Space Zombie

Ranting and Raving

2008-02-11T11:50:00.000-08:00

It really has been a long time since posted last, almost two months. Oops. It happens, and might have something to do with the two other blogs I write more frequently on, but that's just an excuse.

I was thinking, mostly due to a weekend of truck work, about my shop space. A few days back I had a friend over and due to his common interest in car/truck restoration he wanted to see my truck and check out my progress. I happily complied, as most people don't really care all that much. So I take him out to the garage and show him around. He is adequately impressed by the work I've done, and the commitement I've gotten myself into. All fine and well. But then he is talking to my wife later, away from me and makes some snide remark about the general disarray of my shop. Whatever, it's like water off a duck's back (not really, you'll see).

Onto the weekend, I have the laborious task of washing all the parts I've removed from the truck so far so I can paint them and reassemble them. Mostly they are the parts that make up her lower end. The axels, wheel hub, brake hubs, steering linkages, brake cylinders, leaf springs, and that ilk. The idea is that when I finish cleaning and painting those parts, as well as the truck's frame, I can put them back together and she can once again rest on her own wheels instead of jack stands. To accomplish this I spent 10 hrs or so this weekend scrubbing truck parts. Hot soapy water, various scrubbing tools, a wire bristtle brush, some rubber gloves, a spray bottle full of special cleaner, all resulting in quite possibly the most filthy water I have seen in my life (so thick with solutes you can no longer see through it).

During this process my wife goes and buys some tile she wants to use to make a path in the yard. She asks me to put them in the garage. I say I don't have any space that I want to give up to a large pile of tile. "Maybe you would if you organized your shop." She says. I turn and say, "Do not say that again."

Maybe I over reacted, probably. But here's the thing. That shop is my space. My space alone. No one else ever has to enter it, nor do anything in it. Everything in it is something I use (minus the crap that was in it when we bought the house and I haven't been able to remove). Now if you were to enter it, maybe you would think it's a horrible mess, and that's fine. Maybe you couldn't get anything done in it because you could never find anything, maybe the "disarray" would over whelm you and render you powerless to do anything. But that's not how it is for me.

Sure sometimes I can't find something I need, or at least I have to spend a few minutes looking, but so what? I like it how it is. And besides, I don't see it as dirty or disarrayed. I keep things clean enough, vacuum up the saw dust now and then, clean out the trash. Plus it's hardly unorganized, it's just organized by my system. Things I use constantly are left out in places I can get at them. Things I don't use often are put away. And then there's the fact that it really is two shops in one, both of which use lots of tools and make their own types of messes. Try mixing a wood shop and a mechanics shop (and for good measure somebody else's old junk) in a single 1 and 1/2 car garage and tell me if there is enough space for everything. I'll save you the trouble, it's a tight fit.

Now, this sounds like so much whining, and it is. But then what are blogs for? Here's what it comes down to: there are really two types of shop people. Those who keep there shops immaculate, and those that live in constant controled chaos. Neither one can emulate the other, it just isn't in their make up. Sure I could keep my shop perfectly organized and spotless. But for me cleaning is a major undertaking. So I would end up losing too much time that could be spent working cleaning and organizing. As it is, I have to sacrafice at least one day every few months to the gods of clean. I don't want to do anymore.

So in closing, people are different, deal with it. When a space/thing/project/thought/life is not yours, nor does it directly effect your well being, then leave it alone. Or at least voice your opinions with respect, as snide comments only have the opposite effect intended. I for one am no more likely to change my ways. No, I am just less likely to allow anyone in my shop.

Step by Step

2007-12-06T08:50:00.000-08:00

So, I bought a truck. Not one of those lame new trucks though, I bought a beautiful old truck. A 1953 Dodge B-series 1/2 ton to be exact. She's awesome, and in great shape for being 55 years old. Of course she doesn't actually run, or start for that matter. Her brakes don't work. Nothing electrical works. She's got rust, though only one area of the passenger door is actually rusted through, otherwise just surface rust. Her bed is rotted out. The covering on her bench is shot. All her interior panels need to be replaced (if they're there at all). Sadly she is missing her hood ornament. The accelerator doesn't move. You know, the usual.

But at the same time, I think I already love her. She doesn't look like that picture any longer. I've pulled off all of the body pieces and have them stacked around my garage. I work on her when I can, covering myself in grease, rust, and dirt and of course a smile.

Here's a story that epitomizes our relationship. Last night I was working on removing the Driver's side door. Of course you need to remove this to get at the final bolts that hold on the front fender. Which in turn needs to come of so you can get access to the bolts holding on the grill. And all this needs to come of so you can pull the engine. Which needs to come out so you can get out the transmission. And the transmission needs to leave so you can work on the frame, etc, etc, etc.

Anyway, I'm working on the door right? Well the best way to remove the door is by driving out the hinge pins. Sounds easy enough, but then that doesn't take into account 55 years of rust and grit. The passenger side door hinge pins came out easy enough. Lube the hell out of them with WD-40, tap them with a hammer, and use a punch to drive them out. Done and done. For some reason though, the driver's side isn't that easy. I had given up a few days ago, and had left them to soak in their WD-40. Today I pounded on the upper one, and it moved. Hell yeah. I drove it out and all was good. I moved on to the lower one. I'm pounding away, but it's not moving. More WD-40, more pounding, and still not moving.

I try this for a good 15-20 minutes. Nothing. Screw this, those bolts right there, see them? Yeah, those hold this hinge on right? Let's just take those off instead and I can drive out this hinge pin later (I forgot to mention that this pin is in a difficult area to access. On the inside of the door, it's nestled between the door and the frame. To make matters worse, the support for the running board is right in the arc of your hammer and so blocks you from getting a good hit). I wrench free the four bolts, but nothing happens. The hinge is still attached. WTF. A visually examination reveals nothing. A tactile examination also reveals nothing. There's got to be a way to remove this hinge, I just don't know it.

Fine, the bolts don't do anything. I'm just going to have to drive this pin out the hard way. Back to the hammer and punches. Pounding and pounding, but nothing. I stop, stare at it hoping that I can figure something out, but there's really nothing to figure out. After all, this isn't rocket science, it isn't something that can be riddled out. There's only one way that pin is coming out, and that's by pounding it out. More WD-40, I start pounding. Each impact sprays a fine film of rust laden WD-40 all over me and the truck. I'm at my patience end.

I stop, rest, and let my temper subside (perhaps a useless tool case saw my bad side, but it's not talking).

All right, this pin isn't coming out on it's own (nor with my help it seems). I grab the grinder thinking I can cut it out, but because of the afore mentioned positioning of the hinge, I can't bring the grinder the bear on it. Shit. I'm cussing now, and feel a little despair growing in my gut. Fine. I angrily pound at the hinge pin. It moves a little.

It gives me an idea. I pound the pin as far as I can and then reverse it. I drive the pin back into place. Add some WD-40 and repeat. The third or fourth time I feel the end of the pin. I think it's further in. I'm excited. I escalate the process. I pound away. It's not going any further. I want to give up.

Screw that. No little pin is stopping me. I methodically go back at it. After three more cycles I'm pounding on one of my longer punches. Wait, did that strike sound different? Didn't that sound like the pin shifted? Hmm, don't get your hopes up. For good measure I give it a few more hits. And then I measure how far the punch is going in. Yes, that's surely deeper.

Three more cycles of pounding it back and forth, lubing it up with some WD-40 each time. And now I hear it, the pin is moving a tiny amount with each hit. You can tell, the way the punch rings with each hit. The tones is a little different when the pin moves. And then I look. That motherfucker is most definitely moving. I pound away, each strike lifting my heart a little more. And then with a glorious ring, the pin is free. I lift the greasy rust covered sucker grasping it triumphantly in my greasy rust covered hands and raising it above my head.

I give a heartfelt yell. I feel awesome. I just spent almost an hour and a half driving one little pin out of my trucks door hinge, and I feel incredible. It's funny, sometimes you can work on one thing for 10 minutes and feel like you've wasted your time, and then others you can spend hours on, and even if it's something that most people would see as trivial, to you it's time well spent.

I don't know what it is, but there was something in that moment. Something utterly ridiculous, but for me, something incredible. I know most people see my truck and they see a collection of rusted and dirty parts, hours of thankless labor, maybe many dollars to be spent. For me though, it's different. I look at her and I see the magic of holding a rust hinge pin a loft in my cold and dirty garage and I smile.

I'm Melting...

2007-11-05T14:14:00.001-08:00

I think today might qualify as the worst day of work ever. In fact it's been a great start to my week I think. Here's what's going down, the HVAC system has been off line all day.

Now, I know there are worse problems in the world, but then I'm not trying to compare mine to those problems. I just feel like bitching. And feel very justified in fact. So in most buildings on a cool November day, like today for instance, if the HVAC system wasn't running it wouldn't be too bad. Probably a little bit cool, and definitely stuffy. Well this is not the case with my building. I share my lab with a bunch of equipment that is always running and generates a lot of heat. We have two varieties of freezers (-20 and -80 degree C) a couple of different refridgerator, as well as incubators (32 ands 37 degree C). So looking over at the thermostat on the wall I see that it's a not very pleasant 87 degree F in my lab right now.

That sucks.

