Of Violence and the I-Word

I was watching a History Channel program today, part of the network's "Old West Tech" series hosted by David Carradine. This episode was titled "Massacre Tech," and covered several Old West incidents of mass murder. The first incident discussed was a massacre of miners in 1913 by Rockefeller's henchmen and militia troops under the command of the then-governor of Colorado. Later, the program covered the "Mountain Medows Massacre" in Utah in the 1850s.

Earlier on another history channel was the program on Australia, "Beyond the Fatal Shore." It covered how Australia gained its independence through, of all things, democratic elections and a negotiated settlement with British Parliament.

These two programs made me think. Certainly US history has been more "exciting" than Australian. Our history makes for great TV and movies. Civil War epics, Old West sagas, Mel Gibson cavorting through "The Patriot." Bloodshed, massacres, slavery, rebellion, piracy, wars of imperial conquest (Indian Wars, Mexican War, Spanish Amerian War). Ours is a nation founded and sustained by blood. Somewhat like the old Aztecs, we periodically require a blood sacrifice to strengthen and prove our might.

So, in the 2000s we have the Iraq War. A trumped-up disaster wrought by a coalition of the same folks whose ancesters brought us to many of our other wars: Big Money Capitalism, Religious Fundamentalism, Jingoistic Patriotism. All meeting their great "Dark Lord" in the grinning monkey face of George W. Bush.

It's time Congress begin impeachment proceedings against both Bush and the Vice President. Our blood and treasure is being drained away in a Neo-Con crusade that has not made us safer. Osama and his pals want us out of the Middle East. I say, why not oblige him? We should leave those countries to themselves. (By this I do not mean that Bin Laden and Al Qaeda should escape just retribution. But we need to face the unwelcome fact that violence alone will not solve the conundrums facing East nor West). They eventually will sort out their problems in a way suitable for their cultures. We should also divest ourselves from Israel. I am personally very sympathetic towards Israel and its cause. But our undue protection of that tiny country has led directly to our present-day crises.

For more on the Downing Street Memos, check out the following Web sites:

http://www.michaelmoore.com/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/

http://www.thenation.com/

http://www.rawstory.com/

Stuff and Nonsense

It's June here in San Diego, and the month always brings its own special characteristic grayness. For those who think in terms of the typical seasons they might have experienced on the East Coast or Midwest, San Diego "has no seasons." Actually it has two: a rainy season and a dry season. But, there are buffer seasons, like late-Spring "May Gray" and "June Gloom." Right now we are full-on into June Gloom. The sun has not peeked out from behind the gray marine layer all day, and probably won't. This weather, which some might call depressing, I enjoy. I'll miss it in July!

Meanwhile, I'm continuing to work on my novel and do all the usual things, like call doctors' billing agencies to straighten out medical invoices. As soon as I get new postage stamps, I will be sending out more short fiction to various markets.

No Man Is Just a Number

Last night, ABC reran the first episode of "Lost." I still haven't figured out the show, and that's frustrating. I can usually detect a plot within the first 5-20 minutes of any movie or television program. I think the main reason why is that the whole series spends so much time backtracking, via flashbacks, rather than projecting the story though ongoing action in the fictional present.

Anyway, thinking about "Lost" also got me to considering an old series from the 60s, "The Prisoner," starring and created by Patrick McGoohan. There are similarities, whether intentional or not, I cannot say. I bet the writers of "Lost" have seen a few "Prisoner" episodes, however.

First of all, both stories take place in a mysterious "Erewhon" environment. An Island that seems out of place and out of time. In both series, the island is not the simple place it appears to be at first contact. Machiavellian, Darwinian and Kafka-esque forces pull the strings behind the curtain. The castaways and Number 6 are there for a reason--a reason not revealed. In both cases, they cannot escape their emprisonment. "Rover" lurks the Village; the mysterious, as yet unseen "Monster" prowls the castaways' terrain. The Monster is a security system; that much has been revealed.

More thoughts on this later. Dinner is served at the Chez David.

Of Neanderthal Boobs and Such

The other day, I was watching a program on Discovery Channel called "Species Journey," or something similar. It purported to show the saga of the development of Homo Sapiens, starting with the days of Lucy the australopithecus afarensis.

Anyway, the show was moving spritedly along, like most Discovery prehistory shows, giving the viewer a rather condensed and anthropomorphic scenario of early man's life. All went well until the program got to Homo Ergaster, an early tool-using hominid with distinctive human features. I noticed that a lot of the shots of female Ergasters had blurred-out areas over the breasts. What the hell! Have we retreated so far in this culture that we now have to protect children's sensitivities by blurring caveman "naughty parts"? What are we so afraid of, in this country? I remember seeing the program over a year ago and am reasonably sure the female breasts of the hirsute madonnas were displayed in all their simian glory during the first airing.

Who is Discovery trying to protect? The folks most likely to be offended by a cavewoman's knockers are the same ones who want to push creationism through the public schools. The chances of those religiosos watching a program on evolution are only slightly greater than zero. Even in the rather tame 1960s, when I was in elementary school, the only "live" boobs we got to see were in the National Geographic specials and between the gold-clad covers of the magazine. As I recall, none of us impressionable minds was traumatized from the occasional glimpse of flopping and flapping human anatomy. I don't think any of us grew up to lust after pygmy demoiselles or low-browed cave women.

The Decline and Fall of Western Civilization, Part II. Brought to you by Edward Gibbon (Ape).

Spam Poetry Once More

Siegfried's Anger

Siegfried angers meetings
Afghan Volvo edifices
Arabianize unforeseen submerging sadists
traveling salesgirls flail skirts
bridegrooms rename genies
spotters baseline Lucretia
clockers blankly query

You LOST me!

I recorded and watched the season finale of "Lost" Wednesday night. One element I noticed: the significance of the number 23. That was one of Hurley's magic Lotto numbers; it's also one of the same sequence engraved on the side of that hatch, as well as the $23,ooo reward the bounty hunter collected for Kate, and the seating aisle of Walter and his dad. I think that's the most significant thing. The OTHERS collected Walter. Walter is one of the biggest keys to what's going on.

There has been speculation on various "Lost" boards that the mystery of the island might have something to do with mining. The ship, the Black Rock, seems to have been transporting slaves to mines. That's where the survivors found dynamite, pick axes and skeletons strapped in chains. Then, there are the holes like the one Locke almost fell down last night? Even the caves might have been used by miners. And therefore, the famous hatch could lead down to some mines deep under the island's surface.

Whatever the secret, the boy is a key. Perhaps THE key. He seems to have psychokinetic powers and a sixth sense. Paradoxically, he burned down the first raft his dad built, then he warned the group NOT to open that hatch. He seemed to be able to summon creatures from the Id, like the one that appeared to chase him in one episode.

The island's famous monster seems to be mechanical, at least in part. It makes a whirring, clickety sound as it drags Locke along. Why can't anyone see it clearly? All we see is some kind of dark smoke. Is the creature cloaked in some way?

Finally, why are characters named after philosophers? John Locke? Rousseau? Anyone else noticed this? Coincidence? I doubt it....

A Fool and His Freedom Fries Soon Parted

I just noticed the following article, listed on Michael More's Web site:

http://www.michaelmoore.com/words/index.php?id=2770

It seems that Walter Jones, the Republican congressman from Alabama who led the "Freedom Fries" movement a couple of years ago now regrets his actions, and regrets even more the 16oo American lives wasted in the war so far. It's great to hear of a Republican who can admit his mistakes (unlike Bush's crowd). Maybe he even figured out that French fries were a Belgian invention anyway....

It's a hot and sunny day today. I believe I am coming down with Spring Fever. I'm going to go ahead and get that zoo membership next week. This is a great time of year to visit one of San Diego's finest and most historical attractions.

New Rules

Like Bill Maher, I've decided to invent some new rules of my own.

1. If you don't want to pet the monkey, quit feeding it bananas!

Call yourself my friend all you want. Really be a friend if you care to be. But don't go back and forth between gushy sentiment and outright hostility. Like Jesus once said, "Be either hot or cold, but if you are luke warm I will vomit you out of my mouth."

2. If you don't understand something I write, ask me about it!

I enjoy using different writing styles, even in e-mails to friends. You certainly may not comprehend what I am trying to achieve, but that doesn't give you free reign to condescend.

3. Don't do me any favors, please!

The handicapped boy can get along just fine on his own. Your offers to "do good" for me are sometimes apppreciated, but not normally needed or welcomed. If I want your help, I'll ask for it! Too many offers of help may make you feel like a saint, but it mostly shows me you have inner self-worth issues you should probably see a shrink about.

4. Don't lie!

Say what you mean and do what you say.

The First Sunday of the Rest of My Life

Yesterday, the van having at last been made rideable for me again, I went to Mass with my parents at St. Gregory's. We attended the 5:00 PM "youth Mass"--the same Mass coming home from which I encountered the wayward Volvo SUV a little more than a year ago. My parents offered to bypass the near-fatal intersection and drive to chuch via the freeway route, but I decided it was high time to put the past behind me.

The intersection did not appear much altered, although the problematic left-turn light had been moved to make its signal clearer to the people waiting at the light, attending their turn at San Diego Roulette. The weather was hot and the sun a radiant yellow-orange disc, glaring in the faces of westward travelers, just as a year ago. In any respect, farewell now to all the troubles to which the recently bygone twelve months have born bloody witness.

After Mass we drove to Pat and Oscar's in the mall at the west end of Mira Mesa and had dinner with my parents' Bible studies group. I ate the "Meal for One" dinner, with pepperoni-mushroom pizza, bread sticks, coke and Greek salad.

Coming up the sidewalk from the parking lot to the restaurant I met Nancy Holder, her husband and daughter. What a small town Mira Mesa is! It was great to meet someone I haven't seen in over a year. Nancy is the only really good creative writing teacher at UCSD Extension whose classes I have had the pleasure to enroll in.

Speaking of creative writing, last night was the season finale of Deadwood on HBO. The final episode had all the elements that have made the series successful, including Swearengen's swearing, double-dealing politicians, greedy miners, obstreprous Chinese, murder, mayhem and assorted mysteries. One thing took me by surprise. Swearengen at one point gives Trixie an evelope with money for the Widow Garrett's wedding present, "courtesy of her child's former tutor, in absentia." When last I saw the tutor, she was leaving Al's office, envelope in hand, followed by that bearded henchman of Swearengen's. Are we to assume the lady met with unfortunate circumstances upon her way out of town? More scruitinizing will be required before unraveling the intracacies of this plot twist.

