Wednesday, December 31, 2008
This is what is called "pilling on"
Even though it's been noted almost everywhere on the internet, I had to say something.Turns out Microsoft's Zune 30GB digital media player shuts down for New Year's Eve. But only during leap years.
No, I am not kidding.
No "social" for you, Zune 30 owners.
That just... awesome.
One day left
Only one day left in 2008. Less than one day, actually - just over 17 hours, as I type this.I'll have a post in the next day or two about all the movies I've seen this year. I'm still pulling it together.
I have also been working on a long post (that keeps getting longer) about what "evidence of god" would look like. I think anyone who reads my blog will understand why that particular post just won't seem to stop.
But I haven't had any shorter ideas for posts lately. I really liked the birthday series because I wrote those up in advance, all in one go, and didn't have to worry about posting on a daily basis for a week and a half. I think I'll do more of that in the future - picking a topic and writing a series of articles on it.
2008 was, in some private ways, a very stressful year for me. But it had many positives, too. Maybe before the end of the day I'll have a recap of some of the positives.
Or maybe not.
Happy New Year's Eve!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
"The Spirit"
So I did it. I gave in and saw Frank Miller's "The Spirit".The dialogue was atrocious, awkward and did little to set up, or even explain, let alone advance, the plot.
The visual style was overdone.
Samuel L. Jackson's Octopus was horrible.
Gabriel Macht's The Spirit/Denny Colt was boring.
Not nearly enough of Scarlett Johanssen's cleavage. She does give very arch line readings, though.
The other women were OK, here and there, hit and miss. But the unexplained lust the women had for The Spirit just came off as bad as porn movie writing.
However! Eva Mendes' ass was, all by herself, worth the price of admission and justified the entire movie. Seriously. Magnificent. Whether it was clothed or (for a few glorious seconds) naked, seriously, that woman's hindquarters are worthy of being considered high art. Words fail. No, really. Just... whoa.
I'm responding on a primitive, pre-language level here (which doesn't work so well with blogging, but, evs). Eva...
Labels: movies
Monday, December 29, 2008
Is this wrong?
The reviews of Frank Miller's "The Spirt" keep coming in.And they keep on piling on the negatives. In just one weekend, it's achieved a 16% at Rotten Tomatoes (as of this posting - the score may go down even lower once people get back to work today and surf).
But when I read things like this sentence (from The Onion's A.V. Club review):
"As a babe-delivery system, The Spirit is a rousing success."...I realize that that, alone, could be enough to put my butt in a seat, even when the very next sentence is:
"In every other sense, it’s a pronounced failure."Maybe this helps to explain why I've seen so many damned movies.
Labels: movies
Movie fanatic
Hat tip to Dale at Faith in Honest Doubt for finding the No Life Movie Quiz. I notice, however, that Dale only posted his score (87) and not the actual list of movies he's seen. He "beat" the number that apparently defines someone as having no life by two (said number having been set by the original author of the list). Dale does regret having seen some of those, it must be said.And as sympathetic as I am to Dale's pangs of remorse, since I have seen 99 of the movies on that list, and since I'm a self-described movie fanatic, I take my score more as a badge of honor. I'm of the school that can find value in nearly any movie. Sure, some of the flicks on the following list could have been better (in some cases, much, much better), someone, somewhere, was proud of it and in nearly all cases, many people worked hard to produce and distribute it.
Of course, not all of the movies on my "seen" list were ones I actually paid money to see. That, however, does not color my opinion after I've seen it; it only indicates my feelings of its worth prior to viewing.
As a side note, I could find no rhyme or reason to the grouping of movies on the list. What do "Blazing Saddles", "The Never-ending Story", and "Universal Soldier" have in common, for instance? And each section is variable in length - what's that all about? I've left the original formatting (though I did clean up an error that seems to have caused all the x's in the list to be replaced with a space).
As a further side note, this list must be a few years old. Several third sequels, like Spider-Man 3, were missing. My score would likely be higher if they were included. I'm a sucker for some, not all, franchises.
And my final side note: In the cases where I've seen several versions, I'm only counting them once. If you want to do the math on that, feel free, but I'm already way over the arbitrary line. It won't matter to me how much further into the pucker-brush I go sailing...
My list follows:
(x) Rocky Horror Picture Show
(x) Grease
(x) Pirates of the Caribbean
(x) Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest
( ) Boondock Saints
(x) Fight Club
(x) Starsky and Hutch
(x) Neverending Story
(x) Blazing Saddles
( ) Universal Soldier
( ) Lemony Snicket: A Series Of Unfortunate Events
( ) Along Came Polly
( ) Joe Dirt
(x) KING KONG all three versions
Total so far: 9
( ) A Cinderella Story
( ) The Terminal
( ) The Lizzie McGuire Movie
( ) Passport to Paris
( ) Dumb & Dumber
( ) Dumber & Dumberer
( ) Final Destination
( ) Final Destination 2
( ) Final Destination 3
(x) Halloween
( ) The Ring
( ) The Ring 2
( ) Surviving Christmas
(x) Flubber Orignial version only
Total so far: 11
( ) Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle
( ) Practical Magic
( ) Chicago
( ) Ghost Ship
( ) From Hell
(x) Hellboy
( ) Secret Window
( ) I Am Sam
( ) The Whole Nine Yards
( ) The Whole Ten Yards
Total so far: 12
( ) The Day After Tomorrow
( ) Child's Play
( ) Seed of Chucky
( ) Bride of Chucky
( ) Ten Things I Hate About You
( ) Just Married
( ) Gothika
(x) Nightmare on Elm Street
(x) Sixteen Candles
( ) Remember the Titans
( ) Coach Carter
(x) The Grudge
( ) The Grudge 2
(x) The Mask
( ) Son Of The Mask
Total so far: 16
(x) Bad Boys
( ) Bad Boys 2
( ) Joy Ride
( ) Lucky Number Sleven
(x) Ocean's Eleven
(x) Ocean's Twelve
(x) Bourne Identity
(x) Bourne Supremacy
( ) Lone Star
(x) Bedazzled both versions
(x) Predator I
(x) Predator II
( ) The Fog
( ) Ice Age
( ) Ice Age 2: The Meltdown
( ) Curious George
Total so far: 24
(x) Independence Day
(x) Cujo
( ) A Bronx Tale
( ) Darkness Falls
(x) Christine
(x) ET
(x) Children of the Corn
( ) My Bosses Daughter
( ) Maid in Manhattan
(x) War of the Worlds (both versions)
(x) Rush Hour
( ) Rush Hour 2
Total so far: 31
( ) Best Bet
( ) How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
( ) She's All That
( ) Calendar Girls
( ) Sideways
(x) Mars Attacks
( ) Event Horizon
(x) Ever After
(x) Wizard of Oz
(x) Forrest Gump
(x) Big Trouble in Little China
(x) The Terminator
(x) The Terminator 2
( ) The Terminator 3
Total so far: 38
(x) X-Men
(x) x2
(x) x-3
(x) Spider-Man
(x) Spider-Man 2
( ) Sky High
( ) Jeepers Creepers
( ) Jeepers Creepers 2
(x) Catch Me If You Can
( ) The Little Mermaid
( ) Freaky Friday
( ) Reign of Fire
( ) The Skulls
(x) Cruel Intentions
( ) Cruel Intentions 2
( ) The Hot Chick
(x) Shrek
(x) Shrek 2
Total so far: 47
( ) Swimfan
(x) Miracle on 34th street
( ) Old School
( ) The Notebook
( ) K-Pax
( ) Kippendorf's Tribe
( ) A Walk to Remember
( ) Ice Castles
( ) Boogeyman
(x) The 40-year-old-virgin
Total so far: 49
(x) Lord of the Rings Fellowship of the Ring
(x) Lord of the Rings The Two Towers
(x) Lord of the Rings Return Of the King
(x) Raiders of the Lost Ark
(x) Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
(x) Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Total so far: 55
( ) Baseketball
( ) Hostel
( ) Waiting for Guffman
( ) House of 1000 Corpses
( ) Devils Rejects
(x) Elf
(x) Highlander
( ) Mothman Prophecies
(x) American History
( ) Three
Total so Far: 58
( ) The Jacket
( ) Kung Fu Hustle
( ) Shaolin Soccer
( ) Night Watch
( ) Monsters Inc.
( ) Titanic
(x) Monty Python and the Holy Grail
(x) Shaun Of the Dead
( ) Willard
Total so far: 60
( ) High Tension
( ) Club Dread
( ) Hulk
(x) Dawn Of the Dead
(x) Hook
( ) Chronicle Of Narnia The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe
(x) 28 days later
( ) Orgazmo
( ) Phantasm
(x) Waterworld
Total so far: 64
(x) Kill Bill vol 1
(x) Kill Bill vol 2
( ) Mortal Kombat
( ) Wolf Creek
( ) Kingdom of Heaven
( ) the Hills Have Eyes
( ) I Spit on Your Grave aka the Day of the Woman
( ) The Last House on the Left
(x) Re-Animator
(x) Army of Darkness
Total so far: 68
(x) Star Wars Ep. I The Phantom Menace
(x) Star Wars Ep. II Attack of the Clones
(x) Star Wars Ep. III Revenge of the Sith
(x) Star Wars Ep. IV A New Hope
(x) Star Wars Ep. V The Empire Strikes Back
(x) Star Wars Ep. VI Return of the Jedi
(x) Ewoks Caravan Of Courage
(x) Ewoks The Battle For Endor
Total so far: 76
(x) The Matrix
(x) The Matrix Reloaded
(x) The Matrix Revolutions
(x) Animatrix
(x) Evil Dead
(x) Evil Dead 2
(x) Team America: World Police
( ) Red Dragon
( ) Silence of the Lambs
( ) Hannibal
Total so far: 83
( ) Battle Royale
( ) Battle Royale 2
(x) Brazil
(x) Contact
( ) Cube
(x) Dr. Strangelove
( ) Enlightenment Guaranteed
( ) Four Rooms
(x) Memento
(x) Pi
(x) Requiem for a Dream
(x) Pulp Fiction
(x) Reservoir Dogs
( ) Run Lola Run
( ) Russian Ark
(x) Serenity
(x) Sin City
(x) Snatch
( ) Spider
(x) The Sixth Sense
( ) The Village
(x) Waking Life
( ) Zatoichi
( ) Ikiru
(x) The Seven Samurai
(x) Brick
(x) Akira
Grand Total: 99
Labels: movies
More on the idea that reporters treat politics as gossip
I know I'm late to the party on this; I've seen several other posts on this topic, and three days is nearly a lifetime in blog time. However, this ties in so neatly with what I said earlier, in my review of "Frost/Nixon", where I suggested that our traditional media views our political leaders, their policies and actions taken to advance their goals presumably in our behalf, as if they were celebrities.After I had written that post, I saw that Glenn Greenwald had torn into Michael Calderone's, the Politico's "media reporter" year-end wrap-up of his top 10 political "scoops" of 2008. Gaze and marvel:
- Katie Couric's interview of Sarah Palin (CBS)
- McCain can't say how many homes he owns (Politico)
- Obama's "bitter" comment (Huffington Post)
- Sarah Palin's shopping spree (Politico)
- Turmoil in the Clinton camp (Washington Post and Atlantic -- "The behind-the-scenes tension was captured by the reporters in one memorable exchange: '[Expletive] you!' Ickes shouted. '[Expletive] you!' Penn replied. '[Expletive] you!' Ickes shouted again.")
- Jeremiah Wright tapes (ABC News)
- The Pentagon's military analyst program (NY Times)
- Bickering in the McCain camp (NY Times Magazine)
- John Edwards' affair (National Enquirer)
- Powell endorses Obama (Meet the Press)
Indeed. For a politically engaged person, it is truly difficult to conceive of how any year could ever be more satisfying than one marked by riveting scandals over shopping sprees, bickering among campaign operatives, and an extramarital affair of someone who, at the time of disclosure, held no political office and was running for absolutely nothing. Anyone surveying this mountain-high pile of Pulitzer-worthy investigations can do nothing more than echo the observation of Newsweek's legendary Senior White House Correspondent, Richard Wolffe, who famously gushed: "the press here does a fantastic job of adhering to journalistic standards and covering politics in general." Who could review Calderone's glorious list of the year's top "scoops" and disagree with that?The emphasis is Greenwald's.
