Rocket man

The world is going to be a sadder place without Evel Knievel in it.

Not much longer, I'm sure, until the Wikipedia folk lock the above page. Here's the current section I linked to above - your mileage may vary, of course, what with Wikipedia being in a constant state of quantum flux:

Knievel died on November 30, 2007, aged 69. He had been ill for years, suffering from hepatitis C, as well as diabetes and idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

Conspiracy?:Eyewitnesses reported seeing Evel accept a dare from Chuck Norris. He died instantly from the blunt force of a roundhouse kick to the head.

We all deal with grief in our own ways, I suppose. It's always a sad day when a daredevil dies. • 2:24 PM 0 comments

Most embarrassing song?

Let's say you're single, and dating. You've met someone who seems cool and smart and who seems to kinda dig you, too. You're meeting this person for a second or third time, so you're out at the trendy meeting place. You're early, and you don't want to look like you're bored or anything, so you pull out your iPod and start dancing, silhouetted by the flashy neon lights.

Your date approaches you, you smile at each other, and as you remove your white earbuds from your ears, your date asks:

"Hey, what are you listening to?"

...what's the most embarrassing song in your music collection that could be playing right then?

Here's what I think of as my top 5 embarrassing songs, in order from most to least:

1. ABBA - "Dancing Queen"
   
2. ABBA - "Knowing Me, Knowing You" (tie for first)
   
3. Kermit the Frog - "The Rainbow Connection"
   
4. Creed - "One Last Breath"
   
5. Dan Fogleberg - "Same Old Lang Syne"
   

I offer them without explanation for your (and my, honestly) enjoyment.

If you're not single and a parent, here's a variation: what's the one song in your music collection that would be the most difficult to explain to your kids?

Feel free to incriminate yourself in the comments. If you dare. • 7:04 PM 3 comments

Story of my life

My liquor store and my general practitioner doctor are next door to each other. • 6:41 PM 1 comments

Feels like the first time

I'm blogging from my sexy new iPhone!

SOFA KING COOL. • 7:30 AM 2 comments

Just for the record

I am now an iPhone owner.

I am not yet an iPhone user.

That's because I'm waiting until tomorrow to activate the phone and move my service from T-Mobile to AT&T. I don't want there to be any confusion on T-Mobile's part about my contract.

Yes, as a matter of fact, it is difficult to just see that sexy iPhone sitting there... taunting me... and not be able to use it.

Tomorrow's gonna be like Christmas morning... • 10:19 PM 0 comments

Genius call

Just heard from the Apple Store. My laptop is repaired and ready to be picked up.

Hmmm... wasn't there something else I needed at the Apple Store? • 10:50 AM 1 comments

Drop-dead date

Today is the final day of my contract with T-Mobile.

Just sayin'. • 8:22 AM 9 comments

I tried to be a hero

She sat one seat ahead of me on the bus. She was dressed in comfortable jeans that had seen a million wear-wash-dry cycles. A warm soft sweater. A hoodie. Clogs. Her brownish-red hair was pulled back with a simple rubber band. No makeup that I could see on her pale, freckled face. Glasses. She appeared to be in her early 30s, though everyone will tell you I am a poor judge of age.

Her posture was tired and slumped. Her knees pressed up against the seat in front of her, her feet dangling, her body curled into a comfortable curlycue. She would lean into the window, her cheek pressed against the cool glass, where outside it was raining, pouring, somewhere an old man snoring, oh, no, that's thunder or the roar of passing traffic.

I know she wasn't dressed up. I know she was dressed in comfortable, comforting clothes. I could tell she had a bit of the geek in her, a little bit of social misfit. It felt familiar to me. I could look out from my turned-up collar, my lower face shrouded in gray scarf, from eyes shaded from the pale fluorescent light by the brim of my battered baseball cap, and I felt a connection. We were both shielding ourselves from human contact with our unkempt clothing.

I watched her thumb through and occasionally read from a pamphlet on exercise and diet. I wondered if she had just come from a doctor's office. Was her apparent sadness due to an illness? She did not look overweight to me, even in her oversized clothes. I wanted to say something to her, anything.

I said nothing.

Her stop arrived, one stop before my own. She stood, turned, walked off the bus, and vanished into the gray deluge. The doors closed. The bus continued. I rang the bell.

I stood up... and looking into the seat she had just vacated, there was a white plastic bag, with two bottles just visible inside, one a medicinal green, the other a warm and healthy red. As the bus stopped for me, without a conscious thought, I grabbed the bag, and dove out the door, and ran back towards the other stop.

She was sick, and she left her prescription on the bus! I could find her, and return it to her, and be a hero!

My shoes splashed in the puddles, the rain beat down on me, ran into my eyes... I ran the two blocks back to her stop, the bag dangling from my hand.

She was nowhere to be seen. I looked all directions, but she had gone. Where, I could not tell. I tried a couple of options but no luck.

Gone.

I walked back to my house. Rain still poured down on me. I had had a story, had seen how it would have been in that instant before grabbing the bag and leaping off the bus. That story did not coalesce. I wondered now if I had actually prevented her from getting her medicine back, rather than helping her find it. Surely she would notice she had left the bag behind, and she would first try to contact Tri-Met, but they would not be able to help her.

