Driving Me Crazy

Driving Me Crazy!

Well, Harold and I drove over to the Miramar College parking lot yesterday, which was huge and completely empty. We had gone out to exchange a memory card for my camera, and he convinced me to head to the lot on our way back from Best Buy.

So, Harold unbolted the driver's seat from its position and I locked the chair into place. As I pulled the chair into position, a wave of nausea washed over me from head to toe; I thought I might faint. Leftover trauma from the accident, I presume.

Once I got the chair locked down, we tooled around the parking area. Because of my short right leg (thank you, Dr. "What do you use your legs for" T), I cannot reach the gas pedal by about an inch. So Harold (bravely) sat next to me and used the 30-inch-long tire iron to press on the gas. He also could use it to hit the brake if necessary (it wasn't).

Some things were immediately obvious. Besides the gas pedal, I'll have to have the brake pedal adjusted a bit further back. My left leg doesn't flex as much as it used to, so I have a hard time getting my foot up to the pedal. Once the foot is there, braking is just fine, however.

We did not put the shift lever extension in place. I have no idea how shifting will go yet. In general, I seemed father away from the dash than before. I don't know if that's a difference in the chair or me. I also had trouble clicking the turn signal fully on. I think that's just a matter of regaining some more strength, however.

I definitely will want a new tie-down system, seatbelts, and so on, which I hope to get funded by Rehab while I'm still a client of theirs.

Overall, it was a successful venture. My first time behind the wheel in 2.5 years. We spent about an hour cruising the lot, making figure eights and driving down the side lanes. Even though the heat was raging, my van's AC works great, and I was so excited to be driving that I hardly noticed the temperature. My arms did get a good workout, too. I need to do a lot more "lot surfing" to get up to speed, but I'm optimistic. It reminded me of my first time behind the wheel with my nurse driving instructor, Sandy Bartlow. That day, which remains fresh in my memory from the summer of 1974 (I was 18), she drove my 1973 Chevy van to the stadium parking lot, and transferred me to the driver's seat, with a cushion underneath to adjust my height. Once I drove around the stadium a few times, I knew I could accomplish anything. Yes, my van needed modifications, but when all was said and done, I scored a 95/100 on my California driving exam.

Up until 2004, that day proved to be a good omen of success to come. One single day in May changed all that. But now, I'm looking forward to getting back "in the driver's seat" of life.

Freaky Friday

Freaky Friday

So I went out today and had lunch with my friend Jan. Instead of him bringing me food, as we've been doing since my accident, we got into my van and drove to Mimi's. It was a very pleasant outing, despite the horrendous heatwave we've been experiencing all summer. Even as I write this blog entry, the downtown temperature is hovering around 75 degrees Fahrenheit, with high humidity.

Anyway, Jan had the Chicken Cordon Bleu and I had the French Quarter Burger. Both were excellent, and we took a lot home. We also walked over to Starbuck's and bought lattes.

I spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on my document library project for work. This weekend, I'll also be catching up on my homework for the PM class, as well as filling out reams of paperwork for my Medi-Cal redetermination. Oh, yea!!

Tomorrow after I get up, I'm taking the driver's seat out of the van and seeing what I can do. Wish me luck!

I'm tired of being an invalid... In any sense of the word.

Farenheit 101

Farenheit 101

Well, the last few weeks have been so hot you could roast a London Broil on the sidewalk. It may or may not be global warming, but it's damn uncomfortable!

In a few minutes, my friend Jan is coming over for a visit, Starbucks in hand. That's cool; we haven't gotten together in a while, since he works and lives in Maryland now.

A week and a half ago, I saw the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. It was a lot of fun--Johnny Depp is a masterful actor. As with a lot of recent blockbuster movies, I thought the film was a little too long, and dragged through the "muddled middle." Still, it had all the right elements of a rollicking comedy/adventure.

Meanwhile, Deadwood continues into its final season. Last week's highlight (and the highlight of the whole season so far) was the huge fight to the death between Dority and Captain Turner. The best man won, and kept both his eyes in his sockets! Deadwood is not a show for the faint of heart.

My Project Management class is in its 4th week and is progressing nicely. I have nothing to complain about! And I'm working on several projects for Manual Labour. Yee Haw!

Comicon comes to town this weekend. That'll be a blast, I'm sure. Sony's even giving bus rides from the Convention Center to their headquarters in Sorrento Mesa. I probably won't go, though. Heat, crowds, and traffic are an evil combination.

T. and I are going to lunch tomorrow--yay! Can't wait to spend time with her again.

Peering into the Shadows

Peering into the Shadows

I’m feeling sad tonight; I don’t know quite why. Maybe it’s just that I’m tired from writing all day. Tech writing rather fries and scrambles the brain sometimes. Plus, the boys have been here all evening, yelling and roughhousing around the living room. My eyes feel droopy. My head feels like it was put on backwards this morning. What’s wrong with me? I hate it when I get into these moods....  Do you (dear reader) ever feel this way, or am I the only person in the world who so senses the isolation and ennui coursing through his (or her) body. Or perhaps there are questions that just cannot be answered.

When I took French at USD, one of the first novels we read was by a girl named Françoise Sagan. It was called Bonjour Tristesse– “Hello Sadness.” That’s me tonight, peering over the edge of the deep dark well of loneliness and crying “Hello!” into the simmering shadows.

The Fourth of Never

The Fourth of Never

Well, today's the Fourth of July! The sun is baking everything beneath it today; the temperatures have been hovering in the 90s for a week or so. I know the ancients used to pray to the Sun God, but I would gladly sacrifice my first-born (or at least a fatted calf) for mercy from the Rain God!

Today I went computer shopping with T. She's so sweet, and learned all about the tie-downs and driving the van with aplomb. I don't think Joe thought she could do it!

The Mira Mesa parade and fireworks are today. I saw the setup for the parade on Mira Mesa Boulevard around 11:00 this morning. I personally would not sit in the blazing midday July heat just to see an amateur parade. Tonight the community will hold its annual fireworks at 9:00. My parents are coming over and we're going to watch the King Kong remake. None of us wants to deal with the fireworks crowd and traffic. Besides, the Summer Pops has much better ones by the bay!

I started my Project Management course with Bonni last week. I think this will be a very beneficial feather to place in my career cap, even though I cannot avow that the topic excites me much.

Deus Ex Police Box

Deus Ex Police Box

So last night I was watching the season finale of Dr. Who. It was broadcast on Sci Fi a few weeks ago, but I never got around to watching it. I saved it on my DVR for a boring TV night, which last evening definitely was.

The final episode (of a two-parter) revolved around the comeback of the Daleks and their emperor, intent upon destroying the Earth and "harvesting" humanity. Just when things looked their bleakest, i.e., the Earth was about to be destroyed and Dr. Who killed, all was saved by pretty Miss Rose, who had "looked into the heart of the Tardis" and gained godlike powers over space-time. Rose the Goddess wiped out the Daleks with a wave of the hand, saved the doctor, and revived Captain Jack from his mortal slumber.

I think any time a story comes to a close with a mortal human assuming godlike powers to save the day, it has to be considered a case of Deus Ex Machina (God from the Machine). That is, it's an artificial plot device brought from nowhere to save the day. The writers of Dr. Who cleverly attempted to disguise their ruse by having the motto "Bad Wolf" sprinkled in unlikely places throughout most of the season's earlier episodes. Turned out that "Bad Wolf" was Rose trying to communicate with herself in the past. Thus, enough forshadowing was initiated that the Deus Ex Machina was cloaked from view for as long as possible.

Isn't that the way with so much SF, though? The hero (an avatar, perhaps, of a helpless teenager) becomes a god and proves his worth. It rather lives out adolescent fantasies of powerlessness taking the reigns of power. It's a good trope when it's not overly used. In the case of Dr. Who, however, it came pretty damn close to ruining an otherwise decent story.

Emily and Me

Emily and Me

Lately I've been rediscovering the poetry of Emily Dickenson. I studied her works a lot when I was in Dennis Clausen's American Lit classes at USD. Then, like a lot of things from my undergraduate days, she fell by the wayside.

What I noticed about the "Belle of Amherst" is that she thinks a lot like me. She was a recluse by choice or neurosis, evidently. I, on the other hand, have been living in a sort of Plato's Cave since that accident back in 2004. If you don't drive in Southern California, you are screwed.

It's not that I don't still have friends whom I love to see: I do. Donna and Marina above all others. And my new coworkers have been a joy to know. Then there is celle que j'aime, dont le nom reste inconnu au plan du monde extérieur.

But getting back to Emily, she was always writing about human concerns: nature, death, love. What more is there? Knowledge... The mind/body problem. Look at the following poem:


The BRAIN is wider than the sky,
  For, put them side by side,
The one the other will include
  With ease, and you beside.

The brain is deeper than the sea,
  For, hold them, blue to blue,
The one the other will absorb,
  As sponges, buckets do.

The brain is just the weight of God,
  For, lift them, pound for pound,
And they will differ, if they do,
  As syllable from sound.


Consider the paradox. We can imagine anything that exists in the universe, yet the universe does not appear to imagine us... Or does it? If you take quantum mechanics and string theory to its extreme, you arrive at the anthropic principle: the universe exists because we perceive it. We, all of us, are the omniscient observer who brings the un-being into existence. But, the universe then becomes self-referential, a tautology. We observe, we think, and matter pops into existence. Matter then pops into existence to create the observer who will initiate even more parallel universes, ad infinitum. See the paradox?