In fairness to Calderone and his comrades in the political press, our media currently covers a country that has very few substantial problems and an administration that is renowned around the world for being competent, honest, conventional and quite uncontroversial. In general, countries which enjoy great tranquility, prosperity, and stability -- such as the U.S. today -- can afford the luxury of fixating on the types of fun and trivial stories which comprise the list of top "scoops" heralded by Politico.
When folks turn on the cable news channels and see endless, 24/7 coverage of Senator McCain's residences, say, or pick up the national papers, the New York Times or the Washington Posts, and see front page coverage of Senator Clinton's emotional state or Governor Palin's financial excesses, instead of discussion about the "unitary executive" and how radical an idea that is, or how outrageous it is that the American military has been ordered by top White House officials to design and implement torture programs, programs that many intelligence officials strongly believe to be worthless for gaining actionable intelligence, not to mention directly reduce the safety of American citizens and our soldiers abroad... that's when the average American starts to think that politics doesn't really matter.
How could it matter, if the "most trusted name in news" has Wolf Blitzer moderating a discussion between someone who's "pro-waterboarding" and "con-waterboarding"? The only conclusion to draw is that Very Serious People are carefully weighing both sides of the debate, so, therefore, either side in the discussion may, in fact, be right. Right? I mean, they wouldn't spend so much time talking about it if it weren't important; and since there's an equal number of people on each side of the debate, that means that CNN is carefully representing the factions who are deciding policy. Right? And since Wolf isn't giving an opinion or providing any context, well, I guess the average American can just flip a coin. Or, perhaps, doesn't even need to concern himself with finding out more. Let the eggheads on teevee fight it out. Why bother getting involved? Who's left on American Idol this week?
There's so many ways that this game, the "fake balance" game is played - and rigged. Once it's explained, it's pretty easy to see. For instance, take a note of the people who get invited in to talk on the Sunday political talk shows, and you'll start to see a pattern: very often, there are more Republican or conservative pundits than there are Democratic or progressive ones. In fact, I'll go further and suggest that more often than not, the pundits who represent the Democratic or progressive side on those shows aren't politicians, but people from a media background - journalists who are representing their newspapers or media corporations, who may be held to an objective, factual, "balanced" standard in their speech.
When those "balanced" pundits go up against men and women who are fiercely partisan, men and women who pursue their talking points with a fervor, who do you think will come across as the "winner"? And since the moderators of those discussions, the Brokaws and the Mathewses, don't feel the need to correct any factual errors or offer any context for the discussion, the pundits, the ones who are playing to a partisan crowd, can feel free to pull "facts" from their nether regions.
The game is played completely differently on Fox "News" - if you watch them, pay attention anytime that a guest is talking trash about Democrats. You'll notice that, invariably, in addition to the Republicans doing it, there's always a token "liberal" who is there to attack their own party. Senator Joe Lieberman is a favorite Fox "News" guest for exactly that role. Even though Lieberman isn't a Democrat anymore (his constituents voted him out of the party largely for his stance as pro-Iraq War and pro-President Bush), the fact that he still caucuses with the Democrats in the Senate means he's considered "liberal". At least in Fox "News" land.
Or count the number of times that any Republican that's seen as a "loser" is labeled a "Democrat" on Fox "News". It even happened to Republican Presidential Candidate John McCain. That's "fair and balanced"? And no correction was issued.
And I don't expect any of this to change, now that President-elect Obama will be taking the oath of office in January. It didn't change after Democrats won control of both houses of Congress in 2006. Oh, wait, there was one change this year: there's one, real, live, progressive now on TV: Rachel Maddow on MSNBC. And, man, what an outcry putting her on caused. You'd think that the world had ended, from all the complaints from our traditional media. But only liberal journalists are called "partisan".
Is it any wonder that the blogs have grown so much, and so fast, for progressive Americans? Is it any wonder that the younger viewers, the 18-35 set, that coveted demographic, are more informed the more they watch Jon Stewart's "The Daily Show" and less informed when they watch Fox "News"?
It's refreshing, though, to see survey after survey show that Americans see the financial crisis, health care, and the Iraq War as the top issues. We can find out what we need to know, these days, and what we need to know concerns our jobs and our sons' and daughters' lives.
It's just too bad our traditional media chooses, instead, to focus on what our leaders are wearing. That focus will be their undoing.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Overheard as I ran past the young boy and his father in the park
"Dad, what if everything in the world was made of Jell-O?"A question to stump the mightiest intellects and the most serious philosophers.
What if, indeed.
Forty-four minus zero
Today I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.As I've been counting down to this day, I am posting birthday memories. This is the final installment; thanks for indulging me as I reminisce.
So, my birth day - the actual day of my birth. I don't remember much about that actual day, y'know, directly. But over the years I've collected quite a bit of personal mythology.
This is all pieced together from fragile tissue: my own memory of stories told to me. If I'm wrong, it hardly matters. But if anyone out there is reading this and has more accurate stories (Dad? Lisa?) feel free to post 'em in the comments.
It was 1964. My parents lived in a small house in Gladstone, OR, behind Rex Putnam High School. They'd been married since the fall of 1959.
My dad was working as a salesman for Francis Ford, and was 30 years old the day I was born. My mom was 38 - a divorcée. She had been married before, and had an almost-teen daughter from that previous marriage, and I believe my half-sister still lived with mom and my dad, her step-dad, the year I was born.
My full sister had been born the year before, in November 1963, the same month that President John F. Kennedy had been slain in Dallas. She was 13 months old the day I was born; my half-sister babysat her while mom was being driven to the hospital.
My parents told me that I was a premature baby; I was supposed to be due in February 1965. But for some reason, I wanted out early.
The snowpocalypse of 2008 has reminded me of one other fact of the day of my birth; that December was the last time Portland had seen that much snow, until this year. I imagine that the drive from Gladstone, all the way to the old St. Vincent's Children's Hospital, up in the hills of Portland, a trip of of over 10 miles and ending with a drive up treacherous and curvy Burnside Avenue, was a white-knuckle experience. Add in an about-to-give-birth woman, and my father behind the wheel, and, well, such is the stuff legends are made of.
But I was, in fact, born in the hospital, not in a back seat, and at 5:57 AM on December 28th, I was born. (This post was published at that exact time) My height and weight are not recorded on my birth certificate, but, being a preemie, I imagine I was fairly small and underweight.
My parents had initially decided that I was to be named, if I was a boy (the gender-determining technology not being available forty-four years ago), Brian Keith Moon. My mom was a fan of Brian Keith, the actor later known for his role as Judge Milton C. Hardcastle in the TV series "Hardcastle and McCormick", but who was known to my mom as an actor in her beloved Westerns. Little did they know at the time, but I would have had a double in celebrity names: the famously destructive drummer for the Who, Keith Moon, who had, according to Wikipedia, only joined the band earlier in 1964 at the age of 17, and who would die of a massive drug overdose 14 years later.
But that was not to be. Dad, as he tells the story, decided at the last minute that he didn't like that name, and, since mom was not willing to budge on the first name, dad went out to the nurses' desk, where they kept the book of baby names, opened it up to the first page, and selected the very first name in the book to be my middle name: Aaron.
The doctor, who was from the Middle East but not a Jew, raised an objection to a Gentile child being given the name of Moses' priestly brother, but that objection fell on deaf, and largely irreligious, ears. I was given the name of Brian Aaron Moon.
And that's all I know about the day I was born.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Welcome back, rain!
Let me join the multitude of folks that are welcoming back to Portland: the rain!
We have missed you, rain.
And it's 47° F right now outside!
Remember when that felt cold?!
Forty-four minus one
In one day I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.Counting down to that day, I am posting birthday memories.
One reader out there, I'm sure, has had a certain interest in these posts. He may have even been reading them and wondering when, if ever, I would be mentioning him. Just because I'm kinda wired that way, I have held off until the next-to-last moment to write about this particular birthday.
I don't have much memory of this one, because it's one of the earliest birthdays. It was
Maybe I had pineapple upside-down cake. Maybe I had a little too much. But, the story goes, I wasn't feeling well that day. All day long.
My family and I lived in an apartment building, a four-plex, on a rural road in Kalama, Washington. Dad worked for Reynolds Aluminum, at their plant in Longview, Washington (I believe). And miles and miles away, in Portland, down south, I had another sister. A half-sister, my mom's only daughter from a previous marriage.
Sometimes we would drive down to visit her and her husband, a man she married right out of high school (and to whom she remains married today). They lived in another apartment complex somewhere in Portland, I don't recall which neighborhood. And she'd been pregnant that year with their first child.
She gave birth to that baby, my nephew, Kevin, six years after I was born. I was made an uncle almost before I could really comprehend that concept.
My oldest nephew and I share a birthday, and in many ways, he's the younger brother I never really had. Tomorrow is his birthday, too. And I couldn't have a better friend to share it with.
But on the day of his birth, the sixth anniversary of my own, apparently I was sick.
Friday, December 26, 2008
"Why would I want to talk to David Frost?"
After Hitler, arguably the most hated political figure from history is President Richard Milhous Nixon.Certainly the most polarizing figure from history, at least.
Nixon's Presidential legacy is nothing but scandal, crime and fraud. Oh, sure, there are people who think Nixon's foreign policy was top-notch, but the people who argue that point are attempting to counter the whole scandal, crime and fraud bit. We know what's important.
In 1974, when Nixon resigned the office of the Presidency, I was 9 years old. I had no idea what these old men were doing on my TV as I ate a breakfast of sugared cereals, fortified with 7 essential vitamins and minerals and bathed in milk. Blah, blah, blah, talking heads, so boring. I wanted my Spider-Man and my Bugs Bunny!
Some people, many people, in fact, still think that politics is boring, nothing but a bunch of blathering old bores, taking up space on the people's high-def entertainment centers. People may not want Saturday morning cartoons anymore, but they certainly don't understand or, frankly, care, about what rich old people are talking about in studios in the District of Columbia or New York City. People would rather watch people eat live bugs in a competition for the prize, or find out what Lindsey Lohan wore to the Oscars, or whatever.
I think, in large part, that this sad state of affairs is a result of the decisions of the people who sit atop the entertainment corporations. There's been a reduction of the momentous decisions and actions that our leaders take, a reduction to the level of... gossip. Entertainment. And that reduces people like President George W. Bush from what he is (a radical who has challenged and distorted almost every aspect of the Constitution upon which our country has been founded, and has abused his office to sow death across the globe and reap huge profits to himself and his cohorts) to the same level as... a movie producer, a celebrity, a "mogul". Opinions differ, they say, and then they quote one from column A ("I don't like him!") and one from column B ("I love him!").
This is a simplification, of course, and just one man's opinion.
But having just watched "Frost/Nixon", I can tell you, that there was a time, way back in the ancient times known as 1976, when the world of the disgraced leader Nixon intersected with the world of the glitzy celebrity of David Frost.
And, apparently, the two worlds reversed their importance.
That's the take I get from watching this movie. David Frost was a flibbertigibbet, a nonsuch, a fluffy emcee, a light-weight. Frost was not a polarizing figure; if you cared about him at all, you either enjoyed his schtick, or you envied him his glamorous lifestyle.
Frank Langella's Nixon, trying to complete the cover-up of his crimes, tries to cloak himself in the cotton-candy of David Frost. And watching Michael Sheen's Frost slowly wake up to the fact that he's being played is compelling.
Most of the movie, once the characters and background are set, is nothing but watching two men talk to each other, while others root from the sidelines. And as boring as that may sound to you, I am here to tell you that it was riveting.
And maybe, seeing the two worlds intersect, will help you untangle them again. Because I think it's important.
It's difficult for me to set aside the implications, even today, of Nixon's actions. Luckily the movie provides me a surrogate in the ever-likeable Sam Rockwell's character, playing journalist James Reston, Jr. It's Reston's real-life work that created the background for this movie. And I recognized my anger at President Bush's actions today in Rockwell's rants about trying to get a confession from, and conviction of, Nixon in the film.
But setting aside the politics, the characters and their interactions, as played by Langella and Sheen, stands by itself and makes a extraordinary story.
Labels: movies
Forty-four minus two
In two days I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.Counting down to that day, I am posting birthday memories.