In the rain, my brain came up with another story; these were prescriptions, and oftentimes the patient's name is printed on the labels. Once I got home, I could look her up, and call her to let her know I had saved her medicine, and her health. It was raining hard so I had to wait until I was safely inside and dry.

When I opened the bag, in the warmth of my living room, however, I saw not two bottles of medicine, but a small green bottle of dishwashing soap, and a small red bottle of laundry detergent. No receipt. No identifying information at all.

So that explained why she was wearing her comfy clothes... • 11:14 PM 4 comments

Note to self

Tip o' the hat to Kevin! • 3:28 PM 0 comments

Long as I can see the light

I was going about 65 MPH in a section marked for 50. I'd been driving aggressively the whole trip. Been listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival, Chronicle Vols. 1 & 2, and in a reflective, sad, mood. I'd passed the last bit of traffic a few minutes ago, and there appeared to be no one ahead of me, at least as far as I could see on that twisting mountain road.

Just past the summit of Murphy Hill, in the Van Duzer Corridor, I came over the top of a rise, and the road curved to the left and downhill, and I turned into the corner.

And felt the back end of the car start slipping, as if it wanted to be in the front.

I turned into the skid, I think. I'm pretty sure.

The accident is just flashes of images and the sounds of metal and glass, underscored by the sudden static on the radio when my iPod lost its FM transmitter with the first impact.

I briefly got control of the car again, but had slid into the oncoming lane. Since I couldn't see very far ahead, I pulled the steering wheel back to the right to get back in my own lane... And over-corrected.

The car snapped around, clockwise, to the right. Hard. I was out of control. I smashed the brake a couple of quick times but it was pointless.

The front of the car smashed into the guard rail. Up until this moment, I still remember thinking that I could pull out of this spin. When I saw, heard, and felt the impact, though, my thought was immediately of the expense of this crash, and the danger to myself.

The car bounced off the guard rail and continued spinning. I was facing the wrong way in my lane. No cars coming. The car continued spinning, and the tail end must have smacked the guard rail. I say must have because I don't remember that impact.

I was straightening out the steering wheel when the car slowed enough to let me steer it. I was again in the far lane, so to get out of the way I aimed for the far side of the road. It was closer. It was also wider and not on the outside of the corner. I pulled to a stop and sat there. Smoke poured out from under the smashed hood. I turned off the radio. I took off my seat belt.

I pulled out my cell phone but my hands shook too much to dial.

I don't know how much longer I sat there. I saw one car go by, a dark SUV. They slowed but did not stop. But soon, another car pulled up in front of me, going east, and a lady and her husband got out. Her name was Heather, and I apologize but I do not recall the husband's name. She repeatedly asked me if I was OK, and in my shock, I discovered that I felt pretty good, physically. My right hand and arm hurt, but I could move my head, my legs felt shaky but still there. I could breathe. There was no blood.

I explained that I was trying to call my sister, that I was on my way to Lincoln City for Thanksgiving, that this was a rental car. Heather offered to call for me. I pulled up the number for her and handed her my phone. Another piece of luck: I had full service, all five bars on my phone. Lisa didn't answer, so I found Betsy's number and handed the phone back. I laughed a bit at hearing Heather's end of the conversation as she explained to Betsy first that I was all right, and then started to fill in the details. My sister and her husband were on their way to get me soon enough.

The trooper on the scene was serious but friendly, and I did not lie or hide any details from him. Yes, it was a rental. My insurance was through American Express, due to my renting the car on my card. I was driving about 65 when the accident occurred. My family was on their way.

So much luck that was in my favor: no other traffic or cars involved, no other people hurt, I was only about 10-15 minutes away from rescue by my sister, full cell phone service. And the trooper decided, due to my honesty, the holiday, and the fact that wrecking a rental is already a pain in the ass, to not cite me, for which I am eternally grateful.

Part of me wants to be cocky, to dismiss it as a lark. "Oh, I used up this rental car, oops, whatever." But another part of me realizes how much worse it could have been. It is what it is. I haven't yet imbued it with meaning - that will come in time.

For now, I'm happy I am still here. Still happy to be here. That's enough for now.

Put a candle in the window,
'cause I feel I've got to move.
Though I'm going,
going,
I'll be coming home soon,
'Long as I can see the light.

Pack my bag and let's get moving,
'cause I'm bound to drift a while.
When I'm gone,
gone,
you don't have to worry long,
'Long as I can see the light.

I'll never hear that song in quite the same way again, I fear. • 6:06 PM 0 comments

Coinky-dink

First name of the Oregon State Trooper who stopped at the scene of my accident: Ryan.

First name of the Apple Store Genius who confirmed the damaged hard drive in my MacBook Pro: Ryan.

The wait at the Genius Bar was about a half-hour after my Concierge "scheduled" time, which would normally be quite irritating, especially on a Saturday during Hell Month (which is what current and former retail employees call the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas; I still have nightmares about my 6 Christmases working at the mall). But for whatever reason I was patient, and I was friendly with Ryan the Genius. He booted the laptop on an external drive, ran Disk Utitlity, saw the error, noted it, and filled out the paperwork for the repair.