Memento Mori

Memento Mori

When got home from shopping on Saturday, I saw this beautiful card in my mail. It was from my doctor’s office. I tore the card out of its envelope with a great sense of anticipation—it looked like a party invitation or something. But it was actually a death notice. “We regret to inform you of the untimely death of Sue Fenton-Warner, our beloved nurse practitioner, on May 26, 2006. I was in shock! I’ve known this kind, caring woman for 10 years. She was around my age, maybe a couple of years older; she seemed to be the picture of health. I just saw her a month ago when I went for my 3-month visit!
 
Sue is the second person I’ve known who has died without warning and prematurely in the last month. Rich, the husband of my former coworker Brigitte, died of a sudden, massive heart attack in May. It was totally unexpected. Shortly before Rich’s death, they had just celebrated their “110th” birthday party after a volleyball game—on the beach.
 
I don’t know, it makes me feel so... precarious, so empty. Why do I live and these good people pass away? What’s so special about me that there is some plan I’ve yet to fulfill?
 
My best friend when I went to “Sunshine School” on Balboa Avenue was a black kid with Duchenne MD named Shane. We went everywhere together. I hung out with him and his family so much, I started to think I WAS black. You might say I was a wannabe black before it was HIP to wannabe black! His dad was a drill instructor at MCRD. After we fought so hard to get out of that school, I got into Kearney first. The school officials promised Shane could get in the next semester, if I did well. So I worked my ass off to succeed. But, then just around Christmas time, Shane caught pneumonia and died. That’s the fate of all kids with MD. All the boys I went to elementary school with died before age 18.
 
When my mom married my step-dad in 1971, he had three kids of his own. The oldest, Wayne, was born with a congenital heart defect. He was 9 years younger than I. Of my three step-siblings, he and I were the closest. He was very artistic, and in fact I still have one of his little drawings in my room. He died of a heart attack at age 20, while a majoring in photography at Palomar College.

It makes you think... Memento Mori

Night of the Living Republicans

Night of the Living Republicans

This land we call our country, which we manifestly stole from the Indians and the Mexicans, is not a democracy. The oligarchs have manipulated elections to their own ends, which are not the public's ends, but rather, the End of the Republic.

Yesterday the Zombie Republicans crept forth from their whitewashed tombs and elected Brian Bilbray to replace disgraced, traitorous Republican congressman Duke Cunningham. That the people of the district could replace a Republican crook with a Republican lobbyist and demagogue fully demonstrates that our system is in its last throes. The 50th District has been so gerrymandered that no Democrat, ever, could win an election there. The Republicans own an overwhelming majority, and they would rather keep true to the party than think for themselves.

"Brains! Braiiiinnnns!" The zombies cry. If only the voters had the brains to make a meal worthy of a zombie, perhaps yesterday's election would have turned out different.

Here There Be Monsters

Here There Be Monsters

Last night, I finally got around to watching Stephen King's Desperation. I'm always a little leery when a film or book needs to include the author's name in the title. After all, great books don't need that. Ever hear of "Moses' The Bible," or "Herman Melville's Moby Dick"? The title should lead to the author, not the other way around.

Anyway, back to the movie. I found the first hour quite good, the second quite bad, and the third quite boring. My favorite line from the first hour: "I'm gonna stick a pole through your mother and spin her till she catches fire!" Now, that was the kind of line I'd like to write.

Ron Perleman did a great job as the evil, possessed sheriff. Sadly, he disappeared after the first half of the movie, to be replaced by a much-less-convincingly possessed woman. One thought occurred to me, as it sprang again to my mind. The first time it occurred to me was in watching Mel Gibson's neo-Romanesque epic, "The Passion of the Christ." Why do we still associate physical ugliness with moral ugliness? Not that I want to rain on Perleman's acting gigs, but movies (and books) need to separate themselves from the notion that someone's physical appearance tells us anything significant about his or her state of mind, or sinfulness. Anyone remember Quasimodo?

Mr. King needs to raise his fiction above the stereotypical. I stopped reading his books in the 80s, for basically that reason. He writes formula, and formula only. The original ideas and characters of his first few novels--the whole notion of "horror in everyday life," has become subsumed by automatic writing. It's as if King had that weird typewriter from Tommyknockers kocking out his works page by page. Just as in "It" and numerous others, King sticks to the Hero's Journey a bit too literally. His novels are quests, in which an unlikely circle of friends must confront a horrible monster (or monsters).

At first, I thought the kid, David, was the hero on the journey last night. But the real hero proved to be the author character, who had to atone for past sins. Like the heroes in Campbell's book, the author character receives the call to adventure, at first refuses it, then makes the journey to the "inmost cave," which in this story was--literally--a cave! The boy, David, was not the hero, but rather the mentor character.

Ugly people everywhere, unite! Don't let lazy writers keep you down....

Last Sunday in May

Last Sunday in May

Today is the final Sunday in May, and it’s warm and spring-like. It seems that summer is just around the corner, though it’s technically about three weeks off.

Like millions of others, I watched the season finale of LOST last Wednesday night. It was good. Some things just worked well, while other aspects left me scratching my head. I think the writers need to stop being lazy, and stop letting the “plot” drive the characters.

Was it just me, or did most of the castaways take a stupid pill? What was up with Eko setting off dynamite in a closed chamber, then not even trying to get away before the fuse blew the joint a new “hatch”? And what about Desmond? How could he have believed Locke’s story about the button being fake, when he had personally experienced just some of what it could do the day he killed Kelvin? And Michael? Believing these Others, especially after Walt told him “they’re pretending,” just seemed unbelievably obtuse.

I did really like the four-toed giant statue and the electromagnetic “anomaly,” though.

Tonight, I’ll go to Mass with my parents. That will be pleasant. They’re going to a party, though, and I’ll just have them drop me off at home. That’s assuming Harold arrives on time with my van, which he borrowed last night.

This week, I’ll be finishing up my Writer’s Guide and starting a document inventory for Bonni. I’m also going to ask Rehab to enroll me in Bonni’s project planning course.

See you in another life, brothers!

Bad Day at Black Rock

Bad Day at Black Rock

This week, we viewers got to enjoy the next-to-last season episode of LOST, as well as the final-forever episode of Invasion. ABC pretty much screwed Invasion over by scheduling too many reruns and interrupting its schedule by replacing it with shows like The Evidence, which sucked. Invasion was too derivative anyway, with an off-putting large cast that was initially too hard to follow.

For LOST, Michael proved to still be weak-minded and bereft of good judgment. Really, it was to the point of being almost unbelievable. Wouldn’t it have been simpler and more logical for him to have simply told the castaways of his plight? And why would he believe these slithery Others would really keep their word, after Walt blurted out, “They’re pretending!”

Who’s on the boat? My bet’s on Desmond. “See ya in another life, brother!”

Dies Matris Redux

Dies Matris Redux

It’s another beautiful spring day in San Diego—sunny and warm, but not scorching. Soon my parents will arrive and we’ll go to church and dinner for Mother’s Day. This will be the best Mother’s Day I’ve been able to celebrate with my parents in at least two years. It was May 9, 2004 that I got clobbered in that car accident on the way to a restaurant from church—also a Mother’s Day. A day that will live in my personal infamy. But things have recovered unexpectedly well. The old saying, “while there’s life, there’s hope,” certainly rings true. And those who gave us that life and remain a wellspring of hope—our mothers—deserve our respect and affection today among all days.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

The Torpid and the Un-living

The Torpid and the Un-living

Last week’s LOST episode was one of the best ones of the second season. I was surprised that so many viewers were stunned by Michael’s betrayal. To me, it was fairly obvious. First, Michael just came popping out of the jungle soon after Jack proposed the Henry trade. Second, that story Michael recounted about the Others was clearly BS. He told Jack that the Others only had two guns! That clearly was untrue, since the Bearded Other and his group took more weapons than two from the Losties on their first armed confrontation. The Others are adept at psychology and brainwashing. Remember how they had Claire believing Ethan was her friend? And Henry clearly has been psychoanalyzing the Losties who venture into the hatch. I hope, though, that Eko does not also die, as the preview seemed to show.

Then last night I watched “Corpse Bride” again. What does a story mean, when the underworld is more colorful and lively than the Land of the Living? It means, succinctly, not that it’s better to be dead, but rather that we should all do more with the LIFE we have been granted.

Science and "The Decider"

Science and “The Decider”

According to today’s news, the administration is spending large sums of taxpayer money to fund “laser-based anti-satellite system” for space. How about a laser-based system to run my car, morons! These people are killing NASA with their combination of champagne projects on beer budgets, yet they somehow manage to dig up money for technology that even the late Isaac Asimov would have thought preposterous.

Last time I checked, we were attacked by knife-wielding terrorists flying commercial airliners, not satellites. Why not spend our money where it will do the most good, such as defending homeland security or getting the country off foreign oil?

Another blow to “The Decider”: A new study refutes global warming critics. And then there’s this news on Evolution: species evolve faster on the equator than in temperate zones.  Which leads to a big question: If organisms were designed in perfection by an “intelligent designer,” or should I say, “intelligent decider,” then why would they need to continue evolving? Perfection does not admit change.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night (NOT!)

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night (NOT!)

Today was a good day. My old friend Camelia dropped by for a surprise visit. I hadn’t seen her for two years. We had a very pleasant time catching up on each other’s news over Starbuck’s coffee and pastries.

Other than that, I continued my work, which remains both challenging and rewarding. Three years ago, I never would have envisioned myself slaving feverishly over manuals for remote controls! But, the manuals do what they’re supposed to, and so do I. Bonni is a fantastic person to work for, and I find myself at a loss for anything to complain about!