I'm sweating while sitting at my desk doing nothing. I feel like a fat person eating. And I know I complained before about always spending my days in a 72 degree climate controlled box, well this is worse. Give me climate control over sweaty stuffy heat.

To top is off, I'm pretty tired and the heat is making it hard to stay awake. Poor me. Life's just not fair some times.

Gumption Consumption

2007-11-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

I just realized that it's been quite a while since I posted last. I apologize for my lack of regularity, it happens sometimes. And in fact it kind of ties in with what I was thinking about today. I know this is a topic I've brought up before, but then it seems to be a rather central theme to my life, so deal with the repetition.

I've been reading this book, Truck: On Rebuilding a Worn-Out Pickup and Other Post-Technological Adventures, and it's actually pretty good. If you're wondering why I read such a book, well it's because I have a plan of buying an old truck from the 40's or 50's and fixing it up as my work truck. Any, back on topic. The interesting thing about this book, other then random anecdotes and lots of talk about the frustration of rebuilding anything, was the parallels with life in general. In fact it invokes Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (which if you haven't read, you should, even though it can drag).

There are primarily two central ideas in Zen. First that there is an idea of quality, and this idea is what should be the driving force in everything we do and make. And second, the idea of gumption. Gumption is the driving force that brings us to do anything. It is only with full gumption that we are ever able to achieve quality.

Now take a look at truck. It mirrors Zen in many ways, from the obvious that one is about repairing a motorcycle and the other is about rebuilding a truck. But more deeply they both explore the concepts of not only what is worth doing, but how one must work to accomplish it. In truth I feel that Robert Pirsig (author of Zen) does a more thorough job of elucidating the more intellectual concepts then does John Jerome (author of Truck). But then, I think that was also his goal. Anyway, I'm not interested in writing a book report, if your curious, by all means read the books and I'll discuss them.

The thing that strikes me in both it the idea of keeping up motivation. I'll use Pirsig's term, because I like it. Gumption. Here's the way he sees it, and I feel he is quite right about it. Gumption is like a reservoir of motivation. Before beginning a project this reservoir fills and initiates your action. Then as you work the reservoir drains away to feed your efforts, much like water in a hydroelectric dam. The problem comes when you push too hard, or go too long. You tend to run your gumption dry and then you stuck.

A good personal example of this is my most recent kitchen remodel in what is now our old house. I wanted to add a dishwasher to make life easier (doesn't always seem that you have to make your life more difficult to in turn make it easier?). To do this there were a couple of obstacles to overcome. The existing counter had to be ripped out and a new one built to accommodate the dishwasher (in addition to plumbing and running electrical for the dishwasher). Then the kitchen also was not completed from the last remodel, so I also had to agree to complete all the work previously left undone. To top it off I wanted to pull out the tile counter tops that were falling apart and put in some new wooden one I would make. All in all a fair amount of work, but by no means un-doable. I took a week off work thinking that I could finish it all in one week (my first mistake). There was no way I could complete the work in that time frame, but I tried any way. I pushed myself as hard as I could, and by the end of the week I had burnt through my gumption so severely that I'm not sure it will ever come back for that project. Now I see the things I've not finished and I'm not sure what it would take to get me to work on them again.

Here I am faced with the lessons from both books. Never force yourself to continue when all gumption is gone. In fact, never let your gumption sink too low. The idea is to lead yourself along. Instead of working until you can't stand to work anymore, stop a little early. If something starts going wrong, rest, let your gumption build back up before tackling it again. Make sure you never wear yourself out. If you stop early, when you just begin to feel tired of the project, and maybe even a little hungry to keep working, and take a good rest your gumption will build back up and next time you under take the project you'll enjoy it more and things will go more smoothly and more successfully.

Properly managed, your tasks shouldn't wear you down and the dread won't build up. Part of the problem I think is that in general people underestimate the amount of time a given project will take. In the example I gave of the kitchen remodel, if I had been realistic and said that instead of one week of work that there were two or even three weeks of work I would have not pushed myself too hard. I would not have tried to get too much done, and I wouldn't have grown to hate the project. I know this is true. I don't mind remodeling, in fact I generally enjoy it. But then there are those projects I push too hard on, and can never get myself to finish them.

In Truck John Jerome faces the same problem with the truck he is working on. He tries to finish it too quickly, and burns himself out. It takes a six month break before he is ready to get back to it and actually finish the truck. I think anyone who has taken on a long and involved project knows that feeling.

All right, so now I have a basic idea of how I work. Does it help? Not really... Yet I think. It's one thing knowing how you should operate, and another thing entirely actually doing so.

And so this has become a sort of mantra for me. Especially now that I'm getting ready to undertake my own truck rebuild, a project that could well take a year or two to complete. Forcing yourself to burn intensely for a short period and tearing through the work is easy. Turning it down and sustaining it at a level that not only keeps you going, but keeps you enjoying and doing quality work, now that's a horse of a different color.

This is why I think most people stop enjoying their hobbies when they turn them into their livelihoods. It easier to maintain a lower level when you have to make time to do something then it is to do the same when all you have is time.

That ends our lesson for today. So remember class, slow and steady wins the race.

Impulsive Home Buying

2007-10-05T14:42:00.000-07:00

So lately, not counting today, I have not been keeping up on blogging. There is a pretty good reason for this: I've been busy (or at least distracted). About three weeks ago now Jenny came home and told me she had found a house she wanted to buy. Half just humoring her, I went and looked at this house. It was a monster craftsman bungalow, probably close to 3000 square feet. From the outside you could see the potential. My interest was grabbed. We started poking around. We walked down the little path besides the house that led to the back yard. Out we step into a concrete wonder land. There's a pool (of the normally above ground variety) that has been half buried and surrounded with concrete. Next to this is a large water feature made of rocks and concrete. And next to that a concrete patio. 'No way', I say, 'are we buying this house'. I imagine hours of back-breaking labor trying to break out and remove all that concrete.

But the seed had been planted, and in fertile ground. It sprouted and we began searching houses. I told Jenny, 'We're going to do this different then last time. No looking for two weeks and then buying. We're going to take our time and find the perfect place.' With those sage and prophetic words we began looking, on our own. Last time we bought a house the market had been so hot that houses sold in a day, Realtors were like sharks, and we just chum in the water. It was a feeding frenzy every time we called to see a house. They'd hassle you mercilessly when they found out you didn't have a Realtor. This time things were different. The market is a buyers market. Houses sit routinely for months before selling. Realtors are civil and polite.

Anyway we look, and drive by many houses. And then on the third or fourth day I see it. I come across a listing for a house that looks perfect. Even by just seeing the RMLS add I knew I wanted. I call and set up an appointment. On the way there I tell Jenny, 'I'm 87% certain we are going to be buying this house.' We get there and meet the sellers. The show us around. It's a beautiful old farm house built in 1903. It's much bigger then our current house. It has a big garage, and a basement with his and her craft rooms. I am fully in love with this house by the end of the tour. Now I am 100% certain I want this house (remember those 'prophetic' words I spoke earlier? I was being facetious). Now I have to convince Jenny.

I set up 10 house viewings for the weekend and we go through them all. By the end of it she's convinced. We call the sellers; problem There's another offer, and they have already have a buyer for their house. Crap. We don't have a buyer. We could offer, but it wouldn't be strong enough with out a buyer. Wait. What about my parents? They've been talking for years about buying a house in Portland and renting it to one of my sisters. I call my Dad (actually my Mom first, she's easier) and try and work it out. We crunch numbers, look at figures, look at the thing from the bottom and from the top, but no, it's not going to work. My Dad says no.

The house I've been fantasying about (I had literally been dreaming about it, both the night and day varieties) suddenly began to dissolve in my mind. We were not going to get the house. Shit. We were heart broken (by now Jenny too had fallen in love with the house, after all it is perfect for us). We go to bed thinking that we've lost the house. And then it happens. I wake up around 4AM, restlessly tossing in bed. And it hits me. We don't have to sell our house at full price. We only need 75K for a down payment. I get out of bed and email my Dad and go back to sleep.

In the morning I call the seller and tell them the scoop. 'There's still a chance', I say, 'but I can't guarantee anything'. Fine they say, but we need to know by 1PM or we will accept the other offer. No pressure or anything. I call my Dad. He likes the idea. We can work something out he says. Elated I call the seller back, 'It so on', I say (I think I worded it differently though). Are you sure? Not sure at all, but knowing I have to commit, I say yes. Fine, we will reject the other offer and accept yours.

I did it.

And from there it's all been formalities (actually a lot of pains in my ass, but pretty much the same thing). Anyway, I think you can see why I haven't been writing much lately. My thoughts have been filled up with mortgages, credit ratings, house inspections, wheeling and dealing. I'm not so sure you'd want to be reading that stuff, though I could be wrong. Things are settling down again now. So I think I'll probably be writing more in the near future. We'll see.

Weak Liberals and the Death of PCism

2007-10-05T10:03:00.000-07:00

I'm warning you up front, this is a political post, not meant to be funny, and maybe not even entertaining. You've been warned.

As any aware human has to know Bush continues to fuck us. Most recently his veto of a bill that would have helped bring health care coverage to children is just one more in a long line of horrible actions he has taken. Look around you and it's hard not to blame most every crappy thing that's happening on him and his Neocon bastards. The environment? Well shoot, we don't need that. Why sign the Kyoto Treaty when it could damage our industries (only some, and in fact could create new industries as we find ways to do things in a less polluting manner. And the other thing is the Kyoto Treaty doesn't even go far enough, but that's not really the point here).

