Just a hash of thoughts from an untidy, yet entertaining, brain.

  • Half-joke to Rant. How did that happen?

    I was having a pretty good day. Week, even. Killed in a job interview that I’ll find out about the end of the week. Got called for another interview this week. I’m hitting on all cylinders, so to speak, job-wise. I binge-watched Castle from Episodes 12 to 20, so I found resolution for the missing 2 months arc, and that’s good. It was a mild closure, but closure of that arc it was. I got my disability payment today. It always comes a bit earlier than the posted schedule, but it always feels good to get it early, just the same, even if it is a rather modest sum.  I bought dinner out, more than I could eat, even. I’ll have leftovers for breakfast. Yet another good feeling, one not common, lately. My insomnia seemed to be letting go. I’d just about managed to wrestle my “tired” to nighttime hours, so I can be more human than vampire, and that’s a challenge, let me tell you.

    As I was eating my dinner, and choosing what to watch off the DVR, I pulled out Twitter and started watching my threads. I’ve not been a good twitterer in the last few years, frankly. My carefully curated set of followers had fallen away, in a large part, to lots of abandoned accounts, and those not abandoned, don’t seem to pay any attention to me, any more. Not that I blame them. I did stop posting regularly, and as I found myself, there are a multitude of tools to help you unfollow “idle accounts.” My best friend of nearly 30 years no longer follows me. (I choose to think it was because he used one of those tools, rather than he actively unfollowed me on purpose.  But he could have given up on me, as well.)

    But I’ve been trying to get back into active twitter status. I went a couple weeks without anyone replying to me, on anything, then one or two replies, and one or two giggles, and it’s getting better. I have a few favorited tweets now, even, which is somewhat exciting, considering I don’t really think I’m all that interesting, no matter how much I’m trying. But anyway, the whole point is, I am reading my feeds, and I am saying the occasional thing, outside of what I’m wearing and all that. And once in a while, I reply to someone else’s tweet, like you do, right?

    This particular tweet was originated by someone I do not follow, Noelle Stevenson, and was retweeted by someone I DO follow, most avidly, Tamara Brooks. She’s quite fun, lots of geeky goodness is most of her tweets, she has lots of opinions, and lots of funny comments. And, as it turns out, takes a real responsibility for the tweets she resends. Noelle tweeted a comment about some artwork from the Spider-Man artists, saying (Sic) “IM REALLY UPSET ABOUT MJ’S BOOBS HERE” in regard to this picture: Noelle’s original post, and all that followed starts here: You can follow it all, if you really want to. I’ll present my own side and summary, if you don’t want to do the work.

    Mary Jane Watson

    Tamara did a simple retweet, and I responded to that RT; IOW, to her AND Noelle, saying “What, Jealous that only in comics boobs are gravity defying? I got over comics vs reality at 11, you should too” Snarky, yes, and only half-funny, even to me. I never meant it to be some rant, or anything, I had a thought, I sent it to twitter, and that was all I needed, really.

    I was about to settle into Secrets & Lies. I usually only give a show 3 episodes stored on the DVR, then watch, and if I still like it, I keep recording, and watching. But in this case, I just kept recording for weeks, and now had 9 episodes waiting for me. This was a good thing, sort of. I already didn’t expect to like it much, being of a genre not in my favorites, and all. Revenge lasted 4 eps, for me, Scandal barely made it past 3, and How to Get Away with Murder, couldn’t stop watching fast enough. All critical and audience darlings, to be sure, but I just don’t like them.  S&L seemed of the same sort, so I could watch a few episodes, and if I didn’t like, as expected, I could free up a WHOLE lot of space for stuff I did like. And, I was in a very receptive mood, giving that show the best chance to survive my inner filter.

    But I sent the tweet. And Tamara, she took up the mantle of responding to my tweet, as though the entire thought was her own. She made several good points, don’t I allow little jokes, and how I sounded like I was using attack language. I will admit that the language I used was far too familiar, in context. She’s not my family, she’s not even used to talking with me like she used to be a couple years ago. Likely she even forgot whether I was someone she liked speaking to, altogether. (I used to keep a spreadsheet of who I follow, and who follows me back, but I don’t any longer, and I’m not going to use some webtool to figure out if she does follow me, or not. She responded to my tweet, and that’s good enough.)

    She also mentioned a joke she had made, and didn’t she get any points for it. Something about the boobs being that buoyant because of a deal she had made with Mephisto. Frankly, at the time, I never saw that tweet. As I said, I was responding to the simple retweet. The one about being upset about MJ’s boobs. Again, Noelle said that, not Tamara. But, again, Tamara spoke back and forth to me as though she made the original comment. Which is laudable, but it makes it hard, sometimes, to be really clear what you’re responding to. I did finally see her joke, and and it is funny enough. But all our back and forth about my half-joke being only a proportional response to the original half joke might have gotten quite confused. Her joke, I got, and it’s okay. Noelle’s, on the other hand, still seems like political commentary, especially in all caps, like she posted.

    For the record, the picture is unrealistic, I get that. My argument, as I attempted to present to Tamara, is that it’s a comic, therefore art, and there is artistic license in so many areas, why is there a need to dump on that one, in that way?  Superman, and a host of others can fly, for Pete’s sake, and I don’t hear a lot of rants about how that’s unreal and the artists should be taken to task for daring to depict that. Art, to me, is aspirational, not authentic. Yes, there are realistic paintings out there, but I’m not buying comic books filled with Realistic Art. I have a few, and even they take liberties, here and there. “The Book of Genesis” by R. Crumb springs to mind. It’s history as explained by a book or parables, but history nonetheless.

