are we required to show up at the office and turn in paperwork that day?"*
A Week's Worth of Stupidity-Fueled Verbiage:
The past few days have just been riddled with wanton douchebaggery. First South Carolina's pride-and-joy, Representative Joe Wilson interrupted President Obama's address to Congress with "You lie!" It speaks well of most of his party that they were disgusted and ashamed of his behavior. Even Senator John McCain called him out on it. He apparently called and apologized to the White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel. I do believe that he probably called to apologize to the president himself - other liberals be damned. I don't believe for a moment he actually meant to speak with Emanuel (Wilson's got the brass to heckle the prez, but I don't believe he's got the cajones to actually seek out an audience with the Chief of Staff).
Following this shameful behavior, what happened? Of course, the loudmouth bobbleheads of the fringe right take up his side. Had this happened one year ago, the same brainless twerps who sided with Wilson would have demanded the heads of anyone who had heckled Bush.
Then of course, there was Serena Williams' outburst at a line judge: "I'll shove this ball down your f***ing throat." Staying classy, she was shocked - shocked! - when she was eventually tossed out of the tourney on her keister. Is this the beginning of a new shock-jock life for her, or has she learned her lesson? Who knows, but I'd give 3-to-1 that she pulls the same kind of stunt again.
Stomping through the verdant meadows of mass-media douchebaggery again was Glenn Beck, who "inspired" his people to a) co-opt 9/11 to form a "huge" mass anti-Obama demonstration in DC and then b) fail to show up for his peeps. His teabaggers were out in force - all 70-odd thousand of them. With their silly costumes and dreadful signs it resembled a Klan Rally in more than just spirit.
And we mustn't forget that slice of right-wing whoriness, Michelle Malkin, who immediately began inflating numbers on her blog and on Twitter: 'It's like...like there were half a million there! Or like a million! Wait, it was 1.5 million! No, 2 million!' I expected the Count from Sesame Street to began laughing afterwards.
Her douchebaggery really began when she posted fake photos taken years ago (reportedly from the Million Man March) that claimed to show the streets chock-full of people. However, virtually all non-fringe-right reports on the ground (DC police and Fire Department, for example), dispute all aspects of her claim.
Last on the list: Kanye West. For a man that demands (unearned) respect, he showed a shameful amount of disrespect at MTV's Video Music Awards by stealing the microphone from Taylor Swift and ranting about why she didn't deserve her award and why Beyonce did.** It would've been an appalling thing to do to a long-time veteran; it was shameful to do to a 19-year old young woman who was receiving her first award of its kind.
I'm neither a Kanye nor a Taylor Swift fan, so I have no opinion of any of it, musically. But I understand common courtesy and uncommon douchebaggery. He is clueless of the former and a master of the latter.
Even with the heavy competition from Wilson, Beck, Malkin, and Williams, I think that Kanye's behavior marks him as the biggest 'bag of the week.
I have a question now! What forms would I need to fill out if I wanted to KTC (Kick the Crap) out of that PAB (Punk-Ass Bitch)?
----------------------------------------------------------
*The correct answer: "That would be a DFQ situation (Dumb F***ing Question). Fill out your PY-HO (Pull Your Head Out) and your CY-PO (Close Your Pie Hole) and then follow it up with a quick STFU."
**However, Beyonce showed global amounts of class by inviting Miss Swift to the stage during her award acceptance and letting the young woman give hers. That's a stunning move. I'm not a fan of Beyonce's music, but I am now a fan of her.
This is my first official one, though some folks may claim that other bits here have been nothing but that...
Census Update:
You know that old saw about there not being any stupid questions? False. After a week in training, and another day or two to go, I am convinced that there are actually stupid questions.
Trainer: "When you're filling out your E-309C with your WPNO2 (wooden pencil, no eraser, Number Two), you must always do it in this fashion. The only - and I mean only - exception is when you're following up your E-309C with the additional pages from your Q-451."
Trainee: "Okay, but what about if...?"