Anakin, We Hardly Knew Ye

Today (all right, yesterday, really), I went with Joe and sat through a showing of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. Although I agree with most of the critics who praise the film as the best of the final three in this prequel series, I came away from the theater with a sad feeling: Is this all there is?

Tolkein, Lucas isn't. Hell, he's not even JK Rowling. The man cannot write a decent bit of dialog between two lovers. The scenes with Annakin and Padme fall flatter than yesterday's biscuits. "Anni, I just don't know you anymore," Padme tells Anakin in the climactic scene. This turgidity is compounded by Haden Christenson's lack of depth as an actor. Even the beauty and grace of Natalie Portman couldn't hold the love story and its tragedy together.

One critic remarked how the actor playing Palpatine (Emperor....) handles the role "like an old queen." The theme is the seduction of the young man by what the Church calls "the glamour of evil." This seduction is brought about by the "queen" Darth Sidious in mentoring Annakin. It made me think of two much better stories (and films) on the same subject: "Apt Pupil" by Stephen King, and "Gods and Monsters." In both those films an older man seduces, or attempts to seduce, one much younger. In "Apt Pupil," the glamor is Nazi violence. In "Gods and Monsters," it's the glories of Hollywood's faded golden decades.

All the above being stipulated, the movie is still a lot of fun and should be something that will "grow on" the viewer as time passes.

The Hammer of Pain

Looking back on
it all
now, I
find it odd to
experience
the compression
of time.

Although each and
every day
in the hospital
and bedridden
at home lingered with the
deliberate grace
of mildew creeping up the kitchen wall, when I
dwell on that
period from
the comfort of my
own desk

NOW, it's like the
events overtook
me years
ago, in a
far country.

Did it happen to
me or
to someone
else?
Was it a
play, a book, a
novel--
penned by an
author with an
unrecognizable nom de plume?

How does the mind
leave the body
And where does
it dwell when the
hammer of pain
smashes into
the iron avil
of time?

Flush THIS!

No, I'm not going to discuss that whole Koran-flushing affair. What are people thinking? Newsweek? The Pentagon? The Administration? The nutballs in Pakistan and Afghanistan? Civilization is on a slippery slope: Put on your skis and enjoy the ride!

On a personal note, I got the tie-downs installed in the van and they seem to work fine. My first trip out (non-MTS) will be an adventure at the movie theatre, the "Mira Mesa Googleplex." I really want to see "Kingdom of Heaven."

I'm still waiting for word on the air conditioning repair. If the state wants to buy me a new compressor, I'm all for that!

More Found Poetry

Lindsay said leave tomorrow

Tastes like pool-water,
only
5 times worse.
No,
well, it's not a
small-ship expedition?
There are
plenty
of them where
the delectable
snack.
The bottom
line
here is pretty
simple.

The 6:30 a.m.
early risers' coffee
service
to the engineers:
Some unwanted
phrase making here--
Thomason--together
the letters form words:
"Steak,
passage of
a national flag
desecration law,
the invention of
the simple light bulb."
Much
of the day's account of
Lewis & Clark's
Corps
of Discovery
may sound silly,
but let
me tell you a real-life
example:
The popular, and
frequently displayed
symbol of the
nation.

Congratulations, Jan and Karine!

Today I attended the wedding of my friends Jan Amtrup and Karine Megerdoomian. The ceremony was held at Saint John Garabed Armenian Church on 30th Street in San Diego (North Park area, as best I could tell). Upon arriving at the church, I was rather surprised by its mundane exterior. It reminded me of the Linda Vista Methodist church I attended as a child; the appearance was that of a blocky, green and gray utility building that had been converted to ecclesiastical use. Somehow I always expect Orthodox churches to be elaborately decorated with gold, mosaics and icons.

I arrived at 10:40, which was quite early, for the service that was held at noon. So, I took a few moments to stroll up and down the sidewalk and check out the neighborhood. Other than a few quaint homes from the early 20th century, I didn't notice anything remarkable. Lots of storefronts with peeling paint, a barber shop, some kind of clinic. I would have traveled farther but the sidewalk a few yards from the church was pretty broken up. It is an old sidewalk, of course, but one wonders how much longer the city government can continue to allow the urban infrastructure to decay.

My friend Harold lives 5 blocks from the church, but with MTS Access it's difficult to arrange multiple trips in the same day. Plus, some of the "homeys" in the neighborhood didn't look too friendly. Anyway, Harold and his kids were off in Borrego Springs for the weekend, so visiting him was a moot point.

We got the air conditioning repair estimate for my van yesterday. Good thing the state is paying for it--I need a new compressor! On Wednesday, Harold will drive the van up to Poway to a shop called Golden Boy. This is the business that will install the manual tie-down straps in my van so I can tool around town as a passenger in the vehicle I once used to drive (until my accident one year ago tomorrow).

There are a lot of places I'd like to go, once I get the van back. I need new shoes, since my right foot is just too "lumpen" to accomodate my old black leather dress shoes. I currently have been wearing white tennis shoes, size 9W. My usual size is 7W. I want to get measured at an actual shoe store and see what I can fit into now.

I also need to take my glasses prescription to Costco and buy new sunglasses. My previous pair were trashed in the accident.

Then there's the zoo. As soon as I can, I'm renewing my membership and visiting the zoo and Wild Animal Park frequently.

Oh, back to the ceremony. The wedding was conducted almost entirely in Armenian. The non-Armenians among the attendees mostly tried to follow along a printed program and stand and sit at the appropriate times. The Orthodox ceremony is very rich, full of chanting. The bride and groom receive crowns at the end, marking them as "King" and "Queen" of their new family.

None of the traditional western wedding music was played by the organist. No Mendelssohn, no Purcell. And, praise be to God--no "Wedding Song!" If the Pope had any backbone he would banish the "Wedding Song" from any Catholic ceremony forthwith and henceforth!

That being said, the music was rather slow and almost funereal. Besides the organist, there was a cantor who sang or chanted accompaniment. Inside the sanctuary, seven chandeliers hung from the ceiling. I'll have to do some research to figure out what their significance is to the liturgy.

The priest was an older, white-haired man, with a kindly, patriarchal voice. He said all the expected things during the (thankfully English) homily. He did manage to get in two little "digs" at the happy couple, however. Once during his homily he mentioned how Jan and Karine had been "married singly" but now they are married "as God wants." Then at the end, he said "I have the pleasure to be the first to announce Mr. and Mrs Jan...." [whispers from the bride and groom]... "Willers Amtrup and Karine Megerdoomian." It seems the priest couldn't quite accustom himself to the notion that the bride and groom would preserve their own last names.

At present, the reception is going on at the Prado in Balboa Park. I would have loved to attend it, but I could not risk the crazy scheduling of MTS.

Found Poetry of the Net

Ever notice those spam e-mails that contain all kinds of phrases, cobbled together? I get lots of them, and am certain the spammers must employ some kind of script to mangle random text they have gathered from somewhere, probably from some unsuspecting victims' Web pages.

Well, the other day I got one, and started reading it. While perusing the nonsense I was struck by an epiphany. This is almost poetic! So, you will find below a "poem" I carved out of spam and sewed into whole cloth. Enjoy!


Did Chrystal also sent you this?

Old, acquired by Lindblad
from the defunct Exploration--
they don't eat much--
but can't seem to
lose weight.
Rocky banks.
We visited the Nez Perce
Museum that
had eluded the founders of
flag protection then,
we dressed to the nines for
dinner every night.
Flapping in the ocean breeze,
how many of you have
day excursions or lectures?
If that wasn't sufficient,
most out of your life, you deserve.
In fact, dehydration
for bodybuilders, overweight
people wanting to lose
fat changes in structure
and a lot of changes in lifestyle:
the third or fourth read-through.
Fourthly, it sucks
Expeditions' Sea Lion -- which
we recently sampled
about the ship.
She was such a beautiful vessel,
with your knowledge of
arcane symbolism.
Assorted that you eat--
This is an interesting one!

News for the New Month

April, the cruelest month, with its sweet showers has passed into history.

My step-grandfather, whom we called "Pepere" also passed away last Thursday. He was in his late 80s and had lived a full life. Those comments never really satisfy, when engaging a panoply of someone's life. I remember him as a hard-working man who was deeply religious and cared for his family very much. When he and "Memere" lived up in Hawthorne, we used to drive up there (when I was a teenager) and spend the night. We enjoyed many hours playing cards--Euchre, Hearts, Spades, Blackjack. There were dice games too.

I was always struck by his French Canadian sense of humor, the folk songs played on the harmonica. Memere and Pepere had a very warm household, where family was always welcome. Lots of relatives would visit during the holidays. When they retired and moved to 29 Palms, their lives didn't slow down all that much. They owned a nice little three-bedroom home and the vacant lot next to it on Persia Avenue. The landscape was dry and dessicated. I could never quite figure out what former Vermonters saw in that desolation, but they fit right in with the people there and, I am certain, enjoyed the perpetually sunny weather.

For quite a while, they took care of their old French Canadian neighbor, Mr. Meunier. Mr. Meunier was pretty much an invalid and they helped him with eating and chores. Their acts of kindness no doubt kept that neighbor alive longer than he would have survived otherwise.

The funeral will be Wednesday. If you read this, please keep Roland Marcoux in your prayers.

I did get some good news today. The state finally got off its keister and approved the work on my van. This week I will get the AC inspected and see if I can get the tiedowns installed. As Mel Gibson once shouted.... "FREEEEEEEDOMMMMMMMM!!!!"

A Humble Worker...

Today Cardinal Ratzinger of Germany, 78 years old, was selected as the new Pope. He will take the name of Benedict XVI. He is one of the oldest Popes ever elected and the first Teutonic Pope since Victor II in the 11th Century.

Ratzinger is an arch-conservative who led the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith under John Paul II. As Dean of the College of Cardinals, he was the most influential member and had been considered a front runner by most Vatican watchers. Although Ratzinger is a European, this move was clearly made to send a message to North American and European latitudinarians that the traditional doctrines of the church will continue unabated.

