Sometimes when you visit here, you may see an ad down at the bottom of the page. These ads are placed by WordPress, because I am currently on a free hosting plan. Maybe someday, after HBO buys the rights to the book I haven’t finished yet, I’ll be able to pay for actual hosting and avoid those ads. In the meantime, they should be unobtrusive; that’s what WordPress says, anyway.
In the meantime, however, I may be placing ads here myself. The current theme I’m using, Ecto, isn’t really a great one for ads, since the only place I can place ads is in the Sidebar, which is hidden away under a menu. So I’m looking at other themes that will allow me to put another ad or two on the page somewhere. Or there are plugins that allow me to inject ads into posts, but, man, that doesn’t really sit right with me. I may be just unaccustomed to advertising, however.
In any case, stay tuned for ads, but not a lot of ads, and with any luck at all, good targeted ads that aren’t racist, sexist, right-wing, or otherwise horrible.
If you ever see an ad here that’s offensive, please let me know, hopefully accompanied by a screenshot. I will do everything in my power to make sure such ads don’t appear here.
Earlier this week, I got the following pop-up message from Safari running on Mac OS X 10.11.0 El Capitan. I don’t now recall what site gave me the message.
“Most modern websites will work without Flash if you turn it off” you say? OK, sold. Gone. Goodbye, good riddance.
For the three days following that message and my response, I have noticed no significant difference in use. Honestly, I forgot about it. Until just now, I followed a link from the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Twitter feed with a sneak preview of next week’s episode (linking to the picture of the page because spoilers if you’re not caught up on the third season).
When I got to the ABC website, the page was overtaken by a banner that took up fully a third of the window. The banner read:
You either have an old version of Adobe Flash Player or do not have Adobe Flash Player installed which is required to use this site. Please install/upgrade Adobe Flash Player.
Which brought me back to that earlier Apple dialogue box. Am I going to have to re-enable Flash? Do I care about what happened to Simmons enough to do that?
What happens if I just click that play button?
What happens is… the video plays just fine.
But that damned banner is still there, telling me it won’t work.
Which is hilarious to me.
I feel as if I’m watching a contest between titans, the corporate persons who shape our daily lives. Apple, Adobe, ABC/Disney, flailing around, each defending their turf, and all I can do is stand and watch and laugh, because nobody really knows anything.
Oregon Labor Commissioner Brad Avakian released an advisory opinion today stating that “sharing economy” taxi services Uber and Lyft drivers are employees, not independent contractors. Therefore, the drivers should be afforded the protections offered by law, such as being paid for each hour worked, safe working conditions, and remedies for discriminatory practices, among others.
It’s important to note that this opinion is simply advisory. The Oregon Bureau of Labor and Industries hasn’t actually had to review a specific case, with specific details. The Commissioner is simply reviewing what is already known, primarily based on California administrative and court cases, and stating what they would decide based on that information. The Commissioner says that Uber’s practices in Oregon are “substantially the same”. New information may change BOLI’s opinion, of course.
So what are the criteria BOLI looked at to get to this opinion? Be sure to read the whole memo yourself; it’s in clear English, with very little legalese and jargon. But it boils down to the fact that drivers for Uber do not run their own business; they’re dependent on Uber for infrastructure, marketing, and for finding customers. Drivers can’t even set their own price, which would let them manage their business to avoid loss and gain profits. Uber reserves the right to screen, hire, discipline, and terminate drivers; drivers don’t work on a project or time-based contract, but indefinitely.
Basically, Uber retains control of the business; drivers don’t.
I can’t wait to see what Uber and Lyft say in response to this, beyond the one quote I’ve seen that they dispute this finding.
I did it. I gave in and downloaded Star Wars: Uprising for iOS.
Look, I’m a big Star Wars fan. I saw the Holy Trinity in the theaters before George Lucas started modifying and altering them. The last iOS game I became obsessed with was also a Star Wars franchise game, the Farmville-like Star Wars: Commander. The hours I lost there… When I heard that there was a new game that was more of an RPG, I resisted. Right up until a couple of friends mentioned that there was co-op play. I’m a sucker for doing things with my friends, even if it’s online. So I installed it.
I spent a half-hour launching the game, messing around with the character creation, and then closing it again, until I settled on my alter-ego: Lunar Strongarm, a smuggler who’s bumbling and brash and snarky but also eager to please his bosses.