What about the birthdays I don't remember? I've been scouring my brain trying to remember what happened on one day, repeated for (almost) 44 years. I was obviously present for all of those days. My earliest memories, of course, no one expects me to remember them. It appears that the most memorable moments were from when I was around six, up until I turned 21... and then a few handful of memories from the last 10 years or so.
There's a gap in-between.
A gap that can't be explained by alcohol. I knew you were at least thinking it so don't deny it. Well... can't entirely be explained by alcohol.
This post is for the missing birthdays. The birthdays were nothing much of note happened. Or, rather, the birthdays when the expected happened. In spite of the lack of specific memories, I'm sure that every birthday I've had was spent with family or friends. I'm sure that I received gifts and cards, carefully selected by my friends, along with good wishes. I'm sure there was cake, and probably ice cream, and probably booze of some sort or another. Because that's what most people remember - the good times, the company, the feelings.
And most of my birthdays have left me feeling... well-loved. Even if I'm fuzzy on the details.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Merry Newtonmas!
Thanks to Edwin Kagin of Blasphemous Blogging, who has compiled a list of the many deities who were alleged to have been born on December 25th:- Horus c. 3000 BCE
- Osiris c. 3000 BCE
- Attis of Phrygia c.1400 BCE
- Krishna c. 1400 BCE (possibly as early as 5771 BCE)
- Zoroaster/Zarathustra c. 1000 BCE or earlier
- Mithra of Persia c. 600 BCE
- Buddha (Siddartha Gautama) c. 563 BCE
- Heracles c. 800 BCE
- Dionysus c. 186 BCE
- Tammuz c. 400 BCE
- Adonis c. 200 BCE
- Hermes
- Prometheus
Be sure to click through to Kagin's list; he lists a bunch of facts regarding each of these deities that might sound familiar to a modern American theist.
...but to a scientist, even an amateur one like myself, the most important birthday today is Sir Isaac Newton, father of classical physics.
At least he was born on 25 December in the Julian, or Old Style, calendar. Dates are such fuzzy things sometimes.
Update:
I removed Bacchus because that's the Roman name for Dionysus, and shouldn't be confused with Saint Bacchus, a Christian martyr; Dionysus predates Christianity by a couple of centuries at least. I also fixed the link to Tammuz. - 12/25/2008 12:10 PM bamForty-four minus three
In three days I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.Counting down to that day, I am posting birthday memories.
I saved this one for Christmas Day, because this birthday was full of all of my most favorite things. And it's late, because I've been trying to fit in everything leading up to it. It was that good.
I'm talking about my 36th birthday: 2001. The year I wrote my first (unpublished) novel was also the first year I remember being friends with Tracy. Because my family was leaving for one of our traditional Christmas (and my birthday) trips, Tracy gave me my Christmas/birthday gift early. She told me, later, that she had trouble deciding what to get me, and had mentioned that to our mutual friend Lea.
Lea told her, "Oh, that's easy! He's a writer! Get him something to write with!"
So Tracy bought me a journal and some nice pens.
I took the journal with me on our trip - a cruise out of New Orleans.
The cruise itself was alright. I was not impressed with the customer service of the ship; my family and I had many complaints. But the positive memories remain with me today. Having lunch at a tourist-filled Margaritaville with a real Caribbean queen in Montego Bay, Jamaica and trying to talk her into taking me somewhere she goes for lunch. "Oh, no," she said, "they will knife you dead." Swimming on a sandbar in the Grand Caymans with thousands of manta rays with my sister, niece and younger nephew. Seeing the oil rigs spouting fire as we sailed back up the mouth of the Mississippi to port - an ecological nightmare, but it had it's own strange beauty. All these and more were recorded in the journal Tracy gave me.
My sister and her family had decided they were going back to Portland on my birthday, but her mother- and father-in-law and their son, David, were staying longer in New Orleans, and I had decided to stay with them to spend my birthday in my very favorite city.
When we got back to the Big Easy, my friend David and I, as the bachelors, shared a room. I was dating a woman, A., at the time. On Christmas Eve, I called her to let her know how things were going and wish her a Merry Christmas. David asked me if she was special and I shrugged. He replied, "Well, she's worth a call from New Orleans, right?" I was still uncertain.
David and I spent most of our nights prowling around Bourbon Street and the French Quarter. When my birthday approached, I had found a restaurant for my birthday dinner. Arnaud's, on the corner of Rue Bienville and Bourbon (I'm linking to the Google cache because for some reason the actual website won't open in Firefox).
The taxi dropped us off at the restaurant. We were shown to our table, by staff in white dinner jackets with white gloves, in a quiet corner near a window looking out onto Les Rue Bourbon. I don't remember exactly what I had for dinner but it came in several courses, was all delicious, and included gator at one point. Arnaud's may be the finest restaurant I have ever dined in.
All through dinner, I just knew that Betsy and Tom and David would likely be trying to get the Dixieland Jazz house band to sing me a birthday song, but I also knew that they would have to wait for me to leave the table to do that - so I stayed at the table for as long as I could. It was, literally, hydraulic pressure that forced me to leave, shortly before the dessert arrived (crème brûlée). I left and hurried back as quickly as I could.
And yet, they still managed to do it.
Seconds after I sat down, the jazz trio appeared, and announced my birthday loudly to the entire restaurant. I was embarrassed a little, but delighted beyond words.
The band sang two songs, the first of which was a modification of "Mac The Knife" - "Brian The Knife". The second, of course, was a jazz version of "Happy Birthday".
After dinner, Betsy and Tom went back to the hotel, and David and I set off again into the French Quarter for a night of booze and adventures. We did not return until sunrise - or maybe a bit after.
I'm saving those stories for another time. But suffice it to say it was a birthday I shall never forget.
Vegetarians vs. Meat-eaters
Thanks to io9 for finding this old MGM cartoon short, about a post-human world where squirrels, inexplicably, still celebrates Christmas and speak English.Peace on Earth, and good will to all.
Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Four decades
I couldn't let this anniversary pass without notice.Forty years ago today, the astronauts of the Apollo 8 mission to the Moon took the picture now known as "Earthrise".
Our pale blue planet, rising over the horizon of our companion satellite.
You, my faithful readers, may recognize the image. It's the one I chopped up to make the background image for my blog (RSS readers, please feel free to click through).
I used the image because of my lifelong connection to the Moon, based on the last name my father gave me. I remember being a child and watching avidly whenever NASA launched men into space (and later, when I was an adult, women, too).
Merry Christmas Eve, pale blue dot.
Can we just shut up about Portland drivers?
One of the things that really chaps my hide when it snows in Portland is hearing all the non-natives complain about how "unprepared" Portland is for snow, and how the non-natives seem to think that Portland drivers are worse than any other drivers (particularly the drivers in the non-natives' home town, of course).This is bullshit and a myth.
And I'll prove it.
There were more winter traffic accidents, per-capita, in the Greater Anchorage, Alaska, area in 2003 and 2004, than there were in the same time period in Portland, OR. The total numbers of accidents reported were fairly close, in spite of the fact that the Greater Anchorage area population is about half of the city of Portland.
Portland traffic statistics are from the Oregon Department of Transportation website.
Greater Anchorage traffic statistics are from the Alaska Department of Transportation website.
I made a little chart that can be viewed online. I don't think it can be changed but I'll get an email if it is, so don't think to mess with my data!
For the record, I'm not a statistics guru. I realize that I may be comparing apples and oranges here. For one thing, the Metropolitan Portland population, including the 'Couve, Beavertron, and Gresham and other outlying areas, is much larger than the Greater Anchorage area. If anyone wants to suggest cities of comparable sizes, I'm more than happy to try it again. I just picked Anchorage because I figured Alaskans would "know how to drive in the snow" and because I found their accident reports online.
I thought Detroit, Michigan would be another good choice to compare. Maybe Buffalo. Fargo, North Dakota? Or, maybe I'll get bored and move on to something else.
I'm sure anyone out there who wants to dispute my quickie analysis will speak right up. Feel free! That's what science is all about.
Until then, though: suck it, non-Portlanders!
Forty-four minus four
In four days I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.Counting down to that day, I am posting birthday memories.
Two years ago - holy crab, was it only two years ago? - I spent Christmas in New York City. It was a great trip, and I posted about it several times.
The trip included my birthday, as my family's Christmas trips often do. The morning of my birthday, I woke up to breakfast, cooked by my sister's mother-in-law (she cooked pretty much every morning); bacon, pancakes, scrambled eggs and coffee. Yum.
I spent the day wandering around the little town of Glen Head, taking pictures and getting out of the house.
And that evening, we all went out to dinner. The first choice of restaurant, picked by our host, David, was too busy, so we went across the street to a nice Italian place, where I gorged myself on delicious pasta, and shared another meal with my family.
I did a Google search for Italian restaurants in Glen Head to try to find the name of the restaurant we ate at, but I couldn't find it. It's lost to me now.
It doesn't really matter, because it's still in my memory - delicious food, excellent company. What more could one ask for on a birthday?
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Forty-four minus five
In five days I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.Counting down to that day, I am posting birthday memories.
How long until I got around to detailing the night I became legally able to drink beer, wine and hard liquors? Ah, the legendary 21st birthday, source of songs and stories.
Truthfully, it was not that momentous a birthday as you, my readers and friends, may imagine after all the words I have spilled here about bars and drinking.
But there are still things to remember from that night.
I was dating Amy D. We had been dating for a couple of years, since my senior year in high school. We would not still be dating a year later, on my 22nd birthday, but on that night, we were still together, mostly out of inertia, I think.
Also, my friend Dennis had driven up from Newport, OR, on the coast, to share my birthday with me. He had already passed his age of majority the previous year. He and I had become friends after he had dated my sister, and she had broken up with him. I suspect that he stayed friends with me to keep tabs on his ex-girlfriend, my sister. But I'm a cynical sort. He was geek-y and funny and had a car - oops, my cynicism is showing again.
My girlfriend and my friend and I had dinner with my parents. I'm don't remember if my sister was there, too - the awkwardness between her and Dennis may have prevented it, and I don't blame her. There was spaghetti, and chocolate-frosted white cake, and ice cream, and presents.
I don't remember the presents, but I do remember the chocolate-frosted white cake. And, of course, my friends.
I don't remember there being booze at dinner. At that point, my parents didn't keep much alcohol in the house (that I was aware of). The drinking didn't start picking up again until years later.
After dinner, me and Amy and Dennis drove up to the Cattle Company, a steak house with a lounge, where I ordered my first legal drink: a glass of Glenfiddich single-malt scotch. Amy had wine and Dennis ordered some kind of fruity rum drink, about which Amy and I teased him mercilessly.
And then? I don't remember. But it's not that I don't remember because we went on a drinking bender and I awoke days later. I don't remember because I think, after a drink or two, Dennis drove Amy home and I and Dennis stayed up talking and catching up.
In those days, I practiced moderation, almost to the extreme. Those were the days.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Snow report
We now take a break from relentless birthday-counting-down for a snow report.My employer, Multnomah County, has declared a state of emergency, to last through 5 January 2009. Kinda freaky to think that the Emergency Operations Center, which is right next door to my office, will finally have an actual emergency to deal with, rather than the many, many drills they've been doing since, well, since they opened a year ago.
I just got back from a walk. I walked up to the grocery store, but on the way, I saw that my regular haunt, The Limelight, was open, so I dropped in for a hot drink and dinner.
As others have said, it's not that bad once you're out there. My trail shoes, normally for running, work really well in the snow to keep my footing and keep my feet dry. They would be better if they were trail boots, though.
I'm pretty sure I could go for a run in this, though, as long as it's not freezing rain. I should have run today, instead of surfed and ate. Oh, well.
Saw lots of folk on skis, and several people pulling their groceries home behind them on a sled. Smart people.
OK, if we don't talk about it anymore, maybe it'll go away. But not all at once - will there be floods if this all melts at once?
Forty-four minus six
In six days I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.Counting down to that day, I am posting birthday memories.
In the past decade, since the instigation of my family's tradition of traveling somewhere warm for Christmas, many of my birthdays have been spent on an airplane. At least in the early years, before I began making my own travel arrangements and not leaving it up to my sister.
Because of the position of my birthday, perfectly balanced between Christmas and New Year's Eve, and with the generally high cost of travel on those two holidays, my sister would typically book our return on my birthday. Whee. I get to spend my birthday shuffling in and out of airports or crammed into an airplane.