Of course, new Popes sometimes rise above their background and heritage, as John did in the 1960s. We will have to watch and wait to see the outcome. On the other hand, the Pope's chosen name aligns well with the Prophecy of Saint Malachy, who predicted this Pope would be "from the olive." The Benedictines are sometimes called "Olivetans." Not that Ratzinger is a Benedictine, but the choice of name implies a connection.

Meanwhile, I continue to work on my own writings with the hope of publishing a greater number of my works. My novel is moving along, albeit slowly.

I think I am getting cabin fever from hanging around the apartment too much. I am going to try an excursion later this week, just to get some fresh air and mingle with some people.

Tomorrow night, a new nurse, Clarence, will come to "orientate" [sic]. If he works out well, I'm sure I will be able to provide him with more hours.

Today Brad will install his old video card into my computer; it's a 128 MB GeForceFX. I'm looking forward to the enhanced performance over my old GeForce4 MMX 64 MB.

The weather is cool, cloudy and pleasant. Last night there were showers throughout the county.

Rehab continues to drag its feet over my van. If I'd had the money I would have just paid the $500 for the tiedowns and gotten it over with.

More later!

As Fair and Balanced as a Rat's Ass on a Hot Plate

The heading for this post had nothing to do with anything, really. It just came to my mind as I was trying to think up a "real" title for today. Do funny metaphors and similes pop into your mind at any given time of the day or night? They do for me. I love to play with language; to interrupt customary discourse with something fresh and new. And preferably funny--humor helps immensely.

Any frequent visitor to my Web sites may have noticed a slight change. Yesterday I migrated all my old journal postings from 2003-2005 to this blogger address. That way I can free up disk space in my home page's directory for more pictures and text. The old journal took up so much disk space that I could no longer add new material to my personal page on RoadRunner.

Weather report: today is a sunny but cool day in San Diego. The sky is light blue and laced with clouds. Overall, it's quite pleasant. Why do I even bother mentioning the weather? Well, after Edith Smith, my grandmother, passed away in 1991 I saw some of her journal entries that she kept in a notebook. Always, the weather was mentioned. Same with my grandfather, Richard Smith, who died in 1988. He used his weather entries to remember how his gardening fared from year to year. These notations had a certain charm, a quaintness that I found somehow endearing. And besides, it is kinda cool to be able to look back and say, "oh yeah, last year at this time it was hotter than a firecracker on Venus!"

I wish I had been able to note more of my grandparents' lives--what they did and how. I remember what they used to tell me, but as a kid I only processed small amounts of the information. Here is what I do know:

My grandparents (my mother's parents) were born and raised in Providence, Rhode Island. My grandfather, Richard Laughton Smith, was the son of a pharmacist in Providence. His parents were divorced and he worked as a young man doing maintenance on the family rental properties, which were scattered over the city's domain. He had two sisters: Dorothy (the eldest) and ---- (I suddenly forgot the name) the youngest. They were both spinsters who died childless. Actually that's not completely true, Dorothy married a guy named George, and she had a stepson with him, but when "Dot" and George died (on the same day) they split the last remaining house, on 36 Geneva Street in Providence, with my grandfather and the stepson.

My grandmother's maiden name was Edith Lind. Although her family and my grandfather's family can trace their roots back to the founding of Rhode Island--supposedly I am a descendant of Roger Williams--the Lind family name originated in Denmark, from whence came one of my grandmother's grandparents. I also remember her mentioning "Grandpa Wild" who from the stories I heard, was just that.

My granfather studied to be a carpenter during the 20s. He worked on, among other things, the huge spiral staircases rich people so loved to install in their mansions at the time. Then in 1929 came the Crash, and he was out of work. He told me that he was working in a shop full of Italian Catholics, and he was let go because he was neither. Those were the grand old days of capitalism, when employers were free to discriminate.

My grandmother's family was large. She had several sisters, not all of whose names I can recall. The youngest was Louise ("Weezie"), then there was Laura, Martha ("Marty") and Jenny "Jen"). In 1935 my granparents came out to San Diego in the family Dodge. My grandmother's father had been injured in a car accident and had won a settlement that allowed him to move his family out West. My uncle, David Smith, was a small boy at the time and also rode out with the family.

Upon arriving in San Diego, my great-grandfather purchased a ranch out in El Cajon to raise poultry. My family referred to it as "The Chicken Ranch." My mother was born in Escondido during a period when my granfather was picking oranges for a living. Escondido at that time was just a simple, rural community. My mother, uncle and their cousins have many memories of life at "The Ranch," including confrontations with a stubborn turkey and a mean old sow. Supposedly my great-grandfather who had wanted to be the poultry farmer didn't have the heart to behead that old gobbler, and my granfather was compelled to do the ugly deed. That Ranch is still visible out on a hill off of old Highway 80 as you approach El Cajon. Some other buildings were added to it later.

Eventually my granparents struck out on their own and lived, among other places, in Point Loma. The old Theosphical Society buildings had been rented out and my family lived in one of them. Those buildings are now part of the Point Loma Nazarene College campus.

During WWII my grandfather worked at Convair, assembling the Navy's PBY amphibious aircraft. My grandparents moved to Linda Vista, which was a community built by the Federal Government to house war workers. After the war, my grandfather was laid off from his aircraft job and went to work for Western Parcel. This company did the deliveries for Sears all over San Diego County. He spent the rest of his working career as a driver and later a "helper" for Western Parcel, which was later called Cornell Cartage. Grandfather was a short man and hefting heavy refrigerators and stoves for a living definitely took a toll on his health.

My granparents bought a home in Linda Vista in 1960, on Upton Court. The houses in Linda Vista have a certain utilitarian charm. They were built to last 20 years, but most of them are still around today. The house, where my uncle still lives, is a simple, square, 2-bedroom 1-bath affair with a huge back yard. The yard is filled with trees, many of which my grandfather planted. One tiny "living Christmas tree" grew into a dominating giant pine during the time I was growing up.

My grandfather retired in 1966 at the age of 62. That was young to retire, but he was just burnt out from all those years of delivering furniture and appliances for the retailing giant. Out of boredom, he signed up as a Watkins salesman and went door-to-door throughout Linda Vista and Clairemont selling the famous Watkins spices, soaps and flavorings (chocolate pudding made with Watkins chocolate was the BEST!!). Just before retiring, he bought a 1964 Rambler American 2-door sedan. The plain but inexplicably pretty light-blue car with a sticky transmission and a flat-head six engine is still in use today. After my grandfather's heart condition made it impossible for him to continue to drive, he sold it to my best friend Harold, who partially restored it (it still needs a fresh coat of paint) and toodles around town in the antique.

Because my mother was single and worked full-time, I spent a lot of time at my grandparents' house. The special school bus for disabled kids dropped me off each afternoon around 3:30 at my grandparents' little yellow house. I would spend afternoons and evenings reading books from my uncle's copious library, or drawing pictures and making up stories to go with them. I had modeling clay out of which I would fashion gigantic T Rexes and Moby Dicks to be slaughtered by adventurous imaginary hunters. And there were cartoons and "Dialing for Dollars" on TV. Often I would spend the weekends with them, and ate many delicious home-cooked meals that my grandmother prepared.

Eventually I went on to the university, graduate school and a career, and was able to see my grandparents less and less as they grew older. When they passed away, it left a huge hole in my heart wich will never be filled.

Waiting for God(ot)

Ugh! I hate computers and the Internet!

Yesterday I spent a half-hour session updating my journal, only to have Blogger crash when I pressed the "publish" button. Someday, somehow, someone will win the Nobel Prize in Computer Science by figuring out why software is so much less reliable than hardware. And then maybe an entrepreneur will grow Bill Gates-rich inventing a solution to the problem! Meanwhile, I am initiating a new proceedure for my blogs: Write in Notepad first, then copy/paste the text and post!

It's been sunny and warm this week. Spring is truly upon us. Wednesday was the hottest, about 82 degrees downtown. That translates to about 85 where I live in Mira Mesa.

Yesterday IVR's driver finally showed up and picked up the hospital bed, Hoyer lift and suction machine. I am amazed at how much room I now have in the apartment. Joe dragged the big, blue recliner out of my bedroom and put it back in the living room where it belongs. I can invite company to sit comfortably now, instead of on the hardwood dining room chairs.

Since last Friday, my parents have been on vacation in Cabo. They will return home today. I doubt they will be in any mood to come visit, however. It's a 2-hour flight from Cabo to San Diego.

In world events, Terri Schiavo and the Pope are dead. Requiescant in pacem. Enough has been written and said about the Schiavo incident and I don't feel I can add anything more to the controversy. I will say that feeding tubes are not extraordinary medical treatment, and that brain damage is not brain death.

I'm not even sure that "extraordinary treatment" is a valid criterion in itself for end-of-life decisions. For example, I use a ventilator. Is that extraordinary treatment? I'm certain many people, when confronted with the concept of artificial life support, think "Oh my God, never!" As technology advances, however, the distinction between artificial and natural becomes increasingly fuzzy. In the future, we will be able to genetically enhance ourselves, add artificial organs and limbs, and inject nanobots into our bodies to supplement functionality or cure disease. As people become accustomed to new technologies, they will be increasingly less likely to regard them with "shock and awe."

Now, there are some hypocritical aspects to the Schiavo controversy as well. None of the Republicans and few Right-to-Lifers propose how to pay for people to be maintained in a nursing home. Bush has proposed massive cutbacks to the federal portion of Medicaid, which will cause states to reduce care. I suspect that, had Shiavo been a Medicaid patient rather than a private-pay patient (due to the money her husband obtained via a class-action suit), the hospice would have yanked her feeding tube long ago. While governor of Texas, Hypocrite-in-Chief Bush signed a law allowing hospitals to terminate life support against the wishes of the patient's family, if the hospitals deemed it necessary. I just read about two cases in Texas where that has happened. In the case of a baby, the hospital "pulled the plug" despite the mother's pleas. In the case of an adult man, they want to disconnect, but the family is hopeful to find another hospital to receive the patient before the act is carried out. Now, why would a hospital want to disconnect patients from life support? Couldn't be to save money, could it? Nah....

Finally, I did watch the final episode of Carnivale. Although I did enjoy it, the final episode did continue the flawed pattern of season 2, which progressed way to fast and left more open ends than it closed in its hurry to wrap everything up neatly. The real intruigue of the series was that it didn't wrap everything up; it left the viewers with a sense of mystery. But, the public and critics are spoiled in our instant-gratification culture. They want to know it all, and immediately if not sooner. More's the pity.

