All Hallows Eve

All Hallows Eve

Tonight is Halloween--the ancient Celtic rituals subsumed in commercial form. Kids have been ringing my doorbell since about 6:00 PM, but I play the cranky old man and don't answer. I don't mind Halloween, but I do mind opening the door a thousand times a night.

The Toothless Old Hag, a.k.a. "Granny," has been answering the door to her apartment across the sidewalk from mine. She seems quite happy to see the children dressed up like ghouls and superheroes. After chatting up the little tykes and their parents, she tells them, "I'm sorry, but I'll have to take a rain check on that." Now it's pretty quiet. Perhaps Granny has an oven full of little Hansels and Gretels already. Gingerbread anyone?

Yesterday, Granny was dressed in a revealingly short, baby-blue sundress. Her bleached-blonde follicles were topped by a pointy witch's hat. This sight was rendered all the more enjoyable by the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth in the kind of snarl worthy of Dead Elvis on the can.

Horror movies are the staple on cable for the week. Last night I watched Rob Zombie's House of 1000 Corpses. I was surprised that I found it entertaining. The film was set in 1977, the era of classic slasher-dismemberer films like 10,000 Maniacs. What is it about country bumpkins, evil clowns, dark woods and bloody axes that enthralls the public so? "You think we country folk are just stupid, dontcha?" yells the crazed clown at the beginning of the movie.

Further evidence of the link between horror and the extreme right can be found in the following recent article:

http://news.independent.co.uk/world/americas/article323450.ece

An interesting quotation:

Things started getting particularly gruesome, in a Hammer horror sort of way, in the abortion scene, when cold, heartless doctor characters used an outsize pair of tweezers to pull unidentified bloody animal parts out from between a teenage girl's legs. (This trick, incidentally, is straight out of Keenan Roberts' outreach kit.) Having extracted the foetus - "America's version of the Holocaust," the devil narrators tell us - the doctors then manage to let the girl die too, through inattention. They act like it's just another day at the office.

I believe it's Red State angst, the paranoia of the damned, that haunts these shows. The gothic, guilty, weeping heart of Reverend Dimmsdale still beats in the breast of every Pat Robertson and James Dobson. When you look at them practically foaming at the mouth on the daily cable news programs, you realize they are only one moment of enlightened insanity away from sodomizing Burt Reynolds and a boatful of kayakers in the back woods of Deliverance.

Tonight, the new version of Dawn of the Dead is on cable. Zombies, Rob or otherwise, are always a heap-big pile of undead fun-o-rama.

Horror for Christ

Horror for Christ

"The horror! The horror!" -- Colonel Kurtz

The other day on the Web I came across the following Newsweek story:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9785289/site/newsweek/

It seems Anne Rice has found--gasp--GOD! As she states in the article: "I promised that from now on I would write only for the Lord." Now, I'm all in favor of people pursuing and finding their own deity. If Ms. Rice is happy with her choice--great. But what's next? Stephen King the televangelist? Will the next conference of the Horror Writers Association have to open with a prayer breakfast?

Life is starting to seem like Night of the Living Dead, with Jesus Freaks as zombies. "They're coming to get you, Barbara!"

Remember the Simpsons?

Bart: "Dad, you shot the zombie Flanders!"
Homer: "He was a zombie?"

Some Thoughts on Writing

Some Thoughts on Writing

I attended the third class of the nine-week technical communications class on Tuesday night. I had a pretty good time with it. Bonni is an excellent lecturer. We discussed our VARK scores, and mine came out leaning towards read/write and visual. You can take the test yourself at www.vark-learn.com.

The lesson was on the writing process, and Bonni introduced us to the concept of personas. Personas are personalities the writer invents that, in the case of tech writing, should be representative of the target audience or users.

It's been fun to see the congruence between tech writing and fiction writing. The personas are a type of character. I won some points in the class by bringing up Judy's technique of "interviewing" your personas to get to know them. That's a novelist's technique, but it certainly can be used in the non-fiction realm.

Another characteristic of writing that Nancy used to bring up is that "People like to read about people." As Bonni says, "Everyone is the hero in his or her own story." Even some form as bland as technical writing still is about people--people act on things, not the other way around.

Tomorrow, I'm going to the zoo in the morning and then Jan will come visit in the afternoon. My parents will be visiting that night. Harold will be over, as usual.