The second Christmas trip I participated in was perhaps the first one filled with meaning for me. It was 1998, and I had moved away from my hometown to take a job in Austin, Texas, working as a contractor for Apple Computer. Austin was home to many tech companies, and Apple kept their sales support and tech support people there, rather than in Cupertino, California, where their corporate HQ was (and still is). My position was in Customer Relations - not tech support, not sales support, but the team that solved customer problems and dealt with complaints.
Being so far from home (2,315 miles) made being with my family more important than before, but I was working hard trying to get a "white badge" at Apple - not just a contractor, but a full employee, with all the benefits and prestige that entailed. Well, it was prestigious to me, a confirmed Machead. So I let my sister, back in Portland, make the arrangements. That year our destination was Cancún, Mexico.
However, I was having trouble navigating the politics of internal Apple; even though everyone around me acknowledged that I was following protocol, two of my customers had complained about me all the way to the top... Steve Jobs himself. One would wonder how one man was capable of micro-managing a company of (then) 8000+ employees worldwide, but such is the genius of Steve Jobs.
The Friday before I was set to fly off, my boss pulled me into his cube and laid out the scenario. He knew I loved Apple, and I knew the company and products backward and forward, so he had fought to keep me at Apple. But I couldn't stay on the CR team. It was too high-profile and they couldn't allow the highly-emotional customers to keep complaining up to the iCEO. It was bad for the whole team.
My choice: go to straight tech support, or sales support. They both paid less, and even being offered the choice was demoralizing. I picked sales support for reasons I no longer remember.
My boss urged me to have fun in Mexico, clear my head, and come back and keep trying.
What a way to start a vacation.
I kept this secret from my family the entire time we were there; mom and dad, my sister and her husband, my sister's mother- and father-in-law, and their adult son, David. And I threw myself into "having fun" mode from the first moment I landed. Story for another time, I suppose...
When it came time for us to all return home, though... I was broke. I had overspent. And the reality of what was waiting for me back in Texas was sinking in again.
We were all traveling together, on the same plane, as far as Dallas. Then I got on a plane to Austin, and everyone else continued on to Portland.
When we got to the Cancún airport, though, there were problems. I didn't pay much attention to those problems, but we eventually got onto an Aeroméxico flight to Dallas. I was hungover, headed back to a demotion and completely broke, going to a city I had failed, in six months, to make my home.
When we got to Dallas, we were late for the next flight. My sister and her in-laws managed to wrangle tickets on the next flight out that night to Portland, but my dad was not so lucky. He did talk Southwestern into putting him, mom and me up in a hotel overnight, as the least they could do for all the problems (it was Southwestern's problems that caused us to be bumped back in Cancún).
I remember us almost losing mom in the tram system at Dallas, before we could get to the hotel. It was cold outside, and we had to walk a long long way with our luggage. It was made to seem even longer because we had to deal with mom's frailty and complaints. The reason, or one of the major reasons, we had begun to travel for Christmas was because a few years earlier, mom had fought, successfully it seemed, lung cancer; the trips were our way to celebrate that. But the treatments had left her weak.
The three of us finally got to the hotel, after having flown and walked and argued, with airline personnel and each other, all day. It was exhausting. Travel often is. We were mostly silent as we checked in.
As dad and I said goodnight in the hotel corridor, outside our rooms, dad said, "It's your birthday."
It was after midnight. Technically it wasn't my birthday at all. But we hadn't gone to sleep yet, and it felt like the longest day, ever. And we would all have to be up early to catch our respective flights back to our final destinations. I laughed at the absurdity of it all.
"Let me at least buy you a drink for your birthday, son." I agreed.
He got mom settled in in their room. I dropped off my luggage. Then we set out to look for the hotel bar.
Which was closed. We had a good laugh over that, then shuffled back to our rooms.
The next morning I got up early and flew back to Austin. I didn't stay very long; by February I was back in Portland.
But that's a different story.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Chin
Oh, yeah, before I completely forget, I got out of the house long enough yesterday to see "My Name Is Bruce", a movie about, and directed by, Bruce Campbell, the B-Movie actor famous for a handful of horror/comedy movies back in the 80s and 90s... and famous for almost nothing else since then.It was amusing. But probably not worth even a matinee price. Even if it was filmed in Oregon.
Labels: movies
Forty-four minus seven
In seven days I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.Counting down to that day, I am posting birthday memories.
As a kid in America grows up, there are certain milestone birthdays to look forward to. Reaching the age when a driver's license is possible, or the age when one can vote, or the age when one can drink, legally.
Lost in the midst of all those, however, is the age imposed on people who love movies: the age when one can see R-rated movies.
Seventeen years of age.
That was the age at which a person could see an R-rated movie without having their parent or guardian there. So when I turned 17, I wanted, more than pineapple upside-down cake, more than presents, I wanted to see an R-rated movie.
And my first "legal" R-rated movie was "Sharky's Machine", a Burt Reynolds cops-and-robbers thriller.
I picked it because most people in my family liked Burt Reynolds. This is not surprising. Lots of people liked Burt Reynolds. He was a huge star back in the 70s.
I wanted a movie that promised lots of action. A "boy movie". I remember reading about the showpiece stunt in the film prior to it's release: a 220-foot stunt fall that has never been surpassed even today.
But I have to admit that, mostly, I picked that movie because, to me, an R rating meant one thing and one thing only: nudity. I knew that Rachel Ward, the starlet playing a mob boss's girlfriend in the flick, would probably, very likely, show her boobies.
So, after my birthday dinner at home, after some delicious pineapple upside-down cake, me, my sister, and my parents drove down to the Southgate Theater, a cinder block warehouse of a theater, and bought tickets for "Sharky's Machine".
...wait, what? I was 17. I did not have to have my parents' permission. I did not need to be accompanied by my legal guardian. As long as I could prove I was 17, I could see any R-rated movie I wanted to.
And yet, my parents did, in fact, go to see it with me.
Now I look back and am a bit embarrassed by that. Details are fuzzy, but I'm certain that the reason mom and dad came with me was because I had no job of my own, therefore no spending money of my own. But maybe mom and dad just wanted to see that movie themselves?
In fact, waaaaaaaaay back when I was 7, I remember my parents taking me and my sister to a drive-in theater (remember those? Also, GET OFF MY LAWN) to see the R-rated "Fuzz", staring Burt Reynolds. My parents made us kids hide in the back seat because they could not find a babysitter. I remember peeking up over the top of the front seat and seeing Burt Reynolds and his partner dressed up as Catholic nuns; Burt had a line complaining about his balls. Even at that young age, I knew what balls were and I thought that line was hilarious, a fact which scandalized my mom.
At 17, ten years later, watching a movie with much profanity, a tiny bit of nudity (there's a quick scene where Rachel Ward is getting dressed while talking to Burt and we get a glimpse of boob), and lots of fake action (of the 220' fall, only a brief moment of it was used in the movie; the rest was obviously a dummy), I had come full circle and, perhaps, made my parents a bit uncomfortable watching that movie with me.
Probably not dad. But probably mom, at least.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Downtown
The good and the bad
Harsh weather brings out the good and the bad in people.The Good:
- Earlier in the, the #70 bus driver stopped for me even though I was a block away from the stop. Then when I realized I had forgotten my wallet (and bus pass), he waved me on, anyway. That rocks! (Sadly, I needed my money at my destination so I had to decline. But I thanked him profusely!)
- This afternoon, while waiting at SE Milwaukie and Powell St., a bus driver who wasn't on a regular route (his sign said "Center Garage" - funny story, for the longest time, as in, for all the years I've been riding the bus I thought that meant "the central, or main, garage" but only realized recently that it means "The garage at SE 17th and Center Street") stopped to let me and several others on, after warning us that he was only crossing the bridge and going downtown, which is all I needed. That rocks!
The Bad:
- On my way home from a movie tonight, the driver of the #19 Woodstock got to SE Milwaukie and Powell and told his passengers that he'd broken a chain and that he had to return to the Center Garage, and that we could not stay with him while he got the chain fixed, stranding us. The next #19 wasn't due (according to Transit Tracker, which isn't that accurate during the Snowpocalypse!) for another 45 minutes! That's not rockin'.
- Since I was stranded near an AM/PM Mini Mart, I decided to wait inside. After about five minutes, the guy behind the counter asked me what I was doing there, and told me I could not stay there, kicking me back out into the snow on the snowiest day in Portland in my lifetime. I told him he was awesome and wished him a Merry Christmas. Motherfucker. That's about as far from rockin' as it's possible to get.
Got any stories of the weather bringing out the best or the worst in people?
Snow
Three days ago:
Today:
I am about sick of all this fuckin' snow.
THAT IS ALL. FOR NOW.
Forty-four minus eight
In eight days I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.Counting down to that day, I am posting birthday memories.
...Then there was the year a plane crashed in Portland on my birthday.
1978. It was a Thursday, according to the calendar. It was cold and rainy, and I was 14. Just 14. I don't remember what presents I got that year, but I do remember that the family, dad, mom, my sister and I, all went out to the Cattle Company restaurant on McLoughlin Blvd. for dinner. Or maybe it was the Sizzler?
Steaks, anyway.
No, now that I think about it, it was Cattle Company. I'm pretty sure.
I got my presents and unwrapped them at the restaurant, and after dinner we all piled into the Datsun 810 to drive the couple miles back home. Dad turned on the radio, and I remember him shushing everyone in the car so he could listen to the news report.
United Flight 178, a DC-8 with 181 passengers and 8 crew, had run out of fuel while flying from DEN to PDX. The crew was apparently trying to solve a problem with the landing gear.
It crashed at 6:15 PM in the Parkrose neighborhood. There were 10 fatalities - 2 of them, crew. I can't find information on whether or not anyone on the ground was injured or killed in the crash.
We didn't know most of that at the time. We drove home and immediately turned on the news to see a reporter standing in the dark holding a microphone.
I can't distinguish, now, 30 years later, between my memories of seeing fictional plane crashes in movies and on TV, or my actual memories of watching the news that night. I don't remember how much is true. I don't even remember how I felt, other than, "how strange that a plane would crash on my birthday".
Thinking about it now, though... surely most of those people were either flying to, or flying from, family for the holidays. Death is perhaps the most unfair thing about the universe we live in.
Which makes life itself the best part, I suppose.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Speaking out
In my review of "Milk" I drew a line from gay activism and their growing acceptance in society, and the atheist community:"Harvey Milk's idea of making the fight personal by putting a face on what is otherwise an abstract idea is a good one. And the goal of getting more atheists elected into office is also a great route to take. The atheist community is only now beginning to organize and speak as one group. It's going to be a long fight, but studies show that, as education rises, so does non-belief. Education doesn't just mean advanced degrees; it can also mean just talking to your neighbor or friend."
Over on Open Left Chris Bowers notes that Pastor Warren has explicitly said he hates atheists, as well, to absolutely no one's surprise.
Bowers, who normally writes strictly about politics, is apparently a private atheist. He has internalized the social pressure, the privileged status that our society has given to religious belief.
Bowers says he rarely discusses his atheism:
"Now, atheists, like the LGBT community, are not as numerous as evangelicals. The most recent poll I could find on the subject showed 78% believed in "God," 14% believed in a "universal higher power," and only 7% believed in "neither" (1% was "unsure"). When you are an atheist, it is pretty obvious to you that you are in a small minority. Further, since many people, not only Rick Warren but often members your own family, consider your atheism as somehow an affront rather than just a personal lack of belief, to make life easier you do your best to never bring up religion as a topic at all. Just being left alone about it becomes both the short-term and long-term goal. I don't even like writing about it on Open Left, because I know that some members of my family read it."
I have never met Chris Bowers, but I have read his posts for the past 4 years or more. Based on his words, I do not take him to be bashful about voicing his opinion. He is passionate about getting involved and speaking up; and he does it in a thoughtful and well-reasoned way. That's why I found his submission in regards to religion a bit of a shock.
That a man who has gone from being a student to being one of the leading lights of the progressive political blogosphere would suppress a significant part of his identity just shows me how marginalized atheists are.