Trainer: "This is the only exception!"
Trainee: "I get that, but what about if you're doing your E-309C in the office, instead of in the field?"
Trainer: "No exceptions, except for the one we've covered (a lot)."
Trainee: "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, but what about if you just really want to do it the other way?"
Trainer: "No, no, no! For love of God, no! The Q-451 is the only exception!"
Trainee: "Okay, I get that. But what if...?"
Of course, I've mangled facts and document pages to keep some secrets, but you get the picture. It's not just the splitting-hairs questions, either. I swear some of them have been of this vein:
"What if...just saying what if here...what if an asteroid hits the Earth, sending up a tsunami that washes San Diego into the ocean...okay? What if that happens? Are we required to show up at the office and turn in paperwork that day?"*
A Week's Worth of Stupidity-Fueled Verbiage:
The past few days have just been riddled with wanton douchebaggery. First South Carolina's pride-and-joy, Representative Joe Wilson interrupted President Obama's address to Congress with "You lie!" It speaks well of most of his party that they were disgusted and ashamed of his behavior. Even Senator John McCain called him out on it. He apparently called and apologized to the White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel. I do believe that he probably called to apologize to the president himself - other liberals be damned. I don't believe for a moment he actually meant to speak with Emanuel (Wilson's got the brass to heckle the prez, but I don't believe he's got the cajones to actually seek out an audience with the Chief of Staff).
Following this shameful behavior, what happened? Of course, the loudmouth bobbleheads of the fringe right take up his side. Had this happened one year ago, the same brainless twerps who sided with Wilson would have demanded the heads of anyone who had heckled Bush.
Then of course, there was Serena Williams' outburst at a line judge: "I'll shove this ball down your f***ing throat." Staying classy, she was shocked - shocked! - when she was eventually tossed out of the tourney on her keister. Is this the beginning of a new shock-jock life for her, or has she learned her lesson? Who knows, but I'd give 3-to-1 that she pulls the same kind of stunt again.
Stomping through the verdant meadows of mass-media douchebaggery again was Glenn Beck, who "inspired" his people to a) co-opt 9/11 to form a "huge" mass anti-Obama demonstration in DC and then b) fail to show up for his peeps. His teabaggers were out in force - all 70-odd thousand of them. With their silly costumes and dreadful signs it resembled a Klan Rally in more than just spirit.
And we mustn't forget that slice of right-wing whoriness, Michelle Malkin, who immediately began inflating numbers on her blog and on Twitter: 'It's like...like there were half a million there! Or like a million! Wait, it was 1.5 million! No, 2 million!' I expected the Count from Sesame Street to began laughing afterwards.
Her douchebaggery really began when she posted fake photos taken years ago (reportedly from the Million Man March) that claimed to show the streets chock-full of people. However, virtually all non-fringe-right reports on the ground (DC police and Fire Department, for example), dispute all aspects of her claim.
Last on the list: Kanye West. For a man that demands (unearned) respect, he showed a shameful amount of disrespect at MTV's Video Music Awards by stealing the microphone from Taylor Swift and ranting about why she didn't deserve her award and why Beyonce did.** It would've been an appalling thing to do to a long-time veteran; it was shameful to do to a 19-year old young woman who was receiving her first award of its kind.
I'm neither a Kanye nor a Taylor Swift fan, so I have no opinion of any of it, musically. But I understand common courtesy and uncommon douchebaggery. He is clueless of the former and a master of the latter.
Even with the heavy competition from Wilson, Beck, Malkin, and Williams, I think that Kanye's behavior marks him as the biggest 'bag of the week.
I have a question now! What forms would I need to fill out if I wanted to KTC (Kick the Crap) out of that PAB (Punk-Ass Bitch)?
----------------------------------------------------------
*The correct answer: "That would be a DFQ situation (Dumb F***ing Question). Fill out your PY-HO (Pull Your Head Out) and your CY-PO (Close Your Pie Hole) and then follow it up with a quick STFU."