The longest delay was when he tried to find out if they had the drive in stock, but no luck. They'd have to order it, which wouldn't arrive 'til Tuesday, at best.

Hush, hush, keep it down now. Voices carry. Argh.

The best part, though, was when Apple Genius Ryan (they must get so much shit because Apple decided to call their tech support "Geniuses") found out I was using Quicken. I mentioned it as the one file I would like them to save off the hard drive if they could. He started asking me about setting Quicken up to download transactions from Bank of America. Heh. I tried to help as best I could (I could use a little karma this weekend) but I'm afraid my vague answers were unsatisfying. Hey, at least I tried.

So I'm new sexy thing-less until the end of the week, assuming the part comes in as expected, they get the repair done quickly, and they don't decide the drive failed due to negligence on my part, which Apple can do (as I know too well, having worked in Apple tech support in Austin, TX in a previous life). Ugh.

Gee... sure would be nice to have an iPhone right about now... • 9:30 AM 0 comments

More suckage

No "Did You See..?" post because it was saved on the hard drive of my new sexy thing... which has chosen today to refuse to boot up.

Yes, the hard drive in my laptop appears tosted a nice golden brown. Worked all weekend, but as soon as I got home and tried to use it, it started making click-y death noises, then locked up. I rebooted and found the "folder with a question mark" staring back at me.

Long story short... gone, daddy, gone.

Yay. Thanksgiving.

Off to the Apple Store I go... • 1:20 PM 0 comments

Ancient Chinese secret

My fortune cookie on Tuesday said, "In a few days, you will come out ahead."

I don't think this is what I had in mind when I read that.

I was very lucky. No one was hurt (my wrist is sore but nothing broken and no blood), no other cars were involved, and the kindly Oregon State Trooper did not cite me. Plenty of people stopped to help me, my sister and brother-in-law were only 15 minutes away and came to my rescue, and even American Express is going to cover the accident (at least it appears so at this point, cross your fingers).

Note to self: always use American Express for car rentals. Y'know... just in case.

I'll post more details later but I just wanted to let everyone know that I'm safe and I did end up having a happy Thanksgiving after all.

All in all... I think, in retrospect, that I did come out ahead, after all. • 6:05 PM 3 comments

I don't even know

I'm so glad my work day and work week are done. It's been a slog.

I was picked up tonight by Edgar from Enterprise, and after some small talk (sales guys are so talk-talk) and some paperwork, I was handed the keys to a 2006 Pontiac G6.

Tonight I eat a modest dinner, finish up my laundry, and pack.

Tomorrow morning I get up early, run the ORRC Turkey Trot 4 Miler up at the Oregon Zoo, then shower and change and drive to the City called "Lincoln" situated on the shore by the gentle waves of the Pacific Ocean, there to meet with my family, eat massive amounts of food, bicker lovingly over the tiniest of trivia, and drink liver-damaging amounts of alcohol.

I may or may not stay all weekend. If I find myself over-eating on the day after Thanksgiving, I will come back, because I still want to be sexy and skinny on the beaches of Cancún in December. Or at least not too much un-skinny-er.

I may or may not post. I think there's wireless down at the family beach house but I'm not 100%. I have a post ready for Saturday's "Did You See..?" so at least, you'll see that.

Before I head off, though, I wanted to offer my thanks for this year. I am thankful for:

• My surprisingly healthy body;
  
• my inquisitive, skeptical, and amusing brain;
  
• the roof over my head and the bed in which I sleep;
  
• my loyal, honest, loving friends;
  
• my caring, passionate, deep-thinking and -feeling family;
  
• the wonders of science and engineering that allow me to communicate with and learn about the world;
  
• and strip clubs, filled with the most amazing, beautiful, intelligent, and passionate women.

And thanks very much to all of you out in InternetLand, who come here to read my words. I am humbled and delighted by your readership. Without it, this blog would be a lonely place, indeed. • 5:10 PM 0 comments

Simple wishes fulfilled

On my way to lunch with friends, I texted Tracy:

I want to sing loud punk songs @ karaoke.

...and right after that, 94.7 FM played The Sex Pistol's "Anarchy in the U.K." Awesome! I sang along, loudly.

Then I got to have lunch with my friends. Awesomer!

Then, driving back to my office, I flipped the radio over to 101.1... and they played The Dead Kennedy's "California Über Alles" and followed it up with The Sex Pistol's "Anarchy in the U.K." again! Awesomest! More singing loudly in the car!

I guess things aren't so doom-and-gloom all the time. • 1:06 PM 3 comments

Being more positive

Stuff I've done lately that I'm proud of:

Fixing my webstats thingie to run automagically at midnight.

Getting my old couch into my second bedroom. Man, if you only knew...

Um... I'm sure there's more. Give me a second... • 10:43 AM 1 comments

Broken echo

Echoing The One True b!x, I feel broken, too.

I'm paying my bills, and I've got a job, and my apartment may or may not be cleaner than b!x's, I'm taking my vitamins...

...but I can't concentrate, I can't sleep, I have very little energy to do anything but sleep all day, everything feels like a big gray nothin'.