Lunar Strongarm, eager but snarky smuggler.
Here he is at Level 11, wearing some of his leveled-up gear. I like that the game classifies him as “sentient.” Good to know.
The time frame for the game is immediately after the events in Return of the Jedi. A crafty Imperial Governor named Abelhard has enacted an IRON BLOCKADE around Anoat System, preventing everyone within from learning of the destruction of the second Death Star and the death of Emperor Palpatine. Smugglers are struggling to move shipments in or out, and that’s where the players of the game come in.
I haven’t played a modern computer RPG in, like, forever (Skyrim doesn’t really count, does it?) but there’s a lot to learn in SW:U. Special abilities that use touch-screen gestures to activate. The ability to spend currency in the game to level up gear. Any gear you find, even that lowly cloth-and-twine backpack you find. And the amount of gear available seems overwhelming to me. My impression is that it’s similar to Destiny, in that you’re supposed to go look up what all this stuff does when you’re not actually playing the game. That helps with immersion, I suppose.
There’s several different kinds of currency, and they are all spent on different things. Crystals for upgrading equipment. Scrip for buying random junk gear. And credits, which are used in addition to the other kinds on everything. You can, of course, purchase more, trading real-world cash for in-game currency. What free-to-play game wouldn’t have that, these days?
There are many different kinds of missions, too, and they have you jumping around between worlds of the Anoat Sector, which location, if you’ll recall, didn’t much impress Princess Leia. It does, however, include the familiar worlds of Hoth and Bespin, and the new-to-me worlds of Mataou and Burnin Konn. There are story missions, daily and repeatable missions, and Sector Battle missions, which allow players to influence the Galactic Empire’s influence over each system.
My favorite mechanic of the game is sending my crew off on their own missions, though. That’s a nice way to keep gaining in-game currency for a casual player like me. And I finally joined a cartel today, which will let me play co-op and give me access to more experienced players for advice. I want to make a cartel with just my friends, but maybe after I’ve learned more about the game.
If it sounds like I’m skeptical and cynical about this, I am, a little. But overall I’m having a lot of fun. The Star Wars universe, even now, is like an old home to me, and any chance to play around in it is worthwhile. Even if it means distracting me from this pile of work I should be doing…
I know reading about other people’s dreams can be terrible and boring but bear with me. Mostly I’m writing it down for myself because I thought it was funny, and maybe I can use it in one way or another down the line.
In my dream I was… somewhere… and these two men showed up. They were both wearing all black nylon/Kevlar tactical gear, helmets, bandoleers, night vision goggles, the whole set up. Stompy black boots. Carrying huge assault rifles. They were both doughy, pudgy middle aged white men. And they demanded I stop what I was doing, whatever it was (I don’t remember).
Me: You’re from the government, aren’t you?
Them: We don’t have to tell you that.
Me: Show me your official government identification or I’m going to keep doing this.
Them: <awkwardly looking at each other> Uh…
Me: You have to. I’m a citizen and it’s my right under the Patriot Act.
Them: It doesn’t say that!
Me: Oh, look at these guys! They’ve actually read the Patriot Act! OK, wise guys, tell me where it doesn’t say that and I’ll back off. You can’t, can you? That’s because nobody has read the Patriot Act! For all you know it could be in there! Now show me your IDs, stat!
I’m currently writing a (fictional) scene about a flash mob taking over a bar in my neighborhood, and I just wrote this, and I’m really really proud of it. Don’t normally share works in progress but I’ll make an exception just this once.
The parking lot outside overlooked a quiet corner of Sellwood at this time of night; some light fog hung just above the telephone poles, tinted orange yellow by the street lights. And huddled in groups of five to ten or more were more bar patrons, talking to each other, smoking, some dancing or singing alone or with another, some sober, many not. A few more people were crossing the street diagonally from the off-brand convenience store with snacks, prompting an angry honk from a car driving west along Tacoma Street towards the bridge and the safety of the West Side.
The bar is real, but the off-market convenience store is now a 7-11, but since my story is set in 2007, I’m relying on memory.
I mistook the take out pizza chain Papa John’s for the take-and-bake pizza chain Papa Murphy’s, and suggested that the first one accepted SNAP (food stamp) benefits in exchange for piping hot ready-to-eat pizza. I did this on a Facebook post of a friend, who was understanding about it, at least.