**However, Beyonce showed global amounts of class by inviting Miss Swift to the stage during her award acceptance and letting the young woman give hers. That's a stunning move. I'm not a fan of Beyonce's music, but I am now a fan of her.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Another Dose of Common Census
It was with some odd excitement that I returned to working for the U.S. Census today. Technically* I work for the Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, and the division is...I don't know, Census 2010? I'm out of practice remembering all the whozeewhatsits and whatchamadiddles.
I can't really explain why, but I enjoy this work. There's an aspect of problem-solving** that's a large part of it - something I enjoy. I've met some good people***, both in the office and in the field. The pay is quite good, even if the benefits are...to put it as nicely as possible...non-existent.
I won't go too deeply into what I'm doing; I take the privacy aspects of the job seriously. I won't trash the work (as another Cali blogger did last spring) because I enjoy the work. Oddly, I think a big part of why I enjoy it is because of my innate political junkieness.****
The U.S. Census has been around longer than modern political parties. Created by the Constitution of the United States, it is how we allocate seats in the House of Representatives - the more people in an area, the more seats they receive. It is also helps determine how states, counties, cities, municipalities, townships, and neighborhoods receive federal funds. It is a necessary part of how our government works, and I'm happy and proud to be part of it.
Keep in mind: the people who come by and ask you Census questions aren't doing it to annoy you; they're doing it to make sure that the area where you live gets all that is coming to it. I can assure you that the vast overwhelming majority of people employed for us are working with that goal in mind. The Census is not trying to locate your hidden stash of guns, take note of your activities for the New World Order, or trying to make a list of dissidents. Anyone who believes that needs their medication adjusted.
(On that note, let me remind you that that Congress' Midwestern court jester, Representative Michelle Bachmann, has given the Census most of its recent press with her wonky, "Don't let them write you in the books!" prattle.***** Having an elected representative say that is tantamount to having your governor telling the 18-year old young men to not register with Selective Service, because it's a ploy of the Party in Power.)
This is going to keep my brain occupied a while - hopefully give it a bit of a recharge, too. I'll probably post a few odds-and-ends about the Census, but no dirt. I'm not going to trash it or the people working for it. It goes against my nature to do so. I hope y'all will put up with this for a few weeks.
-----------------------------------------------
*And temporarily.
**Boy howdy, is there problem-solving.
***Some dirtbags, too.
****Another thing I enjoy is that Census workers fall all over the map politically. As far as I can tell, we have some of the most fervent, yet good-natured arguments I've ever seen. One of my favorite people, who shall remain nameless, is a hardcore conservative, and I absolutely love chatting (arguing) with her.
*****A statement which caused even some of her most ardent supporters to say, "Congressman... Michelle... darling... honey... sugartits... shut the f*** up."
I can't really explain why, but I enjoy this work. There's an aspect of problem-solving** that's a large part of it - something I enjoy. I've met some good people***, both in the office and in the field. The pay is quite good, even if the benefits are...to put it as nicely as possible...non-existent.
I won't go too deeply into what I'm doing; I take the privacy aspects of the job seriously. I won't trash the work (as another Cali blogger did last spring) because I enjoy the work. Oddly, I think a big part of why I enjoy it is because of my innate political junkieness.****
The U.S. Census has been around longer than modern political parties. Created by the Constitution of the United States, it is how we allocate seats in the House of Representatives - the more people in an area, the more seats they receive. It is also helps determine how states, counties, cities, municipalities, townships, and neighborhoods receive federal funds. It is a necessary part of how our government works, and I'm happy and proud to be part of it.
Keep in mind: the people who come by and ask you Census questions aren't doing it to annoy you; they're doing it to make sure that the area where you live gets all that is coming to it. I can assure you that the vast overwhelming majority of people employed for us are working with that goal in mind. The Census is not trying to locate your hidden stash of guns, take note of your activities for the New World Order, or trying to make a list of dissidents. Anyone who believes that needs their medication adjusted.