The weather this week has been pleasant, with some “May Gray” clouds lingering overhead. I love those clouds—no doubt about it.

I need to get back to my creative writing, which has slowed down due to all the technical work. I know I can do both!

One final thought: Impeach George Bush!

English, Spanish, French... Oh My!

English, Spanish, French… Oh My!

Today’s big controversy on CNN seems to be the Spanish version of our beloved, but barely singable, National Anthem. To which I say: bollocks!

The Founding Fathers spoke English, but they emphatically left the notion of a national language out of the Constitution. The anthem itself has ignoble beginnings as an 18th Century drinking song, “To Anacreon….” The Spanish version itself is soulful, rhythmic, and has a nice flair.

I think a lot of the racists and xenophobes don’t get it about language. It’s what any first year linguistics student could tell them: any human language is capable of expressing any human thought. Duh! That’s not to say I don’t love English. After all, I was an English major and have a doctorate in English Literature. But, I’ve also studied French, Italian, and other languages enough to know that each language is as “good” as the other, though each has its own special “flavor.” The important thing to keep in mind is the concepts behind the anthem, not the Englishness of the individual words.

To those who worry about Spanish being some kind of barbarian language—remember that Spanish is a direct descendant of Latin. Latin was a language of written literature, science, and law long before the Anglo-Saxons were able to scribble out syllables in runes on granite rocks. Sixty percent of English vocabulary comes from Latin, by way of Old French. Old French is itself a close relative of both Spanish and Latin. Otherwise, our National Anthem would probably sound like a cross between “Beowulf” and Chaucer’s “Wife of Bath’s Tale.”

Grow up and get over it, ye nativists! Once, your ancestors were “bog Irish” or Polish or Italian poor immigrants. A brief review of the excellent film, “Gangs of New York,” should reveal to you that in immigration, as in the Bible, “there is nothing new under the sun.”

New Computer at Last

New Computer, at Last!

It took five years and $1509, but this week I finally got my new computer! It’s a dual-core Pentium D that runs at a swift 3.2 GHz. Thanks to my new job, it’s all been possible. So far, that’s about all I’ve used it for, too—work. But Ever     Quest runs great, and so does a shooter Brad lent me, called F.E.A.R.

Other than that, nothing exciting’s been happening. I did attend Easter Vigil Mass last night at St. Gregory’s. It was a nice service, though not for the faint of heart, coming in at 2:20 minutes’ duration.

Tomorrow: More work, and a visit from the Esplanade manager. I’m going to sign my 15th lease here. And inveigle a new carpet out of the manager.

Siegfried and the Nibelungens [sic]

Siegfried and the Nibelungens [sic]

Apropos of nothing, I was watching a 2-part movie on Sci Fi Channel last night (I had recorded it from last week), and found it interesting. It was titled “Dark Kingdom: The Dragon King.” At first, I thought it was just another bit of Sword and Sorcery fluff, but then when the hero killed Fafnir and made off with his loot, including the RING, I knew something else was afoot. Indeed, this turned out to be a pop-culture retelling of Siegfried’s saga, replete with Brunhilde and lots of tragic romance. Not bad, overall, but I had to stifle a guffaw when one of the characters brandished “the ring of the Nibelungens.”

O Death

O Death

O Death, O Death, rock me asleepe,
Bring me to quiet rest;
Let pass my weary guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.

My pains, my pains, who can express?
Alas, they are so strong!
My dolours will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.

Alone, alone in prison strong
I wail my destiny:
Woe worth this cruel hap that I
Must taste this misery!
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.

Farewell, farewell, my pleasures past!
Welcome, my present pain!
I feel my torment so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now, thou passing bell,
Ring out my doleful knoll,
For thou my death dost tell:
Lord, pity thou my soul!
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound dolefully:
For now I die,I die, I die

-- Attributed to Anne Boleyn

Miscellany Strikes Back

Miscellany Strikes Back

This past week, I've been working on a number of projects for Manual Labour. One of them was a rush job and took much of the weekend (and part of yesterday) to complete. But the customer's happy, Bonni is happy and I'll be happy when I receive more paychecks!

I've been reading some new Science Fiction books, as part of my judging for the San Diego Book Awards. I won't go into the titles of the books here, to protect the judging process. It's interesting, however, the way genre novels fall back on old, familiar patterns. These are patterns ranging from the Mad Scientist, to the Thing that Fell from Space, to the Average Joe who surmounts overwhelming odds by evolving into some kind of Uebermensch.

Last Wednesday evening, ABC treated us long-suffering viewers to a new episode of LOST. On the whole, the program was uneven in quality. The Sun/Jin flashbacks were mildly interesting, and the reveal about the miraculous conception was in-line with other miracles on the island, such as Locke's ambulatory recovery. The last few minutes of the episode were great, by contrast to what had gone on earlier. When Henry told Locke and Jack about the map, there was real tension in the air, and the apparently sinister intensions of Henry certainly added a much-needed air of tension to the program.

Is Henry Gale an "Other?" I tend to think so, for the following reasons:

1. "Henry Gale" is the name of Dorothy's uncle in Wizard of Oz


2. "Henry" arrived on the island via balloon, much the same was the Wizard arrived in Oz.


3. "Henry" mentioned that he met his wife at the University of Minnesota--the same university the De Groots (founders of Dharma) originated from.


4. "Henry" seems to be "psyching out" Jack, Locke, and the other Losties who encounter him inside the Hatch. He weaves a web of mistrust among the group, in a Socratic-Freudian, question-answer sort of way. "Henry" may have been one of those young graduate students shown with the De Groots in the Marvin Candle video.

The Final Class

The Final Class

Two weeks ago, on a cold and rainy night, I attended the final Critical Thinking class. It was a continuation of the week before, where we all gave our individual business presentations to Bonni and the class. For some reason, the second week's presentations fared generally much better than the first week's.

For the first week, I would say that about half the students failed to prepare their material. A number of them didn't even bother to make a PowerPoint slide show. PowerPoint was not required, but my suggestion to those who didn't bring it would have been to bring handouts, or at a bare minimum, write on the board.

The second week, people came prepared and used good techniques, like keeping their presentations on point, employing graphics, and injecting some humor into the talks. My talk was the last one of the evening. I deliberately waited to the end, so I wouldn't have to make Bonni rearrange the entire classroom just so I could get up in the front of the class. The aisle was just too narrow for me to easily navigate, especially with the projector in the way.

I think, from what I've seen so far, the Extension classrooms are poorly designed for writing classes. I intend to speak to Tania about it. I'm surprised that the writing instructors have not demanded better!

Anyway, my talk came after a really atrocious, rambling, off-point presentation by a student who had given basically the same awful speech to our Document Design course last summer. I anxiously watched the clock tick down as the speaker sought out her topic, but never quite discovered it. Finally, and thankfully, Bonni cut her off and let me do mine. I enjoyed giving my presentation very much; I kept it to exactly seven minutes (the required limit) and injected enough humor into it that everyone seemed to enjoy it.

An overall weakness of this kind of thing, was the "why we should care" problem. That is, it's hard to keep an audience interested in a topic they know nothing about, especially when it's a dry subject, like the need to add more employees to an unknown company's technical support staff. I can't really say what the solution to that problem is--more's the pity, because giving presentations is indeed a skill anyone in business should cultivate.

The Scales of Death

The Scales of Death

This morning, I turned on CNN to find out the latest news, but was instead treated to a live, non-stop coverage of the sentencing of Joseph Smith, the Florida child murderer. The cameras held an unflinching eye to Smith's grotesque face as the judge laboriously read over every aggravating and mitigating circumstance. His conclusion: Smith should die. Duh!

I tried flipping to MSNBC, but the same story played incessantly there. This is just another example of the media's preference for sensationalism over substance. Where was the useful news in the death sentence of a child killer and rapist? Yes, the girl's death was horrible and tragic, the perpetrator a brutal beast unfit for life.

But, I kept asking myself--What of Iraq? What of Katrina? Some 87 people died in Iraq in a single day this week. Where was the live coverage of that? Instead, after the Florida fatal charade, the network deemed it sufficient to show a 30-second clip of Gen. John Abizaid testifying before Congress that things aren't as bad as they seem in Iraq. They also showed us another short clip of Saddam testifying in his trial. This was the man we spent several hundreds of billions of dollars to bring to justice, yet all his proceedings were worth was a sound bite or two in between the murders of young white girls.

We no longer have a balance in this country between what is real and what is not. What's important? The salacious and violent. What's unimportant? Anything to do with "others" who dwell in a far-off land. That's why we have a former baseball-club owner as president, and a former lousy actor as governor. We lack a sense of proportion, when all information devolves into talking blondes regaling our senses with "infotainment."

A Very Busy Week

A Very Busy Week

This past week just flew by in a flash. Most of the time, I have been working on that remote-control manual for Manual Labour. It's been challenging and fun--I was born to be a writer all along. I only wish I hadn't spent 12 years working in another field--a field that paid well but turned into a dead end.

Much more fun than that damned Barcelona stuff. And just think, soon thousands of people across the country will be reading my splendid prose--not fiction, but a remote-control manual! But, the pay is decent (for an internship) and it's great to work at home. Although the comradeship of the office was one of its pleasant side-effects, not driving back and forth to work is a huge relief. The only commute I have now is to the biweekly staff meetings at the Starbucks in University City (in the Henry's Shopping Center).