Maybe it's just my brain that's broken?

And it feels like it's felt like this forever.

But... that can't be true. Can it? • 8:53 AM 0 comments

Five questions and five answers

Saturday night I decided to hit my favorite strip club for some late-night drinkin' and fun. Because I was feeling generous, and because I was feeling experimental, I decided to buy (at least) one private dance from each girl dancing.

Rocket was on stage when I got there. I watched her two-song set, tipping a couple bucks per song, and when she finished I asked, "Can I get a dance?"

"Sure!" She held up a finger. "Give me a minute." She gathered up her money and disappeared backstage, and exactly one song later, she emerged, took me by the hand and led me back to the private dance booth.

Before she began, I noticed that she had the beginning of a new sleeve tattoo. It was outlined but not filled in yet. I asked her about it. "Here, feel," she said, "It's brand-new. It's still raised up." I felt. It was.

"You heal fast," I said.

"I do!" She began dancing as the song started, lifting her arms up in the air and turning slowly around. "I'm an alien from another planet."

"A very sexy planet," I said, in my best Austin Powers voice.

Technically, I didn't ask Stormy for a dance. I spotted Stormy out on the floor, returning from the DJ booth after picking the songs for her next set. I didn't even have to ask; as soon as she saw me she just assumed I wanted one. "Hang on, I've got to give this other guy a dance first, he's been waiting a while, I'm so sorry is that OK?" The words tumbled out of her mouth, and her hand brushed my cheek.

I was amused, and a little irritated at the presumption, and I told her it was OK. Since I planned on getting dances from everyone, I wasn't going to find myself in the "waiting for Stormy" mode I've found myself in on previous nights. Get immediate attention from Rocket, or wait all night for Stormy? Not a tough choice... Stormy can take her time.

Stormy apologized and asked me to wait at least twice more, while I enjoyed the stage show and drank. I flirted with Lux, the model-thin Asian dancer. I watched the crowd, and watched a group of girls in their twenties flirting with each other and the dancers on the stage. Always a co-ed crowd at Devil's Point.

In spite of Stormy's flakiness in the club, she gives the best private dances. Bar none. I ended up buying two private dances from her. 'Nuff said. I staggered out of the booth afterward and bought another drink. She said over her shoulder as she rushed back to the dressing room, "Don't forget to say 'bye' before you leave!"

While waiting for a chance to ask Lux (dancers at Devil's Point don't spend a lot of time out on the floor hustling, surprisingly enough. At least not that I notice), I sat at the stage and watched Stormy. One of the three girls I had noticed before sat down next to me, turned to me and said, "Can I have a dollar?"

"But... you're not naked and on the stage." I said, mock-confused.

She pointed at Stormy. "I'm just going to give it to her. Please?"

Feeling a bit like a sucker, I handed the girl a dollar. She held on to it until Stormy came by, then waved it in the air like a flag, prompting some close, personal attention from Stormy. OK, watching that was worth a dollar. Still felt like a sucker, though. After that set, I wandered back to the bar for another drink and some more ones; I was running out.

When I returned, all the seats at the stage were full, so I took a table with a view of the stage. I'd get up and toss a couple bills per dancer, waiting to catch Lux off-stage. Finally she walked by.

"Hi!" I said. "Are you up next?"

She nodded.

"Can I get a dance after?"

She nodded again. "Sure!" She curtsied.

After her dance, in the booth, she asked me my name. She's asked me before. I reminded her of that, smiling, and told her again. "I'm Brian."

"I'll remember this time!" she said. "It'll be easy. You're like Brian, the dog on 'Family Guy'!"

"Well," I said, "I am incredibly intelligent. But I'm not covered in hair all over my body."

Lux bent down, and carefully lifted the hem of my shirt just an inch or two exposing my stomach. She let it fall, stood back to up face me, smirking. "I don't believe you."

"Fine, dammit. You caught me!" We laughed.

Last girl working that night was Aris. I waited for the end of her stage set and asked her, as she was collecting her money, "Do you do dances?"

She shook her head. "No." I've never seen her dance, though I have heard the DJ implore the crowd to ask her for one. "But the other girls do," she said.

I laughed. "But I've already had dances with the other girls. I wanted one from you."

She gave me a mysterious look and, saying nothing more, went backstage. Had I crossed a boundary by asking everyone? Had I acquired a reputation? If so... what kind? Or was it simply that Aris did not, in fact, give private dances?

I had done what I wanted. And closing time was approaching.

I waited a bit to say goodnight to Stormy, who ignored me the one time I saw her out on the floor again. Then I went home.

Labels: stripclub

• 11:27 AM 1 comments

Accidents happen

I accidentally didn't run my planned 9-mile run tonight.

I accidentally didn't eat dinner, either.

And all because I accidentally took a nap.

Now it's almost 7 PM and I'm just awake enough to realize how tired I still am.

Oops. • 6:55 PM 0 comments

launchd & me

This is a really technical, geek-y post and is probably of interest to very few of my readers, but over the weekend I finally figured out how to use Apple's launchd to run my web stats program on a nightly basis.