The economy? We didn't need a budget surplus. It's not the government's job to help people in financial trouble, instead it's their responsibility to fuck them further by making it hard to file bankruptcy. Jobs? Who needs them. CEOs shouldn't make a billion times what the average worker makes? You're crazy. And when they fuck us, huh, will bail them out. Halliburton is over charging the government? Oh well, what to do we care, it's helping line ours and our friends pockets with all that sweet cash.

You don't want a war in Iraq? What if I told you Saddam has WMD? He's building nuclear weapons, he's best buds with Osama Bin Laden. I hear they hang out every weekend and plan how to blow up the USA, in fact I hear it was Saddam that drew up the plan to fly planes into the world trade center. What's that you say? The 9/11 terrorists were almost all from Saudi Arabia, and Osama is also from Saudi Arabia? In fact there's almost no chance he was even in Afghanistan and was instead in Pakistan? I don't know where you get your intelligence, but that's crazy talk. I We have clear evidence that the whole thing went down in Afghanistan and Iraq.

You get the point. That brings me to the latest in a long line of offenses. The building campaign against Iran. Ted Rall, one of the best and most informative columnist/cartoonists out there, just wrote a column on the visit of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.

In brief he says that while Iran is not necessarily the model of a perfect country, they hardly qualify as our enemy. In fact when interviewed on CBS news and asked if he was building nuclear bombs, Ahmadinejad said: "You have to appreciate we don't need a nuclear bomb. We don't need that. What need do we have for a bomb?"

These are our blood thirsty insane enemies. Rall goes on to say that after 9/11 "vast crowds turned out on the streets and held candlelit vigils for the victims. Sixty-thousand spectators respected a minute's silence at Tehran's football stadium." The Iranian military offered to search for downed US pilots in Afghanistan when the US was fighting the Taliban (wait, they finished fighting the Taliban?) and even used its influence to get an election done in Afghanistan.

A little later Bush comes out with his axis of evil speech. Hmm, that's good foreign policy. Even after the US accused them of helping Al Qaeda, Iran still made efforts towards friendly relations, sending a letter in which the BBC reported "Iran appeared willing to put everything on the table--including being completely open about its nuclear program, helping to stabilize Iraq, ending its support for Palestinian militant groups and help in disarming Hezbollah." This was in 2003. Bush and the Neocons response? "We don't talk to evil." Yes, they do have a way with words. Imagine how different things could have been if there was an actually ally to help the US fix our botched occupation of Iraq.

Anyway, what does this have to do with weak Liberals and the death of PCism you ask? Well this is a topic I've been mulling over for some time now, and it actually is the combination of two ideas. First, one that has been expressed pretty heavily by the true left for some time now. The democrats and other visible symbols of liberalism have become so cowardly on weak kneed that they are completely incapable of standing up to an evil and criminal regime in our own country. The neocons continue to run rampant, screwing our country and our world with each new act. And what do the Democrats do (now, and even before they controlled majorities in the house and the seante)? Nothing. That's what is comes down to at least. They talk, they threaten, the play around with bills that are never going anywhere. In the end though, what have they done?

Bush and his cronies should be impeached. There is no question in my mind there. When you look at all the horrible acts they've carried out in our name, all the laws they've swept aside as impediments to their glorious reign, how can any right thinking empathic human being not want to see them brought to justice? Now I know they will not be impeached, let alone brought to justice by the Hague for war crimes, but how can these people that say they represent me sit there and do nothing? And what choice do I have? I vote for a green, or an independent, or even not vote at all, and I just help hand the election to those Neocon bastards. Instead I vote Democrat and sit and watch as they do nothing.

So there you have the weak liberals, now the death of PCism. PCism comes from the right place: the desire to treat others with respect and empathy. But it has come to the point where it is ridiculous and even counter productive. I feel that it is in part what cripples the democrats. They have become so afraid of insulting any aspect of our society that it paralyzes them. In specific look at the situation with Iraq. We are still in a war there. A war that most people no longer support. A fact which helped the Democrats win more seats. Now they have a mandate to get the troops out of Iraq. All right, so perhaps they can't get a veto proof majority to force a withdrawal. But they are in charge of the budget. They could cut funding off to the war which would in effect end the war. Why don't they do this? Because the second someone mentions a cut the response is to question "they're support of our troops" and the argument is ended.

We've (and by we I mean liberals, as the righties have no such limitations) allowed our distaste of insulting and offending anybody become so ingrained into us that all it takes to beat us in an argument is to claim our view point is unfair to some other persons. End of story. We can't end the war because we have to support our troops. We can't stand up to religious wackos because we have to respect their view point. We can't fight right wing pundits because their opinions are valid and we must respect them. Well I say screw that. I do not support our troops. I never wanted a war in Iraq and I do not now want a continuing occupation of Iraq. I do not want my tax dollars funding this atrocity (currently about 40% of my federal tax dollars do go to the military). As an American the blood of innocent Iraqis is on my hands. This blood is being spilled by the very troops my government has sent there against my wishes. Why should I support the troops?

PCism as become our handicap. The righties have no qualms breaking. For example people like Ann Coulter calling John Edwards a "faggot". If this had been a liberal, that would have been it. Look at Don Imus and his ill chosen "nappy headed hoes" comment (after all he is a lefty) that in effect ended his career. And it wasn't even the righties that took him down, it was lefties. Now, I'm not advocating that you no longer worry about offending others with what you say. All I want is a little bit of freedom. You should always treat other beings with respect. But when it comes down to it, when a person is in the wrong, they are in the wrong. When your morals become a handicap through which others take advantage, should you ditch those morals? I don't know the answer to that. In fact I don't know the answer to any of this.

I watch good liberal people allowing horrible things happen because they don't want to offend some group of people or another. Sometimes don't the needs of the many out way the needs of the few? Sometimes isn't it better to not support our troops and instead support the people of an entire nation? Why has it become so black and white, where have the shades of gray gone? It seems like our entire discourse has degraded to the point in which there are only two sides to any debate. It seems ridiculous to me that words out of someones mouth can have more import then the actions they take. But that's where we are at. On one side you have liberals who paralyze themselves trying not to say the wrong thing. They worry more about the words coming out of their mouths then actions they take. As long as they don't offend anyone they'll be all right. On the other side you have Neocons that lie blatantly so their words are correct. They manipulate and twist the words of others to quiet them. At the same time they know that what they say does not have to match what they do, and so continue to perpetrate horrible acts all the while telling people what they want to hear. It makes me so frustrated. I just don't know.

God versus Reality

2007-08-27T14:40:00.000-07:00

So this is a rare double post day, enjoy it while it lasts. These events occurred after the events chronicled in the previous post. In fact they went down right afterward. We left the after party at ACME and headed off to a party that a friend of Jenny's was throwing. It was a pretty boring party. I'd only met a few of the people before. They were pretty tame. In fact the events for the night went as follows.

I drank my first beer, and started to heckle the hostess. She decides we should play Mafia, and so we do. All the while I'm getting more boisterous. I get killed by the Mafia guy (actually pretty stupid on his part due to the fact that the suspicions of the previous round had been split between me and another girl, with her getting wrongly accused. Even money says I would have been accused next). Thankfully this lead to my second beer. The game ends, I might have done some more heckling.

Another game, this time one called What If? Another beer for me. The rules of this game are simple, you write down a question on a piece of paper. Everyone exchanges papers, and answer the question they got. The papers are mixed up and a person reads the question and the person next to them reads their answer (which doesn't even match the question, get it?) and hilarity ensues (or more accurately, doesn't).

Game over. More beer and it's almost time to leave. The hostess is chatting with us. She says that since her apartment is small, she split up her house warming party into two groups (I forgot to mention that it was a house warming party, didn't I? Oh well, now you know). We got invited to this one instead of the other party when her 25 friends from a church group will be there. Jenny jokes that we love church people. I ask if they believe in evolution, and if not, could I lecture them about it? The hostess defensively says that she believes in evolution. Jenny slaps me, and we make a quick get away.

In the car she tells me I suck, and that the girl sitting next to her believes in natural selection but not in evolution (umm, yeah). A mini argument wages on the car ride home, with me eventually being called intolerant. Blah, blah, blah.

Anyway, here's the thing. Something like 48% of our country say they don't believe in evolution. What? Ummm, I hate to tell you this, but evolution isn't like faeries or mermaids. It's not something you get to choose whether or not you believe. Evolution is as close to fact as things come in science. Saying you don't believe in evolution is pretty much equivalent to saying you don't believe in gravity. Both can be directly observed. Both have been tested and examined empirically many times, with neither of them ever being disproved. And don't even get me started on someone saying they believe in natural selection but not in evolution. That's like saying I don't believe in the constitution, but I believe in the first amendment. It doesn't really work that way.

Now I could go into the examples that demonstrate both evolution and natural selection in action, such as antibiotic selection of bacteria. But a simple Internet search should yield all the results you could possibly desire (assuming someone who disbelieves in evolution is smart enough to be able to identify whether or not a website is a trust worthy source).