I'm almost done with the Critical Thinking class. This Tuesday comes the final session. It's been a lot of fun, even though it was rather silly for me to have to take it. I did put my foot down on taking "Advanced Writing," and have instead talked the department into letting me enroll in an internship with Manual Labour. This will get 6 units out of the way, and let me work and earn credit at the same time. Also, Rehab will pick up the cost of my tuition AND the two expensive programs I need for the job: Framemaker and Illustrator. Framemaker alone goes for about $700, new. I could get the upgrade for $199, thanks to the Framemaker 6.0 I already own, but free is the best discount of all.

On the creative front, I did send off a little humor article I wrote, entitled "How to Talk to a Republican." We'll see if that gets accepted. Once I get paid and can afford stamps, I'll send another couple of stories out into the ether.

Having real money will be a nice change from my life of the past three years. There are a lot of things that I've been putting off--like a new computer and repairs to my van--that I'll be able to afford now.

Tomorrow, I've got to dig in and finish my final project for Critical Thinking, as well as write up the description of my internship. Also, I'm a judge for the San Diego Book Awards again this year, and have three cool books lying on my table right now.

Dubai, or Not Dubai?

Dubai, or Not Dubai?

Well, now that the Dick Chaney fiasco has settled down, the Bush administration has lurched into yet another public-relations disaster. This time, it's the leasing of our five biggest ports to a company from the United Arab Emirates. This has caused a firestorm on both the Right and the Left. This deal has left pretty much every American shaking his or her head about what Jay Leno called last night, "Crazy George's Fire Sale."

My own opinion is that the company's UAE origin doesn't matter a whole lot. While one of the 9/11 hijackers came from there, the vast majority were Saudis, and we don't see any attempts to boycott Saudi business. Even the recent cartoon riots don't seem to have touched Dubai or Abu Dhabi.

The real story here is two-fold. The first is the Bush administration's penchant for secrets. The deal smells fishy. The company in question has dealings with the Bush family. Was the whole thing a quid pro quo for Bush-family private business? The seething firestorm could have been avoided, if the administration had just bothered to seek congressional advice ahead of time. In that respect, it sounds a lot like the NSA wiretap scandal. Second, Bush complained yesterday about the "double standard" in our dealings with port-operating companies. Nobody complained when a British company had the contracts, the President pointed out. This is true, but then again, Britain is our second-oldest ally (after France), and hasn't attacked our soil since 1812. Why shouldn't we play a bit of favoritism with our closest friends? That assumes, of course, that no American company is competent enough to operate our own ports.

It seems to me that the best way to operate our ports--and maintain national security--is not to outsource the operations. But we can't expect much from an administration that has stood idly by while whole native industries are sent packing to India and China. The controversy ultimately devolves into the continuing story of the Wal-Mart-ization of America.

The Torturous Tale of LOST

The Torturous Tale of LOST

Last Wednesday's episode centered around Sayid, and how he became a torturer for the Republican Guard. Just in case we didn't get that point, the writers had Sayid announce, "My name is Sayid Jarrah, and I am a torturer."

As the flashbacks unfolded, it became apparent that the CIA taught Sayid to torture. Clancy Brown, of the late, lamented Carnivale, played the evil American government agent. He tricked Sayid into applying the screws to his commanding officer--although why the agent went through all that trouble was not made apparent.

Anyway, the questions about when and whom to torture were posed with a certain degree of artistic merit. Sayid's decision to torture the captive were not laid out in simple, black-and-white terms, the kind of terms you find in a lesser work, such as 2004's disgusting and depressing Man on Fire. It says a lot about our country today that torture is now the topic du jour. Whatever happened to all that "freedom" and "democracy" that Bush is always touting? Do "free" people torture?

The usual fallacy I hear from people who approve of Guantanamo is that "we have to torture those guys to protect ourselves." Then they pose the argument from fear that if a captured terrorist had information about an atomic bomb hidden in a US city, wouldn't we approve of torture to prevent the bomb's detonation? Worst cases make a bad argument. Evidence has surfaced that most of the captives at Guantanamo were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or--even worse--were brought to the prison based on the delirious testimony of those already out of their minds from torture.

The latest Abu Ghraib photos are even more disgusting than the earlier ones. Rumsfeld says this is old news and that the people responsible have already been punished. I say, the people responsitble--Bush, Rumsfeld, Chaney, Wolfowitz and Bolton--will never face punishment in this world. They have rigged the game so that only the low-born and petty dictators who have garnered their disfavor face the world's tribunals.

Work and Money

Work and Money

This week, I started working part-time for Manual Labour, doing technical writing and editing. Bonni has hired me on under a 1099 to do a contract job--and several more are in the works. So far, I've found the work challenging enough, and the people have been good to work with. I'm hoping this is the start of more employment, and income, in Clementsville.

LOST last Wednesday night was both good and bad. It was entertaining to watch Sawyer's Machiavellian machinations as he pitted Jack against Locke, but I didn't buy into it. It seemed to be a character shift. For months they've been softening up Sawyer to be a bad boy with a heart of gold. Now we're supposed to believe he steals the guns and heroin, disrupts the morale of the camp and weakens their position against the Others, just over an ego trip and some old pain pills? Doesn't seem likely. The Hand of the Writers was clearly too visible here.

The Stupor Bowl

The Stupor Bowl

I drove over to Bill and Vicki's this afternoon for the big game. Really, Mark Johnson drove me, which was very kind of him. I still haven't gotten back into the driving saddle yet.

The game itself was deadly dull. Clearly, Pittsburgh was the anointed team this year. The "all star" officiating crew blew two key calls in the first half--the offensive interference call against Seattle and the bogus touchdown for the Steelers. Still, even though the 21-10 score belied it, the game never really seemed as close as it appeared. Kind of like objects in the rearview mirror.

The companionship at the party was what made the game. My parents came, as did the Cazins, Mark Johnson, Fred Beecher, the Klinzings, Ruben Ruiz, and some of Bill's old buddies from work. The weather was great, and most of us stayed on the back patio after the barbecue, watching the game on a rabbit-eared TV.

Later, we went inside after the sun went down and the weather cooled off. I left for home about 7:40, as the game was over and all else were taking their leave. When we got back to my place, Mark and I said our goodbyes. He's heading back to Sioux Falls on the 6:30 AM flight tomorrow. He really doesn't look different from the old days, except his hair is grayer now. It almost seemed as though he hadn't been away from Mira Mesa for the past 11 years. I did miss Ellen, his late wife, who passed away in 2004.

Certainly the tinge of mortality hung heavy in the air tonight. Admittedly, most of these friends are older than I am (by 2-10 years), but you know you're getting old when one of the main topics of conversation is everybody's illnesses. Two of the people present have deadly cancers, and as Bill joked, "scar night" is just around the corner.

Ann Coulter's Fallacies

For this week's essay, let's look at the latest column by Ann Coulter. It's penned in her usual sweet, elegiac style and she titles it, poetically, "Alito ... Boo!" Certainly, if I cannot find a fallacy or a hundred in a column by the woman who recently called for rat poison in John Paul Stevens's cereal, I cannot find fallacies anywhere.

In her op-ed piece, Coulter's point seems to be that Democrats are wimps--or something. One is never quite sure of Coulter's point, because she strings so much invective together that there's hardly a simple, declarative sentence in any of her essays. Not one to beat around the bush (or the Bush), Coulter starts right off comparing the Democrats in Congress to "Saddam Hussein's vaunted 'Elite Republican Guard'-- the ones who ran like scared schoolgirls...." Further on, she talks about "NARAL ladies running around Capitol Hill with machetes."  And she makes sure to mention Joe Biden's "hair plugs."

Her whole essay is one shoddy, yet juicy morsel--fear and loathing served on a platter of blood and iron (in the Bismarckian sense). There are so many straw men, arguments from outrage and ad hominem accusations in Coulter's essay that it seems she really isn't trying to convince her audience of anything. Hers is a pseudo-essay, no more interested in truth value than were the speeches of Joseph Goebbels in the Reichstag. These scurrilous attacks purvey a pulsing, pounding, prurient form of rhetoric. It's so egregious that I have coined a new name for it: the Ann Coulter Fallac-io.

Works Cited
Coulter, Ann. "Alito ... Boo!" Ann Coulter.com. 2005. <http://www.anncoulter.com/cgi-local/welcome.cgi>.

Why I Hate Republicans

Why I Hate Republicans

http://news.tbo.com/news/nationworld/MGBQSE7B2JE.html

Writers, Attack!

Writers, Attack!

This weekend, I attended the 23rd Annual SDSU Writers' Conference. The event was staged at the Double Tree Hotel in Mission Valley, from Friday night through Sunday afternoon.

All I accomplished Friday night was to arrive at the hotel, pick up my registration packet, and check on my scheduled appointment time for my meeting with a New York editor of the genre of fiction that I like to write.

I was really excited about the event. My first-ever consultation appointment! Hooray for me! The conference management had scheduled the appointment for 10:42 AM Saturday morning. And, it's not the kind of appointment you can skip or be late to. For those of you who don't know, a consultation appointment is what is referred to in the biz as a "pitch session." Upon entering the huge conference room, with tables lined up in neat rows, I met my editor and had 10 minutes to impress him with my novel synopsis.

I won't go into detail here, to protect the parties involved. But, to summarize, the meeting was a severe disappointment. It turned out that "my" editor doesn't do pitch sessions, so after that small detail was laid to rest, we spent the remaining five minutes discussing the banalities of the publishing game. No longer qualifying as a "newbie," there wasn't much I could take away from my meeting, except the disappointing feeling that either I was a fool, or the conference organizers had misled me. Neither conclusion was a happy one.

On the bright side, I had a lot of fun yesterday. First, I attended a seminar by Judy Reeves on flash fiction. What is flash fiction, and why should I care? Hahaha! Actually, given the public's short attention span these days, flash fiction is a genre worth exploring, for writers and readers.