The rest of today I will be revising my story, "Bob's Basement Dive ," which I intend to send out next week.

More updates to come!

Happy Easter!

Today was a bright, sunny, warm Easter Sunday. The sky was azure and the horizon limited only by the cerulean shadows of the mountains to the east of the city. I wanted to attend services with my parents at Saint Gregory's today, but could not make the arrangements through MTS Access. Even though the church is a 10-minute drive away (in Scripps Ranch), MTS requires a commitment of two hours each way. This is because they perform a transfer to North County Transit in order to reach Scripps Ranch. This happens even though Scripps is a neighborhood within the city of San Diego. At the minimum, I would have been gone from my home five-seven hours in order to attend a one-hour mass. That was more trip time than I could stomach, I'm afraid.

My last writing class went well. We had a nice turnout of about 8 people on a cold and rainy night. There were four stories to read, and mine was one of them. A lot of people seemed to like it the best of all that I had submitted. One student asked me if there was "anything [I] don't write." "Not really," I replied, "I write all over the place." Then a bit later I made an offhand comment about how I had written the story one Sunday afternoon, which prompted Judy to say "You told me you are a fast typist, but typing is not the same as writing." Then I answered, "Well, for me it kind of is..." Then she said, jokingly (I hope), "Now everyone in the class hates you!" I guess it seemed to her that I was bragging. But for me it's like Mohammad Ali once said, "if you can do it, it ain't braggin'."

I got a lead from Aleyda Turuno of PAI about the Medicare problem. She gave me the number of another agency, HICAP. We'll see what they have to say tomorrow.

Last night I tried doing the chair-to-bed transfer with Minda. It started out well. When she picked me up, it felt just like it used to. But as we pivoted, I started losing altitude and she had to put me back in the chair. Luckily Harold was present to bail us out. Tomorrow morning I will try bed-to-chair with Minda and we will see if that goes any better.

I'm off to watch the season finale of Carnivale. I will write more tomorrow!

-- David

News of the Week

This week continued the activities and aggravations of the past month.

First, on Tuesday I attended the penultimate Read & Critique session. I got to read my "extra" story, "Ghostwalkers," for the class. Coming into this session, I thought that most people would have a problem with the non-linear plot. "Eh, what did happen and who dunnit?" But perhaps this class is savvy enough to "get it" without a lot of extra explanation. Still, valid points were made about believability issues and characterization. I will have fun putting the rest of the story together and trying to gain some editor's attention with it.

This week I will present a new story to the group. It's an SF/Horror crossover with a touch of satire. Satire is supposed to come from a Latin word meaning "mixed" and indeed this is a mixed work. But I think it's funny, and humor is a great reading companion.

I called everybody and their brother about the Medicare/Medi-Cal issues and still got nowhere. I finally called Aleyta at Protection and Advocacy and hope to hear from her on Wednesday. I need a better idea of what my rights are and what the available programs are; the state workers don't know or don't want to know. I am also dealing with DoR (Department of Rehabilitation) regarding my van. The state inspector wants an estimate of AC repair before any work can be done on the tiedowns. But AC estimates are not free! I called City Chevrolet and A&D Auto Electric (recommended by Jaime, the state auto inspector) and both companies want to charge $100-200. This is because they must first fill the system with Freon and pressure-test it. That involves labor and material costs. The Rehab counselor doesn't understand this and refuses to commit to paying for the estimate. So we are back at square one again.

On a positive note, I am doing all pivot transfers this week and I plan to disembarrass myself of the hospital bed and Hoyer lift by the end of the month! Yes, I am almost back!

Still Here

Time has flown by in the past month. I have been really busy with the Read & Critique class. Each week I read and mark up papers, sometimes as many as five. I have also been writing a lot, both for the class and for myself.

I am a judge for the San Diego Book Awards and have six books to read before April 10. So far, I've read two! They are fun and fast reading, and I have no doubt I will be able to adequately evaluate them all.

Interminable hours have passed while I made calls to the state, trying to get my health insurance switched from Cigna to Medicare. I want to get on a program that will pay for my Medicare premiums. Nobody in the state Medi-Cal offices seems to be able to give me a straight answer!

Tomorrow Harold will take my van in for an estimate of what it will cost to install a manual tiedown system to hold my wheelchair. This will allow me to ride as a passenger in my van. Yay!

I do expect to be able to drive again. My legs are growing stronger each week.

Don't forget to watch Carnivale and Deadwood on HBO!

Il pleut sur la ville...

... Comme il pleure dans mon coeur.

It's been raining a lot lately, perhaps more this year than any on record. Lake Hodges may overflow for the first time since 1998. And it was just at 15% capacity last year.

I intend to go to the writing class tomorrow, but will have to reassess the situation in the morning. This week only two stories were submitted--then a third was added at the last moment--illness and lethargy are taking their toll.

I have been asked to be a judge in the annual contest of the SDBAA. Free books to read! And a new role for me, which is something that I have background for as a trained critic. I am eagerly anticipating my shipment in the mail.

What else? Oh yeah, Shadows of Saturn rejected Europa's Children. I need to figure out where to send that story next. Got to keep things in circulation.

I watched the latest episode of Carnivale last night on HBO. Although I still really enjoy the series, I don't find it as intriguing or gripping as last season. Critics hated the ambiguity of last year and the creators strived to make a clearer-cut story line. But I found the essential ambiguity, the wandering through the metaphorical "black blizzard" to be at the heart of the series. The "heart of darkness" is a murky thing, not to be grasped easily. Unless you are George Bush, manichean to the core.

Tonight's reality fare: Fear Factor: Vegas. To be followed immediately by an episode of the fictional series, Vegas. What does it say about a country when its fastest growing city is a wasteland of fake monuments, gambling and prostitution? There are more programs about Las Vegas on TV now than about New York or LA. Why is the public so fascinated by the gaudy extravagance of that gaudy desert hole during a time when the moral mood of the country--at least the red states--seems to be slouching back to the primordial ooze of creationism, censorship and war?

That's a topic to be explored at length later. Back to reading for me.

Nature Morte

Another week has flown, or rather drifted by.... Mostly outside my window, where it's been raining steadily, sometimes heavily, since Thursday. I love the soft, gray hues, the tender weeping sky full of shifting shapes. I appreciate the sizzling sound of raindrops splattering in puddles along the sidewalk, against the stucco walls of my apartment, simmering like a slowly boiling crock of homemade soup as the moisture drifts in tiny pearl-shaped orbs through the tree leaves outside my home.

The Read & Critique course continues to sail along nicely. It's great to experience the dedication and talent of each writer in the class. It's a pretty cordial group as well, so no one appears too intimidated to speak his or her mind. The group seemed to enjoy my little work, and I was really happy they all wanted to keep turning the pages to find out what would happen next. Of course, they and Judy wanted to see more depth in the world I am creating. But as it will probably be a novel, I am looking at this first "crappy draft" as more of an extended outline. It was amusing that several people obsessed on Roland's missing horse; I guess I will have to clear up that mystery soon enough! Perhaps the heroes dismembered and ate the horse out of the ravages of starvation-- nah.

I have begun putting together character sketches for the presumed novel. This has helped flesh out the story and the people in it. I will continue working on that this week.

Tomorrow my friends Katie and Jacque will come for a visit around 12:30. It will be fun to catch up with everyone's news. And the new dog of Jacque's.... Can't forget the dog! Hehehe

Meanwhile I continue to get stronger, la vita continua...

An Esthetic Kind of Horror

Friday night my parents came over and, since we couldn't get "Sky Captain" we watched "The Grudge." I thought "The Grudge" was outstanding in many ways. The Japanese director based it on his earlier Japanese film, adapting it to, as he said, "what would scare an American audience." It truly was frightening!

While the storyline was hackneyed--a haunted house where things inevitably go bump in the night--the imagery was spectacularly evocative. It aroused tension, fright, rapid heartbeats and accomplished all this with a minimum of gore. As with "The Ring," the Japanese seem very adept at conjuring up disturbing, haunting visual elements.

The rest of the weekend was dullsville. I refused to watch the Superbowl; it just lost its allure once the Chargers fell out of the playoffs. I was gratified, however, to turn the game on at the end and see Rodney Harrison make the final, game-saving interception. As Homer Simpson would say, "In your face, Chargers!"

I also did my reading for the Read and Critique class. The stories were enjoyable and just reading them inspired me to do more. The next class is Tuesday evening, when my own story, "The Odyssey of St. Eudorus," will be up on the block. I think I am the only spec fiction writer in the class, though one other story came close. I don't know that there are sf/dark fantasy/horror fans in the class either, but I will report on the group's reaction after Tuesday.

I continue to work on leg excercises, and was thrilled to sleep in my own bed again Friday night.

David 

The Unbelievable Heaviness of Being

Today Sharon came back over and we practiced transfers again. I definitely can feel some strength and tone returning to my legs--especially the left one. There was concern because my right foot hurts when I sit down, as it dives into the carpet toe-first and just bends at the ankle. Ouch!

But at least tonight I get to sleep in my own bed. Yay!

Today the state inspector, Jaime, took a look at my van. He gave it a passing grade, except that the front tires need rotation (hmm... they are brand new, and have only been driven to and from the grocery store and shop since the accident), and the air conditioning doesn't cool very fast. The inspector's approval should mean a green light to getting new tie-down straps installed ($500). Then I can get out of the house more.

The read and critique class is going well. If nothing else, just reading other people's work keeps me in the flow of writing too. When you see some good or bad point in someone else's work, you immediately begin to think about how that same point applies to you. There is a lot of reading: about 100 pages a week. And it's not just passive reading; it's real "hard work"--as George II says.

Speaking of Bush, I couldn't bear to listen to the idiot's State of the Union Address, or his inaugural. The country is moving backwards socially and politically. It's time for the blue states to opt out of this most imperfect union, and take our tax dollars with us! How much of that $300 billion that Bush blew in Iraq came from California? Quite a lot, I guess.

Last week I watched that Cole Porter bio-flick on DVD. It's called "De Lovely," I think. Should have been called "Queer Ear for the Gay Composer." Sheesh! "Enough already with the gay!" as Dr. Zoidberg might say.... I am open-minded and tolerant, but I don't need to see two guys kissing to get the point.

