Small Disasters, Part II

The train ride to Seattle was full of bounces and jolts. The view of passing scenery outside my room's window varied from small towns to farmland to forested mountains. Because the ride took over thirty hours, we slept in our quarters not long after dark, which occured somewhere around Oakland.

The thing about the American trains is they are distinctly low-tech. Our sleeper car was constructed by the Canadian Bombardier corporation in the 70s. There's no wifi, and cell phones function sporadically. TV or music in your room? Forget about it... Unless you bring your own. There was something called a Dig-E-Player available for rent, but I didn't bother with it. The true entertainment was constantly rolling by outside my window.

There are some nice touches on the train. The sleeper car connects to a dining car, a view car, a lounge car, and a parlour car. Harold really enjoyed the view car. I was glad I got the "handicapped discount" on my tickets, because I couldn't access any of those cars. To get out of the sleeper car, you have to climb a stairwell and cross a tube into the next car. Harold told me that the floor of that tube goes up, down and sideways like a funhouse. Definitely not wheelchair-friendly.

Nevertheless, I found the Amtrak staff to be friendly and helpful. Olga, our attendant, furnished me with food, made the beds, and brought the morning paper each day. The food varied from omelettes for breakfast, to hamburgers for lunch and salmon for dinner. Overall, I'd rate the cuisine onboard as far superior to airline food, because it's cooked fresh in the train's kitchen. It's about on a par with the offerings at a chain restaurant like Denny's.

In the afternoons, around 3:00pm, the staff holds a wine tasting event that is free for all sleeper car passengers. Olga was very concientious in bringing me the wine, cheese and crackers.

We passed through some big cities, probably the largest being Portland, Oregon. I thought the cityscape was fascinating, with its industrial demeanor. Harold found it ugly. I had a hard time convincing him to take pictures of the downtown area.

We arrived at Seattle around 10:30 Saturday night. The bus to Vancouver was scheduled to depart at 11:00. When Harold and I got to the bus, people were already boarding. We met the bus driver and he took a quizzical look at my chair. "Uh, we don't have a lift, eh?"

"What?" I asked. Some dialog with the driver ensued, in which we discovered Amtrak somehow missed the fact my ticket was marked for disabled access. After some conversations with the Amtrak station manager at Seattle, we agreed to stay overnight and travel by train the next day.

So, there we were at midnight, the only folks in Seattle's King St. Station, except for the manager and some homeless guy picking through trash. The manager agreed to put us up at the local Holiday Inn Express, but there was another problem. No disabled-transit buses were available that late at night. In desperation, the Amtrak manager convinced the on-call supervisor of the local paratransit agency to transport us to the hotel, at 2:00am.

By the time we rolled into the Holiday Inn, it was almost pointless to try to sleep. We scheduled bus pickup at 5:30am and bagged our three hours of z's. It makes me yawn just thinking about it.

The good thing, though, was we got to travel by train to Vancouver at 7:30 in the morning. The train follows the coast, and the conductor--well versed in local lore of the route--filled us in on the scenery's attributes. One of the main facts he noted on the trip through rural Washington was the dilapidated family farms along the tracks. Corporate farming has ruined the family farms, which are falling into elegant ruin as the countryside reclaims its own territort. I somehow knew how the Romans must have felt, traveling along their dilapidated highways in the Fourth Century, gazing at deserted villas and fallen temples.

We finally arrived at Vancouver's Amtrak/Bus station around 10:30 that morning. The weather reminded me of San Diego in late November or December: cool (low 60s), with bright sunlight glinting off the windows and sidewalks. One feature of Vancouver I'll always remember with fondness is that bright, sunny, fresh feel to the air. San Diego is a city a lot like Vancouver in many ways, but where we have dust and smog, they have bright blue skies and clean breezes. Yes--it does rain (about 4.5 feet a year), but so what? I'd love more rain at home.

Vancouver is quite unique in that about 25% of the taxis are accessible. "Handicapable" as Stellar might call them. So, we called a taxi from my cell phone, and it arrived about a half-hour later. Most of the taxi drivers in Vancouver are Indian or Middle Eastern. It's really cool to be picked up by one of the Sikh drivers, who look like they came straight out of the era of the Raj.

Our hotel was conveniently located in central Vancouver. It was close to downtown, if not quite in downtown. Kind of like renting a room in Hillcrest or Mission Valley, if you visit San Diego.

More on the week in Vancouver, next installment.

-- David

Life Is a Series of Small Disasters--Some Beneficial

Life is a Series of Small Disasters--Some Beneficial

"Life is a series of small disasters, some beneficial." That's a saying I came up with, but you can quote me if you'd like....

My recent train trip to Vancouver serves as an example. Whenever you travel, there is stress. No matter how much you plan (and there's rarely any such thing as over-planning), stuff goes wrong. If you can't handle the stress of travel, you may not be able to survive the speed bumps in life's road.

For example, when Harold and I went to get on the bus at the Santa Fe depot in San Diego, the lift didn't work. Here I was, bouncing up and down the side of a bus on a rickety platform, gazing through the door at the saucer-wide eyes of a huge black man sitting in the seat across from me. "It's going to be a long fall and a short trip" I told him.

Finally, we got on the bus and rode to LA's Union Station. The bus driver dropped us off at a sidewalk across the street from the station, in downtown Los Angeles, where Harold and I hardly ever go. Then we had to scrabble with our luggage in tow, find an elevator, figure out which floor the train depot resided on, and find our train.

The interesting thing about Union Station is that unlike an airport, there is no clear direction about where to go or what to do to catch your train. At airports, you know if you're on a Southwest flight to take the hallway to the Southwest terminal, or if Delta, to head to Delta's terminal. At the train station, it's ALL Amtrak! There is no "there" there--just people milling around, mostly rushing off to some unknown destination, or dazedly staring into space.

We asked for help at the Information Booth, but other than telling us to "head down the hallway," the data-giver wasn't very helpful. As Harold wandered aimlessly trying to locate the ramp to our train, I found two Amtrak ticket agents seated at card tables near the hallway. One of them was very friendly and responded to my questions with clear answers. Yay! We were almost on our way. If I had panicked, or shrunken confusedly into my shell, we might never have caught Train 14 to Seattle.

Finally, when boarding is announced, the crowd sprints in unison toward the ramp for the train, which is down an immense hallway. We took Ramp 10, which had an A and a B side. Which were we? A or B? Well, I figured the best way to find out was to just choose an arbitrary side and start climbing.

At the top, there were two trains next to tracks. No sign points to "Train 14." So I just went up to people in line and polled them. "Excuse me ma'am, is this Train 14?" A gray-haired lady with pearl glasses looked quizzically down at her own tickets, then glanced at me, then back to the train and smiled shyly. "Why, yes I hope so," she said.

A few more people down the line, and I figured out we were indeed on the right track (literally), and found a conductor who pointed us "way down there" to a sleeper car. The first sleeper car I rolled up to had no ramp. I asked the attendant, who cheerfully told me "it's the next one."