After lunch, I attended a session by Scott Farrell on medieval arms and armor. It was such fun, Scott kept talking well over his 50-minute schedule and the conference allowed us to continue. He obviously loves talking about weapons and chivalric codes of valor. Harold brought his two boys, six and 10, and they had a great time too. Scott let them handle the weapons and put on some of the armor, which was more than I would have permitted if I had been holding the lecture.

A couple of other interesting sessions I attended were one by an agent, discussing the 10 criteria for a successful screenplay (successful being defined as one that sells). Another screenplay-related talk, by a woman whose name I can't recall, gave a brief overview of screenwriting essentials. One interesting tidbit: it used to be you would put your "inciting incident" at about page 30 of your manuscript. Now, it's down to page 15. What's next? Inciting incident in the opening credits? The prologue? The pre-release trailer?

Occam's Razor

Occam's Razor

I'm not taking a side in what follows; I'm just looking at the issue from both sides.

Today, in a senseless, fiery crash, seven foster children died when their car was hit by a semi driven by a man who "just wasn't paying attention." The youngest child was 21 months old. Children in the school bus also sustained injuries. When the deceased children's grandfather heard of the calamity, he dropped dead from a heart attack on the spot.

Which leads me to ask, given the principle of Occam's Razor, which explanation of the above events is simpler, more reasonable, and thus, more believable? Either:

1. The universe is a cold, indifferent place, where random events occur without regard to human suffering.


2. The universe is ruled by a single, almighty, omniscient Being, who personally cares for every inhabitant who's ever lived, and manipulates events according to an all-good, yet inscrutable plan that often appears evil to us.

It would seem that the only religion with an answer for this sort of dilemma is Buddhism, under the tenets of which "stuff (just) happens." Or there is the possibility of the ancient gods--the Elder Gods--from Baal to Zeus, who ruled capriciously and lustfully. Anger those gods, and they smash you to a pulp. Placate them, and they just might let you live another day. With those gods, there was no straining the brain trying to interpret every event as participating in some greater good, despite its outward appearance of evil.

LOST Sites Update

LOST Sites Update

In answer to the question posted by Anonymous, the Kingcross Web site is currently unavailable, as is the Snowman site. I assume these sites are renovating content, in anticipation of later developments on the TV show.

When Kingcross is up, you need to create a password and user ID to log on. To do this, just click on "Forgot my password" and enter your e-mail address into the form. Your password and user ID will then shortly arrive via e-mail.

Meanwhile, those of us signed up at the Oceanic World Air site received the following e-mail this week:

To all OWA MilesPlus Members:

Take a break this week. You need it. No secret codes to find in this newsletter, or any other kind of hidden messages.

Now that we are really getting to know the characters in LOST (or are we?), this weeks episode ("The Hunting Party") will make us think about Michael's behaviour, among others. Was Walt really talking to Michael, or is something happening to Michael that we don't want to consider?

Walt is nearby and will return, as will Desmond and Danielle.

Oceanic World Air wants to take you on a trip around the world on Flight 213. Flight 213 is a special B777 flight leaving LAX on Monday February 13th for destinations unknown. I can tell you that there will be 9 stops on the trip, and at each stop, there will be an opportunity for someone to discover a real clue to lead the flight onward to the next destination and closer to our ultimate destination and some real answers.

Reservations are limited - but not in the way you think. Anyone is welcome to board, but you will need to be close to the destination to find the real clues. Passengers that are not able to disembark at the stop can help those who can get off to find the clues. You may use a trusted friend or associate to find the clue for you. Everyone will be able to participate and help along the way. Hopefully there will not be any incidents on the way.

Our first goal is to answer the question - "Where is Alex?"  Our first stop will be somewhere in the U.S.A.

It's time to have a little fun. Rest your weary brains until Feb 13th and enjoy our in-flight show of the week - LOST - "The Hunting Party".

Regards,

Vincent D. Madison

Director of Corporate Communications
Oceanic World Airlines

http://oceanicworldairlines.com

Codex Alito Juridicum

Codex Alito Juridicum

It appears that Judge Samuel Alito will soon be appointed, or for the Religious Right, anointed, to the Supreme Court. Women, get your abortions now! Or get your coat hangers later....

Academically, Alito is qualified for the court. Princeton is no National University. And he has fifteen years of Federal judgeship behind him. Granting his intellectual qualifications, I would have preferred--and the country would have been better served--if the judge stood up for his beliefs before the Senate.

We all know he's against abortion and doesn't believe the constitution guarantees a right to it. He clearly stated this in his 1985 application to the Reagan Administration. Even his mother recently said so. So, why deny it now? Would Ann Coulter, Rush Limbaugh and the Looney Toons of the American Family Association be so strident in his support if they did not believe he would turn the nation's civil rights clock back 100 years?

The Bush administration is one of the most incompetent, lying and corrupt administrations in the nation's history. So is Bush's Republican congress. With the conviction of Abramoff, there seems to be no end to the GOP's season of scandal. Even Pat Buchanan believes that the Elephants are on their way out of power, starting in 2006.  Yet, Roberts and Alito are 50 and 55 years of age, respectively. Long after Bush has slouched off toward well-deserved oblivion, the stink of his Supreme Court nominees will linger, like the stomach-turning stench of a clogged toilet in a gas-station men's room.

Critical Thinking Once More

Critical Thinking Once More

Last evening I attended the first session of the Critical Thinking for Technical Communicators course. The class takes place at UCSD Extension's La Jolla Campus and Bonni Graham is the instructor.

I think I will enjoy the class. Last night Bonni explained how an argument is not necessarily intended for persuasion, and how persuasion is not necessarily argumentation. Advertisements, for example, are persuasive yet do not make use of the claims, premises and conclusions of argumentation.

Her example, "Our president is a blithering idiot," illustrated how non-factual claims work. Facts are data about which two (or more) impartial observers agree.

Another point, also brought up in our eponymous textbook, was that although "all people are entitled to their opinions," not all opinions are equal. I think Bill Maher summed this up better on Real Time last year when he said "You don't have to present both sides of an argument if one of the sides is pure crap!" (That's a paraphrase, but you get the idea).

Cable News, as Bill Moyers has decried, consists mainly of talking heads who offer both sides of an issue, often falsely leading the viewer to the notion that both sides have equal merit. News degenerates into a kind of high school debate team formalism. Even worse, Bill O'Reilly frequently states that a guest, like Cindy Sheehan, is "entitled to her opinion," then cuts off her microphone and attacks her personally.

Disturbingly, I'm not even sure why a class like Critical Thinking is part of the curriculum at the University Extension level. As I looked around the crowded classroom last night, I noticed a range of people near my own age--a few in their twenties, many in their thirties and forties. They are of an age where they would have been in the Freshman composition classes I used to teach at the very same university. Have they forgotten what they once learned?

Or, more broadly, perhaps critical thinking should be required of anyone who wishes to exercise their right to vote in this country. The state of our political affairs would seem to warrant such an exigency.

Stereotypes Clichés, and Arrogance

Stereotypes, Clichés, and Arrogance

The other night, I watched a movie titled Rory O'Shea Was Here. The film is an Anglo-Irish production and centers around the lives of two disabled "lads" in Dublin who rent an apartment on their own. It's called "independent living," and is a goal of many programs in Europe and the US that help people with the disabilities lead more fulfilling lives.

I enjoyed the two characters in the film: Michael, a young man with cerebral palsy and Rory, a 21-year-old guy with Duchene MD. The characters were believable and enjoyable, up until the end, which I found rather disappointing. Rory, with an advanced case of DMD, dies during the film's final moments (sorry for the spoiler). While the scenes between the dying Rory and Michael are quite touching, I would have rather seen the movie take another course.

Yes, death is inevitable for DMD patients, but it's inevitable for us all. Our lives--the personal stories of which we each are the hero--are book-ended by two events over which most of us have little control and less knowledge: birth and death. It seems all movies about people with MD end in the inevitable sad death-and-grief scene. Why not, in the case of the Rorys of the world, concentrate more on the living that comes in between birth and death? The stories should be less maudlin and more down-to-earth. It's not that Rory's death didn't bring a tear to the eye, but the writers could have found another, less conventional way to end the film. Then again--maybe that's a task I should tackle.

Another good film is the old William Hurt movie, The Doctor. It's about an arrogant surgeon who discovers how the "other half" lives when he becomes a cancer patient. His self-assurance quickly dissipates in the face of the medical establishment's indifference to human suffering. Why so many doctors become arrogant is beyond my comprehension--after all, eventually they will themselves grow old and infirm and become patients. Medicine would seem to be a prime example of a field in which the Golden Rule should apply.

Finally, Steven Landsburg hasn't replied to my letter. Not too surprising. People like him cannot own up to their own mistakes. Humility and economists do not seem to go together well.

Do the Poor Deserve Life Support?

Do the Poor Deserve Life Support?

That is the question posed by economist Steven Landsburg in an article he posted in Slate Magazine. Below is the letter I wrote to Mr. Landsburg in reply:

Dear Mr. Landsburg,
As a ventilator user for over 23 years, I read with interest your article in Slate Magazine (http://www.slate.com/id/2133518/) regarding whether or not the “poor” have a right to use a ventilator. Not surprisingly, I take exception to your claim that ventilator use is a choice which society should treat like an economic commodity analogous to buying milk.