    And I don’t want to leave out the efforts of Noelle to argue on her own behalf. She did, in her own way. She is, evidently, a quite talented artist in her own right. She whipped up some drawings of Superman, only calling him Spider-man because ‘that’s what the “S” means, obviously’. And one with Spider-man with toaster feet, and a chip-clip on his penis. Because “it’s only comics, right” I didn’t see these tweets for a while, as I don’t follow her, and I keep forgetting to check the “notifications” tab one twitter. (I keep getting mentions for Jindai Botanical Gardens, from people visiting and raving, (Or ranting, I can’t know, it’s primarily in Japanese) about being @Jindai. So, I tend to simply ignore that, for the most part. I had the nick first, deal with it, JBG) But when I did check, I saw all her tweets, and I did read them. I didn’t dismiss, them, but I was already soul-tired from the discussion with Tamara that I didn’t want to start anything up again.

    But I’ll respond now. Noelle, you are absolutely right, (and thank you for turning off the caps lock, it really gets old, after a while) you can draw anything, any way you want to. I will fight for your right do so with every breath in my being. And all I expect from you, or anyone, is your fight to allow me not to spend a single penny on any of that art, if I don’t like it, or it doesn’t agree with what I consider pretty, useful, or story-driven, right?

    I used the word “jealous” in my original response. I’ll use it again. I’m quite jealous of your ability to quickly draw up images like that. I have no talent in that regard, and I envy your ability. And you can use that ability to do anything you want to, within legal bounds, of course. (No drawing up hundred dollar bills with the intent to spend them, for example, that would be no-no.) I just wonder how you feel about people criticizing your work, or dismissing it for trivial reasons?

    I now know the name of the artist of that picture. (If I’d had a bit more sleep, I might have been able to read the watermark on the picture.) He’s Mike DeBalfo, and I don’t know him personally, but I’m sure he worked hard, and was proud of what he did. And to have some political attack on something intended to bring joy, well, were I that artist, I’d not feel so good about that. It’s not like he drew Hitler eating babies, and had the caption of “Yum” now, did he? (Some context, that thought came to me because I just found out that Hitler was Time Magazine’s Man of the Year in 1938. Bet they wish they could take that one back, eh?) What I mean is, he didn’t draw an intentionally controversial piece of art, yet it drew controversy.  Doesn’t seem just, to me.

    Now, I didn’t present every argument I was thinking of, to Tamara. The entire series of exchanges were pretty linear, with some overlap. Come to think of it, Tamara MIGHT follow me, because I did make a twitter comment, not directed at anyone in particular about not ruining my good day with political trivia, and she responded to that. Then again, there are other ways she could have seen that. But, if she did follow me, I’m sure she corrected that, soon after. I know she invited me to unfollow her many times. I guess she finds it impolite to block people, or maybe she didn’t think I reached the level of needing to be blocked. Either way, I’m grateful. I do enjoy the majority of her tweets. She’s funny, wise, and very informative on a variety of topics. I DO NOT appreciate her calling some things a “Fail” simply because she disagrees with the way they are presented, but hey, some people call opinion fact, just ask Fox News.

    But I digress. What I was starting to say is that there are a lot of other arguments that I might have made, and I’ll make a few of them now.  2] Maybe MJ is one of the very rare women in the world that looks amazing in that pose, boob-wise, and if that’s the truth, why not pose that way, often, and with great aplomb? Do a google image search for “Upside down bikini girls.” Go ahead, I’ll wait. I did, and it’s amazing. There’s a whole bunch of girls that go around, in bikinis, and invert themselves, en masse, for the camera. I had no idea, before this discussion, now I do. Thanks for that. I also found this pic, from 19reallylongago

    Upside Down Pinup

    She’s not as endowed as MJ, but you can’t deny the similarity. If you have a hard time with thinking what was drawn was real, well, this is a photo. Looks pretty amazing, right?

    3] She is an actress and a model (In various continuities, I have no idea which one she is in that single panel) and it’s not uncommon for actress’s and models to have a little work done on the boobs, and that might make them a bit more gravity resistant, right? I also did a few google searches that would fit here. I’m not going to post the results, too many, too varied, and some absolutely on-topic, but would start some other controversy I don’t have the energy for.

    4] The Mephisto idea. Not a bad one, at all. Props, Tamara. Or ingestion of the regrowing formula that created The Lizard, and only standing on her head reduces the swelling, perhaps. That character, and the Spider-man franchise, has had so many ret-conns at this point, you can make up just about anything and get away with it.

    But getting upset at it? I find that a really wrong-headed, and non-proportional, response.

    And that is ALL I was meaning to say, but I was trying to be funny. One guess as to if I’m a professional comedian, and the first one doesn’t count. I’m not, and have never aspired to be. I have, however, aspired to fly, even if it’s not realistic, and I’m not getting mad at the artists who draw things I’d like to do, be, or become.

    You might think that I didn’t have to write this post, and you’re right, on the main. I just found I couldn’t sleep. Too much running through my head, and my body’s natural desire to be a vampire just jumps on any old bandwagon that will keep out of bed during darkness. (No, not LITERAL vampire, it’s just my way of saying addicted to nocturnal living.) Stupid, too, I have an early morning appointment today. And I’m sitting here writing a post.