Really what the so called debate that delusional people think is going on between scientists and creationist (cause really scientist should hardly think it's worth debating) about whether evolution is in fact true comes down to misunderstanding of semantics. For some reason some people refuse to accept the simple precept of science that nothing can ever be proven, things can only be disproven. Therefore evolution gets named as a theory. This is not because there is a doubt of whether or not evolution occurs, but in fact due to the very nature of science itself. If a system dictates that nothing can ever be definitively proven, then how are you to ever say that something is true beyond doubt? Science says you can't, even with something like evolution that is very well documented. It is in fact the cornerstone on which all of modern biology is built (including by the way medicine). So maybe if you don't believe in evolution, you shouldn't believe in modern medicine either.

Anyway, I don't really want to debate the merit of evolution. I know it has, does, and will continue to occur. Maybe this makes me seem as fanatical as the loonies I am currently decrying, but then at least my viewpoint can be directly observed. What I want to say is that this has become a litmus test for me (and I know that if you follow politics the litmus test has gotten a bad name, as in a simple yes or no situation. But in fact the litmus test is still a useful and easy way of measuring pH, so think of it in that sense). If a person does not"believe" in evolution, or worse yet believes in just natural selection (a cowardly attempt to stave off debate), or worst of all intelligent design (seriously, lets take some aspects of the reality, taint them and try and pass them off as science, even though our basic precept is untestable and therefore by definition can not ever be science) I automatic discount all of their opinions. Maybe this makes me a judgmental fuck, but you know what? I don't care. If you choose to disbelieve reality, I should trust your opinion? Yeah, no thanks.

PDX Adult Soap Box Derby

2007-08-27T13:06:00.001-07:00

This last Saturday was the soap box derby on Mt. Tabor. We were there, and it was great fun. Team Ramm Rodd, car number 40. Here's how it all went down:

Up bright and early, we had to be there by 8am, which meant we had to met Brian and Sue at their house at 7:30. We loaded Ramm Rodd into his trailer and hit the road. After some direction confusion we made it to the top (sort of) of Mt. Tabor in Tabor park. Most of the other teams were already there, so we had to find a spot to squeeze in, right between team Tune-in-Tokyo and team Evil racing (makers of the surprisingly fast Manateevil, a large purple car that might have looked more like Grimace then it did a manatee).

Walking around there are many other cars. It looked like a 50-50 split between the art cars and the science cars. There were all different levels of sophistication in the engineering and the artistic expression. Some of the teams were even sponsored, from team evil racing who was sponsored by the Florida Room, to the Giant Big Wheel sponsored by Yamika (and most likely well over the $300 limit that should be spent on the car).

We each got 3 heats, with the fastest 27 cars advancing to a bracket to determine the winner of it all. Each heat consisted of 14 races, with each race consisting of 3 cars. We drew race 14 in the first heat, which meant a lot of waiting for us. We sat and watched the other cars go, the coolest of which is Team Tune-in-Tokyo. There car originally looks like a giant architects model, but when it starts a man dressed in a Godzilla costume jumps on board and proceeds to tear apart the city (much to the joy of the crowd). In the next heat they changed the city to New York and had King-Kong. On the final heat, King-Kong battled Godzilla for supremacy (needless to say they one for crowd favorite).

Finally it's our turn. I'm in charge of pushing. We are allowed one pusher for the first 10 yards of the race. I am actually nervous. There's a crap load of people at this point. We have two other cars with us. One science car, that looks like a wedge and is driven by a bitch. The other is an art car that looks like a circus cage and is driven by three gorillas. The director calls out to clear the track. Tells the racers to be on their ready, and yells to go. I push as hard as I can, Brian flips the switch and the blood starts squirting out of Ramm Rodd's tail (nice cherry flavored blood) which of course drenches me.

He's off, but sadly it wasn't a great push. He started in third.

We anxiously await the times. 241 seconds. We beat the circus cage, but got smoked by the wedge mobile, I think their time was 128 seconds (which is around where most of the fast cars are). The second heat. I try even harder, and end up falling down as I let go of the car (thankfully due to my excellent skills I am able to dive roll to safety).

Sadly it only cuts 5 seconds off of our time.

Our third heat, I get off my best push yet and we rally to an impressive time of 218 seconds. We are then left wait and see if we qualified for the bracket round. Coming in we didn't think we had a chance. Now Leslie and I count up the times of all the other cars and place us in the 24th-26th place range. Since the top 27 go on, we think we've made it. Finally, they put up the results, in order. And when the 25th car goes up the crowd erupts (well, at least those in the crowd wearing Ramm Rodd coveralls). Against all odds, we did it! Along with one or two other art cars.

We've got no chance of advancing any further. It's a victory for us to have made it this far. In fact almost all of the science cars are posting times that are about half what ours' are.

Still we persevere and set up for our final race. Mat comes up to me and tells me I must cheat. That the reason the other cars are beating us off the line is they are cheating and starting before the announcer says go. Fine, I've got to do what I've got to do to get us that checkered flag. We line up, the announcer tells us to get ready, then he says to get set, I push off, but my foot slips. Brian has already started spraying blood and my shoe slides in it. It doesn't matter though. We are off first. Even before he says go are car is across the line. We are in first for the first time today, and sadly the last.

The cars disappear around the bend, and when the times come back there we are at 218 seconds again, and sadly defeat. It ends up we posted the slowest time in the bracket of any car that finished. Oh well. In the end another science car takes the fastest time. Big surprise. I hope they enjoy their completely uncreative fast car, cause I didn't.

A few other observations. The blood of Ramm Rodd is cursed. Multiple cars got sprayed with it. After which none of those cars won. One of them was even destroyed in a later race. You are warned. Avoid Ramm Rodd's blood.

Bucking hay sucks. After the race Team Ramm Rodd, and two other guys, helped clean up the hay bales that lined the race course. It was freakin' hard work. The only enjoyable part was the old German Immigrant Farmer who was driving the hay truck. He was awesome.

And finally, for those that don't know: The PDX Adult Soap Box Derby is awesome! You should totally go next year. I know we will be there (perhaps with a new demon-mobile).

Walk This Way

2007-08-24T15:30:00.001-07:00

Another entry in the continuing "rules to live by" series. This weeks edition: how to walk in public. To start, let me say this is not about your actual walking style. As annoying as it might be I still feel you are free to strut if you like, rolling your shoulders with each step, with your chest puffed out. Fine, I don't really care. Still there are some rules you should follow when walking where other people might come in contact with you.

Here they are:

1. When walking down a corridor or pathway, walk on the right. After all this is America, we drive on the right, so please walk on the right. Trust me, it will keep things moving smoother, you'll run into less people.

2. When making a left turn in a hallway, don't cut the corner. When you do, you invariably go into the left side of the hall where, guess what, you are going to run head long into a person coming around the corner from the other direction. How can we possibly avoid this collision when you can't see though walls? Don't cut the corner, stay to the right, and shockingly enough you won't run into anybody (assuming they're following the rules).

3. When you're walking with a large group of people, don't walk abreast of each other. Leave some space not only for people coming the other way, but also faster moving people coming from behind you.

4. When climbing the stairs, you still have to stay to the right. The rules don't change for stairs.

5. Don't stop on the stairs or in front of an entrance or exit to the stairs. Have you ever heard the term bottle neck? That's what they are talking about. When you stop on the stairs you've just put a stopper in the bottle neck. Bad idea.

6. Be careful with your gesticulations. It's not a problem if you talk with your hands, after all even I do. But be aware of your surroundings. If your walking and you make a large hand gesture, but oops there's someone walk besides you that you didn't notice you may have poked out their eye.

7. When in the flow of a crowd, don't randomly stop to see if your headed where you want. Pull to the side, stopping front of people is lame. If you did it in a car, you'd be rear ended. Don't do it walking either.

8. On a narrow trail the person going uphill gets right of way. It's only fair, they're doing the harder work.

9. Stop for pedestrians. Okay, this one doesn't actually apply to walking, but it still pisses me off. Seriously, when someone is waiting at a crosswalk, stop for them. How much time is it really going to add to you commute? I thought so.

10. Don't spare change me when I'm walking. Actually, this one doesn't strictly apply to walking either. Just stop pan handling from me, okay? It's not my duty to support your worthless ass and your drinking/drug habit. Especially when your 16 and live with your parents in Gresham.

11. In large crowds, don't go against the flow. It messes everything up. I like everything to be neat and tidy (well, not really) and when you go against the flow it sends ripples of disruption through the crowd.

Hmm, seems like 11 is the number. There's probably more I'm just not thinking of yet, but oh well. I'll correct it when I do.

Until then, if you want to be a good and skilled public walker, just follow these rules. Everything will go some much more smoothly if we all did. Imagine a world where you never have to do the avoidance dance. It's a beautiful thing.

Play it Cool.

2007-08-21T14:08:00.000-07:00

The other day I was talking with a co-worker and mentioned my new Nintendo Wii. She starts making fun of me for it. How old are you? Twelve? No, I say, I'm freakin' 29 and in no way embarrassed to be playing video games (snap, slap, whap). Now, ignoring the fact that she's so hopelessly ill informed as to believe that video games are still made primarily for children she made me think of something. Growing up there came a time in life when I decided (not really through a choice of my own but more out of a sense of personal preservation) that I should learn how to be cool (it's definitely arguably on how well I achieved this goal, but that's hardly the point).