Now, the thing about Amtrak trains is, they are HUGE. You literally cannot see one end of the train from the other. So I just went in the direction the attendant pointed to, till I saw a heavy-set Hispanic woman standing beside a ramp and an open hatch. "Is this the handicapped-accessible sleeper car?" I pleaded?

"Yes it is," smiled the attendant. "My name is Olga, and I'm your attendant. Just go on in and head to the right." With a shove from Harold, I got the chair propelled up the rather steep metal ramp and up into the train.

"Whew!" We made it at last, I thought to myself, as Harold and I settled into our room, which incidentally was smaller than most walk-in closets in a modern suburban McMansion.

-- More on the trip later

David

Soar: for Stellar

-- Soar --

You are
not loveless.
Some say love
doesn't come

In the
form we seek,
But love
of someone

Nearby
cradles us
When we
least notice.

Love is
eternal though
We are
finite beings

That touch
of eternal grace
Makes us
like angels....

If you
have wings to
Fly, soar
skyward on

Tradewinds
raised higher
By this
beating heart.

Greetings from Vancouver!

Greetings from Vancouver!

Well, my week in British Columbia is almost complete. I will be boarding the bus for Seattle on Saturday. What a great time; I love it up here.

Today Harold and I took the BC Ferry to Vancouver Island. Quite the adventure!! We didn't have a lot of time, but we walked around beautiful Victoria and took Afternoon Tea in the stately Empress Hotel, appropriately named in honour of Queen Victoria, who once sojourned there. Other famous people who stayed there are FDR, John Wayne (quite often), and Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip. I'd love to spend a few days exploring this Victorian gem—maybe after my refugee status is approved, lol.

After 51 years, I finally found a city that suits me to a tee—the weather is sunny but not hot, or it's cool and cloudy with rain, the people are young, artistic and educated, there is free universal healthcare and they all HATE Bush! :-p

Love to all my friends--especially Monica and <3 Stellar

PS: I started a new Vancouver album on MySpace and will soon be posting more pics to it.

Traveling North in Autumn

Traveling North in Autumn

Wherever I go
They will not follow
Wherever I stay
They shall not be

Whatever I seek
They cannot see
Whatever I want
They cannot buy

I look out the window
And see a field of glass
A star with no light
A forest with no trees

Wherever I go
They follow me
Wherever I stay
They abide in me

Raise your hand in the night
And count the stars on your fingers
Touch the shimmering lights
Blow out the candles

I look out your window
And see a face of glass
A sun with no warmth
A sea without waves

Wherever I go
They follow me
Wherever I stay
They dwell beside me

To Stellar--till We Meet Again

A la fée des lumières

On aime L'Etoile qui brille
comme l'éclair parmiles constellations de l'esprit.
Mais l'étoile brille pour lui?

To the Faery of Lights

He loves the star that shines
Like lightning
Among the constellations of the spirit
But does the Star shine for him?

One somber knight, wandering alone
The Path of Aimless Thoughts
The Faery of Lights came to him
Glowing stellar, she touched him with her wings

And danced around his body
Like a hummingbird seeking nectar
With each soft stroke
An electric chill sang through his body

Exalted
"Do not fear," she told him.
"I will guide thee--rest me in your palm
And walk free."

Faery and Knight found a path past midnight
Forests where dandelion chimeras devoured them
With ravenous yellow eyes
When they came to a crossroads, she leapt from his hand

And flittered about his face
Closing fay lips to his
"Go there, fair knight," she pointed
"First star to the right"

Where the moon glowed upon a lily trail
"Come back to me," she whispered
And fled the knight that night
Till suns rose over village roofs

Now under every milky moonlit canopy
He returns to the forest seeking that gloaming grove
Where the Faery of Lights awaits her love
With only a star to guide him.

Soft Genocide

I found a worthwhile article in the newspaper a few days ago (yes, I do still read the papers!), stating that the obesity epidemic is worsening in the US, and some states are approaching 33% obesity rates. Mississipi, the fatest state in the nation, will breech the 50% mark within the next decade.

Although all races and ethnic groups are gaining girth, it's the dirt-poor and minority areas that are gaining the most, the fastest. Why is that? Economic factors and political ones.

• Lousy or non-existent health care
• Poor diets, rich in fat and sodium. Supermarkets flee the ghettos and small towns, and the locals are forced to feed athe McDonald's KFC trough.
• Lack of exercise. Like my round nurse Clarence, they drive if they have to walk 10 feet. Then when they do exit their cars they climb into one of those fat-people scooters.

So, what's the uptake? Kill off the troglodytes. When they're too sick to shop at Wal-Mart or even work there, the country has no more use for them.

If Today Was Tomorrow....

Today should have been a great day, but it fell into the porcelain fixture. Harold's been away with my van all day (he took it last night) and hasn't brought it back yet. Now, it's 7:40 and the day is shot.

The temperature got up to 90 degrees at Miramar, and there were thunderstorms and flash floods as close as Escondido, but nothing reached Mira Mesa. I wish it had, a good storm would wake up the neighborhood and cleanse the sidewalks.

Would I remember today? Probably not, which is why I'm writing it down anyway. Sometimes you have to set the crappy days down on paper too.

On the good side, my trip planning is proceeding, and I should finalize affairs tomorrow with the travel agent, Chris, of Flying Wheels Travel. Let's keep our fingers crossed!
David

INLAND EMPIRE

Welcome to the Bunny World.

Laura and the Bunnymen

Laura and the Bunnymen

Last weekend I rushed to my local Best Buy and purchased David Lynch's new masterpiece, "Inland Empire." The film comes on a 2-DVD set. The first DVD holds the film, and the second is packed with extra footage and some rambling narratives by Lynch.

I can't praise this film enough. A lot of viewers, minds dulled by Hollywood pablum, try to figure out what the film is "about." But it is about many things: can the universe be about something? I prefer the Italian title of the movie: "Empire of the Mind." For the inner universe converges upon the outer one, and eventually you have to ask yourself, "If today was tomorrow, would I remember it?"

Lynch combines Dada and Surrealism into a seamless garment of videotape. He is Dali; he is Escher; he is Magritte.

"Ceci n'est pas une pipe." This is not a pipe--"The Treason of Images."

Murderers, Thieves, Traitors

So, I went to Walmart at 10:00 PM last night to buy some emergency CD labels for my printer. This was the first time I ever set foot in the store, and I swore after I was finished, I'd never go back. The only reason I went there was because Fry's and Best Buy were closed, and I needed CD labels for a client's print job.

I swear, I have personally given witness to the Decline and Fall of the American Empire. The ghost of Edward Gibbon is down in Hades co-writing the book with Beetlejuice and the tormented soul of Prescott Bush.