    I guess I should also say thank you, to both Tamara and Noelle, to stirring me up to the point I DID write something. Even if neither read it, thanks. I have been not writing for a LONG time, now. Which is pretty shameful for someone that counts writing as one of his few real talents. I can’t draw, can’t play any instruments, and am so far out of practice singing, I wouldn’t inflict that on anyone, any more. But I should write.

  • Saint Valentine 2013 (A Christmas Story)

    I’ve received a few confused comments about why a Christmas story is posted with this title. It’s simple, really. I entered a writing contest in which the submission guidelines were to send in “the most romantic story you know, can think up or write.” And the submission title had to be what you see as the title of this post.  After writing it, I sent it to my good friend Yoopersmith, so that I could get some feedback, in case I didn’t win. [I didn’t] He’s the one that decided it was “Too good to hang out in my email.” and posted it here, for me. and I thank him for providing the bravery that I lacked.

    Many years ago, my girlfriend and I were out, in early November, shopping for the Christmas season. She was a delightful combination of mature sensibilities and childlike enthusiasm.  I believed I knew her better than she knew herself, as much as any man can know a woman.  And I loved that girl enough to lose her over something trivial, as it turns out.  If that makes no sense, then let me explain.

    As we walked the halls of the local mall, we passed one of the seasonal-only shops, and looking inside, we saw special toys: Christmas themed, romance themed, plush toys, and all manner of items from international cultures. On one shelf was a whole collection of Matryoshka dolls.  The Nesting dolls of Russian persuasion.  Shawna was immediately delighted by this discovery and promptly ran in to look at each and every one that they had.  She pulled each apart, and was delighted anew at each doll, smaller than the last, till she got to the tiniest one in the middle.  She did this with all 7 sets they had on the shelf.  She continued to look at them, and weigh the merits of each, trying to determine her favorite, because she knew she had to have at least one set.

    It finally came down to two sets. One with black-painted head scarves, and one with red-painted head scarves, and she had an animated debate with herself, with me, and with any passers-by handy to try and figure out which was the most deserving of her affection.

    Now, I had thought of something that she hadn’t, yet. She had forgotten her checkbook at home.  This was something she did often enough, but it was rarely of issue because we were both frugal college students, and didn’t spend more than the cash on hand, usually.  Plus, I was the boyfriend, so I was always there with my wallet.  But Shawna never thought of that as she looked longingly on the dolls, and she wouldn’t until she made her decision.  As I said, though, I knew this, and so I formed a plan.

    I sidled away from her and her debate, and pretended I wanted to look at the other displays, in what I hoped look like stereotypical-bored-boyfriend fashion. I steadily made my way to the service desk, and spoke to the lady there.  I told her, “Soon, she’ll make a decision about her favorite one, but she won’t be able to pay for it, now, and will instead come back tomorrow to get it, and will ask you to hold it for her. I would like you to, instead, hold it for me, and I’ll give you a deposit for it.  As soon as she makes her choice, please take it off the shelf, and I’ll pick it up in a couple days.”  You see, they did have a prominent sign that said no holds were possible without a deposit, and even though my Shawna was almost impossible to resist when she tried to convince someone to do her a favor, I implored on the shop girl to stand fast with the policy, which should be easy, since I had already left a deposit.

    I figured this would be the best Christmas gift I could possibly get for her. I knew she’d love it, and if I could keep the surprise from her for the next month.  This was a girl that LOVED a surprise, more than just about anything, but it was in her nature to learn all secrets around her, so pulling off a surprise was next to impossible.  But if I could carry it off, it had the potential to be the best gift, ever.  I also knew I would not be able to do this alone. I had already recruited the shop girl, and I would need help to pull it off.  But first, I had to do a bit of fibbing to her.

    Shawna finally pronounced her love for the red-scarved dolls, and even started to name each one.  Then she started looking for her checkbook, and realizing she lacked it, turned to me to ask if I had mine, and would I loan her the deposit amount.  I deferred, saying I failed to bring mine along, and lacked more than 10 dollars in cash.  I reminded her that she could come back and get it later, and reminded of her own personal maxim.  She never buys anything when she first sees it, and instead comes back later, and if it’s still there, then it is meant to be, and if it is not, then it was not, and to accept the fate, either way.  She looked frustrated, but admitted that it was her policy, and would live by it. With a longing look at her chosen favorite, we left the shop and went about the rest of our outing. Truthfully, it didn’t last much longer, a stop at Orange Julius and a trip home. Both of us had homework to do, as it was the middle of the week.

    As I dropped her off at her home, I pulled her grandmother aside to tell her of my plan.  Shawna lived with her Grandmother, for various reasons, and she was a strict lady, and didn’t entirely approve of me.  I was 8 years older than Shawna, having served in the military before going to college, and I believed more in personal freedom, whereas Patty was more on the strict do-as-you’re-told school of thought.  I thought that adding Patty to the gift conspiracy might help us bridge that difficulty, and even if it didn’t, if it was for Shawna, Patty would help.  Then I headed home, myself.