That someone I admire would then draw the same conclusion as I is immensely satisfying; because Bowers goes on to draw the same parallel between gays coming out of the closet and finally beginning to be accepted by society (though unevenly and with still so much struggle ahead) and the fact that most atheists yield to the social pressure that says stating our non-belief in gods is, somehow, an attack on those who believe:
"However, as atheists, it is probably time that we stopped being withdrawn about our beliefs. Our public image is lower than even that of homosexuals, for example. The reason it is lower is because they fight for their rights and they fight for inclusion. We atheists don't. If we are all working together to try and end homophobia as a tolerated, mainstream position worthy of the inaugural benediction for a Democratic President, then we should probably work to make intolerance of atheists unacceptable, too. When we start excluding certain groups, it has the potential to spill out over into all groups, as Natasha wrote yesterday at MyDD.
If I am not speaking up for my owns rights to tolerance and inclusion, how can I speak up for others? A lot of the problem is probably my own damn fault, because I have never bothered to even ask for inclusion and tolerance of my beliefs. So, let me start with this: I am an atheist, there is nothing wrong with my beliefs, you are not going to convert me, and so you are going to have to live with it."
Absolutely right. The more of us that speak out and identify ourselves, the more people will realize that we are everywhere. Everyone knows an atheist.
When we talk about what we believe (or don't believe), it does not mean it's an attack on what others believe.
It is not OK to hate us or marginalize us. It has never been and it never will be, for us or any other group of humans.
And pointing out that others hate us is not equivalent to intolerance.
My letter to President-Elect Obama (2nd in an open-ended series)
Sent via the Vision form at Change.gov (links added for this post):President-elect Obama keeps saying that there's a seat at the table for everyone.
I am requesting a seat at the table for the nonsecular, please. And I believe I am not alone.
I am requesting a seat at the table for those who do not hate gays. And I believe I am not alone.
I am requesting a seat at the table for those who do not wish to "drown government in a bathtub". And I believe I am far from alone.
I am requesting a seat at the table for those who believe that failure to manage a company should be rewarded at the expense of the middle class. And I am far from alone - we number in the millions.
In fact, I believe that giving seats at the government table to those who do not believe government can work, those who speak out against good governance and helping everyone do better, and those who preach hatred to any part of humanity is, in fact, failure of governance.
And I am not alone.
Labels: lettertoObama
Forty-four minus nine
In nine days I celebrate the forty-fourth anniversary of my birth.Counting down to that day, I am posting birthday memories.
When mom would ask me what kind of birthday cake I wanted, early on, I remember being very impressed with the pineapple upside-down cake.
So sweet and decorated without frosting. Yum. And the sugary, sort-of crust that formed on top around the rings of pineapple... delicious.
Mom would make it in a rectangular Pyrex baking... thing. Pan? It was Pyrex and see-through, the kind of thing you'd bake a lasagna in (which was another item on my mom's small menu of recipes). Not a traditional layer cake. I would always request a corner piece - I don't know why, because it's not like it had extra frosting. The candles would go in the middle of the pineapple rings - or maybe mom filled those holes with cherries? I remember it both ways.
I don't remember how or when I first heard or tasted the pineapple upside-down cake. I imagine that my mom must have made one during the year, and it so impressed me that I had to have one when the opportunity came up for me to choose one special cake for my birthday.
Everyone in my family had their favorite cakes for their own birthdays. My dad's was white cake with cherry bits, and cherry-flavored frosting. My sister loved chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.
Sadly, I don't remember what kind of cake my mom wanted for her birthday. Was it just that she never requested one because she was the one who had to make it? Or did she have a favorite and I have just lost that memory? Alas, she is gone and has been for over 7 years so I'll be unable to ask her.
As I grew up, though, my tastes changed, and my requested cake was simple: white cake, chocolate frosting. This cake was made as a layer cake and slathered in frosting. And to this day, that's what I choose when I have to choose a favorite kind of cake.
Mmmm... birthday cake. Why am I hungry now?
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Forty-four minus ten
In ten days I will celebrate the 44th anniversary of my birth.Until that day, I will post one birthday memory a day. Hey, it's my blog; I'll talk about myself if I want. Isn't that the point of blogging?
Today I will talk about the general calendrical position of my birthday.
It kinda sucks.
Oh, you wanted more than that? OK…
I remember being very young when I realized that, date-wise, I got screwed on the whole birthday thing. It only took a month or two of kindergarten, and having classmates get to celebrate their own birthdays in class, with cake and presents, to show me that I would likely never get to share in that experience. My birthday, for all the years I went to school, fell exactly three days after Christmas Day, and three days before New Year's Eve - smack-dab in the midst of Christmas Break.
And, of course, with Christmas being the 800-pound gorilla of holidays and gift-giving, I'm sure that my parents felt some pressure to not celebrate my birthday as much as, say, my sister's birthday, which was in November. We're already socialized to give lots and lots of presents for Christmas; my parents must have faced the pressure to just hold back some for me and save them for three days later. In fact, when I tell people when my birthday is, that's a common reaction: "Oh, you probably got fewer presents for your birthday, right?"
As common as that idea is, I scour my memory and, other than the hole caused by a lack of social sharing by having a party with friends, I did not lack for birthday presents. My dad said once to me, as an adult, that they both saw the potential unfairness and worked to avoid it.
I have sometimes joked that I should celebrate my half-birthday, on June 28th. A summer time birthday would be easier to 'round up folks to celebrate with me, and people might be more likely to purchase gifts.
But after forty-four years, old habits are hard to break. My birthday is the 28th day of the 12th month of the year, and will always be.
(Hat tip and huge thanks to Tracy, my best friend in the world, for this idea!)
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Rights and responsibilities
Robert Anson Heinlein wrote (in "Starship Troopers", I believe) that rights come with responsibilities. He was a crazy ol' libertarian, but I like the idea that people have to consider proper use of their inalienable rights and not just go exercising them at will.Which is a long-winded way for me to link to the letter that an executive vice-president of the National Geographic Society wrote to the publisher of the Portland Mercury.
The letter addresses the "borrowing" of the look of National Geographic magazine for the local paper a few weeks back, right down to the familiar yellow border. The Merc's editor, Wm. Stephen Humphrey, saw the letter and figured the local paper was in for a lawsuit.
Turns out, no lawsuit.
Seems that the folks at National Geographic are advanced lifeforms, and realize that copyright laws aren't there to squelch all forms of creativity - like parody, for example:
Dear Editor Humphrey:
Your October 30, 2008 edition of Mercury Geographic has been brought to our attention. I hope you are not surprised as National Geographic has a 120-year-old record and responsibility to cover the world and everything that is in it.
Our first instinct in such circumstances is to issue a cease-and-desist letter to prevent any unauthorized use of our valued trademarks and trade dress, as well as various copyrighted material.
We recognize, however, that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and that your mimic of our recognized look for your "Halloween Dress-Up Issue" was not malicious appropriation, but in good fun.
The letter then devolves into a tit-for-tat sales pitch for the Mercury to encourage their readers to resubscribe to the National Geographic, which Humphreys faithfully does in the above-linked blog post.
Awesome. So much better than going in with lawyers blazing, isn't it? They had a right to their trademark... and they exercised it thoughtfully. One might even say, "responsibly". Good for them!
I really want to make a connection between the stereotypical "naked native boobies" found in old Nat'l Geos and the porn ads in the back of the Merc, but the exact connection escapes me.
Runners ARE different
Hat tip to Kelly Johnson over at OregonLive for this decade-old Adidas ad campaign for their running shoes/clothes.Each ad touches on some aspect of running that runners "get" and non-runners, probably, don't.
Of the eleven acts depicted, I have done some variation of eight of them. Yes, even this and this, I'm not-really-ashamed to say. Feel free to guess the other seven in the comments, or just speculate about my mental health. Or even chime in if you're a runner. It's all good.
(Cross-posted from my normally-all-about-running blog)
Limelight
From a couple of months ago, comes the following post. Started, and not finished.*****
A cold, rainy day, and a long work week, and being low on money, and not exercising, and feeling alone.
I needed... comfort food.
Yeah, I sought to fill the hole created by things both in my power to change and things outside my ability to change... with food.
I'd hoped to, at least, choose wisely, something low calorie. I just didn't want to have a simple sandwich at home.
So I went to the Limelight.
My favorite waitress waved when I walked in. She came over, and sat with me and chatted a bit. She was tired, she said. "I've been out late every night this week." She had started school just weeks before, but instead had been drinking and not sleeping.
It felt like there was more she wanted to say... but for whatever reason, didn't say it. She took my order (Sante Fe chicken sandwich with spicy sauce, jack cheese and grilled jalepeños and the soup of the day)
Labels: draft
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Keeping track is important
How my day has been going:
Yay for Calorie Count+!
Phone call
2 December 2006My phone rings. I pick up.
"Hi, Dad."
"Oh, hi, son. Listen, two things. First, are you going to Max's birthday thing tomorrow?"
"Yeah, at some point."
"Oh, OK, good. Second, are you going to New York for Christmas?"
"Yes, I am."
"What airline are you flying?"
"Alaska."
"Oh, great. Do you mind if I ask you what kind of deal you got?"
"I had enough frequent flyer miles to cover a round-trip ticket. I had to use a lot, because of when I was going, but I still have a bunch left over."
"Oh, nice. When are you going?"
"I fly out the 22nd, and I'm coming back on New Year's Day."
"Oh, so you'll be there for your birthday?"
"Yeah. Are you going to go?"
"Well, I've been thinking about it. Since everyone's going to be there, I've been trying to find a deal. It's hard because of all the black-out days."
"Right. That's why I had to use so many frequent-flyer miles. Forty thousand."
"Wow."
"Yeah, but it's all covered., so that's nice."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"Well, I was thinking. Since everyone's going to be there, you know, I was just thinking that it might be nice to come out for just a few days, maybe, and get a car... and drive down to [my hometown], in Jersey. The old homestead is still there, I can see it in Google Earth."
"Wow. I'd... love that, dad."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well, don't tell anyone. Don't tell your sister about it. I'm trying to work out a deal."
"OK."
"Carol is running hot and cold on the idea, but maybe if I can get a deal..."
"Right, dad."
"OK. See you tomorrow, son."
"Bye, dad."
Labels: draft
Monday, December 15, 2008
Freedom of speech applies to idiots, too, sadly
I believe in free speech. I believe in it a lot. It's something that still exists to a large degree in my home country (the United States of America), although there are times when I get really worried about it, like whenever anyone makes the dishonest argument that censorship (real censorship - using governmental force to stifle free speech) is necessary "for the children!"Neil Gaiman had an excellent essay outlining why he believes it's necessary to defend speech that he, personally, considers "icky". It's obviously worth a read, but if I could condense the argument down to just a paragraph or two it would be the following:
"The Law is a blunt instrument. It's not a scalpel. It's a club. If there is something you consider indefensible, and there is something you consider defensible, and the same laws can take them both out, you are going to find yourself defending the indefensible."
Mr. Gaiman also explains that there is a difference between making lines on paper, and taking actions that actually cause harm to children, and that is indeed a huge difference. He's making the above argument in the context of defending comic book writers and artists to depict things on paper that would, if they involved actual living humans, be clearly pornography - and if adults were participating or recording said acts, would clearly be abuse. But drawings? Words on a page? To Mr. Gaiman, the drawings and words may make him, personally, uncomfortable, but he would defend the right of the artist or writer to make them, because if those are forbidden, then who knows what future art Mr. Gaiman wants to make would be forbidden?
To be clear, I agree with Mr. Gaiman. I am, personally, loathe to put any restrictions on speech and art at all, even art depicting things I do not agree with. I mean, obviously I do: The Old and New Testament depict such horrors as selling one's daughter into slavery or giving her up for rape, wholesale religiously-motivated destruction of entire towns and nations, intense torture, bigotry and racism, even strict prohibitions against eating delicious lobster or barbecued pork ribs... Mmmmmm. And yet, despite these barbaric stories, there are people out there who would look you in the eye and, un-ironically, call the collection "The Good Book".
Ugh. I disagree, but I will defend the right of that book to exist and for adults to read it.*
But bringing it back to speech, and whether or not humans are free to engage in it, in my wanderings on the internets I came across this story of a couple in Holland Township, New Jersey who have given their children... unusual names:
"JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell, Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell and Adolf Hitler Campbell.
Good names for a trio of toddlers? Heath and Deborah Campbell think so. The Holland Township couple has picked those names and the oldest child, Adolf Hitler Campbell, turns 3 today."
o...k.
Seriously? The youngest is named Adolph Hitler Campbell?