There are two places in this world you do not want to go to find hot chicks: 1) Denny's and 2) Walmart. I saw more toothless hags than Fantasia's Night on Bald Mountain, and they all sported Walmart name tags on their black polo shirts. The store is Tweaker Heaven, or where old homeless folks go to die. Leaving the store as fast as I could, I drove home and hit the shower.

"This must be how prostitutes feel," I thought. You sell your soul in exchange for Chinese-made crap. "It's cheap, but it ain't free," Steely Dan once sang.

All of which brought to mind the terrible bridge collapse in Minneapolis yesterday. CNN announced that estimates to repair our broken infrastructure run about $1.3 trillion. But, we have "no money" do repair our bridges, roads, railroads, and airports. Why? Hmm... Maybe because we've squandered a trillion dollars in Iraq?

We've spent all this money in Iraq and have jack to show for it. Their infrastructure is even uglier than ours. "Corruption is the second insurgency," a recent government report stated.
Here's a new and unique idea. By last count, after all the mass murders and bombings, there are about 23 million inhabitants of Iraq. Not counting vermin, of course. So, why not just pull our troops out and give every Iraqi a million bucks? Wouldn't that be the Republican way? "Free market economics: Give 'em the money and let them spend it however they want." Seems like letting them fix their own damn country would be a lot less expensive than letting Haliburton pave it over and rape the earth for oil.

Our relationship with Iraq is like an abusive marriage. As my friend Stefanie recently told me, "We won't leave until they stop trying to push us out." Big Daddy Bush slaps them around and kills 600,000 civilians, and they go all passive-agressive on our ass by planting IEDs under Humvees.

Reminds me of Jack Nicholson in "The Shining." "Here's Jonny!" "Here's your worst fucking nightmare!" A decrepit empire dragging the rest of the world down its own black hole.

Sic semper imperatoris!

A Boy's (Robot) Life

A Boy's (Robot) Life

Saturday night I went to see Transformers. The movie was better than I expected, and though a tad too long, kept me entertained till the end.
The movie had all the elements any teenage or pre-teen boy would love:

• A hot chick
• nerd teen hero who gets the hot chick
• cars, trucks, jet fighters
• stuff blowing up randomly and with great noise
• ROBOTS!!!

Yeah, sure it's another summer schlockbuster, but has an innate coolness factor. Did I mention, it has ROBOTS!!!

llorando (mulholland drive)

Ceci n'est pas une pipe. -- Magritte

Eraserhead - Eraserhead Redux

Absurda profunda...

KEITH OLBERMANN on Libby/Bush

Keith says it all....
Bush and Cheney, OUT!!

Erase Your Head

Yesterday, my much-coveted DVD of Eraserhead 2000 arrived via UPS. Last night I sat in front of my computer and enjoyed it. Kind of like reliving the 70s, but better. For one thing, I didn't need to watch it at midnight at the pot-choked Strand Theater in OB.

The film stands the test of time. Of course it's crude effects-wise, although that worm baby crying in the night still manages to send chills up and down the spine. The movie is an effective nightmare--comical, disturbing, vivid like a fever dream.

The "extras" on the DVD consisted of a rambling narrative by David Lynch. It was black and white, with a big, old-fashioned microphone the only prop at first. Then he started talking into a speaker phone with the disembodied voice of a woman who worked on the film. It seemed like Lynch did anything to avoid revealing the secrets of the movie. The one thing he did say was that no critic has ever come up with an interpretation that matched his own. Oh--and the Girl in the Radiator was not in the original script.

"In Heaven, everything is fine," sings the Girl in the Radiator.

Is it?

Spam Musubi

Sunday was Father's Day, and my parents and I accompanied the Cazins to Callahan's in Mira Mesa. Callahan's is our place to go on Father's or Mother's Day, because it's fun and less crowded than Mimi's.

I gave my dad a PS2 game--God of War--which I'm not sure he'll keep. It's a bit too mature to play with Nathon and Matthew. For dinner, I had my favorite, Bangers and Mash. The Cazins talked about their recent vacation in France, which was interesting in that we could compare notes. They went to Paris and the Bordeaux region, whereas I've always stuck to the north, with my friends the Charpentiers in Haute Marne.

Later that night, Harold and I made our usual midnight run to Ralphs. Talk about a ghetto for lonely bachelors... It looked like a scene from Dawn of the Dead, with a few dishevelled zombies shuffling along behind shopping carts, their eyes glazed over and drops of slobber seeping from their gaping mouths.... But we have met the zombies, and they are US!

This week, work has been light, and I'm enjoying the break while I can. I'm positive it'll pick up soon. Minda brought me a box of Spam Musubi tonight. I wanted to try it ever since Flying Hawaiian recommended it. It's from L&L in town. Funny how Hawaiians and Native Alaskans are the two biggest (and I mean literally) consumers of Spam. I personally haven't touched the stuff since Tia used to make me fried Spam sandwiches.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to catch up on my WoW playing and my writing. And my girls, Oceana and Jessi. Donna remains my buddy in chat and RL, fortunately. She's one smart cookie, and patient too!

Impeach Bush!

Hey hey, ho ho! Bush and Cheney got to go!!

What more can we say? Condi Rice can hit the bricks, too. If she can climb out from under Bush's desk long enough. These guys have led the country to the brink of total disaster.

Once I warned that Bush would break our army in Iraq, like Valens did the Roman army at Adrianople. It seems I was close to the truth.

Speaking of the truth, we have Olbermann, Colbert, and Stewart to keep "telling it like it is," as the hipsters used to proclaim in the 60s.

Dull, Bloated, and Feculent

Last night I rolled Clarence out the door and made a beeline for the movie theater, where we watched Pirates of the Caribbean III on the big screen while munching mushy, fat-dripping nachos and drinking what Keith Olbermann might call "the worst coffee in the worlllllllldddd!!"
The movie gave me a chance to spend the night out, which was great. I've been cooped up all week working long and lonely hours on an editing project. Unfortunately, the movie itself was bloated, dull, and feculent. I use "feculent" here because at one point, in the pirate's den in Singapore, one of the pirates utters the word. At the time, I though, "Oh, cool, a movie with a vocabulary," but little did I realize that would be one of the two highlights of the film, the second being Keith Richards's cameo appearance.

Meanwhile, this past week, I got my new Gateway laptop computer, which is a very sweet machine. Now I can choose where I want to work; in my room on my desktop, or in the livingroom on my laptop. The advantage to the desktop is that it's faster, with a larger screen, and the advantage to the laptop is that it's in the livingroom, where I can watch my big HDTV while working.

The rest of this day, I'll finish working, and tonight I'll go shopping with Harold. My roommate finally paid me some of his back rent, $420 (which, if you knew him, you'd know was a wholly appropriate, if inadequate, amount.

Friday Night in Mira Mesa

After a day of slaving away over a hot FrameMaker file, I got the call from my parents and they came over. We enjoyed a pleasant Chinese take-out dinner and watched a movie called "Save the Last Dance 2." I was amazed to learn MTV Studios had actually produced a 1, much less a 2.
The thing had the word "dance" in the title, so my mom wanted to see it. The one strength in the otherwise bland film about a ballerina-cum-hip hop dancer was that the blonde chick who played the protagonist was reasonably hot.