    As soon as I got home, I started firming up the plans.  I thought I had at least a day to make things happen, but I wanted to hurry and put things in place.  I called the Shop to make sure the doll had been pulled, and it had been, I told them I’d be by to pick it up in two days.  I told my mother, who I lived with, the plan as well.  She was notoriously bad at keeping a secret if she stumbled onto it, but wonderful at keeping one if told from the start, so it was just safer to include her.  I also called Shawna’s mother, who was in her life, and visited often with Shawna’s little brother. And she told the brother. He was only 7, but wily in secrets, as it turns out.

    The first bout of bad news came mere hours after I returned home.  I received a call from Patty, who had never called me previously, “Rick, I can’t speak long, Shawna is still outside, but will be in, soon..  She couldn’t wait till tomorrow, and made me drive her to the mall.  When she saw her favorite gone, she lost it, and hasn’t stopped crying since, except to curse you for convincing her to wait. I have to go.” And hung up. Not even a minute later, Shawna called me, and told me how the red-scarved doll was gone.  How she felt betrayed by me, how I’d ruined things, and how mad she was.  She should have never listened to me, and how she doesn’t think she can ever trust what I have to say again. I didn’t ask about the Black-scarved one.  I knew that though she had a difficult time choosing between them, as soon as she made her choice, it was all or nothing.  The second-best was just that, and she never settled for second. Besides, if she DID go after the second choice, my gift would be meaningless.

    It was a tough conversation.  I very nearly broke down and told her right then, that she hadn’t lost it after all. But two things kept me from spilling. First, I’m stubborn, and once I set my mind to something, I don’t back down.  But even more importantly, I couldn’t figure out how to tell her and not confirm that I had been lying the whole time.  I seemed like a losing proposition, no matter what I did.  So I listened to, and accepted, all the recriminations, accusations, and vilifications coming from the woman I loved, for quite a bit longer than you might expect.  She came very close to breaking up with me, over the phone, because of this, and still ended the conversation with, “I’ll never trust you, ever again.” Man, did that hurt. But I stuck it out, and was grateful to have made it through my first Hurricane Shawna.

    It had been daylight still, when she called, but as I hung up the phone, spent emotionally, it was long after dark.  I spent the night restlessly trying to sleep. The next few days and weeks were spent alternately enjoying myself with, and hating, the present. There was finding the right wrapping paper, and the materials to wrap it in.  I had decided to make a nesting doll of the wrappings, as well.  Sort of an inside joke, or meta gift.  I found some green colored bubble wrap to put around the doll, and a beautiful blue Lucite box with a fitted lid, that the doll, with bubble wrap, could fit inside.  Then I wrapped that in butcher paper, and placed that inside a shoe box from a ballet supply company (Shawna was a Ballet teacher), and that inside another box, and filled the empty space with lots of foam peanuts, which I found a supply of in many colors.  Then I wrapped it as beautifully as I could and tied my own bow, using instructions I got from a book in the library. (This was in the early days of the internet, and long before YouTube, so books were still the primary resource to most.)  Then I took it over to place under the tree as Shawna’s house.

    On the other hand was my girlfriend’s continuing smoldering resentment of my perceived betrayal.  Small things would cause arguments now, and I was as unhappy as I’d ever been.  I got regular updates from Patty about how Shawna still spoke badly about me to her. (I think a little joyfully, Patty would love having Shawna back to herself, alone, I thought.)  Shawn’s little brother would gleefully inform me that he had not broken, things were still secret, completely unaware of the clouds this present were causing.  (I wished I were as innocent as he was, all the time, then.)  Shawna’s mother would give me sympathetic nods on occasion, seeming to say, “I know what it’s like, living with her anger. Good luck.” It was just rough.

    Christmas came, and I remember waking up that morning thinking this stubborn streak of mine was probably going to kill me someday, perhaps in just a few hours.  What if she didn’t get that I did it for love, that I knew she loves surprises more than just about anything, and that the only reason I’d ever lie to her was to make the surprise possible.  If she just focused on the lies, I was in for a very bad day.  If she just felt betrayed, and that she had been put through the emotional wringer for just a doll, of all things, she might never forgive me. I didn’t chicken out, though.  I drove over to her house, sat through the brunch, and then sat in my spot, across the room from Shawna, as we’d done, a lot, lately.  Little bro was playing Santa, and handed out the gifts, loudly announcing who they were from as he handed them to the recipient.

    He knew which was mine, and saved it for last.  In my mind, I was thinking he was just being vicious, as the wait was killing me, but in retrospect, I know it was just he wanted the fun factor at its highest when she opened it.  The kid had an innate sense of suspense.

    Shawna politely commented on the pretty wrapping job, even saved the ribbon to the side, for one of her scrap books, I think.  Then she wondered why I’d get her a toaster oven, before opening that and finding the next box.  Then she seemed mildly intrigued that I got her new ballet slippers, but on opening that, found the blue Lucite container. She marveled at how pretty it was and that she could use it for any number of knickknacks.  Then she noticed there was something darker inside that box, and opening that, saw the green bubble wrap around something distinctly roundish. And her eyes started getting quite large, and her breath came in very short, sharp bursts, and she ripped that bubble wrap off the doll so fast, it could hardly be believed.  And there was a single gasp from her, and suddenly, from 8 feet away, she vaulted into my arms, and hugged me so hard my ribs creaked. The room gave a collective sigh as all the tension just melted away, and there was open weeping from all the adults in the room as all was forgiven, in that instant. Best, scariest, Christmas ever.