Tonight I hope to watch "Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow." And have dinner with my parents, which makes for a pleasant evening.

Welcome to my new blog!

I recently discovered the drawback to using FrontPage as my Web editor. RoadRunner allows 5 mb of disk space on their server for so-called "free personal pages." Since I've been updating my journal regularly, I used up the space RoadRunner has alloted. This caught me by surprise, as I used to have much more "stuff" on my old AOL page. But FrontPage makes all kinds of backup and virtual files, duplicating each and every page and image I post!

Btw, I did get into the writing class at UCSD. They had an opening turn up after all and I was at the top of the list. So my ego is a little bit assuaged. ;-) The class starts on January 18, so now I need to plan the logistics. Life was so much simpler when I could just drive!! Grrrr....

:-/

Also, we got the x-rays from the Evil Dr. Phibes, er... T yesterday and my dad took them promptly to Dr. Freeman's office. No word today, but then it's a holiday week and everyone is goofing off. Dr. Landers's nurse practitioner did admit to me yesterday that there is "no love lost" between Landers and T. But, getting him (Landers) to do anything has been almost impossible. Landers's nurse said "Doctors just don't interfere with each other that way." Then they bitch and moan about malpractice! Seems to me there would be fewer losses if they would police themselves better, rather than waiting to react to lawsuits.

It's Christmas Eve!

A quiet day for me. My parents are having the festivities over at their home. The grandkids will be there, along with their parents. They will attend the 5:00 Vigil Mass: the one for all the kiddies. Then they will have dinner and open packages. This is the first time in my life I won't be attending. I thought about taking that MTS Access mini-bus over, but I've only been on that thing once and am not that confident in it. If MTS ended up stranding me at my parents', it would not be a good night for all!

Tomorrow my parents will come over and bring my uncle. A nice, casual day like that is much more to my tastes.

Weather-wise, it's been sunny and warm this week: low 70s throughout the urban parts of the county.

SOSDD

Today Sue, Dr. Landers's nurse, called before I got up and I wasn't able to reach her later, as Landers's office is closed for the rest of the week. Sharp's Patient Relations representative wasn't able to accomplish anything either. She called this morning and repeated what Paula had already said, that we will hear from Dr. T when he comes back on Monday.

It seems that no one really gives a damn....

Today the medical saga continues. My dad came over and picked up my written request about 10:30 this morning and drove to T's office on Frost Street, across from Sharp Memorial, where T is a practicing surgeon.

When my dad arrived and presented Paula, T's secretary, with the letter, she insisted that they "do not give out originals" of x-rays and wanted him to pay for them. Then Paula told him she could not release the copies anyway, since Dr. T is out of town and he has to personally approve giving the x-rays out. So my dad was sent away with nothing, and I have nothing yet for Freeman to look at. This is crazy!!

Iliana, my Maxim case manager called Paula later in the afternoon and got the same story, with a promise that T's office will call me Monday. Later today I called Dr. Landers's nurse practitioner, Sue (she was out of the office) and left her a voice mail about the situation. Then I called Freeman and left him a description of the problems with T also.

Finally tonight about 4:35 I called Sharp's Patient Relations hotline and told a woman named Patrice about the issues with T. She was obviously unhappy with the situation, especially concerning how T's secretary wanted to charge my dad and then refused to give the x-ray copies. Patrice tried to call T's office but they were gone. Since Patrice will be out of the office tomorrow she promised that an associate of hers will call T and see if her office (Patient Relations) can free up the x-rays before 'Xmas.'

More tomorrow!

A bas les medecins!

Today I finally got a callback from Dr. Freeman. He seems very cordial on the phone. He told me that he got the records from Dr. T, but not the x-rays, and it's the latest x-rays he really needs to see. So, tomorrow my dad will carry a letter to T's office, demanding that he be given the x-rays, which he will then carry by hand to Freeman.This is all worse than getting a root canal at your local dentist! I have been working on the second opinion since November, about six weeks....More tomorrow!

Right now I'm waiting for a technician to come check out the state of my air mattress. The guy called an hour or more ago and still hasn't shown up. When he called, he said he couldn't find my address on "Caminito Ruiz." Well, duh! Maybe because it doesn't exist! Then he said his company had no record of ever having installed the mattress. When I pointed out to him that we got his company's number off the tag on the mattress, he kept asking if we got the number from the motor housing...

I realize that air mattresses are not the equivalent of Saturn V rockets, but the idiocy of the medical companies never ceases to amaze me.

Speaking of idiots, the secretary of my orthopedist promised to send my records over to Dr. Freeman, the new doctor. That was on Monday. Today when I called to check, she admitted that she hadn't: "Oh I'm just scatterbrained sometimes," she said. Me thinks she doth protest too much. Freeman's secretary already told me that the other guy's office "isn't good about sending records." I think the original orthopedist, whom I shall call "Dr. T" from now on, may just be beginning to suspect the jig is up on his neglectful treatment.

I'm doing okay, but life is a tough struggle right now. I'd love to get outof my home and go shopping, hang out at Starbuck's, buy books, meet up withmy family for Sunday brunch. None of that is possible at present, since thestate still hasn't approved modifying my van so I can ride in it as apassenger. Driving again will be at some far-off date, if ever. I'm alsoseeking a second opinion from another orthopedic surgeon, as my originalone just doesn't seem to care about someone like me, who as he says is "notgoing to run or ski."Meanwhile, that anthology editor who had my story about the spiders (whichI turned in for SS II) wrote to me that he doesn't know when he'll finishthe book, since he lives in Florida and "lost a lot of stuff in thehurricanes." So I'm in the process of going over it again to sendelsewhere; eight months is enough for that work to hang in limbo. I'm goingto submit it to City Slab, even though a story set in suburbia (but, whatelse is there in San Diego?) might not be the perfect match for them. Thestory that Judy saw in part is also on my project list. But focusing ishard, after months of rotting my brain in the hospital and in bed at home.At least I'm back to writing every day now, even if it's only journalarticles in my website's blog.

Today hasn't been a particularly good day; another segment of a particularly bad year.

To start with, I went to a new orthopedist today. I was all set to get his second opinion on how my right leg is healing (or not healing). This was the leg that received the compound fractures during the accident. Unfortunately, when I got to the new doctor's office, it became apparent they hadn't looked at the documents I had sent them (at their request). Thus, they hadn't looked at the medical release form I had signed and hadn't gotten my records and x-rays from the first orthopedist. At least they seemed genuinely embarassed by the snafu. The new doctor promised to call me as soon as he got the records. At least they didn't charge me for the visit!

The second thing that happened was I just got an e-mail from Judy Reeves rejecting my application to her invitation-only "read and critique" course. I think this was my first rejection to a class since my sophomore year at high school. I'm not sure what happened. I sent her an excerpt of a rough draft, thinking that was what she wanted. Evidently not!

Oh well, back to the "writing board."

My previous post to this journal was on May 8, 2004. On May 9, on a beautiful Spring day in San Diego, I was involved in a terrible car accident. My van was nearly totaled and I sustained many injuries, including multiple fractures to my legs, a broken arm, and head laceration.

My journey back is only beginning. I spent most of May, all of June and three fourths of July in Kindred Hospital here in San Diego. Late last month, my casts were removed and I began to feel more normal. Still, I require 24-hour nursing care and can only get out of bed with the aid of a lift operated by a nurse. I'm even still wearing one of those silly, open-backed hospital gowns. ;-)

Thanks to the love, prayers and visits of my family and friends, I am getting through this ordeal.

One last thought: Never take anything for granted.

David

This is my first posting in this journal since May 8, 2004. On Sunday, May 9, I was involved in a terrible car accident at an intersection in Scripps Ranch, a neighborhood in the northern part of the city of San Diego. In the accident, I broke both legs and my right arm.

I spent May, June and July in the hospital. In late September, my casts were removed and I am slowly getting back to normal. The thoughts, prayers and visits of many kind people and the love of my family have helped me heal.

I will start posting much more often now, as I look forward to resuming my writing career. Many things have been left unfinished; I really want to get back to my life.

You can never know what the future may hold. It's a cliché, but no less true for that.

It's a sunny, not-too-warm day today. The day before Mother's Day.

Nothing much new going on. I'm waiting to see if T. H. and her husband make good on their promise to pay up on the $12,000 she owes me, despite her bankruptcy. She is an amazing person; she broke every promise she made to me over 12 years and then in the end, acted as if I had somehow wronged her. It's a shame that she's a special ed teacher, yet she has single-handedly made a mess out of the life of one of the few disabled adults she has known. She and her husband have three small boys; I hope they straighten themselves out before those children become aware of the scam their parents perpetrated.

Speaking of abuse, everybody's hot on the trail of the Abu Ghraib scandal. I really enjoy Rush Limbaugh's take on the episode, that it's just "people blowing off steam." Like Jay Leno said last nigth, "what, is this guy (Rush) on drugs?" I know when I feel down I always find it's helpful to blow off steam by stripping people naked, piling them in pyramids, snapping leashes around their necks and then taking photographs. What a souvenir of my duty in Iraq! Rumsfeld was on point yesterday at those committee meetings. He started out by apologising, but then he was unable to admit to any specific act of wrongdoing. Everything went perfectly and according to plan, he maintained, except for those ruffian guards and the person who leaked the photos. Over and over again he kept saying, "the problem is the photos." Sorry Don, the problem is the immorality and incompetence of you and Bush's administration.

Well, the other shoe finally dropped today. Michael Wiesner, the "big boss" from BGS headquarters showed up at the San Diego office this morning with two HR people in tow. Dum dum DUM!! They are shutting down the SD office. Glenn got the "Donald," but the rest were offered a menu consisting of layoffs or transfers to Boston. Tasty!! So far, the only ones committing to Boston are the H1b visa holders (who don't have much choice--they are almost like old-fashioned indentured servants.)

Meanwhile, my lunch was nice today. Met Doug at Mimi's. He's been out of work most of the year and a half since we were laid off. But his prospects are looking up in that he might get a job at Northrop Grumman here in San Diego.

NBC finished "Average Joe III: Adam Returns" this week. Pretty much everyone was disappointed Adam chose superficial Samantha and her tutu-clad dog over cute, spunky, wholesome Rachel. Adam proved himself to be just as shallow as Melana and Larissa! I was rooting for Rachel from the start. Judging from the AJ bulleting boards, I wasn't the only one. One viewer wrote "the show should be called 'Average Ho.'" Another said Samantha is Jason, only worse: Jason with a $45 tutu-wearing dog!