How's that for a not-very-subtle act of rebellion against the dominant paradigm? Are they exercising their right of free speech, or are they taking an action that will result in the abuse of a child?
Johnny Cash had a song about a boy named "Sue" by an absent father, who had good intentions, twisted though they were. Once the parent's point of view was explained, everyone had a good laugh and agreed the outcome justified the pain. Makes for a nice song.
The above linked article coyly does not delve into the motivations that the Campbells had for choosing their children's names, but instead posts a question about it for the readers, and links to a gallery of images from the Campbell's home - including swastika tattoos, Nazi flags and decorations, and an adorable picture of the little towheaded boy.
I think the reporters (the byline is credited to "Express-Times staff" - no one reporter is willing to take credit for this) are hoping readers will draw their own conclusions.
The problem, the conflict in the article, is that the Campbells have been turned down by a local bakery to make a cake with the 3-year-old's name on it, and the Campbells claim to be confused by this.
I'm unsettled by this, to say the least. Clearly, the Campbells have the right to name their children anything they want. Clearly, they have the right to celebrate whatever culture they wish - even a culture that has become synonymous with evil. They have broken no law, and I wouldn't even go as far as to say that they're unethical or immoral in their own, personal, adult choices. Except that anyone with a brain and a thimbleful of understanding of human nature would see that they are inflicting social and psychological abuse on their children.
And in that exception, by taking that step of naming their children, the Campbells are very, very wrong indeed.
_____
* Carrying out its bizarre proscriptions and forcing them on others, especially children too young to know any better... well, that's where I draw the line, at least in the context of public discourse. I know I'm the minority opinion here but there's a growing number of folks who agree.
Acting!
This post was originally started in February 2007. The part in brackets, where I gave myself notes on the dream I was describing, are now as inscrutable to me as they likely are to anyone else. I have no memory or feeling about the words I wrote down almost 2 years ago. But the rest of the post, about dreams and dreaming in general, is still interesting to me.Enjoy.
*****
Not everyone dreams - or, perhaps more accurately, remembers their dreams. Scientists can demonstrate that anyone they test shows the same level of brain activity during sleep, but after the subjects wake up and pull the little sticky tabs and wires from their bodies and skulls, not all of them report images, feelings and other dream-like memories.
I almost always remember my dreams. In fact, when I was in my teens, a friend and I heard about lucid dreaming, which was apparently a state of dreaming where one is aware of the fact that they are dreaming, if you can imagine such a thing. It sounded like the best fantasy playground ever, where one would experience what it would be like to be truly limited only by one's own imagination.
In point of fact, in all my attempts, I only managed to experience a few brief moments of dreaming lucidity, and those moments, where I took the reins of my powers of thought, remain etched in my mind as if they were actual, living experiences. The reason I bring all this up now is simply as a preface to the idea that I have somehow exercised my "dream muscle" to the point where I can be considered an elite dreaming athlete.
Our dreams are normally full of images and feelings taken from our waking life and given new juxtapositions, they form patterns, both familiar and new, and examining them can reveal much insight into how we are dealing with the world. But the way in which the symbols are brought to our conscious awareness seem to be shaped by the amount of creativity we experience when conscious - or so I believe, with my layman's understanding of the brain.
My dreams, lately, have taken on an even stranger tone, in fact. But do not be alarmed. I think they've just been infused with greater and greater levels of creativity.
[roller-blading at the airport; Ken in a pinstriped suit; Clinton on TV in same suit]
[picking out a red bottle from the bread carts; acting as Brian acting as someone else; going to find my friend and co-worker; in an IT department for a store of some kind; new second-in-command manager with hair growing out of her face; wanting to do anything she can to help me find my place; referring other friends who may be lost, too - including ACTUAL Brian; "that's funny - they wanted to be sure I talked to you, too!"]
Labels: draft
Sunday, December 14, 2008
"Milk"
In my quest to see all the Oscar-nominated Best Films of 2008 prior to the nominations being announced next year, using only my well-tuned sense of what constitutes an Oscar-nominee, I went to see "Milk" yesterday, Gus van Sant's biopic of San Francisco City Supervisor Harvey Milk, a gay activist who was (spoiler alert!) shot and killed by fellow City Supervisor Dan White.Sean Penn did what he always does - completely disappear into the role and make him a real person, with all our flawed perceptions and amazing insights. More than that, though, Penn's performance shows a character that always pushed forward, and maintained a positive outlook, no matter what obstacles stood in his way.
The movie, seen through a wanna-be activist's eyes (mine), also shows how movements were built back in the day. Milk actually tried to get the political support of Dan White - of course, not knowing what White would do in the future, which we now know - by trying to find some common ground. Of course, White's idea of common ground appeared to be either too radical for Milk to support (something about psychiatric tests for children? I was never really sure), or that was another example of Milk's flaw, that he never took the time to look into the issue to find some way he could support White's side. Milk wanted his gay rights proposal to pass the city council with a unanimous vote as a symbolic measure, but when he failed to get White's support he pressed ahead anyway, then, flush from his victory, approached White again. This time, White had a politically unreasonable request - he wanted Milk to introduce a pay raise for City Supervisors, which Milk didn't even consider supporting.
Milk fought against a California state initiative, Proposition 6, which would have banned not only gays from teaching in public schools, but would have also gone further to ban anyone who supported gays. The state legislator who lead the drive for that measure is shown in the movie explaining that there were tests of some sort built into the bill. Milk has a meeting with the gay rights leaders in California at that time, and Milk denounces the pamphlets that they are distributing to fight against the measure: the text does not mention the word "gay", and does not put a human face on the problem, instead taking a "high road" and framing the whole debate in terms of human rights.
Milk urges his friends and followers to come out. His thought was that if more people were aware that someone they knew was gay, they would vote against the bill.
The movie suggests that the reason Prop. 6 lost was because of the courageous approach taken by Harvey Milk and the opposition. Because of the lead time for making movies, the writer and filmmakers had no idea, I'm sure, that the fight in the film would mirror the fight this year in regards to Prop. 8. Sadly, mirror is the right word - thousands of families were torn apart, a right enshrined in the California Constitution taken away because of those who mis-read and mis-understand the stories told by long-dead men, when Prop. 8 passed this year.
As I said, I watched the movie while wearing my activist hat. The struggle for gay rights, which is still in dispute thanks to the misreading of a Bronze Age text by its present-day followers, reminds me of the similarities to the atheist community. We atheists have only begun to collect in groups and to announce our presence to the world at large. On a national level, there is only one elected representative who calls himself a humanist, Rep. Pete Stark (D-CA13), and even Mr. Stark didn't announce he was a humanist until after he'd been elected. I have no particular insight into Mr. Stark's personal beliefs, and I mean no disrespect, but to my ears, "humanist" sounds like a cop-out for someone who can't go the whole distance and call themselves an atheist. And if that is the case, then the reason it's not a tenable label for an elected official is because of the vast influence that the followers of gods have in our supposedly modern society.
Earlier this year, the Secular Coalition tried to find as many atheist elected officials as they could. They released a survey. From the US President, to Congress, down to the state and local levels, there are over a million men and women elected to office.
The Secular Coalition found five; The afore-mentioned Rep. Stark; Nebraska State Senator Ernie Chambers (I am guessing, since Sen. Chambers was first elected in 1971 and is Nebraska's longest-serving legislator, that he did not come out as an atheist in his primary campaign); and three at the local level, one in Berkeley, California, one in Franklin, Maine, and one from Arlington, Massachusetts.
Harvey Milk's idea of making the fight personal by putting a face on what is otherwise an abstract idea is a good one. And the goal of getting more atheists elected into office is also a great route to take. The atheist community is only now beginning to organize and speak as one group. It's going to be a long fight, but studies show that, as education rises, so does non-belief. Education doesn't just mean advanced degrees; it can also mean just talking to your neighbor or friend.
Our elected officials are, by and large, experienced and well-educated, in most cases upper middle class or better. And yet there are only five out atheists among them? Far more, I think, are in the closet, put there by fear of oppression by the outspoken religious. And yet, we all share something. Atheists are, by and large, the ones who understand that separating church and state protects the church, too. Atheists are natural allies of people with minority religious traditions.
My youngest nephew is 17, and, like me and his father, an atheist. The night Barack Obama was elected by the people to be the President of the United States of America, its first black president, I asked my nephew if we would live to see an atheist president.
He thought a moment, then said, "I probably will," then smiled and continued, "but not you, Uncle Brian."
It'd be nice to prove him wrong - but I suspect he's right.
Labels: movies
Saturday, December 13, 2008
"Sometimes I think I live in a different world"
According to Nathan Rabin @ the Onion's AV Club, themanic pixie dream girl is a movie character that:"...exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures."
The MPDG character is, in the best cases, a strong, but flawed, female; just like actual women. In the worst cases, though, they become a trope, a gimmick. Not a real, full-fledged person, but a collection of plot devices and snappy one-liners.
Artistic, sensitive boys tend to fall madly in love with them - and I don't just mean artistic, sensitive boy movie characters. The ones in the audience do, too - not to mention the writers and directors who help put them on the screen.
Like William Miller once said of, and to, his manic pixie dream girl, "Sometimes I think I live in a different world." It's great, and cathartic, though, to visit her world once in a while. You're never the same afterward.
Reading another amazing post from Grace, I think I see a flip side to the story. Grace was Christopher's manic pixie dream girl, only she is a real, feeling, complex human being.
And she's an amazing writer.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Good and bad
Cheese can be a good smell. I said it can. The aroma of a nice cheddar, melting over some macaroni - delicious, mouth-watering.Cheese can be a bad smell. Very, very bad smell.
I don't have the language to explain where such a smell crosses the line from good to bad, though context is probably of paramount importance.
For instance, the same great aroma found in your mom's kitchen definitely crosses the line when emanating from a boy two sizes too large for his seat, next to you, crushing you into the window, on an otherwise jam packed bus. Feeling his warm and sweaty leg pushing up against yours, feeling every bounce and bobble of the bus transmitted to you through his meaty upper arm... combined with the overpowering odor of cheese, well, I don't have to tell you that it can be more than enough.
Bad, bad cheese smell.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Bye, bye, Bettie
Model Bettie Page, dead at 85.Internet famous
I don't normally watch local news. I get more than enough news on the internets, from reading Twitter, and the Willy Week and The Merc's Blogtown.But during the election season, KGW actually devoted a half-hour, five days a week to nothing but the election, both local and national. I watched several times, and wished I'd watched more. Maybe it's a sign of how poorly local news handles politics that KGW's move made it stand out, but I wanted to encourage things like that. I am a political junkie, so I follow it all like it was baseball... and I'm sure that if more people had political information in front of them, it would be better in general for all of us. Democracy works when more people participate.
But it seemed to disappear after the election. Or maybe I just stopped watching and went back to my precious internets.
Then... I started reading on Twitter, from a lot of the local folks that I follow, notably Twitterer-about-town Josh Bancroft, that KGW has a new live show on the air at 7:00 PM in my hometown, called Live @ 7. I'm pretty sure that was the same timeslot as the election show.
And, apparently, the host of the show, Stephanie Stricklen, is on Twitter (and the producers (I think) Twitters under their own account, too).
Then, the final straw was reading, somewhere, I don't remember who said it first, or at all, that Live @ 7 kept their mikes and cameras "live" during commercial breaks for anyone watching them online instead of on TV.
How cool is that?
Last night, because I was home and surfing, I decided to follow StephStricklen and TheSquare on Twitter and load up their live video while I surfed.
It's kinda cool to see local newscasters who seem to have really embraced a couple of the neat internet tools. During one of the breaks, Stephanie, in between apologizing for being short (what a silly thing to apologize for, said the 5'6" man), she filled in online watchers on a story that got cut from the broadcast for time, for example.
And prior to the show, the producers asked for input from Twitterers, namely if we were doing anything to prepare for this storm that's being predicted for the Portland area. I snapped off a snarky but honest answer.
Seeing Attorney-General-elect John Kroger get interviewed made me glad for my vote for him, and Ms. Stricklen made good use of the short amount of time with her questions. I hope, for example, that Kroger's eye-opening point on how scared even rural communities are of "the meth problem" may lead to other options other than law enforcement options to dealing with drug use and abuse, but I'm glad he is approaching his position by listening to the entire state. It's encouraging.