Up to this point I've been ssh-ing into my server and running it manually. Kind of a pain. I'm more like a power user than a full-fledged server admin, though, and I hadn't sat down and taken the time to figure out what needs to go where to get the process to run automagically on its own.

There are plenty of tutorials out there for using cron to run something. But I knew a couple of things:

1. I was going to be using Mac OS X to run my server,
   
2. Apple had come up with a nifty, Mac OS X-based tool called launchd,
   
3. launchd was the primary method for scheduling, starting, and maintaining ongoing processes in Mac OS X Leopard (10.5)

...so it was a good thing to learn how to use the tool I was given, rather than rely on older tools.

Here's a quick summary of the steps to take:

1. Set up the script or program you want to run - I wrote a simple shell script to run webalizer.
   
2. Write a text file in XML format that:
   
   • names the process;
     
   • gives the command for running the script (with the full path to the script);
     
   • names the time and frequency of when it should run.
3. Save the XML file as a .plist into the proper directory - I put mine in /Library/LaunchDaemons/;
   
4. use launchctl to load the plist as a process.

If you're scared or unfamiliar with the command line, there are some GUI tools that help with this. The biggest help to me in getting started is a free program called Lingon. Lingon may be all that most users need; I needed to use the command line on my webserver, but I'm now also using Lingon on my laptop and home Mac.

Hmmm... I really meant this originally as a "yay, me!" post but I can see me turning this into a "How-to" post for anyone out there who might want to learn this, too. I'll do that later, maybe. This is not a How-to.

For now, I've got the key to running programs on a regular basis on any Mac running 10.4 or newer... like finally automating that backup process I use from time to time. Or emailing my servers' logs to me. Or... well, the sky's the limit. launchd not only is able to run something on a periodic basis, it can watch a directory/folder and take action when the directory changes, or watch a continuously-running process and keep it up and running if it stops or crashes (lots of people use it to keep Quicksilver running). • 1:01 PM 0 comments

Continuing naughtiness

Who says I can't have chocolate cake for breakfast? Huh? Who?

No one, that's who. • 12:23 PM 0 comments

G'night

Sleep. Sleep is much like not being. Oh, except for the dreams.

I sleep and might not wake up until I must - which means either work on Monday morning or ahem hydraulic pressure. • 3:01 AM 0 comments

Did you see..?

Sorry for the late-afternoon edition. Been out running around 'n' stuff.

• These are perfect pearls of story.
  
• I've got an interest (obsession?) with the Moon. These high-def pictures of the Earth from the Moon, from a Japanese moon probe, are amazing, and are now part of my wallpaper rotation. (Via Boing Boing)
  
• Yes, please. Please shorten your voice mail greeting as much as possible. Anymore, I don't even leave a message. I figure that anyone I'm calling will have Caller ID, see that I called, and will call me back if they want to know why I called in the first place.
  
• Who knew memory was so widely variable and unreliable? Try to tell that to anyone, though. Our brains trick us into feeling/thinking things for which we have no basis. I could tell ya stories...
  
• A "Ghostbusters" sequel that includes all the original cast members and is written by Dan Ackroyd and Harold Ramis? Wait, it's gonna be a videogame? Oh, please - don't suck! I want this to be good. Even if I have to buy a freakin' XBox to see it.
  
• Is it just me, or do Hayden Pepperspray and Kristin Bell look terrified beyond belief?
  
• Wow, Multnomah County managers making financial decisions based on personal relationships (allegedly)? That's... that's just nuts. Oh, sidenote: I need to ask my bosses about all that CA-supplied ITIL training they've been taking for the past year or so.
  
• Somehow, somewhere, someone will make the argument that this proves God exists. Sure. Have it both ways! Why not?
  
• Speaking of creationism, John Scalzi toured the Creation Museum and was unimpressed. It was a scathingly funny read to me. And then it made me sad because there's folks out there who buy into this. People I love. But, I'm heartened by the knowledge that there's a difference between Christians and Creationists; one doesn't have to mean the other.

  "Will these folks find the arguments they find at the Creation Museum convincing? Again, you got me. I certainly hope not, but more to the point I would hope that these folks don’t come away feeling that their love of Christ obliges them to swallow heaping mounds of horseshit from people who are phobic about metaphor. I really don’t think Jesus would care if you think that you and a monkey have a common ancestor; I think he would care more that you think you and your neighbor have a common weal."

  And many folks chime in on the comments to echo the sentiments. Yes, please. More like this.
  
• Lastly, via the kids at the Mercury, this slow-starting but entertaining Duran Duran video that answers the question of what happened to all those Girls on Film, anyway?
  
  

• 2:53 PM 0 comments

Hardcore

It's been a rough week at work. So busy, so stressful. Today went by fast, but not without its own level of stress.

So I was looking forward to my run tonight. I didn't care if it was raining. I didn't care if it was cold. I didn't care if it was dark.

I was going to run 5 miles no matter what.

Sure, at the beginning, as I was just warming up, and getting used to avoiding puddles, and starting to feel the wind in my lungs, the voice in the back of my head started trying to negotiate a shorter run. It reminded me of my planned 9 mile run this Sunday, and warned that I might be overdoing it tonight.