Even if they do another of these shows, that's it for me. These people are just too dumb for words...

I saw "The Passion of the Christ" last Saturday. It was a film I dearly wanted to like, but I came away dissatisfied and depressed. Since when is a movie about Jesus supposed to be a downer?

Mel is definitely a throwback in his esthetics. The movie is a Medieval Passion Play with 21st century special effects gore. Midget babies, crows pecking eyes out, gallons of blood in scene after scene... Weird. Not uplifting at all, as you would expect a film about Jesus to be. I usually rate films on their DVD-ability, as in "would I like to buy the DVD?" For Mel's "Passion," the answer is, unfortunately, NO. I did find the Latin and Aramaic interesting. Having recently studied Arabic, I was surprised about how many words I could recognize. And the simplified Latin was Italianate, so that didn't even need subtitles.

If you want to see a good film about Jesus, see Zefirelli's "Jesus of Nazareth." Zefirelli preserves the mystical beauty of the Gospels, which is something Mel's version is sorely lacking.

Tales of the Moderately Disturbing

I just got back from a trip to my local Barnes & Noble, and discovered that the Horror section has been reduced to an end-cap on the Literature aisle. Yikes! And the end-cap only had all the usual suspects: King, Saul, etc.

Is Horror further on the decline? If so, I've been reading all these genre mags, like City Slab, and can perhaps see a trend. Is it just me, or is most of what passes for HORROR these days more like, moderately unwholesome, disturbing and/or depressing, rather than horrorific? When we read Datlow's YBFH, I thought, "well, maybe it's been a bad year for horror." Nothing, really, gave me that electric thrill up and down the spine like I got the first time I picked up a book by, say, Clive Barker. Then I thought, "Well, maybe it's just Ellen's taste," since I find about half the stories she puts on SCIFICTION to be trivial, gross and dull. But, now I've plowed through Cemetery Dance, Weird Tales, City Slab, Flesh & Blood, and I find the same dull tone there. Where's the excitement?

If horror results from "fear for the soul," can we have horror in a materialistic age in which the soul plays second fiddle to the latest Chinese-manufactured gizmo? I read Ellen's interview in City Slab where she says she "doesn't believe in the supernatural," or in "life after death." Hell's Bells! Then what's the point? I'm not suggesting only the uber-religious can write good horror, but perhaps if horror has become only a prop for modern psychobabble, then that's why its market share is falling. It's just not satisfying.

This week will be the fourth and penultimate session for my Short Story II class. I'm going to step things up a bit this week and bring one of my "wilder" stories in. At first I wasn't sure if the class could deal with something really unusuall and "edgy," but now I see from my classmates' offerings that they should be okay with what I bring. Then, for the final class, I'll bring my new, 5300-word story, "The Parable of the Tapestry."

I spent a lot of the day pondering markets again. It's so hard to decide what's appropriate and what's not. And there's no point in wasting time and postage mailing a submission to a market you know won't care for it.

Speaking of horror, or Horror (with a capital h), last week on TV started the new Stephen King miniseries, "Kingdom Hospital." Most of the reviews, including that of Tom Shales, have wanted to blow this story back to "kingdom come." I don't think the show is that bad. Last week's premiere suffered from laggardly pacing, due largely to being stuffed with ads. I did like the talking ardvaark, crow and german shepard. The main problem with the show is the premise, though. It seems Kingdom Hospital rests on "uneasy ground" where the dead are restless, and therein lieth the horror.

But in fact, in my experience, hospital horror derives not from forgotten graveyards full of dead children's corpses, but rather the everyday horror of illness and the feeble attempts of human beings to endure them, or cure them. In a sense, hospitals would be more soothing if they DID have a few ghosts roaming about. At least ghosts would reassure us that there is an afterlife. The horror of hospitals derives from the mechanization of disease and its treatment: the white coats, the pink nurses' uniforms with the cutesy little teddy bears, the buzzes, dings and beeps, the glaring lights. I saw a recent news report on a study that showed hospital rooms as being noisier than a jet plane, on average. Dehumization is horrifying. Becoming a statistic is horrifying. Soullessness is the ultimate horror. If ghosts desired to roam a hospital, they would hardly need more justification than the locale itself. When I was a resident of the ICU for a whole summer back in 82, I couldn't help but imagine the many people who had died in the very same room I was staying in. Some years later, both my grandparents did pass away in that very ICU, in rooms adjacent to where I had been. Think of the things that occur in a typical hospital: dismemberments, disembowlings, forced feedings, castrations, removal of eyes, breasts, brains, kidneys, hearts lungs, and blood. Strange and poisonous chemicals are injected into inert victims .... er... "patients" just to see how they'll react.

The difference between a medical center and a good, old fashioned medieval torture chamber is that one is supposed to be grateful to the Gods of Medicine for the benificence that they bestow upon one. At least a victim of judicial torture is allowed to be pissed off at his or her tormenters! For in truth the medievalists were trying to save souls--confess and the torture will stop. Modern medicine is agnostic about the soul. Confession gains the inmate--inpatient--nothing. The attention is all devoted to the body, as though salvation of the body is all that matters, in a 13 billion-year-old universe in which we dwell for at best a century. And it's not even the whole body that counts. Patients are treated piecemeal. For example, to my doctors I was mainly a pair of lungs on a breathing machine. If something else went wrong, it was time for another specialist to come in and treat that specific limb of the body, as though the whole were not greater than the sum of the parts. All this being a long-winded way of pointing out that Herr King missed the real chance to explore horror in the modern world.

Hey it's March already...

Kerry has won the Democratic primary season. Bush is on the attack here in the state he so frequently ignored, California. I hope Kerry can turn things around for the party. I don't know how he'll deal with the "liberal" onslaught.

I feel like I live in another country, the way the election results turn out. I can pretty much predict anymore how an election will come out, based on picking the oposite of the candidates I vote for. Egads!

In better news, looks like Mars had a watery past... Did it sustain life? The prospects have certainly approved. Now Nasa needs to get a sample-return mission up, and soon.

Hmm ... that link for the article didn't work. Let's try it again!

http://www.signonsandiego.com/uniontrib/20040223/news_1c23slant.html

Wel it's been raining lately. What is perhaps the last big storm of the season has been rolling through the county, leaving sewer spills and auto accidents in its wake. We will never learn, it seems.

But overall it's been a very good week for me. Last Friday, out of the blue, I got a call from the Currents Editor of the San Diego Union Tribune. "We're going to publish your article," he said. He added, "It's wonderful." Wow! I was taken aback. Finally, after months of struggling, a ray of hope shines through. If you're reading this blog and want to see the article online, go to this link:

Tonight, I have another class for Short Story II. It's been fun, so far, even if not as advanced as I had hoped. But then again, one gets out of a class in proportion to the effort one puts into it. Last week, I brought "Mother's Night" to the class and the other members of my group seemed to enjoy it. Tonight, it's "Europa's Children."

Movie-wise, I want to see "Hidalgo." It looks far more inspiring that Mel Gibson's dreadful Crucifixion film. Not that I won't go see Gibson's neo-Romanesque epic, but it's not as high on my priority list as it once might have been, despite having all dialog in either Aramaic or Latin. Any movie spoken in two dead languages can't be all bad!

Today is a beautiful, sunny day in San Diego. Highs expected to be in the low 70s, for all you snowbound people reading this.

Two newsworthy events of the past week. "Boobgate" and Bush's "Meet the Press" interview with Tim Russert. Of the former, need we say more? It wasn't the bare breast that was truly offensive, it was the entire Super Bowl halftime show. The thing was vulgar and unintelligible. Maybe if you were a regular MTV viewer and no more than 20 years old, the event was great. But the Budweiser-swilling middle-aged family guys who make up a preponderance of the Super Bowl's audience were unimpressed. The music industry is dying--and based on the product it purveys--the sooner the better. As long as the "stars" blow their money on coke-snorting, whore chasing and room-trashing, why should any of us feel pity for them? Or are we supposed to empathize with Sony Records? Go ahead and download all the "free" music you want, I say.

Now, for Bush, things don't look so great. Funny how a year can change everything. John Kerry's on the offensive, Bush is playing "prevent defense." I've not been a big fan of Kerry, but the ABB (Anybody But Bush) principle holds for now. It would also help if progressives (of whatever party) took back at least one of the houses of Congress. Otherwise, an elected Kerry will be an impotent Kerry.

Meanwhile, I've started a new career "ghostwriting" some people's papers. And you know who you are! But I'm happy to be doing it. Besides, I NEED the money!

Today is another good day for space research. The Opportunity rover successfully set itself down on Meridiani Planum. It initially showed pictures quite different from the rock-strewn areas we've seen in the past. Intriguingly, there is a rocky outcropping within driving distance for the rover. Who knows what it will find?

In other news, looks like Howard Dean's goose is cooked. Kerry leads in New Hampshire and I believe he will win. Looks like Hillary's idea of sitting out this election while the current "bum crop" of Democratic candidates run headlong into the Republican buzz-saw, was the wise decision to make. Kerry will be lambasted as a Kennedy-liberal and Bush will coast to victory.

Today's weather--cool and cloudy. Around 61 for a high. Originally rain was predicted, but I don't see any now. I'm off to Ethan's baptism at 10:30.

I had dinner with Donna and Marina at Dead Lobster on Friday night! Much fun!

It's January 2004! Welcome to the future! Hmmm ... looks a lot like 2003! There's a lot to follow in the news:

-- The Democratic Primary: Looks like Dean will win in Iowa. But the Dems seem hell-bent on self destruction. Lieberman and Kerry need to get their heads screwed on straight. Neither one had a chance of winning the primary season, or of beating Bush. They are just the "democratic wing of the Republican Party." Why vote for these losers when we already have GWB? And all the character assassination they have done against Dean will come back to bite the party in the general elections.

-- The Mars rovers. Hooray for Spirit! Let's hope Opportunity successfully lands in a couple of weeks. It was disappointing to see the Beagle 2 not make it, since that was the only probe specifically designed to search for life. American scientists pursue their determined rock-hunting, which is cool from a scientific point of view, but lacks much zip for the general public. -- I'm still doing writing. The rejections tick me off, but that's part of the biz. I'll keep at it until I succeed or starve.