I did enjoy LOST very much last Wednesday. Whenever the story takes a turn for the "dark side," I'm into it. Plus, they restrained their flashbacks to the previous 8 days on the Island. Unless they introduce some new characters, I really feel the writers have dwelt enough on the past lives of the "losties." Time to move the story relentlessly forward, or get off the writing pot!
Harold came over early tonight and is now fast asleep. Which is where I should be, but I must have that newly discovered "night owl" gene and only feel truly awake in the wee hours of the Nox Tenebrosa (Dark Night).

I'm stuck without a van this weekend, as it was hauled off Thursday night to Van Nuys for the Rehab-paid repairs to the back door and lift. I hope to get it returned before the big Mixer next Thursday.

Next Friday, assuming I have the van, I should be taking a class in Adobe Illustrator. It's one of those free adult education classes. Just right for Bonni to pay for, lol.

Maybe I'll go see Spidey 3 tomorrow, if the lines aren't too horrendous.

Saturday Night at the Grindhouse

Last weekend, Clarence and I went to see "Grindhouse" at the Mira Mesa theater. What a great film! Both the Rodrigues and Tarantino halves were excellent, and I loved the faux previews of movies like "Machete" and "Thanksgiving."

It's really hard to make a tribute to bad movies that doesn't just run over into simple-minded parody, but R and T managed to make the movies entertaining stories in themselves, and not just bad take-offs. Yes, "Grindhouse" was pulpy and violent and lurid, which is just the way a 70s Exploitation Flick should be! There were so many rich moments, great images, and little inside jokes. Every frame had a jewel in it for those who cared to look.

I can't wait for "Grindhouse" on DVD. Definitely a collector's item and a cult favorite for years to come.

The Rest of the Story

So, that night, I lay awake and got practically NO sleep, thinking about yet another van repair bill. And that very Sunday morning, I had been boasting to my parents that I had the van back in cherry shape for the first time since the accident. And that came at no small expense, either! Around $1500 by my reconing, plus another $250 the Dept. of Rehabilitation sank into it.

"Pride goeth before a fall," as the saying goes. But then Monday morning I had the brilliant idea of getting Rehab back involved. I called Cathleeen, the counselor, and she got back to me about 4:45. The next day I had my van towed to the garage, where, unfortunately, it has sat ever since.

The whole stinking job is just a bad alternator, which should take no more than three hours. But, the state's precious paperwork comes first. The result is that my van is sitting at the garage on Miramar Road, instead of my parking space at Esplanade. And I will be stuck inside my home all weekend.

Argh!! But even with all the frustrations, I'll take slow and free over fast and expensive.

Laissez les bons temps roulez, mon fils!

L'Ecume des jours

This has been an odd week. First, Harold and I drove to Ralphs in Mira Mesa to shop around 10:30 Sunday night. I've been going shopping with Harold lately, so I can get the food I want, rather than the generic crapola he usually buys on the cheap.

Oh, I should have known things were not about to go well, when we missed my tall red head at the cashier's. Yipes! Not looking good there, after 3 missed weeks. Anyway...

We left the store about midnight, groceries in tow. When we got into the van, we discovered it wouldn't start. The battery was as dead as King Tut's mother. While Harold went back to the store to see if anyone had jumper cables, I used my cell to call Western Towing. They promised me a tow truck within 35 minutes. By the time I hung up on Wester, Harold was back, so he tried starting the van again. And it cranked right over as though nothing had happened. "Yippee!" we thought.

Well, a block from Ralphs, at the light at Mira Mesa Blvd, the van started to stutter, lurch, and die. Somehow we got through the intersection in tact, then slunk our way home down the side streets to my complex. Lights off, rolling on momentum only, we dreaded every corner stop sign. Luckily, Mira Mesa at midnight Sunday is the Dead Zone. They roll up the sidewalks as soon as the Philipinos hit the sack (i.e., early).

Once we got home, we got Brad to jump my van enough to get the lift down and get my cold ass out....

-- More tomorrow.

David

Go Tell the Spartans...

... Their movie sucks! Actually Harold and I went to the Mira Mesa theater and watched 300 last night, at the late show. The movie didn't really "suck," but I was a little disappointed over it. I admired the graphical ingenuity and the way the "graphic novel" (i.e., comic book) was translated to the Big Screen. And Gerard Butler has been a favorite action star of mine since he played Atila the Hun on a USA Network movie a few years ago.

Overall, though, the characterization was flat. Leonidas, his wife, and everyone else pretty much played on a single emotional level. I, and most people, would like characters we can truly get involved with on MANY levels. We all are, when you consider it, personalities with more facets than a diamond.

300 was a good movie for the 13-year-old in all of us. That's why the Greeks ended up fighting Orcs and Ogres in the middle of the melee, and broke ranks in the heat of battle. I really would have liked to see Peter Jackson or Ridley Scott take on the subject matter.

Still, ancient and medieval history is a rich subject. I'd really like to see one of the above-named directors tackle the story of Alfred the Great, Charlemagne, or Clovis. Justinian and Theordora, with their fabled romance and historic struggle during the Nike riots would also serve as excellent subjects, as would Arminius's revolt of the Cherusci against the Romans.

Snoozefest

This week has been pretty good, in terms of work. I actually have put in near to fulltime hours, for the first time since last September. The work can't come too soon either, since I still have to pay off my damn dentist and car-repair bills.

My parents have been gone all week to Cabo. I haven't heard from them, but I'm assuming they're having a good time. :)

LOST was okay this week. It was good to get back into Hurley's life, and see Cheech Marin playing his dad. But, the VW Bus segment was unbelievable. After all those years lying on its side as a wreck, the van would have lost its gasoline and other fluids, and the engine would have been frozen up. Not to mention, the tires would have been very, very flat.

I know the island's supposed to work miracles, but the episode lacked credibility. We'll see what next week brings!

I missed ROME this week; it was a rerun. All the networks are afraid to run competition to the Academy Awards, though God only knows why they are afraid of that drab, long-winded snoozefest.

Off to See the Wizard

Tuesday I went to Sharp Hospital to see Doctor Landers for the usual trach change routine. He's a great guy, and we had fun chatting, as always. Funny, we even seem to agree on politics, e.g., the current mayor of San Diego is an incompetent idiot.

Harold went with with me this time, which made the trip much more enjoyable and laid back than when I go with "Joe and the Volcano," or "Joe the Volcano." On the way back, we stopped by my dentist to pick up a bottle of flouride moutwash.

As my van bumped down Kearny Villa's potholed lanes, I joked to Harold that the citizens of our fair city should "go medieval" on the municipal government's collective ass: tie them one by one to an oxcart and drag them over the crack-filled pavement until they agree to allocate money to road repair.