I shot back with the fact that my two-week average from last week to this week would still only be 16 miles per week, well within my abilities.

It tried to tell me that I could run a shorter distance faster, be out of the rain and cold, and burn more calories.

I countered by pointing out that longer, slower runs burn more calories than short fast ones.

At the decision point, where I have to turn one way to run my 3 mile loop, or another way to run my 4 mile loop, or continue onto my 5 mile loop... I made the right choice. Actually, thinking back, I think that decision was made just after one mile, as I was powering up the long hill in Sellwood Park, and feeling great.

Running my 5 mile loop backwards, though, is a little harder because I don't do it very often, and the turning point isn't obvious the way it is when I run it the other direction. So I actually ran farther than I planned.

But the rain actually kept me from overheating. I dressed appropriately (long-sleeved shirt to keep my upper body warm, shorts to keep my legs nice and cool, gloves and a hat for my extremities, and goofy reflective gear and lights for visibility). And after I stepped in the first puddle, I didn't even notice that my feet were soaking wet.

I just kept running. In the rain. • 7:49 PM 2 comments

Too good to wait

Courtesy of John Scalzi and YouTube and a bunch of people in a tiny room with pineapple and cookies... a funny/sad version of a song I never really liked, but now, I kinda do.



Too good to wait for Saturday's "Did you see..?" post. • 10:06 PM 1 comments

Never buy 1.0 of anything

OK, looks like Apple has put out the first patch for Leopard.

I think I'll wait for 10.5.2 before I buy it. • 4:10 PM 1 comments

Bus stop encounter

Really? Three days since my my last post? My apologies. I don't normally like to go that long without posting something.

Not much happening lately. In case you haven't noticed, I've kinda-sorta given up on this year's NaNo. Yeah. I'm disappointed, too. It was going so well... for about five or six days. Then... nuttin'. The idea is still good.

I feel a little bad for an encounter at the bus stop a couple of days ago. I was at SE 17th and Bybee waiting for the bus. I had one small bag of groceries sitting on the bench next to me. It was after dark.

Suddenly, wham! a big, unshaven, smelly guy slammed his giant duffel bag down on the bench right next to my groceries. The bag was almost as tall as I was, and it made a hard sound, like there was something solid inside the bag.

My first thought was that the bag would fall over onto my groceries, and I snatched up my own small bag and turned my back to the stranger who had just appeared as if out of nowhere.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said in a loud oddly-pitched voice, "I didn't mean ta skeer ya."

I looked back over my shoulder. He was round in every dimension, covered in mis-matched camouflage colors, a little desert brown here, a little forest green there. He smelled like waste, an earthy primal smell. I didn't look long, just turned back around to look in the direction the bus would come. Seven more minutes, if Tri-Met's phone service was to be believed.

"Kin ya see the bus?" he asked.

"No." I said it loudly, too loud for me, but matching his loud voice.

"Kin ya see the bus?" he asked again.

Apparently not loud enough. "No!" It felt like I shouted it.

He walked away, around some tall bushes, in the shadows away from the light over the bus stop. A couple of seconds later, a thin trickle of liquid ran out down the sidewalk from behind the trees and into the street. Then he emerged again, pulling at his pants zipper. He walked back to the bench, muttering "when ya gotta go," under his breath as if in explanation for his public pissing. Was he justifying himself to me?

I ignored him and just stared down the street, willing the bus to come. I'm not normally outgoing in the best of circumstances, and today I'd been feeling even less social than normal. I really did not want to deal with someone like this guy, who apparently had much lower social boundaries than the general population.

He asked me again if I could see the bus, and I answered again in the negative. Then he said, "Oh, I'm sorry" except it sounded more like surree "I didn't mean ta skeer ya. I was just makin' conversation."

I turned around to face him. Between his smell, his appearance, his strange voice, his nearly flattening my groceries, his choice of place for urination, and his propensity to stand behind me and talk loudly at me, I was honestly feeling more than a little creeped out. I admit seeing things through my own filters and feelings of leave me alone. I just said, "Huh? What? Sorry?" in a loud angry (to me) voice.

"Oh. Oh, OK. I was just makin' conversation." he mumbled.

Not today, pal. I struggled internally to just see him as another human being, equally deserving of some empathy. I thought, though, that ignoring him was better than snapping at him or getting angry. I'm still not sure that was the best mindset to have, though.

Just get here, bus, was all I could think. • 7:04 AM 1 comments

I can't tell anymore

Is 8 AM late enough to be considered "sleeping in"? • 8:21 AM 2 comments

Veterans Day

So many dead and wounded.

I wish the veterans, all veterans, my deepest thanks for their service and sacrifice. • 8:06 AM 0 comments

Have you heard of the Dead Sea?

I just had a beautiful young woman holding and touching my hands, standing very close to me, speaking softly in an unidentified (to me) accent...

...as part of a sales pitch. She was selling some skin care products from a kiosk in the mall.

She talked about exfoliation, and dry skin, and showed me the difference between my right hand, which had been treated with her lotion, and my left hand, which had not.

I recognized the sales pitch, and felt a brief pang of guilt at wasting her time. Yet I allowed it to unfold just because I feel, still feel, skin-hunger, a desire for simple human touch.