  • An open letter to NASCAR

    I wrote this to fanfeedback@nascar.com today, because I just felt it needed to be said.  No idea if they'll ever read it, but I also thought I'd post it here, so it isn't simply lost in some mailbox for all time.  

    Dear Mr. Helton, et al.

      I think that you are really getting hypocritical with your rules.  For the last week, I've held my breath, waiting for some consitancy out of your offices, and it still hasn't happened.  Jimmy Johnson's team evidently broke some rules.  Even though their c-posts fit a template, they didn't LOOK right, so the car was pulled out of line, the c-posts removed, and the race went on.  You are strict about your rules, even though you SAY you foster inovation and want the best racing possible. 

      Oh, you are SOMETIMES strict with your rules, as long as there isn't a potential backlash of fan reaction. Take the Brad Keselowski situation.  You have rules, hard-and-fast ones, prescribing computers, recording devices, and digital communications devices, and yet Brad K had ALL THREE in the form of his iPhone in his cockpit.  He could have pitcommand loaded up, listening to other drivers, or even the officials channels, he could have been recording data from this car, and transmitting it from the phone to his pits, he could have even using a EEFI mapping app to chanige his engine mapping.  The iPhone is at least as powerful a computer as most garages use for diagnostic devices, all you need is the right program. The potential for comptetitive advantage is overwhelming to think about.  Yet, because he gained a few hundred thousand twitter followers with the very device that is ILLEGAL, you say "we're not going to punish him" or, apparently stop him from using the phone in the car, at all, despite all your rules.  

      This is patently wrong.  I get his story of not knowing where he is, or an ability to contact his family when injured, and I feel for him.  But tough, tell him to get a simple burner phone. No tech, and stick that in his car, if he needs that security blanket.  But frankly, if you keep letting him use a powerful device like that, willy nilly, what will it take for you to go. "Whoops"?  

      This is how I predict what'll happen:  Brad K will keep using his phone, as is.  I don't think he'll cheat, but another driver, who knows, Jimmy Johnson, perhaps, will say, I want my phone too!.  And Chad Knaus will think, as he is a constant thinker, and a thinker of the proverbial "Outside the box" ideas, and he'll maybe think about running passive diagnostics through that phone back to the Pit Box, so that he'll know exactly what changes to make that'll give them a win.  And then NASCAR will then say "WHOOOAAA, that's cheating!" slap on another fine, and go, "We had no idea that breaking our rules would result in this." with much wringing of hands and handing out of punishments.  Forgetting, all the while, that you allowed this, in the first place, while letting your heads be filled with fan reaction to something as trivial as Twitter follower count.  

      Yes, NASCAR is a fan supported sport, without us, you'll fail.  And it's a constant struggle to open yourself up to new fans.  But letting someone to break the rules, "because it's harmless" is not the way to go.  Especially when you just handed out a massive punishment for what comes down to a judgement call.  This is patent hypocracy.

      I'm not a JJ fan, or a BK hater.  My drivers are Carl Edwards and Jeff Gordon, has been, and will be.  But I'm first and foremost a fan of NASCAR, and right now, you're letting me down.


    Rick Hawn

  • Writer’s Block: Tearjerkers

    The ones heavily featuring poignancy, really. Sad ones for sad's sake tend to feel fake to me, but those that contain the sweet sadness factor will have me blubbering rather shamelessly.  Heck, the McDonald's commercial with the kid bringing his dad in for show and tell because he's the hero that gets him a Happy Meal will get me going if I'm not careful.
      But the question is what movie, so I should be honest and pick one. I don't watch it any longer, because of this, but Old Yeller does it to me, every danged time.  And not just when the kid has to shoot the dog, that's just the sad, though a real sad, but then the puppy at the end runs up, and you get the poignant, and break out the tissues, I'm done.

  • Writer’s Block: Apocalypse now?


    Eating Chinese food, tweeting about how awesome it is to do the trivial stuff I can do again, now that I have a car.  Watch racing, play games on the XBox.  Basically ignore the ignorant rantings of a religious nut.  Heck, if I die at 6PM, I’m good, as it’s over.  If I don’t, then he, and every other "Believer" has to live with egg on their faces forever… Or the next rapture.

  • Fortunes, adventures, and words

     So, I had Chinese food the other day, and it gave me an idea.  I looked at the fortune I got, and decided to track them, just for fun, so I’ll try and keep up this stream-of-consciousness type thing as I have more come my way. 

    5/10/2011
    "You are broad minded and socially active."
      Disregarding the ambiguous grammar of that line (Do I think about broads a lot?  Well, I’m not from the 40’s, so not so much.) I have to admit I’m not as broad-minded as I’d like to be.  I’m rather stuck in my set of opinions, and as I have a long record of being right about things, I tend to stick by that, despite the fact I also have a good record of being wrong, as well.  When I am wrong, once I’m convinced, I will accept that, and change my mind, opinion, or what-have-you to match the truth of the matter.  I have been trying to open my mind and learn new things lately, but it’s a struggle, I have to admit.  
      As for "Socially Active"?  Well, for a hermit, I’m downright gregarious, but for a butterfly, I might as well still be in my cocoon.  Something I’m also working on.  
      So, ending analysis, this slip of paper missed the mark pretty broadly.