We need to quit letting Republicans and land developers run our city. Shortsighted government has pretty much wrecked the place, although Harold makes a good point that the weather will always draw folks nigh.

Meanwhile, my ups and downs with K continue, and I'm looking forward to O's visit on Thursday. :)

Tragicomic

Her actions were funny and sad at the same time, kind of like watching Bozo get struck by a bus. -- Random thought for the day...

The Baptism of Lucius Junius Brutus

OK, so this past Sunday's Rome was a little too homoerotic for my tastes. Two scenes of buggery, a naked guy wading into a river, Pullo and Vorenus wrestling on the floor.... It was a bit much!

I found it fascinating that the authors chose to have Brutus assume a Christlike figure in his self-baptism in the river. As he emerged in slow motion from the water, rivulets angling down his face and over his beard, I could not help but think of Christian baptism, and the whole John the Baptist in the River Jordan image.

What makes that Christlike image all the more fascinating is the total inversion of Brutus' historical role. Normally he represents the secular prefiguring of Judas, not Christ--"Et tu, Brute" forshadowing the betrayer's kiss.

I'll be interested in seeing how Rome's creators carry this part of the story forward.

The Decision Maker

Yesterday I saw our Moron-in-Chief on the news saying that "People are condemming my plan without even giving it a chance." Gee, King George, why would they do that? Hmm ... Let me think. How about these reasons:

• Your administration's utter and abject failure with previous initiatives in Iraq.
• The minor consideration that HUMAN LIVES ARE INVOLVED. Psst--Georgy Boy, running a war ain't like running a failing oil company into the ground. Real men, women, and children will loose their lives due to your faulty planning and execution.
• The idiots who can turn Saddam Hussein into a hero are truly unfit to govern the USA, much less Iraq.

Roma Invicta

Last week, HBO's "Rome" debuted its second season. I recorded it on my DVR and have enjoyed two remarkable episodes now. The character development, acting, and scene settings are all soar above the usual mediocre television fare. Bravo to HBO! It almost leads me to forgive you for cancelling "Carnivale."

I've also nearly finished Season 2 of "Lost." And just in time for the beginning of the new season in a couple of weeks. I noticed in the previews on ABC.com that the upcoming shows will explain Jack's experiences in Thailand to us. I'm curious to find out about the tattoo....

In other news, I started the Tech Comm II class at UCSD. It's a hybrid course, with 3 of the 7 meetings in the classroom--the rest online. I'm not a big fan of online classes, but this is the trend for the future, evidently. I can certainly see its uses in adult education. At any rate, I'll be glad to get the certificate finished. Then I can get back to my novel. Yay!

Until the next time, farewell!
David

The Beatific Smile of the Newly Dead

Against my better judgment, I watched that jerky cell phone video of Saddamn Hussein's hanging last week. Overall, it was highly distasteful, and showed just how much the United States and Iraqi "government" have bollixed up that country's future.

Saddam, as Don Imus said, "Went out like Jimmy Cagney." He was defiant, yet seemingly calm at the end. And the face, flushed with the last blood of life, looked almost happy as it dangled grotesquely from the end of the hangman's noose. His glassy eyes were half closed, and he almost seemed to be smiling, like a sailor might smile when viewing the shores of his home port after a long sea voyage.

I was discussing the whole thing with Clarence. He brought up how Saddam was a tyrant and mass murderer. "That's true," I replied, "but one man's bloody tyrant is another man's martyr." I reminded Clarence that like Braveheart, Saddamn had refused drugs before his execution. And like that famed Scottish hero, his hands had been bloodied by the deaths of the innocent.

History is not always fiction written by the victors. At least--not the short-term victors. Sometimes centuries will pass before the collective memory of mankind sorts out who were the heroes and who the villains.

Just my thoughts for today.

Bonne Année 2007!

New Year's Eve came and went without any fuss at my place. The Saturday before, I went to Bill and Vicki's place for a small party they held for Adam, their son. Adam was visiting from Washington, DC, where he works for a nonprofit progressive organization.

The Eve itself, my parents came over and we watched Ice Age II on DVD and ate pizza. They left about 11:00 pm. Nobody's into wild parties anymore! Getting old, I guess, though I certainly don't feel it in any other way.

Sci Fi had the usual Twilight Zone marathon going on Sunday and Monday. Even though I know every single episode by heart, I can't resist the old show's allure. What's more charming and fun-filled than a weekend in Black & White spent in the corpse-pale company of the late Rod Serling?

Finally, it took me all week, but I wended my way through Season I of Lost--Minda's great Xmas gift to me. It really helped me take my mind off stress and enjoy the mystery all over again. This being a slow TV weelk, it was even better to sit back and enjoy Kate, Jack, Hurley, Locke, and the rest. Better they suffer than I.... Isn't that the root of all dramatic fiction? The catharsis... purging of the emotions in a less harmful way.

Christmas Day 2006

Christmas Day 2006

My family does our Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve. This allows us to just relax and enjoy the holiday stress free. This year was no different; everyone went to my parents' home in Mira Mesa for the festivities.

First, even before I went to my parents', the day got off to a great start when the Chargers pulled out a last-minute win over Seattle. I knew, from there the day could only get better.

Harold was with me, since his wife and kids were doing their own thin at the wife's brother-in-law's house. So, after he dropped his boys back off at home in North Park, he drove the van back to my place; we packed it full of presents and headed to my parents' house.

Dorene, Richard, and the boys were already at the house, as they have been staying there this week. Normally they live in Northern California. Tien and Alicia brought their brood down, and my uncle was in attendance as well.

My mom has grown quite skillful at planning small dinner parties without a lot of fuss n' muss. We dined on sandwiches from Albertson's, with deviled eggs, chips and salsa, and fresh veggies. For desert, we enjoyed Dutch Apple Pie and a "Birthday Cake for Jesus."

I got my parents a Playstation 2 for Christmas. I thought they could loosen up a little, and they'd have fun playing games with my nephews (whom I also bought PS2 games).

The Flemings and Hickmans each bought me Barnes & Noble gift cards, which I intend to put to good use. My parents generously bought me a new HP printer/fax/scanner. I was surprised to receive such an expensive gift from them this year; I do intend to put the scanner to good use, however.

My plan is to scan and archive all the old family photos, some of which date back to the 19th century, and keep them on DVDs. The best ones will be mounted on the Web, in a special home page I would like to construct.

The only person missing this year was Monica, who could not make it due to illness in her new family. I hope to catch up with her later! (

Merry Christmas to All, and to All a Good Night!
David

Twas the Week before Christmas

'Twas the Week before Christmas

This past week, I got almost all my shopping done. I have been procrastinating on cards, though. Tonight I will work on getting those finished and out the door.

Currently the outside temperature at Miramar is a chilly 55 degrees. Heavy rain is expected to hit the area tonight and tomorrow. That makes me happy!