Upon reflection I know that there is only a little difference from the sales transaction that I was a part of (but ultimately declined) and the transaction that takes place in a strip club. She did not choose me out of the crowd because I'm smart, or sexy, or successful, or for my talent of writing. She chose me to offer me a trade: my money for her little blue bottles from Israel, "near the Dead Sea," she claimed.

I draw a link between that short social intercourse at the mall and my sojourns into Devil's Point and sharing time with Stormy... and, too, I see a parallel with the spam that fills my inbox, whose subject lines speak of visceral desires and physical needs in the hope of making a sale.

And it saddens me.

It saddens me not simply because I'm subject to the come-on, the come-hither, the c'mere. It saddens me because I seek it out. I don't simply tolerate it - I've convinced myself that it's my only recourse.

I want to be magnetic. I want to be attractive. I want to be needed.

I am, however, only pliable. I am merely gullible. I find myself needy. • 5:31 PM 0 comments

Stuck in transit

At some point during any furniture move, someone will say, "Wait a minute, let's stop and think about this."

That point is often too late. • 12:32 PM 1 comments

Did you see..?

• This edition of geek webcomic "XKCD" made me laugh. Be sure to mouse-over and read the ALT tag.
  
  
• This column by Cary Tennis made me cry. (Just click through the ad; it's worth it. Cary is always worth it. He's a genius.) I apologize in advance for the lengthy quote but I didn't know where to cut without ruining the meaning:
  

  ...We go through pretending to be grown-up and untouched but we are just silly kids hoping for the ice-cream truck. It comes every day for a whole month in the summer and then one day it stops. What the fuck?
  
  I'm no doctor and I'm no genius but the way I figure it when you're upset you have to know what's underneath it. If you don't know, then you're crying on the bus for no reason and people are staring. But if you know what's under there, then you recognize that quivering tune when it starts to play. You say to yourself, Oh, yeah, I'm the one with the crazy attachments. I'm the one who gets attached and doesn't show it, the one people leave behind because they don't even know I'm attached.
  
  And then finally by thinking it through you get to this: I'm the one who has to tell people upfront that I get attached. I'm the one who has to make it clear what's going on.
  
  People have no idea what's going on in there. They don't know you're attached. Or maybe they do and -- what's harder to accept -- they just don't really care that much! That's possible, too. It's not the end of the world. That's just how some people are. They're not even thinking about you. They're thinking about whether they're amused or not. They're thinking about whether there'll be somebody to have coffee with. It doesn't matter who. It's just a person to have coffee with that they need.
  
  Maybe they'd be pleased to know you get attached if it made them feel super-attractive and important. But maybe they'd feel hemmed in, like now all of a sudden you're a big, needy responsibility they didn't want. Or maybe they wouldn't care either way. Maybe if you were to say that you get attached and feel things deeply and take things hard and that friendship matters greatly to you and you find it hard to understand how other people can just walk away like that, maybe the words wouldn't even go into their head and activate brain cells. Hard to tell. Some people just flit around and it's all the same to them: You're not a person. You're just people.
  
  I mean, you're special to me, and you're special to your mom, and you're special to yourself, but you're not special to everybody. To a lot of people you're just somebody in the neighborhood. Can you handle not being special? Sure you can! You do it all the time. In 99 percent of our interactions, we're not special. You pay your money and you get your Fast Pass. Maybe you pay your money every month and see the same gold tooth in the smile. Then one day it's a new smile. You miss the old smile with the gold tooth, but there's no formal announcement saying, "I know you were really starting to like seeing that same smile every month but I'm a new person at the counter; sorry for inflicting this tiny change in your life; I, too, wish things could go back the way they were."
  
  That will never happen. If it happens even once I want to hear about it.
  
  Things change all the time. We can't do anything about it and neither can the police.
  
  People come, people go, you adjust.
  
  How do you adjust? You pay attention to your thing. You turn your attention from what is lost to whatever your thing is.

  See? Genius.
  
  
• Writer's Strike. Yay, writers! Yay, union! May not seem like it at times, from my past posts, but I'm generally pro-union for all the reasons Digby says.

  You hear a lot of nasty snark in this town about how these WGA strikers are all millionaires playing at being hardhats, and it totally misses the point. The union movement is about solidarity, which is a fundamental progressive value...
  
  Unions and the solidarity it promotes are an important key to a progressive America, whether it's the Writers Guild or the UAW or the janitors or the health care workers. They promote a strong and stable middle class --- and help us see ourselves as one people with common interests.

  
  Digby also talks about the literal blood in the streets from back when the entertainment unions were first formed, and how many of the leaders of the original union movement were later blacklisted or accused of being "commies". The fight today to re-build the labor movement is just as important, after decades of union-busting and internal corruption... even if actual blood isn't being spilled. Go here for news and to offer your support.
  