I texted a friend excitedly about a baseball game, the first game of the Pittsburgh Pirates at the Los Angeles Dodgers three-game series, that I thought was being played tonight, but which in fact does not happen until tomorrow. I owned up to it after discovering my own mistake.
I forgot my reading glasses at a restaurant where I had dinner with my sister, catching up on things and stuff. I had to go pick up the reading glasses today; luckily it was in my own neighborhood, and within walking distance.
The woman behind the counter at my corner convenience store was dressed up in a fancy satiny red dress, all lace and beads and gold edging. Her dark hair was styled and up. Her make up was impeccable. In the center of her forehead was a tiny, shiny red gem. The buzzing fluorescent lighting did not do her justice. I wish I knew more about the culture from which she came. The way she was dressed and decorated had a purpose and a context, about which I was stupidly, insensitively unaware.
As she rang up my purchase of two small donuts and a beer, she kept poking and waving at her phone, a white older iPhone. From the phone came the sounds, clipped by digitalization and the tiny speaker, of a man’s voice speaking a language foreign to me. When she put the phone down on the counter to count back the singles of my change, I could see the screen filled with a man’s face, handsome, middle-aged, much like the woman.
She was laughing and giggling, and she would wave at the screen, distracted from her job. I was patient and smiled. I kept the thought in my head that I was in no hurry to keep her from her conversation, that the two glazed sugary treats were of far less importance than the man she was clearly infatuated with.
“Are you FaceTiming?” I asked.
She bubbled out a yes, her eyes still fixated on the tiny 4 inch screen laying on the counter just above the lottery tickets.
“Thank you, my dear. I hope you have a lovely evening.” Her eyes lit up in laughter in response to something the man had said and she swept the phone up in one hand and spun away from the register, her other hand coyly covering her mouth.
I walked out, clutching my bag of fried dough, setting off the buzzer as I left, into the dark rain soaked sidewalk.
The scene I’m writing today in my untitled political novel is basically an homage to Walter Peck’s visit to the Ghostbusters. Except in my case, my Portland slacker Congressional candidate and his stripper campaign manager gets a drop-in by local Democratic Party officials.
I should probably include in my disclaimer, along with the usual “all persons fictitious” bits, that I have honestly never actually met local Multnomah County Democratic officials, so I’m just making these folks up whole cloth. I swear. Honest.
…I wonder if William Atherton will still be available when I work on the film adaptation?
I’ve been picking away at a scene in my novel’s first draft for days now. Almost a week. The idea of the scene had come to me long ago; the brief couple of sentences describing it had been in my outline almost since I first started this draft, two years ago. I thought I had a handle on how it fit in to the larger story, and what my characters were supposed to do, and what I thought they’d learn.
But as I would work on writing it down, laying down the tracks, picking minor characters and “hearing” what they wanted to do and say, it didn’t really make sense. And the more I worked on it, the less it seemed to make sense. The scene, as I wove together all the little bits and pieces, got less and less relevant.
Why was my main character here, talking to these people, about this topic? They were hostile to him. They didn’t want him here. He was an outsider. Their concerns were not his concerns, in fact, they didn’t care about any of the major themes of my book.
So why did I choose them? These people don’t exist in the real world. I picked this place. I placed these people.
My output over the past couple of days dwindled. I was barely getting a couple of sentences per day. Every word I wrote, it seemed, made it more and more apparent that I had no idea what I was doing in this scene. I got a couple of good jokes in, building off of the tension, (the book is a comedy, after all), but there was no way I could reach my original planned climax for this scene, without breaking my characters or starting over from scratch.
I have to admit, I was worried. I’ve been blocked for months now, and it’s only by hook, crook, and sheer willpower that I’ve been able to unblock enough to work on the novel at all. But I trusted in the process: work on it every day, make small goals but meet them, and just keep writing.
And this morning, as I wrote whatever came next in this difficult scene… it came together. I realized that it all made sense after all. There was a reason my MC had to talk to these people, and win them over on his side. It all built off of what I already knew about him, and them, and the evidence and clues were there, in the book at large and laid down over the past few days, piece by piece.
Oh, and it had nothing at all to do with my originally planned outcome for this scene, but that’s because I planned it before writing 35K+ words and learning what this story is really about. That’s the difference between an outline, and a draft. That’s why you have to write it down. That’s why you have to keep writing even when you doubt it’s working, because sometimes it works itself out.
As my friend Athena says, that’s why you have to trust the story.