By the way, I got my van back! It looks great--I just need to get it Teflon-coated before winter hits. We had a fair amount of rain this week, which I enjoyed immensely, but it does mess a car up!

A Conspiracy of Dunces

A Conspiracy of Dunces

It looks like I was not the only one to notice the correlation between terror alerts and crises within the administration. Just check out this article by Keith Olbermann of MSNBC: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6210240/ .

On Tuesday night I went to my second Technical Communications class. I had a good time, even though the topic--basic grammar--was a little (OK a lot!) beneath my educational level and disposition. I congratulated Bonni on making it interesting enough that I didn't walk out at the half. Now I need to force myself to do the homework and find a topic and genre for my final project.

Today the weather continues the Santa Ana season. It's 94 at Miramar right now. And the damn Air Show ("America's favorite waste of taxpayer money" according to the Simpsons) will rock the house this weekend.

My parents will not be over tonight; they are attending a play at the La Jolla Playhouse.

A Series of Unfortunate Coincidences

Doesn't it seem strange that, just about the time Karl Rove's fecal matter is about to splatter against rotating blades, there come a series of suspicious "terror attack" warnings? First, the New York subway scare, then the Washington Monument, and a Coke can in another city's subway station. Could the bomb threats be emanating from Rove's office, like the outing of Valerie Plame?

Rove's the master of dirty tricks in the most corrupt, secretive and paranoid administration in history. They are arguably the most incompetent as well, but that's another subject. If Rove could make up lies to assassinate the character of John McCain, it's not a great leap of the imagination to envision him stirring up trouble to keep his name off Page 1. Last night, for example, the Rove story had descended to third place in the CBS Evening News.

How convenient!

The Hatch, the Button and the Cage

This week's episode of LOST continued the plot developments of the first two weeks. The main premise seems to be the metaphysical connection to the outside world. Locke expects Jack to make a "leap of faith" and press the button. Desmond has been stuck on the island for years, afraid the whole thing is a mind game, but also afraid to abandon his post and not "save the world." Like all of us, the LOST characters must decide for themselves if the universe has reason--if our lives have reason--or if it's all a random sequence of numbers (or worse yet, the arbitrary machinations of a perverse and manipulative deity).

What is the island? Is it even an island? Again, the references to The Prisoner abound. The whole concept of subjecting people to mind games was a major theme of The Prisoner, in which Number 6 was tested on a weekly basis.

Many fans theorize the island could be a Dyson sphere. The geodesic dome also hints at that. However, if that's the case, how did the Black Rock come ashore? Plus, the guy in Australia, Toomey, along with the crazy patient in the asylum, had heard the numbers broadcast while they were at a Navy listening post in the South Pacific. It doesn't seem likely they were receiving radio waves from space.

About Last Night...

Last night I went to my first class for Technical Communication I. It's taught on Tuesday nights at UCSD Extension from 6:30-9:30. I must admit I attended the class with a degree of trepidation, as the previous course I took, Document Design, finished by being rather a washout.

To my pleasant surprise, the class was actually fun! Bonnie Graham, the instructor, is clearly a writer--she has an ironic sense of humor and talks a mile a minute. She doesn't waste time, and keeps things on track. In fact, she kept the beats of the session rolling so efficiently we wrapped up the night at 8:45. I didn't even have time to open my snack! (Coffee was still vital, however.)

Quite a bit of the class is available online, including quizzes. Assignments can also be turned in via the Internet. It seems UCSD is moving more in the direction of online learning, which makes sense especially for professional-development classes, which are frequently attended by folks who work during the day and don't have a lot of time to spare. Plus, with today's gas prices, who wants to spend more time in traffic?

The textbook, I have to say, is a yawner. It's pleasantly enough written, but why does this subject have to be rendered in lifeless hues? And I think the author put it at about 10th grade reading level, which might be great for engineers, but appears condescending to the literati among us.

It was good to see a few people from the document design course in the class, also. So, we shall all suffer, or succeed, together. And there were only 12 students in the class, which made it nice and congenial. The document design course, by contrast, was way overcrowded.