    5/11/2011
    "You will take a chance in something in near future."  
      Again, I’m compelled to point out the less than stellar grammar. ("Use your articles!!!!") However, I am indeed going to take a chance, very soon.  Just bought a car, and that was a huge deal, just for what it was, and next week, I have to fly down to NY to pick it up.  I haven’t been flying in over a decade, and I haven’t even traveled in a couple years, not since my last car just gave up the ghost.  (My fault, totally.  Scheduled maintenance is NOT optional.  Who knew?)  I had to find the right flights, the right connections, and then trains and trolleys to get there.  It’s a mess of details, and schedules, workarounds, and adventure that I’ve been avoiding for the last few forevers, so this is kind of exciting.

    5/14/11
    "You Will Always Be Successful in Your Professional Career"
      Hmmmm, considering I don’t have, nor have had for 2 years, gainful, not to mention professional employment, this one is really stretching credibility.  
     
    More later!

    5/21/11
    "Simplicity and clarity should be the theme in your dress"

      Uhh, well, ignoring the obvious pun there, I just have to say that  I don’t think I COULD get more simplistic in my dress without going nude.  Typically it’s just T-shirt, jeans, socks, sneaks, underwear, a watch, Livestrong bracelet and glasses.  I COULD do without the wrist items, but I like my watch, and the yellow bracelet is elegantly simple on its own.
    So, I’d say this "fortune" missed it’s mark.  However, I now know how to pronounce watermelon in Chinese, so it wasn’t a total loss.

  • The story of “Better Ground (Roast)”

          So, yesterday, while IMing with a friend, something just popped into my head, almost full blown.  Parody lyrics to a song I know.  Thing is, I couldn’t recall the correct lyrics in order to identify the song, either, just the musical licks of the track.  I do know it’s Stevie Wonder, though.
          Soon, it was maddening, and my mp3-player brain started throwing similar themes into the mix to "help" me identify it. "It sounds a little like this, too!  I think that’s Genesis, or perhaps Phil Collins." I start thinking.  That song comes to me, finally "That’s All" (by Genesis, it turns out.) So, I listen to that, and there is some resemblance, but it doesn’t really help.
          Then, I decide to simply listen to every Stevie Wonder track I have, and I do so, and finally identify the darn thing. "Higher Ground"  Yes, one of his classics, but never one of my favorites, so it’s relegated to a dusty portion of the mp3-player brain, in the playlist of "Played at least once, but barely that".

          Song finally identified, I play it, and the lyrics I thought up just fit in, fairly seamlessly.  Not an easy song, I have to say, but sometimes you just have to go with what you have.  My first thought was to sing it, and make a youtube video, ala Lady Mondegreen (A buddy of mine) but that was such a daunting thought, so I then thought to pawn off my creation TO LM, but she’d have none of it, and rightly so.  If it sucks, she’d take the blame, and even if it’s good, then all these other people might write her to do theirs’ and not all of THEM would be good, and creative reputation would be nicely trashed.  So, she simply gave me advice and encouragement to do it myself. 

          Thus armed, I look to Amazon to find a karaoke version of the track, and the first problem I have is that the Karaoke version has a longer form of the song than I have, so I have to write a new stanza or two.  (I do know the longer version, and it’s the one you’ll find if you try and Google the lyrics, but the one I have is from his Definitive Collection Cds, and some of those songs are in a shortened form, this being one of them.) New stanzas worked out, and while playing the Karaoke track, I find that in a key portion there is a backing vocal that totally conflicts with what I’m doing.  So, I try another version from Amazon, same thing, and another version.  This one didn’t have any backing vocals, but it sounded like it was done on "My kid’s first keyboard" or something. Really cheesy, so it won’t work. I call Amazon about this, just to vent that their previews aren’t complete enough to show me if they’d work or not.  And dude refunded my money on the spot. (Note to iTunes, Amazon beats your pants off in Customer Service.  A: I spoke to real human, B: He listened to me, and offered a solution that would work, even if it wasn’t asked for.  That’s how it’s done.)

          More advice given on how to simply over-ride the backing vocals are given, so I think I’ll just try.  I sing through the song a few times.  I get the timing down, the entries, odd rhythms, all of it.  And it sounds like crap.  I’m a lyric Baritone, and out of practice, to boot.  Stevie is a power tenor.  Argh.  This will sound like CRAP!.  And the lyrics really draw a nice picture, I think, very much in keeping with an "Office Space" motif, and I just don’t have access to that.  So if I did make a video, it’d look pretty different than the story suggested.  I DID think of making a montage video, with stills of the images that would fit, and maybe just a couple live shots of me in places that would work.  But truth be told, I have crap for video editing software.  (Hello, I’m a PC, and don’t have pre-installed software that matches my creativity.)

          Not to mention that Audacity, while it should service my audio needs, is not the most user friendly. (user hostile would apply, except for that it’s free, which is the most user-friendly thing there is.)  Thanks to a recent lucky encounter with a college student needing tuition money more than his Wii and games to go with it, I have some pretty nice microphones that would work nicely.  And, then again, perhaps TOO nicely. Probably show every mistake and semitone difference without mercy. 

          So, as a result, I am now giving in. Giving up, quitting the grandiose ideas and just putting the lyrics up here.  Perhaps someday I’ll get more courage, or feel more masochistic than I do today, and I will make the video.  Then again, I might not.