So I set about doing this. Now, I could only work with what I had available, and seeing as how I'd never been cool I realized that I had to go to a source outside myself. And so I watched other people who I thought were cool (this was a questionable choice, being a young teenager) and tried to learn their behavior. Here are the rules I observed:

1. Don't ever like anything. Liking things is a sign of weakness. If you want to be cool you have to hate everything. Maybe every now and then you can grudgingly say somethings all right.

2. Fun does not exist, so you can't have any. This of course ties into the not liking anything rule, but you shouldn't have fun.

3. Dress in a lot of black.

4. Corporate logos are no good (this rule was specific to the people I thought were cool, noty necessarily to every cool person). Instead you should cover yourself in all kinds of band patches. That is way cooler.

5. Make fun of everyone and everything. Again this ties to the first rules. Since you can't like anything, and you have to demonstrate not liking anything, what better way then to make fun of it?

6. Sit around a lot. After all, you don't like anything, you can't have fun, why try and do anything?

7. Self-destructive behavior is they only kind worth undertaking. Drugs, alcohol, smoking, getting arrested... These are the only things that you can do that aren't lame. If you're not breaking a law, is it worth doing? (Again, these are the people I thought were cool).

So why talk about this? Well because forcing yourself to live that way really tends to screw you up. How does this tie into a Nintendo Wii? Well there's no way I would have been allowed to admit to playing, enjoying, let alone owning one 10-15 years ago.

These old habits die hard. Back when I tried to be cool everything I did, everything I owned, everyone I hung out with was dictated by a strict code of what was acceptable. Now things are slowly starting to fade. I listen to much more diverse music, though there are still things I'd be embarrassed to say I listen to, although I now listen to quite a bit of metal and that would never have been allowed. I am no longer a vegan. I hang out with people who aren't punk rock. I actually do stuff. I like stuff, and even admit.

There's one behavior I just can't seem to break, and that's making fun of everything. Nothing's good enough. And it's a hard behavior, never being serious, just ask my wife. I sometimes wonder where I would have ended up, and who I would have ended up as if I had chosen a different path. I mean, what would I be like as a serious straight laced dill hole? (I guess I kind of showed my bias there). Oh well, I'll never know. And honestly it doesn't matter. I'm happy with where I am. I have a good life, good friends, and good things going on. Plus I have my Nintendo Wii, and I'm not even afraid to admit it.

Bus Etiquette: Now New and Improved!

2007-08-15T11:47:00.000-07:00

Riding the MAX in this morning an elderly man sat next to me. I have to say I after stinky ass bums and talkative crazy people, elderly people are my least favorite bench mates, just before morbidly obese people. Why? Because they don't follow the damn rules of bus riding. They never move for you, I guess they think since they can barely stand they don't have to get up to let you off. But more annoyingly they have no qualms about invading your space. I don't like random people touching me on the bus or MAX.

All right, I realize that not everyone out there understands the proper code of conduct when riding public transit. Seeing as how I've been a mass transit commuter for every work day for the last five years with a commute between 45 and 60 mins I feel that not only am I passionate about this code, but experienced enough to lay it out for those with less time spent on board. So here it is, the transit code that you should live and die by.

1. Sit in whatever direction your seat faces. If your seat faces forward, you are not allowed to sit sideways, or heaven forbid backwards. Why you ask? It's not because I'm concerned about your personal safety. No, it's actually because I or someone like me might be sitting behind you. I do not want to look at you. And I don't want you facing me. I'd much rather look at the back of your head.

2. Don't stand in front of the bus' back door. There's a reason that area in front of the back door on a bus is painted yellow. That's because you aren't supposed to stand there. The bus pulls in for a stop and I want to get off. There's nobody else standing, in fact there are open seats, and you're standing in the door and I have to squeeze past you? Uh, you suck. Just sit down, nobody thinks you're cool for standing while the bus is driving.

3. If someone where to draw a cartoon of you and they would draw squiggly stink lines emanating from you, don't get on the bus. The bus, and to a lesser extent the MAX, are pretty much just boxes on wheels with enclosed air systems. If I have to cover my face with my hand to shield myself from your odor you have no business being on a bus. Please take a shower first.

4. In a related note, please don't fart on the bus. We are all pretty much trapped there, and you're going to go and pass gas forcing us all to breathe it? Not cool. Only time that is more inappropriate to fart is when you are on an exercise machine next to someone else.

5. Don't touch the person next to you. Your seat is your personal space, if you are in contact with the person next to you, then you've invaded their's. If you're in the outside seat then you should lean towards the aisle, don't crowd the other person until they're pressed against the window. (Note, there is one exception to this rule, and that is if you're a hot girl/boy who obeys all other rules, then you can touch the person next to you in a sort of covert flirty manner).

6. If the person next to you is reading or wearing headphones, don't talk to them. Obviously they don't want to have a conversation, otherwise they wouldn't have the book/headphones, so just shut up. (The exception to this rule is if you need to ask directions, etc.)

7. Cell Phones. If you get a call go ahead and answer it, and then say "I'm on the bus/MAX, can I call you back." I do not now, or probably ever will, care about your personal problems. And there really is nothing worse then listening to a loud (invariably the person on the cell phone is talking loudly) one-sided conversation.

8. If you are having a conversation with another rider, keep it at a respectful level. Not everybody thinks you're as funny as you do. Also, about the headphones, if I can identify what song you are listening to, it's too loud.

9. When you are sitting in the aisle seat and the person next to you is getting off, get up out of your seat to allow them to leave. Sliding your legs to the side while remaining seated to let them squeeze by is not acceptable. Are you really so lazy that you can't get up?

10. Don't sit on the MAX's steps. Especially if you don't get up to let people get by.

11. When queuing to get on the bus/MAX, let the people get off before you get on. It's pretty easy, just look through the window and you can see if anyone is getting off. Also, let people with a handicap get on first. That's only fair.

12. Bodily fluids should not be outside of your body while on the bus. Included on this list: vomit, blood, saliva, snot, feces, and urine. In fact no part of your person should become detached and left on the bus. It's like hiking, take only pictures and leave only footprints. My own worst experience with bodily fluids was while riding up to the hill and some stinky fat guy took out his huge sample container full of urine and set it on the bench between us. Needless to say I scowled and moved away.

13. No large animals. If your giant dog decides to go berserk, we're all sitting ducks. Just imagine the carnage, blood splattered windows, torn limbs, etc. Don't do it. Buses are for people, not dogs, unless your handicapped.

14. When you're standing please move to the back of the bus. The bus does not in fact end at the back door. There's a whole-nother section behind that. Nothings worse then being packed like sardines in the front of the bus when the back is all but empty. Just because you want easy access to the door does not give you the right to make everybody else's life on the bus a cramped sweaty hell.

I think that about covers it. 14 rules, and if you follow them then you too can be a good mass transit commuter. Your reward? You get to be annoyed by all those crappy ass commuters out there that follow, none or only some of the rules.

An Apology

2007-07-31T10:42:00.000-07:00

I was just thinking that I've been posting a lot of philosophical masturbation lately. This is neither my intention nor my desire for a blog. So just a heads up, I'm planning on moving away from that and towards more story telling, perhaps some ranting, maybe some light hearted humorous posts. I don't know, I'll see where inspiration takes me, blah, blah, blah, phhhhhttt.

Angry Youth

2007-07-31T09:46:00.001-07:00

It's funny sometimes where inspiration comes from. Last night we were flipping channels and settled on an episode of Wife Swap. They had switched a traditional southern housewife with a liberal hippy northern one, with both sides learning valuable lessons of course. The interesting part though was the Hippy woman's son. He was long haired, in his late teens, and passionate. In short probably the type of person I would have been friends with at his age.

Now this kid had a problem with the southern woman doing all of the house work. In fact he rebelled against her rule that she alone would do all the cleaning and did the dishes. This lead to an argument between the two of them, and we flipped stations. When we turned back, the parents were discussing their experiences in each others houses. The southern women said about the son that he was disrespectful of her views, that he disrespected the flag, and disrespected his country (at which point I'm having a hard time not laughing, he is a teenager after all).

Next scene, the hippy mom talking to her son. She starts off saying how she knows he is passionate in his views, and correct in essence, but it's just the way he says it. His anger at others lack of understanding is off putting. You have to be respectful of other peoples views if you want them to listen to yours, she tells him. This conversation could have been taken from my own past. My mom said the same thing to me. And in the end she was right. No one would listen to my perspective if it was dripping with contempt and anger. Now they listen, maybe, but the result is the same. People dismiss my views as unfeasible, unrealistic, but I guess they listen.

That's not my problem though. The problem is what they don't tell you when they give you this lecture. They don't say that people will only really listen to you when your views have fallen more in line with theirs. It's misrepresented that it is anger that puts them off, when really it's the difference of the perspective itself that's off putting. Take the example of the angry hippy boy and the conservative southern housewife. Now to follow his mom's advice he should have listened to her perspective, and then gently, without anger or condescension, have told her his views. Slowly and carefully and she would have seen them, understood them, and eventually, if they were stated properly, she would see the superiority of his perspective and the truth in what he said. In the end it is not only the content but how you say it.

Problem is this is bull shit.