(On that note, let me remind you that that Congress' Midwestern court jester, Representative Michelle Bachmann, has given the Census most of its recent press with her wonky, "Don't let them write you in the books!" prattle.***** Having an elected representative say that is tantamount to having your governor telling the 18-year old young men to not register with Selective Service, because it's a ploy of the Party in Power.)
This is going to keep my brain occupied a while - hopefully give it a bit of a recharge, too. I'll probably post a few odds-and-ends about the Census, but no dirt. I'm not going to trash it or the people working for it. It goes against my nature to do so. I hope y'all will put up with this for a few weeks.
-----------------------------------------------
*And temporarily.
**Boy howdy, is there problem-solving.
***Some dirtbags, too.
****Another thing I enjoy is that Census workers fall all over the map politically. As far as I can tell, we have some of the most fervent, yet good-natured arguments I've ever seen. One of my favorite people, who shall remain nameless, is a hardcore conservative, and I absolutely love chatting (arguing) with her.
*****A statement which caused even some of her most ardent supporters to say, "Congressman... Michelle... darling... honey... sugartits... shut the f*** up."
Monday, August 31, 2009
Jury Duty in the Land of Law & Disorder
Out here in California, the prison system is so bad that our Chief Entertainment Officer, Governator Schwarzenegger, has revisited the idea of letting thousands upon thousands of criminals back on the streets, simply because there is no room, not enough guards, and not enough money to keep them housed.
(I would make a comment about how it's great that His Astounding Muscularity chose to exercise his line-item veto to give ferocious tax breaks to Big Oil and another ridiculous enterprises over the wishes of state lawmakers, instead of continuing to fund other, lesser causes like education, disabled children, and the prison system - but I won't, since this isn't really a political commentary.)
Now, to be honest, I'm not really worried about having these "hardened criminals" (potheads) on the street. I refuse to live in fear. (I live in Chula Vista, which is too dull to know fear.) Most of those who would be released, would be released for drug offenses and other minor crimes. Yes, I do believe drug offenses to be minor crimes - unless, of course, you're committing violent acts in the course of using, selling, distributing, and/or acquiring.
California has a history of terrible criminal judicial decisions - Three Strikes, anyone? This is no big deal, it simply fits tidily into the mold of "What The Hell Were They Thinking?"
With the soon-to-be exodus of prisoners from the state's overcrowded youth hostels, imagine my surprise to be hit with my Summons for Jury Service. Yep, jury duty.
I've never shirked jury duty; I believe it to be one of the true responsibilities every American citizen has to accept. I feel disdain for those who try to get out of it, something I've never done. (Though I have been dismissed in the past - "You've done what? You write for who? Thanks, but you'll not be needed.")
I find it ironic that I might be sitting in judgment of those going to jail whilst His Peculiar Accentedness might be sending some right back out. It makes it seem a little worthless.
Apparently in California, one is given a group number and a reporting week. The lower your group number, the better chance you'll be called in to report. You call in the night before to see if you show up the next day. My group number is sort of middling, so I might get called in, I might not. My girl got hit with this just last month. She had a high number, and never had to report. She called in every afternoon to find out she didn't have to go in. This actually completed her service. (Jury duty is so commonplace out here, that a standard reason for disqualification from duty is that you were a prospective juror within the past year.)
I really want to get called in. I've decided that I'd like to record what goes on during this process and show it here. I find that, basically, everything here is backwards from the way it works in real life, so I'd like to see if civic duty is the same. I'm betting it is.
I'm going to update this daily by editing this post. It probably won't be anything more than, "Don't need to appear," but I find myself hoping that I'll get to sit there and take notes for the blog. Even though the state can't afford to keep them locked up, the local and county governments still love to try.
I picture myself telling some functionary, "I'll be writing notes on this for my blog," and I imagine he'll answer, "That's fine. You're still in."
MONDAY - Called in on Saturday - didn't have to report.
[edit]
TUESDAY - Called in on Monday night. Didn't have to report. But they're about halfway to my number. If the pattern continues, I'll probably have to report Thursday or Friday.