Even the Dead Shall Marry

Even the Dead Shall Marry

Last Saturday night I went to see Tim Burton's Corpse Bride at the local Regal Entertainment Theater. I thoroughly enjoyed the film, which was whimsical, satirical and fun. Not often can one place those adjectives in conjunction with the words "corpse" and "bride." I suspect those working in statistical NLP wouldn’t know what to do with such an unlikely set of n-grams.

Friday evening, I went to Dead Lobster with my friends, Donna, Marina and Thomas. We had a great time, ate lots of "shrimps" and I managed to get a buzz off of ½ a Long Island Iced Tea.

Monday night from 8:30 till about midnight I spent my time at the UCSD Library looking up references in the LA Times indexes for the 1970s for the so-called "Trash-Bag Murders." I did this work for a writer who lives in Oregon who is a friend of Nancy. The research will go into a Court TV episode. I normally don't care for the sensationalistic Court TV programming, but I will make an exception when that episode is aired. I hope to do more work for the same author on future projects. It feels good to make $20 an hour!

Friday cometh my hearing downtown. I have still gotten dunning notices from Dr. T. and Gentiva Scarecentrix, so I am sending them certified mail, return receipt requested, with my official notice (they should have already received notice from the court). If they persist in billing me, I can take THEM to court and recover attorney's fees and damages.

The Supremacy of the Banal

Last night my parents came over and we watched "The Pacifier," a formulaic Disney comedy starring Vin Diesel. It wasn't as bad as I might have expected--there's a certain warm, fuzzy comfort to mediocrity. Banality is what makes the world go 'round. Those who pop up too high get smashed; those who sink too low get run over. In the boring middle is where a person can be safe, at least for a while. Artistically, too.

Today, I got up late and didn't really accomplish anything, unless paying bills online is an accomplishment. Tomorrow evening I'll go to Mass with my parents, and maybe dinner. It'll be the last time I see them till they return from their Fall Foliage Cruise up the Eastern Seabord.

I saw Dr. Landers last Thursday. Nothing new in the visit, except he promised to look into some medications to help me retain what bone density I still have.

Working on my novel has its ups and downs. Earlier in the week, I wrote a really solid new first chapter, which starts off in medias res, yet gives a clear overview of what's at stake. Now, I need to get a-plottin'. I can no longer avoid the endless void into which my characters leap off around the end of Chapter 6. I'm at just under 20,000 words right now (around 85 pages)--my goal is to have some reasonable draft finished by the time the San Diego State Writing Conference starts in January.

I'm considering purchasing Power Structure to give me a boost in the productivity department. The $140 cost, however, giveth me pause.

Weatherwise, it's perfect these days. Autumn is in the air. It's crisper, and the nights are cooler and more comfortable than they were during the summer. Yay!

Shame on the Blame-Game Namers

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The End of Summer

This past weekend, I spent more than the usual amount of time with my parents. Friday evening, they came over and we watched an entertaining little comedy, "Good Company." It started Dennis Quaid as a middle-aged ad executive who gets a boss have his age when his company is acquired by a Rupert Murdoch-like media mogul. Entertaining--not profound--yet it kept me laughing.

Saturday evening we attended the 5:00 PM mass at Saint Gregory. This was the parish's 20th anniversary, so there was due attention paid to the saint himself. The deacon read an excerpt from a homily of the St. Gregory, which extolled the virtues of not being owned by the things we own. A point still relevant today.

Sunday night we attended the final concert of the Summer Pops. They moved the location from where it used to be: it's now down by the embarcadero park between the Convention Center and the bay. They used to hold the concerts at Navy Pier, which is now home to the Midway Museum.

The nice thing about the new venue is that it's all on the grass. Un concert sur l'herbe. And the view of downtown was spectacular, as the sun set and the skyscrapers lit up. Seeing that view truly reminded me of the blessings of living in this city. Yes, it's obscenely expensive to dwell here--but the finest things in life are expensive (one way or another, not necessarily monetarily) and well worth the price. I felt a tug of remorse, enjoying myself on the balmy September evening, listening to Tchaikovsky's "Variations on a Rococo Theme" while the citizens of New Orleans fled their ruined city.

Then I snapped out of it!

Not All Gloom and Doom!

Not All Gloom and Doom!

I just installed the new Blogger for Word toolbar and am trying it out. At last, an answer to my prayers for something less clunky than the Blogger interface! And, I hope, no more lost posts due to Internet connection problems.