I am a Muscular Dystrophy patient with weakened chest muscles that require me to use a ventilator to assist my breathing nearly 24 hours a day. I began using a ventilator in 1982, while attending graduate school at the University of California. After becoming ventilator dependent, I continued my education and the university awarded me a Ph.D. in English and American Literature. Since that time, I have worked for 12 years in the software industry. I currently am self-employed as a freelance writer and editor. Without the ventilator, I would not have been capable of accomplishing anything.

The (wrongful) implication of your article is that everyone who uses mechanical ventilation is a cancer patient lingering on the edge of death. Nothing could be further from the truth. Many people like me lead productive, active lives in the community—lives which would be cut short if ventilators were not made available. Do not conflate end-of-life issues with quality-of-life issues. Your article vaguely recalls (in tone if not in substance) the Terri Schiavo controversy. Yet, I must point out to you that Mrs. Schiavo did not use a ventilator.

Many ventilator users require the financial assistance of Medicaid (Medi-Cal in California, where I reside). Ventilators are expensive pieces of equipment, which private medical insurance frequently does not cover. Since Medicaid is a means-tested program, nearly every ventilator user in the country is technically “poor.” As I write this letter, I am a “poor” person breathing with a ventilator supplied through Medi-Cal. I agree with you that few healthy people would voluntarily set aside some of their income for ventilator insurance, yet most of them would spend every dime they have while lying, gasping for breath, in some sterile hospital room.  

Is breathing a commodity? Is the very air we take into our bodies a commodity? Yes, taxpayers subsidize my ventilator use. I “ask someone else to come to the rescue” to the same extent you might if your house were on fire. Have you ever heard of John Locke? I assume you have.... All members of society engage in a social contract, else social Darwinism and an “all-against-all” mentality ensue.

You claim that, with the "house-on-fire" example, society should come to your rescue because it has an interest in protecting a whole class of people--those who live in your neighborhood whose house might catch the flame from yours. But, what if your house resides on 40 isolated acres in the desert? I assume you would still expect the fire department to attempt to extinguish the blaze, though no other class of individuals was in danger. Ventilators--you say--benefit only individuals and not a whole class of ill people. What of the whole class of quadriplegics who need mechanical assistance to breathe? By your logic, doctors shouldn't bother to treat anyone with cancer, since that disease is not contagious and no one else is threatened by it.

You state that “A policy of helping everyone who needs a ventilator is a policy of spending less to help the same class of people in other ways.” Life support is not a zero-sum game. Are you arguing that I should be left to suffocate so that little Tiny Tim can receive a new crutch? Please find me evidence—somewhere—that a hospital is denying service to some patient because I use a ventilator.  

Please, also make your best effort to avoid glittering generalities in your next Slate op-ed piece. Not all ventilator users are the same. We all do, however, have one thing in common—we want to take that next breath. In this respect, we are just like everyone else.
Best regards,
David E. Clements, Ph.D.

PS: For a lighter view on the subject, please refer to my article in the San Diego Union-Tribune of 2004: “A Little Humor Is a Breath of Fresh Air”.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year!

Today begins the year A.D. 2006. Enjoy it while you can! If the Earth has about 5 billion years left before the bloated sun envelops it within its flaming, crimson cloak, then there is one five billionth less of a lifetime for our home planet than there was 365 days ago.

Meanwhile, the weekend has been rainy. The Chargers self-destructed in a meaningless Mudbowl yesterday, losing not only a meaningless game but very possibly their starting quarterback for next year.

My parents came over last night and we watched The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I don't think they "got" it. The books were much funnier. English humor is a tricky thing to translate onto the big screen. I hope, if they do a sequel, that they hire someone who can pull it off, like Terry Gilliam.

The LOST Game

The LOST Game

It seems my intuition about LOST was correct. A few weeks ago, I speculated that LOST is a combination of computer game, like MYST, and a TV show, like Survivor. This idea has been borne out by a CNET article, which you can find here:

http://news.com.com/2100-1026-5918146.html?tag=tb

LOST is a cross-media event. A key feature is the "alternate reality" game, of which LOST is one example. As fans have revealed on many discussion boards, an expanding number of LOST faux Websites sponsored by ABC lead adventurers on a merry chase for clues. I placed a few of these sites below, not because the list isn't available elsewhere in one form or another, but because it's helpful to have them all on a single page. This is good for my own reference, if no one else's.

The LOST sites (official ABC) that I know of follow:

Oceanic Air: http://www.oceanic-air.com/
Oceanic Air was the original LOST site, which I am aware of. It purports to show flight schedules and other data for Oceanic Air, but is really loaded with Easter eggs. You can find a seating chart that shows the castaways' names and where they sat on the plane, a page from a "script" for the show, and some pages of survivors' diaries.

Oceanic World Air: http://oceanicworldair.com/
According to the storyline, the original Oceanic Air went bankrupt after the scandal of the disappearance of Flight 815. Some time later, the airline was revived with a new name: Oceanic World Air. If you sign up for the Miles Plus program, you can get weekly updates from a character named Vincent Madison. The updates contain clues. You can also add your own theories to the Miles Plus bulletin board and earn extra "miles."

The Hanso Foundation: http://www.thehansofoundation.org/index.html
According to the film Locke discovered in the "hatch," Norwegian industrial magnate Alvar Hanso runs a foundation dedicated to furthering human progress. The foundation has active projects, which are listed on this site. Dig a little further, and you can find a message from a mole and some hidden letters. A hidden link under "Active Projects" leads you to the original Dharma Swan film, hosted by Dr. Marvin Candle.

King Cross State Police: http://www.kingcrossstatepolice.com
Once you solve the riddle of the snowman, you gain access to this site, which is run by Dr. Candle (supposedly). There is quite a bit of back story here, and the determined detective can spend hours sorting through clues, Websites and hidden files.

The Snowman: http://www.th3sn0wman.com
Dr. Candle's agent, the Snowman, has his own Website now. You can follow his investigations and even receive text updates from him on your cell phone.

PB Sales: http://pb-sales.com/businesses.htm
The Oceanic World Air site links to PB Sales as its publicity agency. PB Sales also has other clients drawn from fiction, such as Yoyodyne Propulsion. One of the other clients is an company called Merrick Biotech, whose site has been hacked by an organization known as Clonewatch. The gist of all this seems to be that cloning is a key component of the LOST mystery. Another PB Sales client, Geocomtex, has a site with some interesting things on the FAQ page.

The Santa Rosa Institute: http://www.srigenetics.com/srcareers.html
You can find this link under Careers on the Oceanic World Air site. Evidently, Santa Rosa has developed two new, controversial drugs: Genuflex (a life-extension drug), and Envigor (a drug that's supposed to allow people to extend their waking hours throughout the night). Clues indicate that these drugs are derived from zombie and vampire DNA.

From the Santa Rosa site, you can find a link to the Federal Vampire and Zombie Museum. This again hints to the zombie and cloning factor.

Mr. Clucks: http://www.mrclucks.com/
Mr. Clucks Chicken Shack is where Hurley worked before he struck it big in the lottery. His boss, Randy, turned out also to be Locke's boss at the box factory (which Hurley bought after winning the lotto). Clues change frequently: look for the buffalo.

Marvin Candle: http://www.marvincandle.com/
This is a site linked from the King Cross site. There's some code here, which you can figure out.

Globespotter: http://www.globespotter.com/
Check out the map.

Arelai: http://aralai.com/
A satellite photo map (Google) with coordinates (the LOST numbers).

Messing with MySpace

Messing with MySpace


I've spent the last couple of hours scouring the nether corners of MySpace. My curiosity has been piqued, so I decided to see what was available. So far, I've managed to find an old high school friend, as well as search for others. Unfortunately, it seems most people of a certain age are not up with the MySpace scene yet.

I also used the Thomas's MySpace Editor to add some color to the site. This will never replace my own home page on RoadRunner, but it's fun to play around with. I may try duplicate posts between my Blogger blog and MySpace one, if there's enough of an audience here. Or, I could just keep two separate blogs!

A few notes about MySpace. It seems SLOW. Editing and saving changes lags, as does watching videos or listening to music. I tried to find a band whose music I could post there, but the available free songs were--to put it mildly, awful. The music videos give "trash" a bad name also. Bustah Rimes and the Notorious BIG can bite my a**!

If you'd like to see my MySpace profile, here's the URL:


http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=34007287

The Final Week

The Final Week

On the Monday after Christmas, I went to fare spese at the Barnes & Noble here in Mira Mesa. It was a lot of fun--post-Christmas specials abound, and in combination with my just-renewed membership, gained me as much as 60% off some items.

For my shopping agenda, I used the gift cards people had gotten me for my birthday and Christmas. I had wanted to purchase the latest Star Wars movie, so I picked that up, as well as the 2006 Simpsons calendar, the book Freakonomics, and a Chronicles of Narnia calendar for Harold's boys.

Yesterday, Harold and I drove up to the DMV in Poway to straighten out the mess created when they didn't record the results of my eye exam in November. I quickly finished that up by retaking the exam and we (Harold, his son James and I) left the DMV within a half-hour of arriving. We spent the rest of the afternoon having fun with the Atari Flashback. Harold's kids still live in the virtual 1950s, so the Flashback's 2600-vingage games seemed newfangled to them. It was funny to watch them try to steer their tanks in two-person Combat. They didn't know how to work a joystick, so they just spun their craft around in circles, whining, "Daddy! I caaaaan't make it stop!" You may rightly believe video games to be a worthless waste of time and money, but a little hand-eye coordination is not a bad thing.

Today has been really quiet. I'm just working on writing. Tomorrow, I'll register for SD State's Writers' Conference, which takes place at the end of January.