    Better Ground (Roast)
    Lyrics by Me
    (Sung to the tune of "Higher Ground" by Stevie Wonder [composer])

    Coffee,
    Keep on Brewing,
    French Roast,
    So tasty drinking,
    Whoa!
    Burned my tongue,
    Gonna need to cool it off.

    Turkish,
    So dark and inky.
    Then there’s Icy,
    Frappuccino ™,
    Mornings,
    Keep on coming,
    And you’ve got get along.

    I’m so darn sleepy, just need another cup,
    ’cause the last one I had didn’t wake me up,
    I’m so glad my honey got me the K-Cup,
    Gonna keep on drinkin’,
    ’til I’m able to move around.

    Workers, keep on workin’,
    Filers, keep on filin’,
    Caffiene needs to keep wakin’,
    Cause it won’t be too long,
    Oh no

    Interns, keep on (what do they do?),
    Slackers, keep on slackin’,
    Sleepers, can’t keep on sleepin’,
    ’cause the boss is coming ’round,
    oh yeah

    I’m so darn sleepy, Just need another cup,
    ’cause the last one I had didn’t wake me up,
    I’m so glad my honey got me the K-Cup,
    Gonna keep on drinkin’,
    ’til I’m able to move around….Whew!
    ’til I find the right ground,
    That’ll keep me up and moving around,
    Oh yeah,
    Boss’ll see me working, he comes around,
    4 o’clock ain’t gonna bring me down (sho ’nuff try)
    Irish Cream a sweeter ground
    It’s the best friend to have around

    FADE

    That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it!

  • The time in my life where I preached the Word of Chicken

                         So, someone on twitter got me to thinking about a time in my life where things were a bit out of balance, so I thought I’d write it up.  It may or may not be relevant to anyone else’s life, but heck, it felt good writing it, so that’s enough for me.                 Okay, so over 10 years ago, I was living with a lady I loved very much.  Before meeting her, I was totally average in my food consumption.  Loved Mexican and Italian, ate my salads, wasn’t fond of Cantaloupe, and squash, no allergies at all.

    Then, I met Debi, and she was awesome, and we got along well.  She smoked, and I didn’t, but we made concessions.  She’d go outside to smoke, and I go out with her, upwind, and talk to her while she smoked. That kind of partnership.  Turns out she didn’t like chicken meat.  Honestly can’t tell you why, I’m sure she said it, but I don’t think it ever made any sense to me.  Simply didn’t like it.  Except in Gumbo, there, she liked it. So maybe twice a year I’d have some chicken I couldn’t really taste anyway.

    We stopped living together, and dating, but both of us stayed in the same complex, and ate dinner with each other most of the time anyway.  It kind of turned into a silly relationship where we weren’t dating each other, but didn’t want to date anyone else, or have anyone date the other.  (Yeah, I still loved her, and I suspect she loved me, so there you go.)

    Then, I got called up for a long-tour.  I was in the Army Reserves, and they had need of my skills out East at Ft. Meade, so off I went for 6 months.  I was back to cooking for myself, and choosing my own food.  Deb and I spoke often and emailed, and IMed, so that wasn’t much of a big deal, but the lack of meals together sparked a pretty big change in me.  I’d drive by a Popeye’s Chicken, and go in. A KFC, a Church’s, any place that sold chicken, I’d go in.  At first it was just to see if they’d changed much in the last few years, or what’s new, etc…  Then, it was like that was the only food that made sense to me. I’d go into Carl Jr’s and get a chicken sandwich.  Go to a Steak House and get chicken.  It’s not like it was unhealthy, or anything, it was quite good, but that was all I craved for quite a while.

    After a bit, I’d bring it up to folks at work, or at a house-warming party I threw.  Not that I was having chicken again, after a long lack of it, but that “chicken is the bomb!” (it was the 90’s)  “Boston Market has the best roasted chicken!” “Oh, this little place has the best twice cooked potatoes, and the chicken is awesome!”  I KNOW I was annoying about it.  I don’t think I helped a single person find chicken they didn’t already know about.  It’s not like Boston Market is a secret.  The Mexican place with the twice cooked potatoes was a minor revelation, but for the potatoes, not the chicken.  (Can’t even remember the name, actually)

    Fortunately, I realized what I was doing after a month or two.  Folks hadn’t gotten to the point of avoiding me, but it was a close thing, I think.  I just realized that I was going overboard because I’d gone so very long denying myself something I took for granted.  I didn’t set out to compensate for the lost years, but in effect, that’s what I was doing.  If that was all I did, fine, I’m not hurting anyone.  But the proselytizing was way out of character.  I’m NOT a chicken evangelist!  But that’s how I ended up acting.

     Well, after realizing my issues, I got over it.  Got back to eating beef, even, and chicken became just a normal part of the diet.  If I see a good burger or a chicken breast, chances are I’ll go for the burger. But if all I have in the freezer is some chicken, I’ll be quite happy to eat that.  Life gets odd sometimes.  Just a good idea to notice it and fix it.  Or play it up, perhaps.  Odd isn’t always bad.  But I’m glad I don’t preach about chicken, anymore.