On to my news. Went and saw Ray Schimmel yesterday and got my case rolling. The 5,000 fingers of Dr. T will no longer be able to reach out and grab me! Also Cigna, Gentiva Carecentrix, CIO Collections, Tia Marie Hollowood and a few others.

The weather here has cooled a bit. Ray's office is by the beach near Morena Blvd. Wonderful ocean breeze wafts through the open corridors and courtyards of his building.

OK, let's see if this thing's a-workin'!

Freedom is Untidy

Remember back when the US first liberated Iraq, and Donal Rumsfeld commented on the looting images flowing back from Baghdad? In case you don't remember, here is what Rummy said: "Freedom’s untidy, and free people are free to make mistakes and commit crimes and do bad things."

Well, now New Orleans looks like something from a John Carpenter movie. Rioting, looting, "armed gangs patrolling the streets." But the right-wingers are not at all happy about these looters. Marshall law has been declared. But, does anyone else besides me wonder about the "looting guns from stores" aspect of this? Could it be that stockpiling lethal weapons and selling them like donuts at a bake sale isn't the wisest policy to pursue?

This country is falling apart. All the loose nuts and bolts are now rolling willy-nilly over the national floorboards. We have a president who is so bad even Pat Buchanan is calling for his impeachment. We have loony religious right leaders proclaiming Christian fatwas against foreign leaders. We have a raging counter-insurgency war roiling the Middle East and costing our national treasury upwards of $300 billion. Meanwhile, gasoline is headed to $4.00 a gallon and the airlines are going broke.

Face it, folks: The wheels have come off and our national Hummer is rolling on bare axels into the roadside ditch of history.

A Fine Day for a Visit

Today, Jan came over for lunch. We had Mimi's excellent food. I had the chicken pot pie, which tastes darn close to homemade.

Tomorrow, I head over to Ray Schimmel's office to get my bankruptcy case started again. No fun, but it's got to be done!

The Wrath of God

So, what is it about the Red States of the South, anyway? Fundamentalists are always warning us that God will bring down a horrible vengeance upon places where sin runs rampant. Pat Robertson warned Miami they might face hurricanes, floods or "possibly a meteor" if they held a gay rights parade in the city. Some warned that those lustful, hedonistic European tourists brought the tsunami on their own heads last year, or that the 911 attack was a punishment of the United States for its godless ways (you know, crack, aborted fetuses in dumpsters, gay marriage, that kind of stuff).

Yet... Why is it that God visits his wrath most often on the denizens of the red states? Tornadoes, hurricanes, floods--every year Ma and Pa Kettle get driven from their trailor by some weather event or another. If God were punishing sinners, why did He steer the hurricane away from New Orleans and its famous Burbon Street to the peaceful hamlets of Alabama? Doesn't make a lot of sense to me!

Maybe God just has a grudge against trucks on blocks in the front yard, or bad Kincade lighthouse paintings.

Afghanistan the Beautiful

Suppose Judge Roy Moore had been born in Afghanistan? No doubt he'd be decrying the moral collapse of the Califate! Taking a litle liberty with Moore's poem, I created the Afghan version.

Afghanistan the Beautiful

-- A Poem by Mullah Royolla Omoor

Afghanistan the Beautiful,

or so you used to be.

Land of the Taliban's pride;

I'm glad they'll never see.

Women dating men,

Un-burqua'd on demand,

Oh, sweet land of Terrorism;

your mosque is on the sand.

Our children wander aimlessly

flaunting Allah's rules for boys

poisoned by kite flying,

Choosing to play with toys.

In Hindu Kush and Kandahar,

From teaching love of camels

our Nation turns away,

Watching television with rebels.

We've knocked Buddha out of Banyan,

yet how indolent we've grown.

When Christians, Jews and infidels

smoke the opium we've sewn.

We've voted in a government

and appointed Godless Judges

who forget to forbid sundaes

and the eating of hot fudges!

Too soft to bury an adulterer

up to her neck in mud,

yet soft enough to buy a CD

of the Rolling Stones or Bee Gees.

You think that Allah's not angry,

that our land's a moral slum?

How much longer must we wait

before slicing off more thumbs?

How are we to face Osama,

whom Americans cannot find?