Surprise! During the final break, I got to watch Stephanie stumble over my handle. She made a common mistake, assuming that it breaks out as "luna + rob + verse", I think, from the way she was reading it.
...holy crab, does that mean she's going to read my tweet?
I shot off a quick note to let them know that my handle is broken out and should be read as "lunar + obverse". Then I got to see my original tweet read, on air, by the host.
Whoo-hoo! I'm internet famous!
Big thanks to KGW, Stephanie Stricklen and the producers of "Live @ 7" for making me a fan of local news again, and for participating in the internet community. Big props.
Atheist challenge
Without looking up the answers on the internet, I got 74% on this Bible quiz. (Shout out to Daniel Florien at Unreasonable Faith for the link.)You know the Bible 74%!
Wow! You are truly a student of the Bible! Some of the questions were difficult, but they didn't slow you down! You know the books, the characters, the events . . . Very impressive!
Ultimate Bible Quiz
Take More Quizzes
Not bad for an atheist, huh? Yes, I've read the Bible - three times (NIV and King James versions) - and read some, but not all, of the Apocrypha.
I don't know which ones I got right and wrong. Didn't care that much to go back.
How'd you do?
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Real-life Bucky
Bucky from Get Fuzzy is supposedly a Seal Point Siamese.This cat looks like it could not only be a Seal Point Siamese, it looks like it could be Bucky. Except his ears aren't permanently back.
Regardless, the above-linked picture is hilarious.
Spicy
Sunday night, I had some beef I needed to cook or freeze. I decided to haul out the wok and stir-fry it with some vegetables, and then save it for later. Sliced it into strips, marinated it for a couple of hours, then got to cookin'.As the wok (cast iron, baby, and coated in seasoning that's two years old) heated up, with a little bit of canola oil, I thought to my self, "Self, I like things spicy. Now would be the perfect time to add some cayenne pepper. Just a dash..."
Got out the jar of ground cayenne, which I hadn't used in a while. Opened the jar, which had no grate or grill on the mouth, and figured I should be careful.
Tipped the jar over... slowly... gave it a little shake...
...and a clump, about the size of my thumb, broke off and fell into the wok.
I laughed. At least at first.
The oil in the wok was just at the "smoke point" - perfect for stir-frying - but as I watched the clump of cayenne, it started smoking even more. A lot more.
I turned my oven fan on higher, but the smoke kept coming.
I started coughing. My eyes started stinging.
My kitchen, then my living room, started filling with spicy smoke; essentially, pepper smoke. I turned the stove down several notches.
In spite of the cold, I opened my doors and fanned to get the smoke out. Still coughing, nose and eyes stinging, I finally got my apartment mostly clear of smoke.
Sadly, my smoke detector did not go off. Note to self: test smoke detector and send note to landlord about that.
Now, days later, I can still smell spicy cayenne in my apartment. It's kind of delicious, actually. I should cook more often.
I did finally get the beef and veggies cooked up. Man, that beef is gonna be spicy...
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Packed house
Would you want to see a movie which description includes the phrase:"Jessica Biel plays a stripper"?
Here's the trailer:
You've probably stopped reading already in your rush to click the link, but blah blah "Powder Blue", blah blah Forrest Whitaker is a priest blah blah Ray Liotta & Kris Kristoferson (who? exaaaaactly) blah blah strip club crime whatever blah blahdi-blah no release date blah 2009.
If you've read this far, you're welcome. Now go Google "Jessica Biel confirms nudity" until 2009.
The Three R's
Lately, I've taken to going back into my draft posts - the ones where I started a post then decided to save it for later. Sometimes I don't have the time to fully develop an idea, and sometimes I start it and, for whatever reason, lose the creative energy to continue, or lose my train of thought.I have 60 of them.
In an effort to always have something posted here, I have been looking for unfinished posts, and then, y'know, finishing them, and scheduling them out ahead.
But there are some posts where now, months later, I have no idea where the post was going to go, what I was trying to say.
But there's still some value in them, I think. Maybe if I contemplate it, I can fill in the blanks. Maybe not. But at least it might be interesting.
Presented below is one such post. I originally started it on 17 April 2007. The parts in square brackets are where I was leaving myself an idea of what to write, a space I could fill in later with more details.
I don't remember what was going to go in the last one - the one about Sunday school - except the vague outlines of my memory of first contact with organized religion. I don't remember how it fit into the rest of the post.
I've given this post a tag of "draft", so that I can do this again in the future and collect 'em all in one place.
Feel like helping? Post a comment to share your thoughts on the theme I was aiming for. Help me do some archaeology into my own mind...
*****
I was complimented recently on my writing. She told me it was warm, and friendly, and that she could just imagine me right there in the room with her.
[Story about having a typewriter when I was in Kindergarten]
Not sure if those stories were gibberish or actual stories - but there's evidence that they may have been readable, at least.
[Story about mom watching me and my sister looking at the Sunday funnies on the living room floor - and mom realized I was actually reading them to my older sister. According to the family mythology, I was three years old.]
Post title mentions the three R's and between 'riting and reading that's only two. You may think that the third R is 'rithmetic, but I had in mind my first encounter with Religion...
[Story about bible school]
Labels: draft
Monday, December 08, 2008
I send emails
At the risk of descending into "grumpy-old-man-ism", I present here an email I sent and the reply in regards to a consumer complaint:*****
from: Brian Moon
to: jan.smith@state.or.us
date: Sun, Nov 30, 2008 at 10:51 AM
subject: Question about retailer policies
I found your email address at the DEQ site for the bottle bill. If you're not the right person to address this question, please pass my email along to the correct group.
The closest retailer to take bottle returns has just informed me that they will not take flattened bottles. I live in an apartment and don't have a lot of space for recycling, so I normally flatten the plastic bottles to take up less space. The retailer (Foster's Market on SE Clatsop & 17th in Sellwood) either won't take them, or requires me to re-inflate the bottles.
I know that there are provisions in the law that allow a retailer to refuse up to a certain number of bottles, or bottles that are unclean or damaged so that their labels aren't visible - but not taking back bottles that are readable but take up less space seems unreasonable to me.
What can you tell me about how the law governs this situation? Thank you for your time.
--
Brian Moon
Portland, OR
*****
from: Jan Smith
to: Brian Moon
date: Mon, Dec 8, 2008 at 10:52 AM
subject: Re: Question about retailer policies
I just spoke to the manager at the store and they will not be doing that again. They can not refuse because they are crushed. If you have any further problems please contact me.
Thank you,
Jan Smith
Janice L. Smith
License/Compliance Assistant
Oregon Liquor Control Commission*****
I just knew that lady was giving me trouble when I tried to bring back those cans! She's the lady who also once refused to sell me a lottery ticket because she didn't know how to work the machine. Ugh.
Less than a feeling
Or maybe your "feeling" about the existence of God is more like:- ...your feeling that you're standing on solid ground? The surface of the Earth is moving at over 1,037 MPH at the equator; about half that at the 45th parallel.
- ...your feeling that the Sun moves across the sky? The Sun is the central point in our solar system, due to its much larger mass compared to the satellites and planets that orbit it. It's apparent motion through the sky is caused by the rotation of the Earth - an illusion facilitated by your minuscule size compared to both the Earth and the Sun and the distance between them.
- ...your feeling of happiness and satisfaction upon eating a full meal? That Big Mac, large fries, and large Coke contains 1420 calories - more than would be burned by over an hour of running for most people.
- ...the feeling of beauty at the twinkling of the stars in the night sky? The light from distant suns is steady; the twinkling effect is caused by shifts in the upper atmosphere.
- ...your feeling that there is something privileged and different about humanity compared to other animals? All creatures on Earth use DNA to encode the genetic information they need to grow, live, and breed; the differences between the genetic code of chimpanzees and humans are less than 4%.
Your feelings are probably the worst way to measure the real world available to you. They are more often a signpost to your own inner narcissism.
Good thing we have the toolbox of science to help us get over our self-centeredness, right?
I could go on. I probably will, later, as I think of more examples of how inaccurate feelings are. Want to leave your own suggestions for inaccurate feelings in the comments?
Feel free!
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Dogged
Walking at night. Dog barks at me from a yard. Keeps barking, keeps getting closer.I ignore the dog.
A girl, in her early twenties, starts calling for the dog. The dog follows me, I keep ignoring it.
Girl apologizes to my back.
I finally turn around to notice the dog. "I don't want you to lose your dog" I say.
I feel guilty, like I did something wrong.
Did I?
What the fuck?
In this episode of "What the fuck?!" we find some random dude claiming that the scary black Muslim who had a scary Christian pastor and who lived in a neighborhood with a scary Dirty Fucking Hippie might maybe take away his penis extension:So where the hell was this bozo when Bush was violating the 1st, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, and 8th amendments, not to mention many instances of US and international law?
I guess that was OK by him...
Saturday, December 06, 2008
My head asplode
An unnamed "network administrator senior" at my place of work spent a minute reading a scripted report, noticed that there were some computers on the network that weren't getting anti-virus updates, and decided to do something about it: sending an email to everyone else telling them to fix it.That's one way to earn one's senior-level pay, I suppose.
In response, my friend and co-worker wrote a batch file, and, y'know, fixed the problem. Without having to go visit all those computers, like the "network administrator senior" suggested was the only way to solve the problem.
In the olden days I would have said that script-writing was more of a network-analyst kind of thing to do, but apparently that's left for the lower pay grades these days.
But that's not the best part of the story. When my friend and co-worker sent out an email explaining how he'd solved the problem by spending an hour or so writing a batch file, another "network administrator senior" sent out an email reply, sent to everyone, asking if my friend's batch file could be run... from another batch file.
My head asplode. What kind of clueless question is that? Both of these "senior"-level people make more money than my friend, or me, for that matter. And they're not management (not that that would spare them my ridicule), they're supposed to be technical.
Maybe it's just me, but they should be doing this stuff themselves. How hard is a batch file? It's a list of commands!
What-the-eff-ever.
Friday, December 05, 2008
Too many unofficial holidays
Tracy texted me this morning to inform me that today was Eggnog Latte Day. Which is apparently celebrated by ordering an eggnog latte, and by paying it forward - the lady ahead of her in the drive-thru paid for hers.I had not realized that it was an official unofficial holiday, but I keep eggnog in my heart (not literally) all year 'round.
Today is also Repeal Day, the anniversary of that day when Prohibition was repealed in the United States. Prohibition of alcohol was yet another destructive outcome of religious beliefs, but like most fundamentalist plans, had a short-lived lifespan.
And today is also the annual Day of the Ninja, a day that is apparently celebrated in counter-point to the annual Talk Like A Pirate Day on September 19th. Did you realize that pirates and ninjas are natural enemies? I must admit that in the age-old battle between pirate and ninja, I'm a pirate partisan.
I think the best part of all these unofficial holidays it that I can easily celebrate all three. Heck, just adding a little rum to my eggnog latte combines the first two. Then, as long as no one sees me do it, that's ninja enough, yes? Done, done and done, my friends.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Stories
So, there is no God.All we have are stories that people tell about God, and feelings that people have about God.
If there's any evidence other than that, it has not surfaced. In thousands of years. Over and over, all we have are stories about God, and feelings about God, told and talked about by men and women.
Since I'm well aware that stories and feelings can often be false or misleading, I don't put much trust in stories and feelings. Sorry about that. I'm sure others' stories and feelings are very important to them, and I know that we all make decisions based on our own stories and feelings, but can we at least try to take advantage of the toolbox that helps us sort out the stories and feelings that are false from the stories and feelings that are true?
And by "true" I mean something very simple: they are consistent with the world we see around us. The actual world, not the fantasy world of stories told by Bronze Age men. And by "true" I also mean that they conform with all of the evidence we've seen of the past, and by "true" I also mean they help us make predictions for the future.
The stories and feelings I've heard about God do not fit this definition of "true". Again, if I'm wrong, I'd be glad to hear it. But I do not apologize for my insistence on a reality-based worldview.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Happy Birthday, meatbag!
My youngest nephew and I share a love of the cartoon series "Futurama". This is not to say that my two other nephews might not also love the show; they may or may not, and either way, that's great. I'm only mentioning my youngest nephew because today is his 17th birthday.When I went Googling for something Futurama-related to post on his Facebook page, the image that came up first made me laugh, and would probably have made my youngest nephew laugh, and would probably have made his parents blush.