-- Today I cancelled my ATT long-distance service. I can use my cell phone or one of those 10-10 numbers if necessary (I hardly make any LD calls anyway). But the process was ridiculous. First, I called ATT and had to speak to some idiotic VR system. "Just speak naturally," it intones. And oh, it's just SO friendly! Makes me want to remain a customer, NOT. Then after I speak "Cancel" three times into the receiver, I get transfered to an operator. Then I wait 15 minutes to speak to a human. The human I finally get to talk to turns out to be an Indian (and I don't mean an Apache). Finally, after much mumbling on her part and sarcastic invective on mine, I get it through to her that I want to cancel my long distance. Then she tells me I have to call SBC to tell them I have cancelled my ATT. What the??? So then I call SBC, who at least has a native-English speaker as an operator. She tells me that ATT just handles billing, and that SBC has to physically disconnect me from ATT's network. And that carries a $5.00 charge! So no matter what you do, the corporate vampires suck your blood try.

December is the Christmas mad rush season, during which we celebrate the glories of capitalism, a fat guy in a red suit, and, oh, by the way, that subversive Jewish guy who was born in Bethlehem 2003 years ago (more or less, give or take a year or two, or maybe a decade). The malls, our modern temples, are filled with worshippers of the Golden Calf, paying homage not with Gold, Frankincense and Myrh, but Visa, MasterCard and Discover.

This year, even more than last, I've done most of my shopping online. The Internet will, eventually, bury the mall. I've also gotten most of my Christmas cards mailed, though a few unexpected stragglers arrive in the mailbox daily that cause me to have to reach for the box o' cards once again.

Last week was a fun week for TV. Monday night was the finale of "Average Joe." Melana, the cheerleader, picked handsome mama's boy Jason over ordinary--but rich--Jewish boy Adam. I was disappointed in the outcome as well, but in the end, "show bidness" was what it was all about. Many of the "average Joes" were wannabe actors... For example, Tariq, the Indian "genius," will be appearing on the show "Miss Match" either this week or next. Also, perpetually nerdy accountant Dennis (the guy who got the egg on the head) also has a long list of entertainment credits. For those who want it, the publicity can be a stepping stone to an entertainment career.

I saw Melana and Jason on both "Today" and "Tonight" yesterday. Apparently their contracts stipulated that they not see each other for the last 7 months. Some romance! Seeing as how the "prize" was simply a vacation to the Caribbean with Melana, perhaps she decided if she were going to spend just a week with the "winner," it might as well have been the "hot" one. Anyway, on "Today" they called Adam, and he sounded happy. As one review put it, "most of the Joes seem terminally Jewish." He reminded me of a bulky Seinfeld. And he evidently has a new girlfriend and watched the conclusion of the show in his bar with 500 friends. Perhaps, as Katie Couric said, Adam was the real winner after all!

I probably will watch the second series, as one problem with Melana was her Midwestern "Miss Congeniality" attitude. She bore the stiff upper lip too well, and was pretty much too darned cheerful. Seeing her giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush on the quarterback during her two appearances yesterday further lowered my expectations of her. As in fiction, the most interesting characters on "reality TV" are the ones who have a little bit of an edginess, a little bit of a dark side. Remember annoying, gay Richard on the first, and only interesting, "Survivor"? Have you noticed that Melana is blonde and the new girl is a brunette, with darker skin? Is that a coincidence? I doubt it, as everything in these shows is calculated to a "tee."

As far as the election, I don't feel good about it. Americans vote their pocketbooks more than anything else, and if the statistics look good, Bush will be very hard to beat. Iraq also will play a big role, but unless there is something equivalent of 1968's Tet Offensive, I don't see Bush as doing a Lyndon Johnson. More of a Nixon, probably (not surprising in that his closest advisors are resurrected Nixonites). Have you seen the report that Wolfowitz (what a Dickensian name!) has banned France, Germany, Canada and Russia from reconstruction contracts? Bush continues to extend his Texas-sized middle finger to the world, and we'll all pay for that eventually. The dollar is plummeting vis-a-via the Euro. Greenspan's propping up Bush by keeping interest rates ridiculously low. Eventually this too shall come home to roost, and when it does, the economy will suffer. And will the Europeans feel inclined to bail us out? But, Bush won't be in office by then, he estimates, so why worry?

My birthday, November 6, came and went without much fanfare. I went to dinner at Chin's on Miramar Road with my family (parents and Monica). Since my writing class was that night, I just went to the class and had Nancy read my story, "Beth and the Silver Box." The story got spontaneous applause after the reading, which made me happy. People genuinely seemed to like it, and even asked me how it ended (only the first five pages were read in class). I've submitted the work to Nancy, and am looking forward to reading her comments.

Recently, I went to see "Matrix Revolutions." It was a decent SF-adventure flick. I think people got too caught up in the philosophical implications and forgot that, at heart, the movie is just pulp entertainment. Plus, there's a strong sense of "been there, done that," with the epic battle scenes and the Uber Burly Brawl finale between Anderson and Smith.

Finally, there's more chemistry between Monica Bellucci's ample breasts than between Neo and Trinity during their final kissing scene.

This past week has bee Hell on Earth in San Diego and the surrounding area. The fires raged, the winds blew, the smoke beclouded our skies for days. On Tuesday, in fact, it was so dark that I had to run my lights in the house all day. The sky was a murky pumpkin-yellow: appropriate for Halloween, perhaps, but the horror and agony of the victims outweighed the interesting spooky color scheme. Plus, I was locked up in my apartment all week, with the AC running, to try to avoid the outside toxic atmosphere. Schools were closed all week; I missed my Short Story I class.

The parking lot at St. Gregory's was half full with tents housing all kinds of relief supplies the community had donated. St. Gregory's has become the focal point for a lot of the relief efforts for the Scripps Ranch area. Some 50-odd parishioners lost homes to the fires. The parish is also coordinating some relief efforts for Crest, Ramona, and Julian.

It's been entertaining watching the politicians jockey for the blame-game. The local Republicans, who have cheapskated our community for years, all tried to blame Gov. Davis. Yet everyone knows the CDF procedures allocated firefighters (I would prefer to say "firemen," but hey, poticial correctness ueber alles!). And even the Union Tribune, snot rag of the local Republican Junta, ran articles last week on the front page showing how the Bush administration has been shortchanging the local communities, sending out a memo saying "cost containment has to be equally important with safety." (<-- Paraphrase)

On other news, my birthday is this coming Thursday. Number 48! Wheee! We will be celebrating this coming Tuesday at Chin's in Miramar, since I have class on Thursday.

Meanwhile, I keep getting rejects on stories. "Chalk it up to showbusiness," Nancy says. Yeah, right. But it still is "teh Suck," as my EverQuest friends would say. It wouldn't be so bad if writing were still a hobby, but now that I'm trying to make a career of it, every reject notice is money out of my wallet. Argh! That being said, 3 other stories/articles are out in circulation, maybe my ship will eventually come in. Please, God, don't make me have to grind away in a cubicle again! Noooooooooooooooo!!!

One other interesting note. I got a call from the Health and Human Services eligibility worker who's doing my Medi-Cal evaluation. She claims to have never received my packet of documents, which I mailed over a month ago. I was really upset, as some of those documents were originals (they always require originals). I don't understand where that envelope could have gone: it was printed with her HHS address and worker number on it. I think it's really there, probably buried on another worker's desk, perhaps. Tomorrow I'm calling Aleyda at Protection and Advocacy to complain and lay the groundwork for an appeal if this screws up my Medi-Cal and IHSS eligibility.

Today is Friday! That used to seem a lot more significant to me when I "worked for a living." Of course, now I still work, but the work is private until some editor decides it's worthy of publication. Last night we had Week 5 of Short Story I. This class has been worthwhile from the theoretical standpoint, but has been a lot less fun overall than the "Writing the Horror Story" class. It's not Nancy's fault--she puts a lot of effort into making the class work. But the students, for the most part, seem to be a lot less passionate about their work, and it shows in the kinds of stories they turn in. Mostly, these are introspective, pseudo-memoirs, of the dry, literary sort.

For example, there's the little old Jewish lady whose story starts out, "Sally wondered how she ended up lost on the top of a Greek island." Apparently it's based on a real-life adventure she had in 1968, but the adventure has mostly been stripped from the story. Then there was the one about the mother at a school PTA-type meeting. *yawns* Or the one about the girl whose car was stolen. Or the one by the loudmouthed psychologist in the group, who apparently has a problem with an absentee father (the kid in the story goes wandering around Mexico City by himself and discovers his long-lost dad).

Last night's stories were a bit better. One, called "Boy," centered around a young runaway, who took care of horses on Mr. Dougherty's ranch. It was told in first-person, in a hick dialect of indeterminate origin. Another story was drawn straight from "Wonder Years," about a kid who has to face down a bully. The last one, called "Funeral Homes," was the weakest. All three stories were told in first person, but the "I" of "Homes" was indistinct. We, the readers, never even got to know his name.

My story will be anything but bland and will shake things up a bit. I only hope Nancy doesn't blow the reading! Meanwhile, here's the essay I did on Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" for the class:

Plotting in Conrad's "Heart of Darkness"

"Heart of Darkness" is a novella, and as such has a plot structure a bit more complex than most short stories. The action doesn't boil down to "a single incident that happened once," but it rather an episodic and epic journey from the Nellie on the placid Thames, to Belgium, and deep into the Belgian Congo. The return trip, as traced by Marlow in his frame narrative, proceeds back up the Congo River, through the jungle, to that "Sepulchral City" (Brussels) and back onto the Nellie. Each waypoint incident on this journey into darkness is like an island in the vast and flowing stream of the narrative.

There are aspects to the story's construction that, while hardly innovative, might seem so to a novice reader (or writer). One is the frame narrative, invented by the Arabs, honed by Chaucer and Bocaccio, and used often in contemporary films and novels. Screenwriters call this technique "bookending," where a narrator starts the story in some kind of "present," but reminisces of some past incident, then returns to the "present" at the end of the story. This technique was used in Amadeus, for example.

Each island of narrative in "Heart of Darkness" builds on the tension of the previous one, until Kurtz's climactic "The horror. The horror." A plot diagram of Conrad's story might look more like the "death spiral" of a moth auguring into a candle flame than the classic, if oversimplified, "rising and falling action." The depth of this work has impressed me more and more since I first read it in the 8th grade, and I would take away from it, as a lesson in plotting, not to fear depth and complexity, even when attempting a work of commercial accessibility.