What then is left for us to do,

but flog an infidel's behind?

If we the chosen few,

can humbly return and spill

The blood of every foreigner

and make them cry most shrill

Then Osama will hear from Pakistan

and impose Sharia law.

One and all must face the lash

Except oilmen with sufficient cash

But, Afghanistan the Beautiful,

if you don't - then you will see,

A sad Mullah Omar

withdraw His scimitar from Thee.

Roy Moore's Inverse Beatitudes

Last week, my parents forwarded to me a "poem" by Judge Roy Moore. He is the Alabama judge who illegally posted a statue to the 10 Commandments at his courthouse. Then he whined when he was forced to remove the statue, and he eventually resigned over the issue.

I say, good for ex-judge Moore for engaging in civil disobedience. It's our right as Americans to disengage ourselves from public acts of conformity to a society with which we find ourselves morally disaffected. Having engaged in civil disobedience, however, does not negate an individual's obligation to suffer the consequences of his or her actions.

On the other hand... The poem itself is a vile, hate-filled diatribe by a man who evidently thinks being Christian stops with "Biblical" law. The problem with people who support the display of the 10 Commandments in buildings owned by the public is that they are implying a governmental endorsement of religion. Specifically, they prefer the fundamentalist Christianity embraced by a certain portion of the population in the more southerly latitudes of this country to the religious tenets of everyone else.

The 10-Commandmenteers rely upon two arguments to justify their positions. One is that the US government was founded upon Christianity. The 10 Commandments, they argue, are the "basis for our laws." Yet, the Constitution nowhere mentions God or the Christian religion. Ample evidence can be discovered in the writings of Adams, Jefferson and others that they deliberately framed the constitution to avoid a government-religion bond. The laws of the United States are based on two sources: Anglo-Saxon Common Law (dating back to the 4th-7th centuries, when the English were pagans) and Roman law (already well established before Constantine imposed official Christianity upon the Empire). To post the 10 Commandments in government buildings implies a connection between Christianity and law that does not, and has never, existed.

"The Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion" states Article 11 of a late-1700s treaty between the US and the Barbary kingoms that was signed unanimously by Congress and the president of the time (a Founding Father). Jefferson wrote in reference to the Virginia Act of Religious Freedom that its protection covered "the Jew and the Gentile, the Christian and Mohammedan, the Hindoo and infidel of every denomination." The writers of the Act specifically removed from it any reference to Jesus Christ. Quite a tolerant position to take, considering that people were still being tortured and killed in Europe for heresy in the 18th century.

Failing the test of the descent of law, the fundamentalists like Moore fall back upon the idea that having religious monuments is constitutional as a matter of religious freedom. Since Congress is prohibited from making ANY law establishing religion, all religions are welcome in the public space. But, imagine if this idea were carried out! What would Moore, Fallwell, Robertson, et al. say about a Moslem judge's posting of the Koran? Heaven forbid a Wiccan might plant a tree in her courtroom, or a Buddhist post the "Tenfold Path" before his bench! These people are not looking for freedom of religion. If this were truly the issue, then one would expect to see Moslems and Buddhists arguing for display of their sacred symbols in government buildings.

What kind of world does ex-judge Moore seek to bring about? What form of government? Do we need an American Taliban to tell us right from wrong? The issue most sacred to him, judging by its prominence in the "poem," is capital punishment. But, what about sincere Christians who believe capital punishment to be immoral? His Commandments monument clearly seeks to establish a religious sect (or sects) above others. In placing the monument in a courthouse,
he is giving tacit official endorsement to the notion that capital punishment is ethical, in contradiction to Christians and non-believers who may believe otherwise, and be able to quote chapter and verse in favor of their beliefs. Likewise with abortion and homosexuality. Many Christians believe abortion and homosexual acts are a sin. But clearly at this time abortion is the law of the land, and homosexuality is tolerated to one degree or another by people of all faiths. If an Anglican gay bishop had to appear in Moore's court, how impartially could he expect the judge to treat him, given that imposing granite monument in the courthouse? Why is ex-judge Moore's version of Christianity better than everyone else's?