No, seriously. This was literally the first hit on the search "futurama birthday":
(Your results may differ, especially if you have "Safe Search" turned on.)
I think she looks... mad... or... something...
From his closest (geographically) uncle, here's a warm birthday shout-out to Max. Happy birthday, meatbag!
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
The opposite of language [B5 - 11 January 2008]
For the 30 days following this blog's five-year anniversary, I am reposting some favorite, popular, or unique posts. Feel free to contact me to suggest some of your favorites. If you'd like to comment, click through to the original post.This will by my final blogiversary post. It's from early this year, and I like it because I captured my perplexity at what most consider normal, human interaction, at a very dark and cold winter of what turned out to be a fear-filled and frozen year for me.
I've picked these posts for the last 30 days for essentially capricious reasons - I liked a turn of phrase, or they reminded me of something I felt when I wrote them, or just because I wanted to re-post some of the longer posts I've written. What's most fascinating to me is noticing how different they make me feel now, long after the heat of the moment when I wrote them, and how putting them into a new context changes the meaning I get from them.
Here's to another five years. Forward the future!
*****
I've been feeling scruffy and bloated, unshaven and flaky and stinky. I haven't been running. I have been eating way too much. Been wearing the same clothes day after day.
Hey, at least I've been going to work.
Tuesday night felt like I'd been working all week already. I dragged my ass to the bus stop in the rain, hoping some music would cheer me up. My bus was a bit crowded, so I chose to sit in front of the bus, in the sideways-facing seats normally saved for the elderly or disabled. It was dark; the driver had the lights off in front. I sat and lost myself in my iPhone.
Except... there was a cute girl sitting in the first forward-facing seat, next to a non-descript guy. The girl had long dark auburn hair. Her hair reached the small of her back. She was wearing jeans, and a snug fleece jacket, and had a backpack that was probably at least a third of her body weight, and a messenger bag. I'd seen her before, on the bus, and in my neighborhood, and I must have caught her eye and smiled and looked away. Must have.
She didn't smile back at me. In fact, her body language... well, I don't admit to being an expert in interpreting body language, but she seemed stiff and uncomfortable. Her upper body was perfectly straight and faced forward but her face was turned to look out the window on her side of the bus, and her legs were crossed and turned out into the aisle in the opposite direction. But somehow she still kept looking at me. She never kept eye contact, though; if I were looking at her, she would quickly glance away. No smile.
I thought nothing of it and re-immersed myself in my surfing. A stop or two later, the sideways-facing row of seats across from me opened up, and, abruptly, the girl got up and moved there. This time, she curled herself into an S-shape, facing forward, tucking her legs and leaning her upper body, both in the direction of travel for the bus. One arm lay along the top of the bench, the other arm pulled her legs in tighter and held on to the strap of her backpack. She took up at least two whole seats.
But she still kept looking over at me. Maybe I brought it on, because I kept looking at her. But because of how I was sitting, legs out in front of me, slumped over, both hands holding my iPhone in my lap, facing at right angles to the direction of travel, if I looked up at all I was looking right at her. I thought she was cute, but I got an uncomfortable vibe from her tight, controlled body language. I started to avoid any eye contact at all, looking out the window past her, or looking towards the front of the bus, or looking into the back of the bus.
In my peripheral vision, though, I could still see her looking my way. And when I looked up again, we made eye contact again. And she looked away.
I texted Tracy to ask for advice and she responded "if she makes eye contact and holds it, TALK TO HER". But no; the girl kept glancing away. She got off the bus a couple stops before me and I wrote it off. Maybe I smelled bad. Maybe I gave her an odd look. Maybe I look like her ex-boyfriend. Who knows?
Wednesday, I hopped a bus across the river for my lunch break. And even though the weather was winter rain and general blah, walking around downtown picked up my spirits a bit, just as I'd hoped. I love downtown Portland. There's such a range of types, especially in the middle of a work day. Business suits, fleece- and sandal-wearing outdoors-y folk, punks, baggy sportswear hip-hoppers... all kinds.
I still felt lumpy and alien, but amongst all those different kinds of people, how could I not fit in? I still kept a mental distance, observing instead of interacting, but it lightened my mood just being there.
When it was time to head back to work, ugh, I walked to the bus stop. And as soon as I got there, a punk princess got there, too. Dark blue Mohawk, pulled back into almost a ponytail with bright pink hair clips. Leather biker jacket, black miniskirt over black leggings, knee-high black leather boots covered in bright metal zippers, in fact platform boots with several inches of sole. Even in the boots she was shorter than me, compact in the same way as a hand grenade. Beautiful. Hot. And when she looked my way, she had the brightest sky-blue eyes.
I still felt ragged. Shabby. I smiled and looked down. Fiddled with my earbuds. Changed the volume. Stuffed my hands into my pockets. Shuffled from foot to foot. Looked for the bus.
She kept looking over at me. Like the redhead on the bus the night before, no smile. Well... again, body language is not my forté, but the punk girl's eyes appeared to be smiling, even if her lips weren't. She looked over several times, and made eye contact several times, even though I was in the opposite direction of where she would have to watch for the bus. Finally, when the bus approached, she stepped out from under the awning shielding her from the rain and strutted right past me to stand by the bus stop sign, nearly brushing me as she did. It felt aggressive, bold. I smiled. But that's all I did.
Thursday night after work, after dinner of jambalaya at The Limelight, still feeling shopworn, I grabbed a cinnamon roll and cup of coffee at my neighborhood coffee shop, losing myself in my laptop and fading out in a public place. I knew if I went home I'd just go to sleep, but I didn't feel up to anything more interactive than chatting or surfing, and I still wanted to be around other people that wouldn't put much of a demand on me. Wow, writing that out and reading it makes me sound... conflicted. I suppose that I am.
Holly was working in the shop by herself for a while, and just sat behind the counter and read. Until a friend of hers came in, another girl her age or older (Holly is in her early 20s), and Holly came out from behind the counter and sat at the table next to mine and she and her friend talked and laughed and sipped coffee. Holly would get up for the occasional customer, then return to the table.
The friend sat slouched over, feet stretched out under the table, hands on the table, fingers spliced together or hands holding up her chin. Holly was curled up, one leg tucked up under her on the chair, leaning over her cup of coffee or holding her head up with a hand on her chin.
From time to time, they would laugh, I would look up, and the friend would look over at me, sideways, and smile, then look away.
My laptop battery drained, slowly, and when it was nearly done, I decided I'd go home instead of plugging it in. Time to retire for the evening. I stood, packed up, put on my coat and scarf. I walked past Holly's table (couldn't avoid it, really) and waved at Holly. "G'night," I said.
"Good night!" she said. Then, "Wait!"
I turned around.
She looked around quickly and selected the paperback book in front of her. "Have you ever read Steinbeck?" Her tone seemed improvisational and impulsive. She blurted out the question.
"Not that much," I said, "Just 'Travels with Charley', a long time ago."
She held up the book. 'East of Eden'. "Do you want this one? I started reading it and I got about 80 pages into it and it pissed me off, so I skipped ahead and read the ending and I knew I wouldn't like it so I really just don't want to read it at all so I need to give it away and I know you read a lot. Do you want it? You don't have to take it but I thought maybe you wanted it." During her rambling, spilling monologue her friend smiled up at me.
I bantered a bit with Holly about having a pile of unread books at home; Holly said she did, too, but they were all Stephen King and she was trying to broaden her horizons, but she didn't like sad books. I laughed and said I could handle sad books, which was bravado considering how I'd felt lately, and thanked her and took the book. I wished her and her friend good night, and walked out into the rain.
And wondered what all this body language had been about. If only I could interpret it in the moment, and not days or hours later... This whole week I've felt as if I've been avoiding something that's been trying to get my attention.
But I don't feel ready yet. Do I need to be ready? Don't I?
What's the opposite of body language?
Labels: blogiversary
Monday, December 01, 2008
No direction home [B5 - 31 December 2006]
For the 30 days following this blog's five-year anniversary, I am reposting some favorite, popular, or unique posts. Feel free to contact me to suggest some of your favorites. If you'd like to comment, click through to the original post.Travel is a recurring theme on my blog. I've been on road trips, I've been to Mexico several times and spent a Christmas and New Year's in New York. I love going away because it's different than home, and going away means coming back and seeing with new, refreshed eyes.
Here's a post that amuses me greatly, written during my New York trip two years ago.
*****
- I'm standing at the Long Island Rail Road station in Jamaica, Queens, New York, having arrived in the tri-state area via airplane about an hour previous. It's about 8:30 PM. I'm waiting for my connection to Glen Head, New York. I'm tired and out of sorts. I've only been in New York once before in my life. I've got a messenger bag (with the logo of a Seattle radio station on it) and a giant piece of luggage.
And a guy, tall, dark chocolate skin, sweater and jeans, walks up to me, ticket in hand, staring at the signs, obviously lost and confused. He spots me and approaches. "Is this the train to West Hempstead?" he asks me.
I shrug. "Dunno. Sorry." - I''m in Greenwich Village, crossing Houston (which is pronounced locally as "HOW-stun", hands tucked in my pockets, my eyes hooded by my baseball cap, scarf wrapped around my face against the wind. It's 9:30 PM or so, dark and cold, but this neighborhood is filled with people. The odors from dozens of restaurants fill the air and delight my nose, overpowering the smell of car exhaust.
I've heard people call Portland's NW 21st Street "Portland's Greenwich Village" but now that I've seen the real thing, the comparison is not appropriate. The real neighborhood is much much more interesting. Maybe in another 100 years Portland's will approach it.
A couple pauses, he tall and blandly handsome, she short, thin, dark-haired, Roman nose, crossing the opposite direction from me. I glance up, smile softly, keep walking. She pauses and turns to me. "Is Bleeker Street this way?" she asks, pointing in the direction I've just come.
"Yeah," I say, in my best New Yorkian accent, "It's one blawk up." I surprise myself with how easily the accent, and the directions, come. And they're both accurate.
"OK, thanks!" And they scamper off like puppies. - Later that same night, I'm walking west along Canal Street, having tried, and failed, to find Ground Zero (I just didn't go far enough). I guess I should have asked for directions...
Another generic hip urban couple in their black wool coats, male and female, are walking in the direction from which I came. She looks at me and asks, "Is Little Italy this way?" The boy tugs on her arm and avoids looking at me, his masculinity threatened by having to ask, even by proxy.
"Sorry, I got nothin'. I'm a tourist, too!" I say with a smile. They walk away.
- I'm scrambling down the stairs at Penn Station, Saturday afternoon, trying to catch the New Jersey Transit train that will take me back to the airport, and eventually my hotel. It's the New York Coastal train (I believe) and all I know is that it stops at Newark International Airport, where I can catch a shuttle to the Hilton.
An older lady, in her late 50s or early 60s, bottle-blonde hair, coming down the stairs with me, looks at me. "Is this the train to Secaucus?" She pronounces it with the accent on the first syllable.
"Uh, I'm not sure. I'm just taking it to Newark. Sorry."
She nods and looks around for a porter or conductor as we reach the bottom of the stairs and the train platform. I hustle onboard and stand near the door.
The first stop after Penn Station was Secaucus. I saw her get off there. After all the directions I've given it's nice to see that some folks do reach where they're going, after all.
Labels: blogiversary
Congratulations, Senator Clinton?
Congratulations are apparently in order to Senator Clinton (D-NY) for her appointment to Secretary of State in President-elect Obama's administration, though at the moment I'm posting this, it has not been officially announced.Tracy wanted to know my thoughts. I think it's a great pick for Obama. Sen. Clinton is well-liked around the world, and has a long and generally positive history with other world leaders. Notwithstanding her gaffe about "coming under fire" in Bosnia, she really does bring a wealth of foreign policy knowledge to Obama's Cabinet.
The flip side of the question, though, is will this be a good move for Sen. Clinton? I'm just a political junkie, but it looks like a step down to me: she could have continued in the Senate and shaped and set policy; instead she will be implementing Obama's policies. Perhaps, though, she has some strategic goal in mind?
I can see by my Google search that I'm not the only one who is wondering "Has a Secretary of State ever gone on to become President?
(The answer seems to be: none in the last 150 years, but six prior to that - Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Adams, Van Buren and Buchanan.)