  • Stress and dreams

          So, I had some pretty vivid dreams last night.  In this case, I’m pretty sure they all were images of things i need to do, or have been thinking of doing, or on my mind in some way.  So, nothing really life-shattering.  The reason I bring this up is that I haven’t been having many dreams lately.  Heck, I haven’t been sleeping well enough to have dreams, most nights.  But yesterday, a little thing happened that took a lot of stress away, if only for a little while.  And, as a result, I slept, and slept well.  When I awoke, I didn’t wallow in bed, saying, "I don’t want to get up, I didn’t sleep enough."  Which, in truth, really means I have nothing to do for the day, and staying in bed just makes more sense, from a comfort perspective, than getting up and thinking about things.  You know, as I’m prone to do when awake. 
     

         Anyway, so in this dream I leave work for lunch, and I go to my mom’s place, and I’m sitting on her bed, talking.  She offers me something that is reminiscent of a meatball sub, but for some reason, I spill it and get it on the bed.  Saying I’ll get it before it sets, I take the sheets and run to the laundry next door.  I also run to my own apartment to get my own sheets to wash, after all, why waste quarters on only half a load?  Then, I run back to work, for something I’m still not clear on, but to get something, but avoiding detection from any of the bosses, then I leave again.  I then call in to the bosses, explaining that for various reasons, I would be late coming back from lunch, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.  Returning to the parking-lot mall where the laundry is,  walk past my car, which I did not drive there from work.  There is a police-type looking at the expired tags and pulling out his notebook as I pass on the way to the laundry.  Getting into the laundry, I get the sheets out and fold them, then talk to the manager there, and ask them for help.  Just like in an 80’s comedy, she arranges a bunch of people to go out and push my car into the attached automatic car-wash, telling the cop that the car had been pushed here, not driven, and will be pushed back, preparatory to repair or sale. 

         At this point, I wake up somewhat, to wonder at the vividness of the dream.  Not having any need to be up right then, I drift back off, to end up working at Best Buy, talking with an attractive co-worker that is as not the sharpest tool in the shed.  In fact, she’s downright stupid, but she likes talking to me, a lot.  I finally get honest with her, and tell her that I really don’t have the patience to talk with her, because it seems she’s always saying "What do you mean?" and "Huh?" and generally requiring scads of explanation of anything I’m saying.  I ask her if she was capable of understanding metaphor and examples, and she doesn’t know, but she’ll try.  So, so, I pull out my iPod, and have her listen to a Ricky Gervais Guide To… episode, and tell her to pay attention to Karl Pilkington.  She does, and doesn’t understand, of course.  I tell her that she seems a LOT like Karl.  He’s not stupid, so much as woefully undereducated.  His imagination has been allowed to supply him with ideas and opinions unchecked by knowledge, so much to the point that he sounds incredibly stupid, but isn’t really.  All this meaning I don’t really think you’re stupid, young girl, but I don’t have the patience, willpower, or incentive to talk to her, and in effect, teach her things she never bothered to learn already.  She then asks me who I would have patience with.  And being WAY more frank in my dreams than I’d ever be in real life, I tell her that my girlfriend, probably, meaning to finish with, "but how would I become the boyfriend with someone I don’t respect in the first place?" but never get the chance.  She pipes up with, "Then I’m your girlfriend!" very cheerily.  I tell her, no, that can’t be true. the patience I would need would require tons of reward, and just having a girl say she’s my girlfriend isn’t quite what I mean.  She said, she knows, and she’ll do…. okay, at this point, it got a little on the R-Rated side, for adult themes and sexually explicit language, but boiled down, she says she’s made her way through life on her looks, and is a little frustrated by being stupid herself, but knows she’s great in bed, and has no problem using that skill to fix the stupid.  At this point, I woke up again, in a cold sweat, and went and took a colder shower.
    In order, things on my mind. 1)  No job, last one I really hated, so any any excuse to not be there was used, 2) my mom is dead, and I miss her, 3) House mate works at Subway, and brought home leftover meatballs they can’t keep for the next day (But didn’t share), 4) I need to wash my sheets (duh) 5) back to the hated job, and excuses 6) my car needs tags, and to be repaired, (though she’s actually pretty clean.) 7) I don’t really like stupid people, unless they’re hot and giving me something with that hotness. And finally 8) I need a girlfriend.

         As I said, nothing earth-shattering, or nothing I can’t figure out a reason to, but honestly, it was nice to have dreams again, no matter how odd, self-revelatory, or embarrassing. 

  • What do you know?

    So, I have a friend, see, and she’s all, like emo, see, and not the black-painted-nails and black eye shadow type, but the real going-through-stuff thing that just sucks the life out of you kind.  Now, we’re just happy-joy-joy friends, totally ephemeral and liking the talks cause they’re witty and fun and not all "arg! Hater! Trashtalk" and such.  Oh, we snipe at each other, her at me for forgetting something, me at her for changing her answers.  Ya know, typical guy-girl arguments handed down genetically.  But for the most part, we’re pretty cool with each other.  Then she sends me her handle on LJ so I can be privileged to see her innermost (Read: locked entries) thoughts and I’m thinking, "I do have an account, right?" If I did, I haven’t used it in AGES, and so I pop on to look.  Well, I tried the "forgot username" thing with every email addy I’ve ever owned (A LOT), and none came up, so I’m like, "Huh."   And I create one, and here I am.  
      Just a couple notes.  If you have flashblocker, the captcha thing keeps telling you the words in the antispam aren’t correct.  Sneaky LJ, but it ain’t gonna work.  No Flash for me!
      Note 2: Nothing really, but I did say "a couple" so here’s the payoff.