[edit 2]
WEDNESDAY - Called in on Tuesday night. Didn't have to report. In fact, no one had to report. I don't know what's going on, but I'm oddly disappointed.
[edit 3]
THURSDAY - Called in on Wednesday night. This is two days in a row that they've said that no one is reporting. Unless things change spectacularly, this will have been a wash-out.
[edit 4]
FRIDAY - Looks like crime is down (or criminal court is down) in San Diego County. After only calling in 4 groups, they're done. My jury duty is...completed, at least for the next 12 months. I'm actually a bit disappointed, though I suspect everyone in the groups before mine are not.
So...anyone else completed their societal responsibility this week?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Give a Man a Fish...
I've seen this posted everywhere recently. It's a simpleminded, aphoristic take on Health Care Reform.
"Give a man a fish, and you'll feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you'll feed him for a lifetime."
How about this:
"Teach a man to fish, and you'll feed him for a lifetime. Unless, of course, you can stop him doing so by forcing him to pay huge fishing license fees, preventing him from dropping his hook in the best fishing grounds, taking away his fishing tackle if he develops an illness, and assaulting his self-worth and self-respect if he dares to comment that perhaps - perhaps! - just knowing how to fish might not be enough to get by and feed him and his family for a lifetime.
Health Care Reform isn't about learning to fish. It's about learning to share opportunities.
Give a man to fish, and you'll feed him for a day. Give a man the opportunity to fish, and you'll feed him for a lifetime. That's mine. You can quote me.
"Give a man a fish, and you'll feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you'll feed him for a lifetime."
How about this:
"Teach a man to fish, and you'll feed him for a lifetime. Unless, of course, you can stop him doing so by forcing him to pay huge fishing license fees, preventing him from dropping his hook in the best fishing grounds, taking away his fishing tackle if he develops an illness, and assaulting his self-worth and self-respect if he dares to comment that perhaps - perhaps! - just knowing how to fish might not be enough to get by and feed him and his family for a lifetime.
Health Care Reform isn't about learning to fish. It's about learning to share opportunities.
Give a man to fish, and you'll feed him for a day. Give a man the opportunity to fish, and you'll feed him for a lifetime. That's mine. You can quote me.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The Vista Crash
I own a laptop with Microsoft Vista. It's never given me any real problem. I've heard people fuss and moan about it, but to be honest, most of the complaints came from people who have added Vista to an existing computer and found certain aspects simply didn't gel.
No, I've never had issues with it. I've also never had the slightest real interest in changing to a Mac, either. I used one while working for Planet Weekly newspaper and basically found everything about it annoying. And, no, I don't use Linux or anything else like that. For all that I am, I am also still basically a neo-Luddite; that much interest in technology makes me want to blow things up.
To use that appalling ad campaign: "I am PC." By choice, I have always been.
And do you know how Microsoft repaid me?
By taking over my laptop and tearing apart my work. Friday evening, while I was making dinner, I let my Toshiba idle. The screen had gone black (as it should), and I had a few windows open. As I sat down to shut it down for a while, the screen flashed on, and that annoying Microsoft message told me that it was restarting because of my updates. Then it began to shut itself down and restart.
Problem 1: I had restarted the thing a few hours early entirely to keep it from doing that. There's absolutely nothing I hate more than Microsoft telling me it's time for me to do when it wants to do because of the updates. There had been no updates in the few hours since I'd rebooted the computer, so there was no reason for this to be scheduled.
Problem 2: Open windows. I was working on three things at the time. The first was the rewrite of Heroes... Chapter 8 - "The Shining Way." Another was the first part of Conduit. The third was some notes and outlines for yet another project. I'd saved everything except the notes when I rebooted, but everything had had work done on it when this happened. As anyone familiar with Microsoft knows, when your computer decides to shut down, it doesn't save - it autosaves. Big difference.
