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.