The content itself is where the problem lies. No matter how you coat it, it won't be swallowed. The anger and contempt are just the excuse for rejecting it. I know, I've tried this first hand. I've tried taking the prescribed hippy approach and gently introducing my perspective to a person. Continually trying to redirect away from the idea that I thought was wrong. Didn't work. Nothing changed. Maybe it was already to late. Maybe she was already too old and habits were too deeply ingrained. It became more of a discussion of different view points. Not bad, but no change.

I don't know the answer, and I'm trying to say that I do. All I'm saying is this: society has a tendency of trying to force the angry youth to quiet their voices, telling them that then they will be heard. Never mentioning that doing so their views will change. They will drift more towards the side they disagreed with, that they will be cast adrift in a sea of gray where there are no really wrong view points, just different ones. They will become a muddled mess where inaction is easier then action, and maybe just as correct.

Things were more clear cut as an angry youth. There was an enemy. There was injustice that needed to be fought, voices that needed to be heard. Now it's not so for me. It's easier for me to live my life and hope things will work themselves out. Sometimes I wish I could go back.

Meow?

2007-07-30T10:48:00.000-07:00

This Weekend was our block party. We live on a short block, only four houses. So we got permission from the city and closed off our little section of street and invited all of the neighbors. We probably go a turn out of around 40 or so people, including both of our mail people (our female mail person brought three pug puppies that she breeds. They are ridiculously cute).

A neighborhood can be an interesting thing, and ours is no exception. There are some interesting folks living in our neighborhood. From the couple that collects flags (his hobby is flag flying, her's apparently is wearing her pants just below her rib cage), to the recluse who lives next door with whom I've probably shared a grand total of 15 words with in the 4 years we've lived next door who recently joined a women's sail group even though he's a man (not surprisingly he's the only man in the group).

Now, I'm not sure what this means, but the most exciting moment of the night went down like this: I was standing there talking with my sister who was just visiting town for the weekend when one of my neighbors decided it was time to take his dog home. The path he chose happened to take him and his dog in front of a good sized gray cat. Bad choice. The cat started hissing at the dog (some kind of collie mix).

The cat leaped at the dog (to be honest this is actually when the whole thing caught my attention), and scratched it across the face. The dog gave way trying to back away from the cat. The cat in turn wasn't having any of that. He pressed the attack, striking the dog multiple more times in the face. At this point the dog's owner decided it was time to intervene. He hesitantly stepped forward (he looked a little afraid of the cat) to get between the cat and dog, and to try and shield his dog.

The cat was not dissuaded in the slightest. He jumped around the man, turning in mid air and renewed his assault. There was a flurry of hissing and the cats claws were tearing the dog. He struck the dog in the face, climbed up on the dogs back (much like a lion as it brings down its prey). The dog was cowering, trying to shrink away from the cat, but there was no hope. I'm pretty sure that if the owner hadn't stepped in at this point and swung at the cat it would have been all over. The cat would have killed the dog.

Instead the dog was free, and the cat stood a few feet away with all its hair standing on end. It was a show down between probably a 10-15 pound cat and a team of a 40-50 dog and a 160 pound man. The cat had the upper hand and knew it. He started pressing his advantage, moving back towards the dog and its owner, who were backing fearfully away from the dog. At this point my 120 pound wife stepped in (I couldn't as I was just standing there with my mouth hanging open. I think it was one of the most beautiful things I've seen). She walked slowly up to the cat and shewed it away.

The cat's owner stepped in (the woman with the high pants and the flag flying man). Apparently this cat has a history of ass kicking.

I was blown away. I've always been more of a cat person then a dog person. Usually I get teased for being a male that prefers sissy ass cats. Now I'm not so sure. I saw a cat kick a dogs ass, even though the dog was three times its size. The same night I met another dog that had just been attacked by three raccoons. She had not fared well. In fact she was lucky to be alive.

It's always good to have your opinions backed up by empirical evidence. When a person wants an animal for protection they invariably get a dog. After what I saw this weekend I'm not so sure. I say keep your dogs, I feel perfectly well protected by my 18 pound man cat.

Why must you torment me Harry?

2007-07-24T11:23:00.000-07:00

The last Harry Potter book came out over the weekend, of course I bought it. I'm a sucker for a good children's book, sadly though my wife got first dibs on the new book (technically I did buy it for her). So I am rereading the last one. We also went and saw the newest movie (which was by far the best one yet in my opinion, I'm pretty sure they changed directors after the stink-fest that was the one before it). So admittedly I enjoy the books, although they are pretty much literary crack. You tear your way through them and then in a few months you're hard pressed to say what actually happened in them (at least I am, so it kind of works out that I just saw the movie of the 5th one and am rereading the 6th one while my wife reads the 7th).

I do have a problem with the books, and it's this: they make me depressed. Okay, maybe that's not entirely accurate. They don't make me depressed, they just make me disappointed with my life. Here's why: I've always wanted to have magic powers (as I assume a lot of people do). Reading about people with magic powers makes it worse. In normal life the desire fades into the background, and to be honest I barely ever think about it. But then a one of these books comes along and it stirs it up again. I think this is why I've never been able to really get into fantasy books, they make me feel inadequate.

To some extent the Star Wars movies do the same thing, though I'd rather be a wizard then a jedi, they're way to combat oriented for my taste. Still, if offered, it's not like I'd refuse.

Over all I'd say I'm a pretty happy person, well satisfied with my life, family and friends. It's just these escapist books. It's like working your ass off to paint this beautiful picture, and then you look over and your friend who's barely trying is painting a picture that makes yours look like a paint-by-number kit. It especially hurts because I know that magic powers aren't happening. Once I may have believed, but having suckled at the teat of science for too long I've been tainted and now believe as Arthur C. Clarke said, 'magic is only science that we do not yet understand'.

Maybe that takes some of the beauty out of life, it certainly kills the hope that some big half-giant is going to burst into my house and tell me that I've got magical powers and he's to escort me to my new magical school. Damn.

It does make me understand people who pursue the 'dark arts'. What if it is possible and you can learn to perform real magic (or magik if you prefer)? It sounds pretty cool, finding the original necronomicom, perform some sacrifices, have some hot sex rituals, and give myself magic powers. I think the only thing stopping me from becoming a modern Aleister Crowley is the fact that I'm lazy. Well, that or the fact that I don't really believe, one or the other.

Regardless it makes me sad that I will never have magical powers, or at least some telepathic or telekinetic ones. I would be too hard to please, just give me some powers that let me do things everyone else thinks are impossible, then I'll be happy. Or I guess I could just not read fantasy and it would stop tormenting me.

Why J.K Rowling, why?

Nihilist and the Dreamer

2007-07-18T10:19:00.000-07:00

Warning: what follows is a bunch of philosophical drivel (you've been warned, so don't complain).

On the MAX this morning I was reading We (by Yevgeny Zamyatin, it's supposed to be the book that inspired 1984 and Brave New World, and it's worth the read). It's slow going, because it seems like every paragraph gets me thinking about something. For the most part it's an exploration of the difference between the individual and the state.

This question is troubling to me. We were all raised to believe that we are individuals, that we are unique, that we are capable of being whatever we want. But life teaches us differently. It isn't long before we run up against someone who is better then us at some such. How often do you meat someone and say "damn, you totally remind me of my friend so-and-so"?

If you think about it, there are six billion of us on this planet. With such numbers 1 becomes totally meaningless. What does it matter if that 1 were to disappear? What percentage of the six billion would notice? 0.000001%, maybe a little more. Then you think that if life was a spontaneous occurrence (I think the most likely explanation), and our universe is infinite (so we are told and I have no reason to doubt), then is there really any chance that our planet is the only one that has life on it? So that means that you, the totally unique and special little person, are one of some obscenely large number of sentient beings.

How can it even possible for every person to be unique? How many traits are there in a human personality? Enough that there are more then 6 billion permutations? How high does the human population have to get before we start duplicating personas? It's a question I don't know how to answer, I mean even trying to figure out how to quantify a personality is so very difficult. We've all taken those personality test in some psychology class or another. Even the most complex of those only have something like 16 or so different personality types. And often they fit decently well. Does that mean there are only 16 different people out there?

It's one of the failings of the Politically Correct mindset, the idea that we are each unique. And that it even matters. I think about it, and the PC upbringing in me screams in rage at the thought that there are 1000s of people out there that are just like me. I want to be unique, my mom, my teacher, and all those many children's books I read told me that I am unique, that I am special. But as I grow older, travel more, experience more, and read more it becomes clear to me that I am not. If you sit in a cafe in some foreign country (your choice of where, it doesn't matter) and watch the people around you, you see it. You don't even need to understand the language. You watch their body language and their interactions and you can see it. The way people flirt and their interactions; they're the same. The emotions that drive us are all the same. We just want to be happy.

Some times I sit on the bus, and I listen to the conversations around me. Often there are conversations that get loud and boisterous, and I get annoyed. But if I force myself to step back and pretend that I was saying these things, and it clicks. Maybe some of those conversations are more dumb then the ones I would have, but not much. They are me, just slightly different.

Where does this leave me? Am I a unique individual who is special and great, or am I a blind face drowning in the mass of humanity that swarms our world? I don't know. I know which one I want to be, and how I was raised to believe that I am. And I know that if I am honest with myself which one I should believe. In the end though, does it matter? It's the same philosophical masturbation we did when we played with the idea of whether people still exist when we leave the room. It doesn't matter. The world goes on regardless of how I think it works. It went on before I was born and it will after I die.