I was ticked, but there was nothing to do be done. The screen darkened as it tried to reboot. I let it run for a bit. Suddenly, a new screen came up, informing me that it had shut down improperly and hadn't been able to restart. I hit the key it told me to. It again restarted. It took forever to bring up the desktop. When it did, naturally the first thing I went to do was recover my documents.
The Big Problem: None of the documents that came up were as I left them. Not only had Autosave failed to recover about 30 pages of notes that simply vanished *poof* into thin air (though it did leave me with some - just not all), it also "managed" to recover only older versions of Conduit and Heroes...
Yes, I'm saying that when I dug into the files, those two open, saved files had been replaced by the files that were existant as of Tuesday. I'd done all the Conduit work this week - a few dozen pages, finally getting some traction. It was all gone - every word. Heroes... was backsaved that the 20-odd pages of rewrites and edits that I'd sweated out were now 5 pages.
How many software problems is that? It shouldn't have rebooted itself in the first place. It shouldn't have had problems shutting down. It shouldn't have had problems starting up. It shouldn't have failed to autosave. It shouldn't have failed to recover those saves. Most importantly, it should not have reverted to older version of the open files when reopening. That saved data should be the one sacrosanct thing on one's computer.
All that time I was away, furiously, frantically writing, rewriting, editing? That work? Gone. I spent hours trying to find, search, and recover the lost data, but it's simply...gone.
I blame Microsoft; I don't blame Toshiba. I think the Satellite is a bad-ass laptop, and I'm happy with it. It's just the pissant engine running it that's got me angry now. Not that that will change a thing. Microsoft is notorious for not giving a damn what people think of them, or caring what they've done to others.
So until Bill Gates returns my four days and seventy-odd pages of very hard work, Microsoft can kiss my ass. Am I PC? Yeah, but not by choice anymore.
No, I've never had issues with it. I've also never had the slightest real interest in changing to a Mac, either. I used one while working for Planet Weekly newspaper and basically found everything about it annoying. And, no, I don't use Linux or anything else like that. For all that I am, I am also still basically a neo-Luddite; that much interest in technology makes me want to blow things up.
To use that appalling ad campaign: "I am PC." By choice, I have always been.
And do you know how Microsoft repaid me?
By taking over my laptop and tearing apart my work. Friday evening, while I was making dinner, I let my Toshiba idle. The screen had gone black (as it should), and I had a few windows open. As I sat down to shut it down for a while, the screen flashed on, and that annoying Microsoft message told me that it was restarting because of my updates. Then it began to shut itself down and restart.
Problem 1: I had restarted the thing a few hours early entirely to keep it from doing that. There's absolutely nothing I hate more than Microsoft telling me it's time for me to do when it wants to do because of the updates. There had been no updates in the few hours since I'd rebooted the computer, so there was no reason for this to be scheduled.
Problem 2: Open windows. I was working on three things at the time. The first was the rewrite of Heroes... Chapter 8 - "The Shining Way." Another was the first part of Conduit. The third was some notes and outlines for yet another project. I'd saved everything except the notes when I rebooted, but everything had had work done on it when this happened. As anyone familiar with Microsoft knows, when your computer decides to shut down, it doesn't save - it autosaves. Big difference.
I was ticked, but there was nothing to do be done. The screen darkened as it tried to reboot. I let it run for a bit. Suddenly, a new screen came up, informing me that it had shut down improperly and hadn't been able to restart. I hit the key it told me to. It again restarted. It took forever to bring up the desktop. When it did, naturally the first thing I went to do was recover my documents.
The Big Problem: None of the documents that came up were as I left them. Not only had Autosave failed to recover about 30 pages of notes that simply vanished *poof* into thin air (though it did leave me with some - just not all), it also "managed" to recover only older versions of Conduit and Heroes...
Yes, I'm saying that when I dug into the files, those two open, saved files had been replaced by the files that were existant as of Tuesday. I'd done all the Conduit work this week - a few dozen pages, finally getting some traction. It was all gone - every word. Heroes... was backsaved that the 20-odd pages of rewrites and edits that I'd sweated out were now 5 pages.