Another day, another Sunday. Another Chargers game--let's hope they win today!

Other news: My battle with IHSS is temporarily over. They agreed to a conditional withdrawal of my appeal, and Susan Moreno, the appeals worker, is sending the case back to the County. Turns out, as I insisted all along, I belong in the so-called "250 Working Disabled" program, meaning my IHSS should never have been cut off. Would have helped if Angela Knoll, my IHSS worker, had not left county service the day after she mailed me the cutoff notice.

I sent off two stories yesterday, to web zines. We'll see what happens. While there's a story in queue, there's hope!

Here's a brief review of Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery" I recently did for Short Story I:

"The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson

On the offhand, I'd say this story has a great line of progeny, most notably almost every other "Twilight Zone" episode, and Stephen King's "Children of the Corn." The "universal truth" centering the story is the unending willingness of humans to sacrifice for some common good. If the sacrifice involves bloodshed, all the better! And if it involves ganging up on the weak, there's nothing amiss therewith, from the subjective view of the mob. Most disturbingly, the "common good" can be vague, unusual, half forgotten; the ritual subsumes the goal. Certainly in the '40s when "Lottery" was written, the world had seen ample examples of all of the behaviors mentioned above: Fascism, Nazism, Communism. And we're not bereft of modern examples, including the near stoning of the woman in Nigeria a few weeks ago.

This is very much an "external" narrative. Without going into specifics (too hard to lug that gigantic book around), "The Lottery" is almost a stage piece. Everything, the crowd, the children, the stones, the box, has its starting point almost etched out in the dusty town square. Visually, one can imagine a pan shot as the camera descends from a high level view of the town to the street level. Then it pans again to crowds, faces, and actions. The narrator truly is the camera's eye in this setting.

I've been doing these little reports on various short stories assigned to us in Nancy's class. Eventually I'll post them all; here's the most recent one (for tonight's class):

A Short Look at Characterization in Fitzgerald's "Babylon Revisited"

When thinking of "Babylon Revisited," one cannot help but think of the American relationship with Paris over the years. Since the '30s depicted in the story, the glitter, the charm, the art and the decadence of the City of Light have all been surpassed by one US city or another; the most monstrous domestic concoction of all those qualities (excepting the "art") being La Vegas, with its Paris Hotel and Casino towering over the denizens of the strip like a neon-lit avatar of Montaigne's Gargantua. Yet Paris remains, eternally elusive and alluring to the "stranger." Characterization in "Babylon Revisited" grows out of setting.

Charlie Wales is the quintessential "American in Paris," surviving in the post-crash depression era as best he can. He's a man who's "made mistakes," lived high and fallen low, only to begin digging himself out again. The narrator focuses on Charlie's view of the world, and sometimes we, the collective readers, have to wonder how reliable this viewpoint is. Charlie's vocabulary is striking for its use of "I." One senses Charlie still longs for his days of drunken "royalty" in the following passage:

"But it was nice while it lasted.... We were a sort of royalty, almost infallible, with a sort of magic around us. In the bar this afternoon"--he stumbled, seeing his mistake--"there wasn't a man I knew."

Does he really want Honoria to live with him for her good, or his own? The steadfast but bourgeois Peters family have made good guardians for the child. With the brash intrusion of Charlie's former drinking buddies into the Peterson home, the reader can't help but sense a certain foreboding that Charlie eventually will succumb again to Babylon's glittering charms. The sadness he feels at the end is the sadness of a man both facing, and running from, the delinquencies of his past. The final sentence brings Charlie's piquant, self-inflicted misfortune into perspective: "He was absolutely sure Helen wouldn't have wanted him to be so alone." In the end, Honoria is the prop upon which Charlie hopes to hang his ego, not a fully fleshed human being who would benefit equally from her relationship to her father.

Last Tuesday, we the citizens of the once mighty State of California managed to turn participatory democracy into a circus sideshow. We now have a governor-elect who believes Native American tribes are "special interests" but thinks it's ok to take $300,000 in contributions from land-developer magnate and Chargers owner Alex Spanos. The media-corporate oligarchy has managed to finally throw aside any pretense at good government. This has been the greatest usurpation of a weak central government by an Austrian since Odoacer ripped the crown from the feeble head of Romulus Augustulus.

If I were a Republican (which I most assuredly am not), I would have voted for McClintock, who at least gives the faintest impression of knowing what he's talking about. Even if there's no way in HELL he or Arnold could balance the budget by eliminating "waste, fraud and abuse." These Neanderthals (and I take the term lightly, as otherwise using it would be an insult to our thick-browed forebearers) have no problem with looting the public treasury for corporate givaways. And people like Jay Leno with his 150 cars and Arnold with his garageful of Hummers whine about the vehicle tax. I say, if the tax is so damn onerous, why don't they sell a few of their prestigemobiles? And speaking of Leno--I used to be a big fan of his before he became Schwarzenegger's semi-offical campaign spokesman. Hey Jay! Wake the hell up! It's no longer 1998! You can cut with the Clinton jokes now! If there's a place in one of the inner circles of hell for commedians, I hope Leno winds up spending eternity with Jerry Lewis and Roseanne Barr. If Schwarzenegger wants to inaugurate "hydrogen highways" so badly, why doesn't he just drill a friggen hole in the side of his head and let the hot gas out?

So, let's all get out our Bear Flags and dance around the campfire to the Horst Wessel song. All hail the Fuhrenator! (and pay no attention to the midget behind the curtain--it's not Gary Coleman, it's Pete Wilson).

Here are a few notes and whatnot from my Short Story 1 class at UCSD. You can read them or skip them, if you find literary ramblings to be boring.

I was brainstorming about the characteristics of some of my favorite SF stories. These are some of the factors I came up with:

"Nightfall"
- Global scale
- Suspense builds
- Sense of history
- Night falls

"Rapaccini's Daughter"
- Scientist
-- daughter
-- narrator-
Disease/Death-
Perfection-
Inability of man to overcome decay and death

"Nine Million Names of God"
- Technological progress has unintended consequences

"The Veldt"
- What we get is not always what we want
- Generation gap in use of technology

Hey, it's almost mid-September! Here are a few random thoughts about recent events.

1) It just galls me, to the point of wanting to choke, cry, scream, to see Bush willing to pay $87 billion for one year in the occupation of Iraq, while things to to hell in this country. That $87 billion could have paid for every state's budget deficit, or it could have paid for expanded health care coverage, more public works (remember when our freeways were actually less filled with potholes than the highways of Mexico?). In an era when my nursing-care budget is balanced against reductions in my attendant-care and ventilator, something's seriously wrong. It's wrong enough that I begin to doubt my reasons for living in this country anymore. My latest fiasco is that the county wants to cut off my IHSS support. That means I have "excess income" that exceeds my share of cost for IHSS services. What does this mean for me? Well, I can get by without IHSS for a month or so. But Harold will lose the job he needs for his own family. Is Harold rich? Am I? NO!! But, God forbid we should raise the vehicle license fees up to what they were three years ago, lest some fat idiot in his gas-guzzling SUV be forced to pay a bit more for it. Now, why these people whine so much about the vehicle tax, when the can afford a $60,000 SUV and two-dollar a gallon gas to put in it, I just can't understand. It's like Bush giving away tax breaks while cutting back veterans' benefits and requiring moms and dads in the reserves to spend a year or more occupying Iraq. Sacrifice? No thanks, just keep them pork rinds on my plate and let somebody else slaughter the hogs.

2) I was watching Mulholland Drive on cable last night. It's one of my favorite movies. Truly a deep dive into the world of dreams. And it occured to me that Mulholland Drive is a sort of modern Wizard of Oz. Dorothy, aka "Betty," arrives in LA, the real-world Oz, as an innocent igenue. Or is she? Diane Selwick is the other side of Betty, the dark, jaded and schizo side. The Oz of Diane's dreams meets the sordid reality of her quashed desires in the suicide at the film's end (or beginning?).

Here's a poem I wrote a while back (year or so). Sort of Dickensonesque, though no flies buzz nor sepulchres groan within.

The Darkest Coat of Dreams

I wrap myself in cloaks of darkness,
Weaving black on black of night on night
While sparkling stars betray my insight,
Then stretch my fingers into blindness.

I sungaze to wipe the soul with light,
Then shut eyes and wish the world away--
To seal the windows and flee the day
Is to keep a promise made each night.

I sleep deep and dream and roll and cry
At all the vivid images, bright
That flash and burn in embedded flight
From hours and years lost to sunlit sky.

In dreams I weave frail dark strands around
Of fancied loves and unfulfilled fate.
Yet waking, I fear and know too late,
To all tainted mourning here I’m bound

Well, here it is, the middle of August! I've been working on MTNI the last week and a half, and have it almost "in the can" now. Tomorrow I'll head to the printer to go over the proofs, and if all is well, give the issue my "imprimatur." I've almost got my "Thief of Lies" story ready to submit, but to whom? The horror market doesn't appear to be in good shape. Gone are the halcyon days of the 80s and 90s when any horror smack would sell! Too bad I wasn't writing the stuff then! But I wouldn't have been ready.... I'm a much more accomplished, wordly and mature writer now. Anyway, there's always the "hard science fiction" route, the crime drama/mystery, the historical romance, etc. I have ideas for them all.

Here are a few ideas I've been thinking about lately:

1) A time-displacement story, based on the latest temporal and end-of-time theories. What's beyond the END? There's this multiple brane theory, string theory, and the theory proposed by that New Zealander that time is not, as is commonly conceived, a series of discreet moments.

2) A story based on regular expressions! Uh... how? Dunno yet. But people always say "write what you know, and I do know regexps!

3) A follow-up to my "Probability" story, in which Carlisle and friend travel through multiple parallel universes via Carlisle's "Probability Engine."

4) A new story for WTIW, in which a cigar-store Indian is really an alien Robot come to rescue the lost tribes from genocidal homesteaders.

Now, it's August! Today I went to lunch at the Thai Café in Clairemont Mesa and had lunch with former colleagues. Doug was there, along with Thomas, Donna, Brigitte, Veronique, Heike and Annie. Marina came and said "Hi." It was fun to see everyone; I hope we can continue to stay in touch.