'Twas the Day after Christmas

'Twas the Day after Christmas

This weekend, we had a very pleasant Christmas holiday as a family. Saturday evening, I went to Mass with my parents, Dorene, Richard and the boys. We attended the 5:00 PM Mass in the general hall, since my parents volunteered to read for it. Not surprisingly, most lectors choose first to read in the main sanctuary, where all the elaborate decorations, the big crowds, and the full choir can be found.

After Mass, we drove to my parents' home and had dinner. The dinner was buffet style, with cold cuts of turkey, ham, cheese, rolls and salad. For dessert, we consumed Mrs. Smith's pies. My mother has decided, thankfully, that the stress of baking homemade apple pies is not worth the result.

Tien and Alicia and their four boys also came down to celebrate with us, and after dinner we retired to the living room to open presents 'round the tree. Most of the presents were for the children, with us adults giving each other a few items. My big haul included a gift certificate from my parents toward the purchase of PowerStructure, and a nicely framed photograph of them in formal attire from their recent New England cruise. Dorene made me her special banana bread and cookies, which I am slowly working on.

Monica gave me a fun gift--an "Atari Flashback" game console. It looks like a half-sized Atari 2600 video game machine (I think it used to be called the "Atari Video Computer System"). Last night I hooked the simple connectors up to my HDTV and had a nostalgic blast playing Pong, Asteroids and Centipede till midnight. At one time, I owned about 50 games for my 2600; the machine was a sanity-saver back in 1982, when I brought it into Sharp Hospital and Harold and I used to play games on it till the wee hours of the morning. Although the new video game consoles, like the Xbox 360, are infinitely more sophisticated, the old games are endowed with an irreplaceable, charming simplicity. I guess it's possible to feel nostalgia toward an old video game console the same way my grandparents waxed nostalgic over the pre-war days of radio.

Yesterday, Christmas Day, was very quiet. Dad and I drove down to Linda Vista to pick up my uncle, then we sat at my parents' table and enjoyed a dinner of turkey, ham, dressing with gravy, stuffing and rolls. This was topped off by Mrs. Smith's wares again. I brought cards for everyone, since that was about all I could handle financially this year.

In a while, Clarence will arrive and we'll head to Barnes & Noble to check out the post-Christmas specials. I still have a lot of gift cards to redeem from my birthday.

Its Almost Christmas!

It's Almost Christmas!

This is the day before Christmas Eve. I've completed pretty much everything I've set out to do, except fill out a few more cards (for my family and closest friends). I'm not giving the nurses cards or presents this year--it's just business.

Tomorrow evening I will head out to Christmas Mass with my family. Dorene and the boys will be down from Northern California and will be spending part of the week at my parents' house.

This yuletide has been a warm one. Today has only been hovering in the 60s, but earlier this week the thermometer hit around 90 degrees Fahrenheit.

One more week, and 2005 will be history. Certainly it hasn't been the horrible year 2004 was for me, but I'm anticipating better things to come in 2006!

You Big Ape!

You Big Ape!

I went to the opening of King Kong yesterday evening. Hollywood must be short of blockbusters this year. The movie was three butt-numbing hours of screaming blonde and rampaging gorilla. As the review in Le Monde asked, "why does it take Peter Jackson twice the time to tell the same story as the original did in 1933"? Basically, there are two reasons why: lethargic plotting and overblown special effects. The opening sequence in New York was overly long, and while I liked much of the Skull Island action, I felt that one scene of dinosaurs mashing people was enough. The giant bugs were cool, though.

Like The War of the Worlds that I watched on DVD last week, the main problem with Kong was simply that it's an old, tired and outdated story that has too many miles on its literary and cinematic odometer. Previews for films debuting next year looked bleak too: yet another Mission Impossible and a remake of the 70s disaster flick Poseidon Adventure (now shortened to merely Poseidon).

Hollywood is bereft of original ideas. Guys, you wonder where your slump originates? Check your scripts!

Another really annoying thing about the movies nowadays is the ads. Before the film even started, we were subjected to ads for Coke, TV shows, cars and movies just out on DVD that had appeared in the theater mere weeks ago. Does it not occur to the movie moguls that the audience is a wee bit peeved at paying $9.50 for a ticket and then being subjected to more commercials than appear in an hour of Lost? At least at home, I can fast-forward through the ads with my DVR.

Corporate greed is killing culture, just like it's killing the American worker with the Wal-Martization of industry. The blockbuster mentality kills books as well. Publishers will scoop mountains of cash into the next Harry Potter or Da Vinci Code clone, but starving young authors receive not even mere crumbs from the big guys' plates anymore.

Morituri

Morituri

Early this morning, Stanley "Tookie" Williams was put to death in San Quentin State Prison in California. Putting feelings about Williams's guilt aside, I would just like to note that this is another victory for the "pro-death" wing of the Republican Party.

I had a long discussion about this with Clarence, one of my home nurses, who is as black as Mr. Williams. "He deserved it; he killed a lot of people," Clarence said. Indeed, Williams was a bad man. Therefore, the argument goes, he did not merit clemency.

But, I must ask, when does clemency apply to "good men"? If you are not on Death Row for having committed murder, then why are you seeking a pardon from the governor? Schwarzenegger noted in his remarks denying clemency that Williams had not confessed to his crimes, and that without "repentance" there can be no "redemption." Using religious vocabulary, the Governator assumed the role of Pope.

Yet, what does the Pope say on this subject? The late John Paul spoke often of the dignity of each and every human being, and the "seamless garment of life." If you are pro-life, then you must be pro-life from the moment of conception to the moment of death. Nothing else will do.

They used the excuse of Williams's lack of repentance to carry on with the execution. But, when Governor Bush ruled Texas, he gleefully put Carla Fay Tucker to death, even though she had confessed, adopted Bush-style born-again Christianity and thrown herself on the mercy of the state. It's a no-win game, this death penalty. Russian roulette with all cylinders loaded. If the convict maintains innocence, then he or she must be without a conscience and therefore worthy of death. If the convict confesses all and repents, then the confession must not be "sincere."

Pro-lifers of the Republican ilk always proclaim their desire to protect the lives of the innocent. Yet, what of the 122 death-row inmates across the country who have either been exonerated or had their penalties re-evaluated due to corrupted evidence? In speaking of repentance and redemption, politicians like the governor invoke the mind of God. Who else but God can know the soul of a man? Yet, God said "My ways are not your ways." In Genesis, Abraham pleaded with God to save Sodom and Gomorrah if even one innocent man dwelled among a city of sinners. How, then, can our government set itself above God, and set about to slay the guilty alongside the innocent? Where is the justice in the American way of death?

Capital punishment is a game in this country--a vile, sordid and political game played out for the most cynical purposes. When the state takes the life of an "evildoer" (to borrow a phrase from Illustrious George) people like Clarence are fooled into believing justice has been fulfilled. Nothing can be further from the truth. In a land without justice, killing one man provides nothing but an empty, nihilistic sense of vengeful fulfillment.

What the Republicans, establishment Democrats and oligarchic theocrats want the public to do is shut up, go to work in their crummy, low-wage jobs without healthcare and continue to put themselves out of work by slouching through the aisles at Wal-Mart in a perpetual search for Chinese-manufactured, crappy products.

The death penalty is a platform for demagoguery--nothing more. Global warming? Forget about it: Tookie Williams has met the needle. 2140 soldiers dead and $300 billion blown in a futile Iraq war? Forget about it: Tookie Williams has met the needle. Hurricane Katrina? Forget about it; the world is OK because the State of California has put one man to death in cold blood.

A la recherche....

A la recherche....

Last Saturday, Harold and I drove down to USD for the annual Alumni Mass. This year's was special, in that I and the other Bishop Buddy Award winners received a medallion at the end of the mass. The medallion is quite attractively designed--I'll post a picture on my Web site as soon as USD forwards photos to me. After the mass, there was a reception in Founders Hall, near the French Parlor. I got to meet a few of the other winners, and some old alumni. The university's new president, Mary Lyons, greeted us all pleasantly and she appeared to really want to make the event worth remembering.

Since we arrived an hour before mass, Harold and I wandered around the old grounds a bit. Many changes have occurred in the last 28 years since I graduated. What was once the cafeteria is now a small arts building. Inside Camino Hall, we passed what used to be named "Camino Theater" and is now "Shiley Theater." Back behind the theater, down a side corridor, we slipped through an unmarked door into the music rooms. There is a narrow corridor with small rooms on either side, in which students can practice on upright pianos. Harold and I entered one and he sat at the bench and played Debussy's Arabesque and some Liszt. A student heard him playing, and dropped by to watch, fascinated. He told us that he too had been practicing Arabesque and wanted to demonstrate how he plays it. Although he missed a few notes, his technique showed promise.

USD has preserved its traditional, Spanish Renaissance architecture. The floors are still tiled in deep red. Tapestries still drape along the white-plaster walls, dark, heavy European furniture still sits in the foyers. The sounds, the way the light reflects, the smell of cleaning fluid, wood and dust, almost made it seem as though we had gone back in time 30 years. Has it really been that long? Tom Wolfe said "you can't go home again,"  but I believe if you keep a place and time close to your heart, you can always return for a visit.

On Tuesday evening, I attended my final Technical Communications 1 class for the quarter. Bonni devoted the final session to questions and answers, and the time passed swiftly and painlessly, considering it's December and everyone has his or her mind on Christmas shopping. The course was very well designed, Bonni is an animated, involved lecturer who makes able use of humor to keep things flowing. We awarded her a round of applause at the end, which she richly deserved. (All this commentary assuming I receive an A, of course!)