How many software problems is that? It shouldn't have rebooted itself in the first place. It shouldn't have had problems shutting down. It shouldn't have had problems starting up. It shouldn't have failed to autosave. It shouldn't have failed to recover those saves. Most importantly, it should not have reverted to older version of the open files when reopening. That saved data should be the one sacrosanct thing on one's computer.
All that time I was away, furiously, frantically writing, rewriting, editing? That work? Gone. I spent hours trying to find, search, and recover the lost data, but it's simply...gone.
I blame Microsoft; I don't blame Toshiba. I think the Satellite is a bad-ass laptop, and I'm happy with it. It's just the pissant engine running it that's got me angry now. Not that that will change a thing. Microsoft is notorious for not giving a damn what people think of them, or caring what they've done to others.
So until Bill Gates returns my four days and seventy-odd pages of very hard work, Microsoft can kiss my ass. Am I PC? Yeah, but not by choice anymore.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Introduction to "A Chilling Wind"
I've just completed my first short story in a long time, since about 1993. It's on the Annex - here.
Pretty much anyone who knows me knows that short stories aren't my 'thing.' I'm a wordy fellow, and I find it hard to write something less than about 50,000 words. But sometimes an idea just appears that is right for the medium. I think this is one.
I'm not asking for feedback for it - either here or on the other page. If you want to, fine, but if you don't, that's cool too. This is up because I just wanted to share it with everyone.
"A Chilling Wind"
Pretty much anyone who knows me knows that short stories aren't my 'thing.' I'm a wordy fellow, and I find it hard to write something less than about 50,000 words. But sometimes an idea just appears that is right for the medium. I think this is one.
I'm not asking for feedback for it - either here or on the other page. If you want to, fine, but if you don't, that's cool too. This is up because I just wanted to share it with everyone.
"A Chilling Wind"
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Wanted: Writer Seeks SWF (Some Writing Folks)
It is with some sadness that I announce that as of early September, it appears that the writer's group I belong to - North County Writers of Speculative Fiction - comes to an end. It has existed two years, much longer than the six or so months I've hung around with them. But Our Lovely Hostess and Her Mighty Husband are relocating across the country, and it appears that that will be that. (I'd say more, but I'm loathe to do so without an overt "okay" from them.)
We've got two more meetings until then, and everyone is going out on friendly terms. But it's ending, and I feel more than a bit of pain. As the one who travels the furthest, I'll probably not work with these folks again. In fact, I travel more than 50 miles one-way to participate - which I'm happy to do. But with the demise of the group, most of them are considering looking farther north from Vista/San Marcos - as far as Orange County. This is too far for me to go.
So it's with no lack of shamelessness that I post this: anyone in the South Bay or nearby East County area have an open writer's group? Anyone want to start one? I don't mind traveling (duh), but I'd prefer to stick a little closer to home. If anyone in the whole Chula Vista - National City - La Mesa - El Cajon* area has, or knows of a group, let me know. If you're in the area, or nearby and want to start one, let me know.
Thank you!
*Yep, that's me tagging this post for search engines. See those labels down below? That's me doing it there, too.
We've got two more meetings until then, and everyone is going out on friendly terms. But it's ending, and I feel more than a bit of pain. As the one who travels the furthest, I'll probably not work with these folks again. In fact, I travel more than 50 miles one-way to participate - which I'm happy to do. But with the demise of the group, most of them are considering looking farther north from Vista/San Marcos - as far as Orange County. This is too far for me to go.
So it's with no lack of shamelessness that I post this: anyone in the South Bay or nearby East County area have an open writer's group? Anyone want to start one? I don't mind traveling (duh), but I'd prefer to stick a little closer to home. If anyone in the whole Chula Vista - National City - La Mesa - El Cajon* area has, or knows of a group, let me know. If you're in the area, or nearby and want to start one, let me know.
Thank you!
*Yep, that's me tagging this post for search engines. See those labels down below? That's me doing it there, too.
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