This morning Harold and I drove over to the Round Table Pizza in University City and I attended my company meeting, along with Bonni, Stef, Jane, and Jim. We all had some fun laughing at a certain product, while Stef gave a demo of it.

My plans for the upcoming week include some more work, plus wrapping presents and decorating the tree.  Donna and Tom were supposed to come over last week and help me decorate, but their dog Snappy needed surgery, so they had to postpone the visit. I bought Season 1 of Rocky and Bullwinkle on DVD and can't wait to crack it open with them.

Meanwhile, I watched The Lost Room on Sci Fi last week. It was good! So good, in fact, that Clarence actually STFU during most of it. The only thing about the show I didn't care for was the end. The part where the cop shoots the Occupant seemed contrived, and there really was no scientific or supernatural explanation of the "inciting incident" that set the whole sequence of events in motion in 1961. My original theory was that the room had migrated to our universe from a parallel universe. However, the comments about the Occupant--that he had suddenly disappeared from OUR timeline, seemed to contradict that notion. Still, they left enough open ends that there can easily be a sequel (i.e., the whole "Profit" thread with the bad guy, Ruber.).

Finally, Go Chargers!!

The Allure of Vampires

Vampires are attractive, erotic, exciting. Else Anne Rice wouldn’t have gotten rich writing about them, before she turned to the Dark Side (Born-Again Christianity). You know they’re draining you of your blood, but you open your neck to the same old seeping wound. The mark they leave brands your soul as theirs until you either fall into shadows or break the spell forever.

Friends can help you throw off the chains of enchantment. Everyone needs a personal Van Helsing to see them through the rough times. Some of us are lucky enough to have more than one guide over the dangerous passes and inside the darkest caverns. The only fear is, in grasping onto your friends, do not drag them into the abyss with you.

Thanksgiving Day

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and I went to my parents' home about 4:00 in the afternoon to enjoy a pleasant dinner with them and my 75-year-old uncle Dave.

The dinner was quiet and small. We ate turkey, ham, green beans, cole slaw, biscuits, yams, cranberry sauce, dressing, and biscuits, with pumpkin and apple pie for dessert. I know, it sounds like a lot, but my mom has become quite adept over the years in creating a relatively stress free Thanksgiving meal.

The chatter over dinner was familial and friendly, with the murmuring of the local news in the background. My uncle talked a lot about his dog. I promised my parents a christmas gift list (for myself) and received one sent by Alicia to my parents.

Tomorrow, they are off for a week in Palm Springs, at their time share. Their anniversary is coming up shortly. Number 35! Wow...

Not that many years ago, our Thanksgiving parties were large and swarming with life. My parents would invite Alicia, Dorene, and Brian, and their families filled with small children. My uncle would be there, and maybe Camelia, and the kids would run all over the house.

For quite a few years, my parents and I would drive up to the home of Mémé and Pépé, first when they lived in Hawthorn, and later in 29 Palms. They loved their family, in a genuine and folksy French Canadian way. Many were the dinners we enjoyed there, along with Aunt Janet and her children. I remember the walks around their neighborhood in the splendidly parched desert. It would be cool and dry at this time of year, and after the huge Thanksgiving repast, we'd play Euchre, Spades, or a funny card game called "Screw Your Neighbor." Oh, and there were dice games too.

Even earlier, when I was 16, my parents dropped me off at Gram and Gramp's in Linda Vista, while they took off in their brand-new, racing yellow 71 240Z to get married at Lake Tahoe. I don't remember much of that Thanksgiving, except that it was a break from 10th grade at Kearny. We attended church then--at the proud gray hall of the Linda Vista United Methodist Church.

Times change, yet the event endures...

The thing that occurs to me about Thanksgiving and other annual holidays is that they are kind of like the movie "Groundhog Day" or that new TV show, "Daybreak." The holiday recurs over and over, essentially built of the same ingrediants, yet it subtly changes over time due to the influence of every single event that has occured in our lives over the past year.

The event repeats, yet it is different. The cycle continues and yet it changes, till one day we are no longer around anymore to participate in it, yet the cycles revolve and evolve into the indefinite future...

To all who participated in my life over the past 51 Thanksgivings that I have dwelled on this Earth, I send my deepest and most heartfelt thanks. I cannot name you all, but you'll live forever in my memories.

Day Break

Last night (Saturday) my friends Donna and Tom came over and we ate some really good Vietnamese carry-out food (spring rolls, barbecued shrimp), drank wine followed by coffee and Carolans, and watched a French movie. The movie was titled "Poupées Rousses" (Russian Dolls) and was the sequel to "L'Auberge Espagnole."

The great thing about many European movies is that they concentrate on believable characters and avoid both the trite and melodramatic. The film's characters carry it, and any good story centers around its protagonist(s). The film had a rich cast of excellent actors who carried off its premise with aplomb.

Meanwhile, I also enjoyed the first episode of Daybreak last Wednesday evening. The story is a lot like Groundhog Day, but is very dark and sinister. I will be quite fascinated to follow it through to the end, which I hope won't be too contrived. That's the only problem with a program with such an artificial premise: it can only end in a few ways, and the payoff will be diminished if the ending is too unbelievable or cliché. A few of the ways Daybreak can end:
· It was all a dream.
· It was all an hallucination.
· The protagonist is dead.
· The protagonist is a character in a movie/TV show/video game and doesn't know it.
· The protagonist is bouncing among alternate, parallel universes.

If the writers can avoid the worn-out clichés mentioned above, then the payoff could be really good. I'm looking forward to following this story through.

Meanwhile, last Thursday night I gave my final presentation for the Presentation Skills class. To complete the project, I reworked my old talk on MT and Localization, to be more of a basic intro to MT. It went well, and Bonni only took off 5 points for "slow pacing." I could have argued with her about it, but one must choose one's battles wisely. Besides, Bonni rocks and I always respect her opinions.

Tonight the Chargers play Denver at 5:00, and my parents will be coming over after Mass for dinner and a movie. Tomorrow, it's back to work for moi!

Things Im Thankful for For

Things I'm Thankful for on my Birthday

Here are some things I’m thankful for, a list of my life’s positive elements. Approaching my 51st year on this small, blue orb, I’m thankful for:

• Surviving that accident from 2004. There was a time when it would have taken me an hour to feebly type this sentence with one finger.

• Related to that, my strength and health. Yes, I know the able-bodied may look askance at me, but I am happy with the way I am, the way God made me. There must be a purpose in it, and I remain ever-anxious to discover it.

• My family. My parents are still relatively young and healthy. I could not have survived and thrived without their support and love. And my step-sister Dorene and her boys, my nephews, and husband Richard.

• My friends: Harold, Donna, Marina, Tom, Bonni, Jacque, Katie, Monica, Nancy, Alicia and Tien, and so many others. You all rock!  

• My new job. Bonni came into my life from out of nowhere and has blessed me with a new start on a career as a writer.

• My creative talents. I’ve been a little negligent with them since May, but I resolve to continue my growth in that area. I refuse to hide my talents under a bushel basket!