I'll be seeing Bonni and a few of my fellow students next quarter, when I take "Critical Thinking for Technical Communicators." One of the books for that course is Freakonomics, which I planned to read anyway.

Tonight, my parents are coming over for the first time in a few weeks. We will watch Spielberg's War of the Worlds. I hope it's good!

Flash This (Fiction)!

Flash This (Fiction)!

This week, I've embarked on an ambitious new project to write a flash story a day. So far, I've written two. Each one's between 800-1100 words long. I probably won't be able to keep this pace up, but I want to practice for next March, when I take Judy's Flash Fiction class.

Tonight, on to another story!

On another front, I was surfing Ralan.com yesterday and came across a sad announcement. Ellen Datlow's fine e-zine, SCIFICTION, is no more! The geniuses at the Sci Fi channel have discontinued it. What a shock! What a loss for both the SF reading community and the SF writing community. Though I never got to sell a story to SCIFICTION, I had hope up until now. It was the best-paying short fiction market in SF.

What brilliant folks, the Sci Fi Channel executives are? Have you seen the TRIPE they run on that network? Tonight they have something called Manticore, about a beast running around Iraq. Terrorists are behind raising it from the grave, of course! And the brave Americans must put it back in its place. Please!

On other SF fronts, LOST continues to do well. With the "tailies" and the "fusies" merging, the series seems more and more like a cross between Survivor and the computer game, MYST. Two tribes, mysterious "hatches" filled with buttons to press, films that hint at more information, and number puzzles. If this isn't MYST for TV, I can't think of what would be.

Invasion finally got its "sea legs" yesterday. We got to behold the glowing alien creatures in their golden glory. They remind me of a manta ray with tentacles. The part with the young, naïve deputy dismembering himself with a chainsaw (after the evil alien sheriff convinced him to do it) was chilling and priceless. "Dave" on the show remains its most memorable and entertaining character. I'm not just partial to him because my name happens to be Dave, either!

CBS just cancelled Threshold this week. I thought the show had promise. It was the fastest-paced, most accessible of the new SF programs this season. And the little person who played the linguist-hero was a riot! I hope he finds more roles, in longer-lasting venues. Maybe he can team up with Michael J. Anderson for a remake of The In-Laws.

Also, it seems Night Stalker has disappeared from the Thursday night lineup. Duh! It was up against CBS's strong Thursday lineup. All network execs are idiots, I have decided. The producers of Night Stalker screwed up too, when they substituted a young, angry Mulderesque character for the original, rumpled, Columbo-type guy. The show flattened out, sans the self-deprecating humor of the original 70s series. We already lived through seven years of The X Files, we didn't need a copy of it now.

Staying the Course!

Staying the Course!

Last night, I attended my next-to-last Technical Communications 1 class. We had a workshop, peer-review process, where the class broke down into small groups. My group had a scientist and a teacher, as well as me. Bonni rotated among the groups, sitting in on ours for the first and most difficult paper--the scientific one.

The problem with most science writing is that, if you're not an initiate into the domain, you really can't understand much of the work. The words are there, in English, but they signify little to the "layman." This signification problem is compounded by any flaws in the writer's technique, such as excessive density and poor formatting. One feels akin to a medieval monk, who can read the Latin words of Virgil but cannot grasp the imagery.

My own project is straightforward and relatively simple. I'm doing an FAQ for new ventilator patients. Since I'm not working with a high-tech company anymore, I saw little use in doing anything related to MT or computer science.

Next quarter, I'll be taking "Critical Thinking for Technical Communicators." I think I can handle that!

Reasons to Be Thankful

Reasons to Be Thankful

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and I went to my parents' house for dinner. Before heading to my parents', my dad and I drove down to Linda Vista and picked up my uncle Dave. The four of us had a really pleasant evening, with turkey, stuffing, cole slaw, biscuits, Tuscan veggies, and two different kinds of pie--apple and pumpkin--for desert.

Earlier in the week (on Sunday evening), I went with my old high-school chum Phil and his wife to a concert at the Escondido Performing Arts Center. The concert was by a new-age banjo/jazz musician named Béla Fleck. The concert was good, if low key. If you look up "mellow" in your American Heritage, you'll probably see a picture of Béla Fleck. He had a bassist accompany him on a lot of the music, and the bassist also played the piano. If you like banjo Bach, then this concert would be for you.

I keep putting off finishing up work for my Tech Comm. Class. Got to get it done this weekend, and figure out which other class I'm going to take.

Meanwhile, my parents took off for Tucson today, where they will be vacationing this week for their anniversary. They will also be visiting friends and looking at retirement properties. I, for one, will never live in Arizona.

The Worst Legislation, Ever!

The Worst Legislation, Ever

Today I called my pharmacist to find out what Medicare drug plan he recommended. Exasperated, he told me that he's not even sure if he'll participate. The paperwork is tremendous, the reimbursement rate "almost zero." According to him, it's the "worst legislation in the history of the United States."

Way to go, Bushies! They are breaking the bank on a program the country doesn't need, while attempting today to reduce Medicaid and food stamps for the poor and disabled. We need a comprehensive solution to the healthcare crisis, not more corporate welfare! This was nothing but a sop thrown to Bush's supporters in Big Pharma, just like his energy bill was a favor for Big Oil and the Iraq War a quid pro quo for Halliburton.

People like me, who had comprehensive drug coverage through Medi-Cal, will see an erosion in service due to this legislation. There are 64 plans in the San Diego area alone! The elderly will be confused and many will not pick any plan because of it.

Government no longer serves the people. It serves a globalized corporate cabal that cares not one whit for workers, cultures, or freedom. At least the Neo-Fascist government of China is honest about the mingling of government and corporation; would that ours were so.

Fun with Movies

Fun with Movies

Last evening I caught the second half of the TV movie, Category 7: The End of the World. Whew! What a pre-Thanksgiving turkey! I can't believe the writers of that crap collect paychecks!

The movie was about a series of devastating hurricanes ravaging the world. Paris and Hong Kong got destroyed, but that did not qualify for "end-of-world" status. Rather, when Washington DC was threatened, truly that was the "end of days" in American fashion.

The film was full of forgettable, wooden characters and unbelievable dialog. The action stank too. The only redeemable part was when the evil Vice President, a look-alike of Dick Chaney, got sucked out the top of the White House in a whirling vortex. It shouldn't happen to a nicer guy....

Meanwhile, I went to Barnes & Noble on Saturday and purchased Kingdom of Heaven on DVD. It was a great Ridley Scott romp through history--excellent characters and action, great sets. Scott really makes the viewers feel present in the setting.

I really couldn't fathom the criticisms of the right-wingnuts about the movie's portrayal of Saladin. Scott showed Saladin as a real man and great leader of his people. Truthfully, no one would want to see a dramatic version of the First Crusade, when the Christians took Jerusalem and the streets ran knee deep in the blood of innocent men, women and children.

The moral of the story was that the "Kingdom of Heaven" is in the heart--it's not a place. Too bad more people can't remember that.

Whats the Half Life of Democracy?

What's the Half-Life of Democracy?

As usual, the candidate I voted for in Tuesday's election lost. Donna Frye was shellacked by Jerry Sanders's well-oiled pro-establishment campaign. Donna had the gall to admit that taxes might have to be raised to help bail the city out of its fiscal disaster, but the good Republican citizens of this town don't want to hear about any pain that might affect them!

Sanders sold the public on the usual snake oil: we can solve government problems through "cuts" and "efficiency." NO NEW TAXES!

In other words... "Bankruptcy, here we come!" But that's cool--Sanders can swallow the enchilada picante of financial ruin, while Frye looks on. With the new strong-mayor form of government in San Diego, the disaster will be all Sanders's. At least we have Mike Aguirre to stand up to Sanders and the big-business Tammany Hall that moves this city in the wrong direction.

Meanwhile, my Technical Communication course sails right along. It's mildly challenging, in that I have to overcome boredom in order to complete the work. I do want an "A," however!

Last night I went to the Winter Pops at Symphony Hall with my parents. It was the first time I'd been in the building since it was the old Fox Theater. The restoration work on the building was excellent, revealing the Art Deco and Spanish Baroque gem in all its glory.

The concert was entertaining, if not outstanding. Lou Rawls was the guest performer. He is a remnant of 70s make-out quasi-disco music. I think of him as a gravelly-voiced cross between Barry White and Barry Manilow. Unfortunately, his voice was extra gravelly last evening, as he was suffering from a cold. Singing while wiping one's nose with a handkerchief is not attractive. Still, he did a yeoman's job of sticking to it, and the overall evening's entertainment rated a B-.

David Turns Fifty

David Turns Fifty

Saturday evening, the party at my parents' home was a success. Monica and my parents did a great job of organizing it. I brought my Olympic torch over, along with the photo of Steve Garvey and myself from 1984.

We had Italian food--lasagna, spaghetti, Pat and Oscar's breadsticks, antipasto salad, and of course, chocolate cake. Among those attending were:

Brigitte
Monica
My parents
Jan
Marina and her daughter
Phil and Paula
Bill and Vicki
Bob and Cathy
The Marlins
Harold
Katie
Jacque
Some other people from my parents' Bible study class

Among those missing:
Donna
Thomas
Kathryn
Jim and Jill
Christine
Doug
Orly
Karen
Camelia

See you all at my 60th!

La Grande Journée

La Grande Journée

Tomorrow at 4:00, my parents will be hosting a party for my 50th birthday. It seems hard to believe, but I will turn 50 on Sunday! So far, 27 people have committed to attending; I'm looking forward to the festivities.

I'm very grateful to Monica and my parents for putting it together for me.