I guess that's the root of the exercise. Trying to reconcile the fact that you really don't matter with your desire to be of value and to have purpose. It's a never ending battle between the nihilist and the dreamer. Neither can ever really win. This is what I get for reading a Russian science fiction author, who lived during the revolution, first thing in the morning. Maybe I should switch to Clancy.

Crystal Ball

2007-07-12T11:06:00.000-07:00

At this point I'm about 95% positive that the only person reading these posts is Space Zombie himself. Oh well, it's like a private story telling time. I'm cool with that. Eventually random people will begin to stumble across these posts and grasps their true brilliance. From there it will spread and eventually everyone will hang on each word these fingers type. But until then, it's just you and me Space zombie.

So here's what I was thinking. Yesterday I got a replacement for my older I-pod with a new model (under warranty so I paid nothing). It was a painful long and involved process, but in the end it worked out. All morning now I've been bonding with my new I-pod. It's a beaut, 30gb video I-pod, black and shiny with a nice big screen. A definite upgrade over my 20gb I-pod photo. So to kick things off I filled it up and put it on shuffle and its been kicking ass. Assembling a good shuffle is a fine art. The songs need to play off each other, you can't play back to back songs by the same band, and don't play the crappy songs.

This new I-pod has done it masterfully. My first I-pod did it all right. And the I-pod I was borrowing while my other was in the shop did it terribly (frequently playing back to back songs by the same artist, given its only a 4gb so there's less to choose from). As interesting as all that is, my point is this; I really only have two superstitions. First I feel you must knock on wood after you tempt fate. And second I believe in the predictive power of the I-pod shuffle.

To elaborate I frequently will ask a question (in my head of course) of the I-pod and press play in shuffle mode with whatever song it chooses answering my question. Obviously this doesn't work for specific questions such as is blue, red, yellow, or green the best color (like I'd really need to ask that, green wins in a land slide). But for more abstract questions it can be quite illuminating.

For example, last weekend was Brian's Bachelor party, for which I played a good part in the planning and organizing. I asked my I-pod how things would go. It chose a Lyrics Born song. A good omen. It had a good beat, the lyrics invoked a good time, and I felt good knowing that things would go well. And it was right. The Bachelor Party turned out to be one of the better days in recent memory. A good time was had by all. All bow down and praise the prognostic abilities of the great I-pod.

Gumption Killer

2007-07-05T14:51:00.000-07:00

Here's an entry in an underrated genre: "I'm bored at work and so I'm going to write some meaningless drivel to kill some time".

It's something like 90 degrees outside, not that you'd know it being stuck inside at a permanent 72 degrees year round. What are seasons like? I don't know anymore. They all seem to blend together, and I can almost always wear the same outfits, cause the temperature never changes. You spend all day doing the same things over and over, staring at the same things, it's kind of soul killing and it's kind of zen. It makes me think of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. The true story of a man's personal quest for perfection (though he calls it quality), and whole in the end it destroyed him leading to shock therapy, and the complete destruction of his memories. But he goes right back at it.

Maybe the parallels aren't that clear, but something about the repetitive nature of a job reminds me of a quest for perfection. As if your doomed to repeat the same day until it goes perfectly, and only then can you move on from it. But sadly for you, perfection is impossible, there's always a flaw. You've got to go back to work, and it just blurs until it's eaten away your memories. But you go right back at it.

That's what my work personae seems like to me; a pale shadow of my real self, the person I am when I step off the MAX at the end of a day, after traveling a route that's now so familiar that I can picture it all in my mind's eye. I step out in front of the Dancin' Bare, and my work mentality begins to molt off like some undersized old skin. It's weird when you think about it, how many times during your life you shift your personality to fit a situation, and how your personality grows and changes to accommodate circumstance.

Really works not as bad as all that. Sometimes it can be elating. For example when an experiment goes off better then hoped or expected and you see something new. You're looking at something that no human being has ever seen before. Maybe it's a detail that so trivial that it's beyond meaningless to the average person, but to you, who devotes your life to meaningless trivialities, it's a thing of beauty and it makes it worth it. You forget the fact that all too often you're stuck repeating the same process over and over again. Or worse, you're trying to figure out why something that should have worked (so you've convinced yourself) hasn't worked. The problem being that 90% of the steps you have to take in the process have no visible result. You've got to care it out all faith, believing that in the end you will have a result. And then you don't. It's so much fun figuring out and correcting what went wrong. But then there's always the chance that the result just doesn't exist in the first place. What you'd originally hypothesized is just wrong, and no matter how much you change you'll never get a positive result. But then how do you know which situation is which?

Going back to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for a second. He talks of this idea of gumption. All creative processes or works that require focus and thought are driven by gumption. And only when your gumption is at it's fullest is it worth doing anything, because it is only then that you can perform at you best. And when things go wrong it's what he calls a gumption killer. Your gumption is drained and so is your ability and drive to do your work. Failed experiments are gumption killers, and the sad truth of science is that something like 90% of experiments fail to give the desired result. How is that relevant? Maybe it's not, maybe it's just an excuse for feeling the way I do. I don't know.

The Universal Language of Deafness

2007-06-27T14:13:00.000-07:00

Not sure how many readers I have after yesterday, but here goes. I'm sort of cheating with this post, cause it's part of the travel journal I wrote while we were in Malta and Tunisia, but I think it's a good story (you have to ignore the style, it was written in my journal after all). So if you don't like cheating, don't read it.

First a little introduction to get you into the setting. We are staying in Tozeur, which is a town of around 5000 which is on the edge of the Sahara desert. It is an oasis town and attached to a large palmarie, they clam there are 200,000 date palms growing in it. It is supposedly fed by 200 springs, and produces the finest of dates, the finger of light. Anyway, we had spent all day walking through the palmarie and were now tired and thirsty. One problem with Tunisia (being muslim and all) is that it can be hard to get a drink. We asked our hotel manager and he pointed us to the Hotel Conninental. It turns out to be a fateful choice.

So we go there and there we meet the bar tender who is deaf. It takes us a while to figure this out. There is a skipping CD playing and when we ask him to fix it he instead turns the volume up. It is then that one of the other patrons informs us that he is deaf. Jenny, being a SLP, is fascinated and goes up to talk with him for a while to see how he communicates. She comes back to tell us that he has invited us to a hammam tomorrow. After a quick discussion we decide to go for it, as the opportunity of the experience out weigh the risks. We go to dinner, I order the couscous with camel, though I’m not sure if it was. It tasted very much like the lamb that Eliza ordered. We spend the rest of the night discussing whether we are getting ourselves into trouble by agreeing to go to a hammam with an unknown man. There are definitely images of our bodies being dumped in the desert running through my head.

We get up, eat and go get some coffee and then go to meet our new friend. His name is Wajdi. We are still somewhat frightened, and he told us not to bring any valuables, so we end up going with nothing more then a towel and a few dinars. He takes us to the louage station and we still do not know where we are going. He communicates very well with pantomime and grunts, but some things are just difficult to explain. The louage takes us outside of Tozeur to a small little town. We follow him around not having much idea as to what is going on. He finds someone, who at first seems like a stranger but is becomes clear that the new guy is Wajdi’s friend. His name is Soli. Wajdi wants to find a woman to act as escort to the three ladies. He pressures Soli into calling his sister, but she has gone into Tozeur for the day and is unavailable, so no escort for them.

Off to the hammam, the girls go to their side and the boys (Wajdi, Soli, and I) go to our side. Wajdi has Soli ask a girl to watch out for the ladies. Inside is a steamy tile room with a door to the left and a dirty wet stairwell leading down. My glasses fog instantly, but after a few wipes they are clear again. Down we go. At the bottom there are “shower” stalls to the right. To the left is the entrance to the bath. Straight ahead is a door to another small room. We go through that one into the changing room. We doff our clothes, except for boxer shorts. We hand everything to Soli who takes them upstairs, as there is no room to store them down here, it being full of other peoples' belongings.

Wajdi leads me into the bath room. It is full of nearly naked men and boys. A pool fills most of the room with cloudy hot water and a slight mineral odor. The air is filled with heavy steam. We get in and I follow Wajdi’s lead as best as is possible. We exchange quick shoulder rubs and soak in the water for a time. He then leads me over to the side of the pool and we sit upon the ledge. He puts on a scrubbing mitt, called something like scupa, and proceeds to scrub all of my exposed skin vigorously. I offer to return the favor but he declines pointing to a large scar on his shoulder and signing something involving the number eight.

I go back into the pool to wash off the exfoliated skin and then he directs me to the spigot where the water is entering the pool and douses me under it. All in all a very weird experience, looking around you see men scrubbing and massaging each other. They are leaning on each other, talking and laughing and generally making a type of contact with each other that you would not see back in the states. It’s not sexual, just very intimate. It occurs to me as I’m watching this that the sexual harassment that men reported experiencing in the hammams in the Lonely Planet were probably just misunderstandings by westerners unused to such intimate contact with other men.