"God's law is higher than man's law," Moore's poem goes to great pains to prove. This is the argument of all fundamelists and extremists from Eric Rudolph to Timothy McVeigh and Mohammed Atta. The United States is a country composed of people of a multitude of faiths,
or none at all. Its constitution and laws do not endorse any religion, or none, but rather leave the people free to choose their own paths to enlightenment. That always has been the way in this country, and it should continue to be so.

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--

This past week has witnessed some positive events unfold in my life:

Last Wednesday evening I attended the last session of the document design course. My presentation on what I did to improve the bronchiectasis pamphlet was well-received by the class in general and Steve, the instructor, in particular. The class ran long--very long. We went non-stop from 6:30-10:00 without a break. People didn't manage their presentations well. It took an hour to get through the first four--out of a 20-person class! Some folks had done nice work, but didn't know a bloody thing about how to find files in Windows. Some had no clue about how to use PowerPoint; since knowledge of Windows was one of the prerequisites for the course, I found myself wondering how these students got in and how they managed to put their presentations together. It did occur to me to suspect some of the work as canned--perhaps things people brought from their companies.

Anyhow, I was fourth-from last in the presentations, meaning I started mine at precisely 9:25 (class was supposed to be over at 9:30). I was also the fourth student to have selected bronchiectasis as my project, putting me at a distinct disadvantage, since by the time it was my turn to speak, I was well aware that people had had their fill of the topic. There's only so much one can do with a lung-disease brochure!

Luckily, I came prepared. Two things I learned in my teaching days were to overprepare and to include humor intimately within my work. The plan worked flawlessly! I had 'em rolling in the aisles. Even Steve cracked a smile or two. The humor relieved the drudgery of the topic. I assume--though I have not yet received my grade, that I got an "A."

Friday, Harold came over at noon and we made a trip to Caliber, the body shop that had worked on my van last year. I had girded myself for battle--but was pleasantly surprised when the service writer said "No problem" to my demands. I am going to have a guy come and fix my steering column and emergency brake lever this week, and they are going to bill Farmers to purchase the 12-inch steering wheel I need to drive. Also, they will pay for the $121 I spent at City Chevrolet to fix the headlight ground wire on the driver's side.

Then, Harold and I went shoe shopping. I have not worn a fitting pair of shoes since the accident. My foot was too swollen and the arch too high to fit into my 7-year-old Nordstrom's Spanish leather dress shoes. I had been wearing--occasionally--these horrible, white size 10 nursing shoes that Joe had bought for me last Fall when I first started getting out of bed.

The thing is, I wear an odd-sized shoe--size 7 WIDE. Very wide indeed, since the bone-crushing accident last May. We happened to be at the old Mira Mesa Mall already, so we went into the Shoe Pavilion within the mall. I did find a pair of 6 1/2 wide Keds that fit, but they were a horrible chocolate brown color with a bright-orange stripe down the sides. YUCK!

So, then we drove to UTC to try all the shoe stores there (I think they have about 10). Nothing fit. A lot of the shoes--even the athletic ones--were too damn heavy. I felt like I had the mafia-style cement overshoes strapped to my feet. Finally, in desperation, I entered the plush halls of Nordstrom's, the place I had bought my last decent pair of shoes. At least their sales staff seems happy to see you, treats you courteously and tries hard to find something that works.

The salesman, Gabriel, was very friendly and helpful. I'm sure my type of customer--disabled with an obvious foot deformity, is not his favorite--but he never let it show in his dimeanor. He even talked me into a pair of Mephisto black-leather shoes worth $360. He convinced me that I could take them immediately, wear them for the weekend and then return them if dissatisfied. One of Nordstrom's great qualities is their no-questions-asked return policy.

Having taken the shoes home, I decided to keep them on all night, until retiring to bed. When I did remove them, Lo and behold! A miracle! My "fat foot" was thin! It seemed the Nordstrom's shoe had flattened my high arch and squeeze the excess fluid from the foot so that it looked almost normal!

"Let's try your old shoes," Harold said. I did, and they fit too! Only a modest amount of shoe-horn wrangling was necessary. Therefore, on Saturday we returned to N's and I got a refund on my $360 (plus tax). On my roommate's suggestion, we proceeded back to the Mira Mesa Mall and tried Marshall's. And....

Eureka! I found a very light pair of Chinese-slave-labor-made Nike knock-offs for $21.5o! They fit great, feel like nothing on my feet and are something I can wear comfortably all day long. I am therefore going to take my dress shoes into the cobbler's and get them polished up for those "Sunday go to meetin' days."