• YOU!! My special friend, there is some purpose in why we met. I cannot fathom all its depths. We are stronger together than we are separate; that is your reality and mine, as I’ve come to experience it.

The Depths of the Stereotypical

The Depths of the Stereotypical

Last night I was watching DOOM on HBO. It's a pretty bad movie--I was surprised it received two stars. It was a pretty good recreation of the classic FPS game, and The Rock pulled through with his usual performance.

But what the film most made me think about was, why there is such a market for B-rated genre films (and books). Why do people eschew the "good" for the "bad" in fiction? I think it's partially because the "rules" of modern fiction are a 19th and 20th century fabrication. Since the era of Sigmund Freud, psychological realism has served as the foundation of any successful narrative art form.

Yet, throughout most of literary history, what we perceive as realism has not mattered to the artist or his/her audience. I'm thinking of, for example, the No plays of ancient Japan, the Greek tragedies, or the myths of Near East Semitic peoples. What matters in these works is not the struggle of everyday men and women against ordinary reality, but rather the Meta-Reality of life's purpose, the meaning of the universe, life and death.

B-movies SF and horror movies, which rely on form much more than substance, reach back into that ancient world of Heroes, Gods, and Demons. The flat characters serve as a reassuring base from which to probe life's mysteries (and miseries) without succumbing to despair. Genre fiction is the mythos of the Age of Science.  

Protection and Advocacy

Protection and Advocacy

Today I had to postpone my IHSS hearing, because PAI didn't want to take my case without Aleyda. She's on vacation till November 6. It took me a few attempts, but I finally got through the stat's tin-can-on-a-string phone system and arranged for a postponement. I sincerely hope I can solve this problem without a hearing, anyway.

Thursday night is my fourth Presentation Skills class. It should be enjoyable, for the most part. I did procrastinate and will have to do the talk outline tomorrow before heading to UCSD.

Harold has had my van all week, and I've been stuck around the house. I really need to get out more, as Donna keeps telling me. Driving is still a possibility; just got to practice and get the van modified a little.

The episode of LOST Wednesday evening was enjoyable. I liked the notion of "conning the con." It was interesting that the Others' island is actually a small island off the coast of the survivors. It reminds me of Lilliput and Blefuscu. Floating islands, anyone?

Lost Time

Lost Time

I was watching The Lake House the other night with my parents. It's a time-travel romance starring Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. There are two important facets to the story: yearning for lost time, and the essential need to rewrite history. Bullock first finds Reeves in the past, then loses him to the inescapable weavings of Fate's web, then regains him again by warning him across four years' time.

Then I just finished watching the old Twilight Zone about the guy who goes back in time and tries to prevent Lincoln's assassination (unsuccessfully). In this story, unlike the Bullock epic, we want to rewrite time but we fail. We cannot change history, Rod Serling tells us.

It's not just time we all want to rewrite, however. We have this tendency deep within our psyches to spend unimaginable amounts of emotional energy in trying to rewrite others. We hope, pray, and cajole those we care for to act in a way pleasing to us. We want to rewrite their history, as though in doing so we could rewrite our own. Really, I believe the futile attempt to change others' deep-seated behaviors, even when well intentioned, is a personal battle within ourselves to fulfill some unrequited longing.

Change yourself for the better, and you can affect others' behavior for the better. Attempt to change another person without first examining yourself, and you'll doom your effort to failure.

This I know from experience....

A Really Cool Week

A Really Cool Week

The weather has definitely turned to autumn and I love it! It's been cloudy, and we've had our first rain.

This past Sunday the Chargers routed San Francisco, and to anyone who remembers the '95 Super Bowl, this was a sweet victory. Philip Rivers was an excellent choice for a young quarterback. I only hope in two years San Diego still has a football team to root for!

My work has slowed down a bit, but this isn't bad. I am catching up on some projects that had lain fallow while I did some other things. Unbelievably, I got a letter from the county confirming a hearing on my IHSS appeal for November 2. This whole situation is so brain-dead, my mind reels from the Kafkaesque absurdity.

I also got a note from my attorneys in the other case, which (equally incredibly) looks to be going to trial in February of next year. I cannot understand why people insist on lawsuits, which are a cost to everybody. Rather sickening, the whole situation.

On the other hand, I took my van in to City Chevrolet last week and found out that I needed a new power window motor. Another $500 down the drain! But, with bad weather coming, I can't afford to get the window stuck wide open in a rainstorm. There are other things needing repairs on the van, such as serpentine belt that's starting to crack, but I can worry about that later. It's not an emergency yet.

Meanwhile, I've gotten through two of the six weeks of the presentations class at UCSD. The class is fun--as all Bonni's classes are. You can't go wrong taking a course offered by Bonni Graham. You will work--and you will learn--you'll be glad you availed yourself of the opportunity.

All the above being said, I personally believe the course could be compacted into a two-day seminar. The practice is nice, but not essential. And the textbook is full of banalities like "make sure you know your audience's goals." DUH!!

Well, that's all for tonight. I'm going to log onto WOW for a while....

LOST: The Prisoner Meets Dr. Moreau

LOST: The Prisoner Meets Dr. Moreau

I really enjoyed last week's season premiere of LOST. It had all the familiar elements, plus some new material to ponder, with the introduction of the Others' camp.

It seems that, with Sawyer and Kate in the animal cages, and Jack in the dolphin tank, the island is something of a continuing psych experiment gone bad. Remember the end of last season, where they found the pile of pneumatic tubes that had built up for years? The people watching the other hatch dwellers were really part of their own experiment. Juliette's actions with Jack were just the kind of Skinnerian behavior modification one might expect from rogue psychologists.

Then the Sawyer/bear thing. It's like they're turning him into a trained animal. And the "choice" Kate will have to make? Whether to save Jack or Sawyer--a Sophie's Choice dilemma.

Remember the circus animals and apes in The Prisoner? Remember the bizarre psych experiments Number 2 always subjected Number 6 to? I believe there are parallels here. It would be great if LOST's producers could talk Patrick McGoohan out of retirement to play Alvar Hanso!

Giving the Devil

Giving the Devil...

I watched "Mystic River" with my parents last Friday evening. I had seen it while in the hospital, but couldn't make much sense of it in my morphine-besotted brain. This time, I enjoyed the film, although it was very dark. Clint Eastwood is an excellent director, but his movies are almost Biblical in their outlook. For example, at the start of "Mystic River," a character mentions that the Sean Penn character's "sins have come home to roost." As in the Old Testament, "the sins of the father are visited upon the children."

Meanwhile, I had a quiet Fall weekend and am enjoying the cooler weather. Good riddance to summer! The Chargers lost a close game, which was a serious bummer.