Out of the pool and Wajdi soaps me up and helps me rinse off under a shower which is really nothing more then water pouring out of an exposed pipe at about waist height. We head upstairs to get dressed. Wajdi calls to Soli (really more of a high grunt) who’s been waiting for us the whole time. Dressed, Wajdi style my hair with some soap. The whole experience leaves me wondering if he is making a sexual advance or if that’s just how things are in Tunisian hammam. Another thing I will never know.

Outside we wait while Soli has some girls head in to get the ladies. We rejoin and it turns out that their experience was just as bizarre as mine. The Tunisian women laughed at them, made them chew a root that looked like a clump of hair and that Eliza was certain they had taken from the pool. The root tasted gross but was supposed to clean their teeth. It left a bit of a yellow stain on their lips that Soli said would fade in the sun. Apparently their bath was full of topless women and floating clumps of hair. But they made many good friends inside.

After the hammam we follow Wajdi and Soli back to Soli’s family’s house. It is not too far from the hammam and consists of an adobe brick building with a courtyard. Soli’s sister, little brother, aunt, and little cousin greet us warmly. They direct us through the courtyard in which a date palm grows and into a sitting room. We are seated and the serve us some food. First they served bread, olives, and spicy macaroni and then Fanta and wafer cookies. We chat with the family for a while and then are shown their sheep. There are two of them, in a small pen, one of which is a lamb. The mother stomps her hooves, not happy to be disturbed by us. We exchange addresses and then they lead us out, as Wajdi needs to get to work. They flag down a bus and we ride back to Tozeur.

Back in Tozeur Wajdi asks who cut my hair as they did a shitty job. Jenny tells him that I did it myself and everyone laughs. We follow him to a barbershop, in which he may or may not work about which we are never sure. He directs me into the barber’s chair, which I somewhat apprehensively take, and he proceeds to trim my hair to his liking. He also plucks the stray hairs around my eyebrows using a strange string technique in which the raveling and unraveling of a string twisted between his hands and mouth pull out the hairs. I’ve never seen such a thing before. It stings, having my hairs pulled. He finishes by styling my hair with gel. He then trims and styles the three ladies hairs.

After this he wants us to meet his family. But this will make him late to work, so he runs to work and gets more time off. We pack into a taxi and drive to the first village in the oasis (one of the ones we walked through the previous day). He brings us inside where we meet something like twelve different women, varying in age from his sisters who are in their twenties to his grandma who must be in her seventies. His cousin is there as well, and she has just given birth to a baby girl only a few days prior. We are served a cup of coffee and some cookies, but we must drink quickly so as Wajdi is now late for work. One last quick stop to see his families sheep, they have seven or eight, and then a quick walk back to Tozeur.

We part ways at the edge of the oasis and head back to our hotel. We promised to visit him at 6:00PM, and so we do. He is happy to see us and chats with us while he can between customers. We drink our beers. We give him a copy of the group photograph from our wedding and a couple of chocolate bars, which makes him happy. We leave for dinner at the Restaurant Tozeurous. As we are looking at the menu outside Wajdi comes running up to return my towel from the hammam. It turns out that he is a friend with the man who runs the restaurant, who had come out to reel us in. He treats us like friends as well, as we are friends of his friend. He explains in detail his family history and the history of Tozeur, including the marabou. This is a small blue and white building with the dome that we can see from our hotel window at the edge of the oasis. It was the site where a woman waited for her lover who ended up dieing. It is now a shrine where people leave candles to ask for wishes.

For dinner we share a Berber pizza, which consists of two flat breads with onions and spicy sauce between them. I also ordered the camel kabobs as I was determined to actually eat a camel. And I believe I did, as it tasted much different then the previous night. We finished our dinner and returned to our hotel, exhausted by our long day.

Wisdom From the Void

2007-06-26T11:46:00.001-07:00

So the other day I was sitting out on my porch, listening to some Hot Hot Heat, and drinking down a cold Blue Heron. The wind was blowing in the good direction, which meant the whole neighborhood smelled of fresh baked cookies (this come from the Kraft Bakery). It was beautiful out. The air was warm, and the wind soft. The sun was going down and the sky blazed with different hues. The few sparse clouds were wonderfully back lit.

Now why is that anytime Moon Tramp tries to relax out on his porch and just enjoy life, it's like open season on him for weirdos and freaks? This time was no exception. Up walks this gentleman, perhaps in his mid forties, maybe a little older. At first he doesn't seem to crazy. He starts off talking about what it means to be a man, and how a man should act. How family is the most important thing. Now true, this is a strange conversation to be having with a stranger, but not necessarily crazy.

He doesn't even look all that crazy. There's just a little crazy that seems to be seeping out from around his eyes. If you saw him without interacting, you'd probably think he was normal. But then he busts out the crazy. He tells me, "You know what it means to be a good man? It means angelic. 'Angelic' Anachronistic Nigerians Evangelically Lyrically Invoking Congress... (note, these aren't his exact words. Moon Tramp was a little drunk, do you really expect me to remember all his crazy rantings word for word?) Wow, this totally blew my mind. Turning ordinary words into acronyms to prove your point. It's almost brilliant.

He goes on. "The most important thing for any man is what? You know this, I can see you're a good man. It's all for Family. 'Family' Free-form Aardvarks Mate Integrating Loving Yen." He counts out each of the letters as he drives his points home with his acronyms. It's breathtaking. I don't think I said anything for fifteen twenty minutes. He goes on, spewing out more acronymms. I start wondering if maybe he is brilliant. Maybe what he is saying is so incredible that I just can't grasp it.

But no, I see that's not how it is. He's crazy. His ramblings are crazy. And I've sat here much too long listening to him. But now how do I extract myself from this situation? I'm more then a little drunk by this point, and he has me pinned down on my porch. But then it comes to me. "Good night" I say, and walk inside, only slightly worried that I might get murdered in the middle of the night.

It's weird. It seems like such a fine line between sane and insane. It gets me thinking, what would it take to make me like him? What would have to happen to me to make me wander around and pin down random peoples spouting anagram laden wisdom? Might not take much.

But here's what I do know. Everything in life is all about happiness. Hippos Aren't Picking Peanuts, Instead Napping Endless Sleepy Summers. (Just picture me counting off the words on my fingers with a subtly loony look in my eyes).

Identity Crisis

2007-06-22T15:18:00.000-07:00

So word has come back to me that there is some confusion over my name. I have heard that it has been called "interesting". So I felt that it might be good to break it down for you. Besides being the name that my parents bestowed upon me for my christening, it is also meaningful. Here you go:

Main Entry: Moon
Pronunciation: 'mün
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English mone, from Old English mOna; akin to Old High German mAno moon, Latin mensis month, Greek mEn month, mEnE
Moon
1 a often capitalized : the earth's natural satellite that shines by the sun's reflected light, revolves about the earth from west to east in about 29½ days with reference to the sun or about 27 1/3 days with reference to the stars, and has a diameter of 2160 miles (3475 kilometers), a mean distance from the earth of about 238,900 miles (384,400 kilometers), and a mass about one eightieth that of the earth -- usually used with the b : one complete moon cycle consisting of four phases c : Satellite 2; specifically : a natural satellite of a planet
2 : an indefinite usually extended period of time
3 : Moonlight
4 : something that resembles a moon: as a : a highly translucent spot on old porcelain b : Lunule c slang : naked buttocks
5 : something impossible or inaccessible - moon·like /-"lIk/ adjective - over the moon : very pleased : in high spirits

And:

Main Entry: Tramp
Pronunciation: 'tramp, vi 1 and vt 1 are also 'trämp, 'tromp
Function: verb
Etymology: Middle English; akin to Middle Low German trampen to stampintransitive verb
1 : to walk, tread, or step especially heavily
2 a : to travel about on foot : hike b : to journey as a tramptransitive verb
1 : to tread on forcibly and repeatedly
2 : to travel or wander through or over on foot - tramp·er noun

So you see, my name is full of meaning, and in no way refers to being easy. If you prefer you may call me Lunar Vagabond.

Peace out.

An Introduction

2007-06-22T11:02:00.000-07:00

Hello all, I've been invited by Space Zombie to post some blogs. It might take me a little time to get up to speed, and I can't say for certain what kind of content you might get, but you can expect a lot of personal stories that you may or may not care about as well as some political stuff. Possibly there will be some laughter, and maybe some tears. You might even learn something.

Anyway, just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Moon Tramp, it's a pleasure to meet you. You'll be hearing more from me, but for now, a fond farewell.

Excelsior!

2007-06-16T15:26:00.000-07:00

Because you demanded it...the official Space Zombie home page is up and running. Finally, a place where you can come to get all of the fun and entertainment that you are looking for during those lonely and booring work days. Each month, we will come out with a new issue brimming with brand new content! And the best thing is, there's no telling what it will be. You might get a great new comic, like the latest adventures of Fatty Head, a fun new game, like The Scary Monster or He-Man, an exceptional new adventure, like Supergirl, or something entirely different! Keep coming back to see what we have to offer. And, if you have something cool to contribute yourself, feel free to email me and let me know!

It works!

2007-06-13T15:13:00.000-07:00

I got everything up and running and I was even able to get in there and tweak the css enough to get it to follow the general flow of my site.
Now all I have to do is get the rest of my site in line enough so that I can update all of the other files.

Test1

2007-06-13T14:12:00.000-07:00

This is a test.