The greatest miracle is that a lot of the problems I was having with leaning from side to side, such as using the lift to get into my van, have been pretty much solved. I have not needed help getting into the van since putting shoes back on my feet.

In your face, evil Dr. T! You implied that balance wasn't important for me since I don't walk. WRONG!! Get your arrogant arse back to medical school and put your mind to use. People with muscle weakness like me are NOT the same as quadriplegics with no feeling in their legs. I DO use my legs and need them to help support my body--even in the wheelchair! Not to mention driving, and planting my well-clad foot up some MD's ample backside!

Whew, 'nuff journaling for today, me thinks. Off to church and dinner for my mom's b-day at 4:00.

Virgo, Gladiator et Imperator

I watched the final episode of Empire last night on ABC. Not a bad show at all. At least it was something different from the usual summer fluff.

A few things about the series caught my eye. Why is it that Romans always speak with British accents? And the nobler the patrician, the more upper-crust his dropping of R's? Second, the final battle between Octavius' and Antony's forces took place in the middle of a forest. Antony's forces did not get into formation and use their shields to protect themselves, in the testudo tactic. Instead, both sides charged pell mell into the fray. A soldier was seen shouting "Hold the line!" but there was no line to be held. I suspect two reasons for this undisicplined, un-Roman battle. First, this is a low-budget TV production, and the ubiquitous trees allowed some camera tricks to conceal the paltry amount of extras. Then, there is obvious homage to the forest-fighting scene at the opening of Riddly Scott's Gladiator. The same goes for the jerky, hand-held camera movements during fight scenese. These guys should send Riddly a check!

Other than that, the program had fairly well-developed characters and moved along smoothly. The ill-fated affair between Camane, the Vestal virgin, and Octavius, the future emperor, worked out as forshadowed. Neither character could shirk his or her duty, just as the ex-gladiator Tyrannus could not lay aside his final promise to the dying Ceasar.

In other happenings, tonight is the second-to-last Document Design class. I need to hit the course catalog and figure out what I want to enroll in next.

Finally, Donna Frye won the mayoral election yesterday! But, the evil Republican cabal that runs this town managed to dilute the race with enough of their own candidates that she did not win a 51% majority. So, we'll have a run-off election in November!

Go, Donna!

A Busy Few Weeks

The last few weeks have been busier than usual for me, mostly because the document design class is in high gear. The instructor demands a lot of reading, which is all right--some of it is truly interesting!

This past Wednesday, I got the results back on the exam that was meted out the week before. I scored 105 out of 100 (thanks to a bonus question). Nice to know my brain still works, after all I've put it through in the last year and a half!

This week I've been working on my final project, which will amount to 50% of the final grade. I've been at somewhat of a disadvantage in that I am currently not working for a company. So, I chose one of the suggested topics, which was to take and improve a handout on bronchiectasis that was written (very wordily) by a pulmonologist friend of the instructor. I decided to format the handout as a brochure via MS Publisher. Of course, everything reaches a certain unexpected level of complication.

First, I had to reinstall Publisher. Since Laurie still hasn't given me the Pub 2003 serial number back, I have had to make do with Publisher 2000. Then, I had to find a PostScript printer driver for HP (my InkJet is not a PS printer) and install it. Then I had to find and install Ghostgum and Ghostscript. After saving my .Pub files as PS files, I had trouble with the PS drivers and had to reinstall. The first ones I had were for LaserJet, but those are black and white only. So I had to find and install color LaserJet drivers.... Sheesh.

Anyway, now I've forwarded the brochure on to my friends, who will have to stand in as "users" for this round. I will also send the item to Sue Warner, the nurse for Dr. Landers, to get a real pulmonologist's opinion.

This has put a stall to my creative writing, but I should be able to get back to it tomorrow. Once I get people's feedback, I can finish this silly little project.

One other thing. I have been working with Sheila Johnson, my DR counselor, to get the shift-lever fixed on my van. She told me last week she would have to check with her supervisor about it, as "this is not really related to the repairs we did to your van." Like hell it isn't! I didn't hear from her after her meeting with her boss on Friday, so I will have to contact her on Monday.