Other than that, have you ever wondered about why some people can act so fake and phony? I have this one friend who seems to have the most tenuous relationship with the truth. And she makes her lies sound so sweet and innocent, you're almost bound to believe her (at first). After a long and hard summer of listening to lies, I've decided that no one can be a friend who is not true to both themselves and others. This woman is a veritable library of dissembling. It's sad, really, because this person has a lot of promise that she'll never fulfill. So many people are hell-bent for self destruction. Aha--that's almost Biblical, too!

Garbage In Garbage Out!

Garbage In, Garbage Out!

September has gained momentum and is now one more waning month. Waning also is the year. Saturday the 23rd was the first day of autumn. The days are growing visibly shorter, the sunlight ever more lacking with each fall of the golden orb into the Western Sea.

Luckily, San Diego's seasonal changes are less dramatic than those of most regions. The weather's still warm and sunny.

I have started my latest battle with Medi-Cal. The program's annual "redermination" has proceeded to bollix me up. As happens nearly every year, I have had to file an appeal in order to keep my health benefits in tact. The state seems determined to punish honest, working people with disabilities. Even though they are not supposed to count my SSDI income among my resources, the genius social worker in charge of my case went ahead and did so. This would give me a share of cost on IHSS (In Home Supportive Services) of $380 per month. In other words, they want to force me to pay nearly all of Harold's wages.

When I argued with the social worker about what he'd done, he got defensive and replied "We have a new computer system and all I do is put in the numbers." When I recited the formulas he's supposed to use, he blamed the computer. I slammed the phone down after telling him "a computer is only as good as its operator."

Well, back to playing EQ or WOW for a while.

Arminius Returneth

Arminius Returneth

Well, today I had some free time and logged into EverQuest, my old stomping grounds. It was great to see all my guild buddies and especially Salelann, my friend who's taken such good care of "Arm" in my absence.

I got to explore the new zones a bit, but then typical of SOE, the game server crashed and dumped me out to Windows. After seven years of playing, it's good to see some things never change!!

More later... Or, WOW, here I come!

David

Go Chargers

Go, Chargers!

Last night's Chargers-Raiders game was sweet for all of us fans in San Diego. The Chargers rolled over the Raiders, 27-0. Phillip Rivers looked ready to go as the new starting QB. Now, let's see what the team can do next week!

Everything else is rolling along well for me. I've been working hard, and reaping some of the benefits of that.

Also, I finished watching all the episodes of ROME on DVD I bought a few weeks ago.  The series is superb, and I can't wait for the new season! Don't forget, LOST will be starting in a few weeks. And a new AMAZING RACE starts Sunday!

The weather's been great; you can "sort of" feel autumn in the air, as we think of it in Southern California.

Worst Episode Ever

Worst Episode, Ever!

So, Joe and I are big Deadwood fans--that's the very dark western that's been running on HBO for the past three seasons. After a rather long and slow build-up, we had great expectations for the series finale.

Well, I sat through the final episode and all I can say is, "What a crock!" Got to be one of the worst episodes, and worst series finales, in the history of TV. It was as though the writers set out to give the audience a big "middle finger."

Let us count the sins:"

1. Hurst got off Scott-free after a season and a half of sociopath behavior, including ordering the murders of half-a-dozen characters.


2. This whole season, Swearengen has been coming off as rather an honorable and likeable criminal. He started out as the show's villain, before Hurst showed up. In the final episode, he slits the throat of an "innocent" prostitute in his employ in order to keep Hurst from murdering Trixie, the whore who shot Hurst. Why build Swearengen up to be a "good guy" and then knock him back down at the end? Why did he and the others choose to cop out of the battle with Hurst?


3. Bullock was oddly taken out of a couple of the last episodes to "campaign for sheriff." Why? Clearly the hands of the authors were visible in this machination, to keep Bullock out of the way for other action.


4. The widow sold her claim to Hurst in order to be able to stay in town, then left at the end, right behind Hurst's stagecoach! Both her husbands died in vain.


5. The Earp brothers appeared in the last third of the season for a couple of episodes, giving hope that they might stick around to battle Hurst. No way the writers could have conceived of that, I guess. Instead, the Earp boys just uselessly disappeared after Bullock told them to leave town.


6. There's more, but that basically runs the gamut of the important stuff.

On other fronts, not much new to report. I finished the Project Management class and got an A. Next up, Presentation Skills for Technical Communicators in about a month. On other projects for ML, I've been quite busy. Which is great! I'll never get back to Europe without money!

The weather here has been quite pleasant. Low 80s at the worst. A great Early Autumn preview.

More ruminations later....

David

Apropos Mon Secret

Apropos Mon Secret

J'écris en français parce que aucun de mes amis ne connaît pas cette langue langoureuse qui exprime si bien les bouleversements de l'esprit. Ni mes amis, ni ma famille ne sachent les douleurs de mon existence.

Donc, voilà un ancien poème de Verlaine qui dit tout sur le sujet:

Il pleure dans mon coeur . . . "
II pleut doucement sur la ville.Arthur Rimbaud
Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville,
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon coeur?

O bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits!
Pour un coeur qui s'ennuie
O le chant de la pluie!

Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s'écoeure.
Quoi! nulle trahison?
Ce deuil est sans raison.

C'est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi,
Sans amour et sans haine,
Mon coeur a tant de peine!

From Romances sans paroles (1874

Saturday Fun

Saturday Fun

This morning I got up early (for me) and went to the ML meeting at Starbucks. It was a productive meeting, overall. What I really like about the group is that everyone is friendly and on the ball. No slacking; no BS. And Bonni's a great supervisor/owner. I wouldn't be where I am today without her!

After the meeting, I came home and took a nap after I ate a late breakfast. Harold and I hung out for a while and we watched TV. Nothing on, really, Saturdays. Despite all the channels!

Then around 6:30 my parents came over and brought KFC. We ate their yummy coleslaw and mashed potatoes. And the chicken isn't bad, either! Then we watched the remake of Fun with Dick and Jane on DVD. It starred Jim Carrey and was much better than I expected.

Tomorrow morning I'll work on my current project until my parents pick me up for church and dinner. Deadwood is on tomorrow night! Pretty much the highlight of the TV week for the summer. I can't wait till Rome starts again, too.

David's Day at the Dentist

David's Day at the Dentist

I thought Id tell you about my day at the dentists.  I'll try not to bore you!

I went to the dentist today, because part of a crown broke off in my mouth on Monday. That morning, I was eating an English muffin with peanut butter. Suddenly... CRUCH!!! I thought, well thats odd--this is supposed to be Creamy Jiff! Then I spit out the food (how appetizing, I know) and saw little white and silver bits. Yikes! Luckily on Monday, there was no pain....

Well, I got into the office this morning, and the doctor started working on me right away; that was the good news. The bad news? Not only did I need a new crown, but a root canal to boot! Two hours and $1740 later, Im out the door with a numb mouth and a charged up credit card.

As soon as the numbness wears off, Im using up my last Roxycodone and taking a ride on the Rush Limbaugh Express.

Q: What's more painful than a root canal?
A: Paying for it!

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.