  
• Did you ever, ever, even in a passing nightmare, imagine that you would live in a country where the Attorney General, the chief law enforcement officer for the shining beacon of human rights and democracy known as the United States of America, would not commit in open testimony prior to his confirmation to torture being wrong? And who would go on to be confirmed, anyway? Surprise! You do live in that country! As Glenn Greenwald says:
  

  The most amazing quote was from chief Mukasey supporter Chuck Schumer, who, before voting for him, said that Mukasey is "wrong on torture -- dead wrong." Marvel at that phrase: "wrong on torture." Six years ago, there wasn't even any such thing as being "wrong on torture," because "torture" wasn't something we debated. It would have been incoherent to have heard: "Well, he's dead wrong on torture, but . . . "
  
  Now, "torture" is not only something we openly debate, but it's something we do. And the fact that someone is on the wrong side of the "torture debate" doesn't prevent them from becoming the Attorney General of the United States. It's just one issue, like any other issue -- the capital gains tax, employer mandates for health care, the water bill -- and just because someone is "dead wrong" on one little issue (torture) hardly disqualifies them from High Beltway Office.
  
  

  Whatcha gonna do about it?
  
  
• From my youngest nephew comes The Impossible Quiz. I didn't do so good on my first time through. Maybe you can do better.
  
  
• Apparently, Radiohead threw a party on the web late Thursday! Here's a video from the stream:
  

• 12:39 PM 1 comments

The world loves a lover

I was going to save this for Saturday's "Did you see..?" but I just couldn't hold back.

NYGirlOfMyDreams.

What a lucky bastard.

I keep posting and responding to ads on Craigslist and all I get in return are spam and porn.

Anyway... good for him. • 3:46 PM 0 comments

Blog watch update

The blog watch for Erraberra has been reset to zero.

We now resume regular blogging. • 2:52 PM 1 comments

Blog watch

Erraberra has gone 8 days since her last new post. • 11:04 AM

Time off for good behavior

In checking my timesheet today, I discovered that I have already saved up enough paid vacation time to cover my Christmas trip to Cancún - which means I'll still have some left over when I get back. Or I can take a day off between now and then.

Also, I remembered that I get next Monday off for Veterans Day! Yay! A day off is always a good thing. I'll spend mine... um... writing. • 8:54 AM 0 comments

Off the sidewalk

Last night I dreamed. I was walking down the sidewalk, a familiar sidewalk, maybe in my neighborhood or near where I work. Half-familiar.

I looked down and, laying on the cement, I saw a turd. A human turd. Actually, technically, two of them, or one that had been broken in half.

I stepped over it, bouncing a little bit on my feet because I saw it almost too late to avoid it...

...and I bounced much higher than I expected. In fact, I felt lighter than air. When I touched down again, I pushed harder, and I launched myself into space.

I was flying!

I looked down and I saw the buildings and sidewalk where I had just been bound to the earth. I flew away and I saw a green field and a large stand of trees. I enjoyed the feeling of freedom.

I was flying at a right angle to a road, a winding country road, a single stripe of asphalt that followed the rolling hills. I turned to follow the road, staying above the power lines. A lot of times, when I dream of flying, I get tangled in the power lines. Not this time. I was above them.

It grew dark. I looked back along the road and I saw a car, a big black American sedan from an earlier era. A dark shape through the tinted windshield leaned out the side window, and pointed at me.

He was pointing a gun, a handgun. At me.

I started twisting and diving and changing directions, to avoid his shot. I knew that there was no way he could hit me as long as I could get to cover. Not with his handgun. Not while he was driving.

I looked back and he'd pulled over. Exited the vehicle. And he reached inside and pulled out a large rifle with a scope on it. The scope glowed bright in the darkness.

With the scope, he might be able to hit me. I started to get scared. I turned and dove and rose high. I was pushing myself to my limit.

I looked back. He fired. I could see the white-hot bullet tracing a trajectory towards me. I pulled back, stopping in mid-air briefly, then changing direction once again.

The bullet sped past me.

I flew as fast as I could go towards the woods. I knew I could lose this guy in the trees, if only I could reach it in time.

He fired several more shots. I could see their path through the sky. He was getting better aim, guessing my pattern, getting used to how I was choosing to escape. I poured on the speed, dove in among the branches, stopped, hid behind a thick trunk, looked back.

He was strolling through the woods, rifle in hand. He was close.

...and then I woke up. I'd like to think I escaped.

So this morning, on my way to work, I was walking along the sidewalk, the familiar sidewalk, and I looked down, and I saw a turd. Just like my dream.

Just like my dream, I skipped over it. Bounced a little.

And I stayed stuck on the ground.

Gravity always wins. • 10:31 AM 3 comments

Tweaking the site

If you notice things looking slightly different around here, or you didn't notice until just now and you thought you might be going crazy, you were right, and you were not crazy. Not about how my site looks, anyway. You might be crazy in other ways; I just don't know.

I'm tweaking the CSS for the site to make it a little more readable. Nothing drastic. Just small changes here and there.

If I break something, let me know in the comments for this thread or send me an email. If you do, please let me know which kind of computer you're running, and what browser you're using, and send me as much detail as you can on versions and settings. And send me your credit card numbers.

OK, maybe not that last one. But that would be fun, wouldn't it? For me, I mean. • 6:53 AM 0 comments

Rick Emerson, sans mackerel

"What's the most random thing anyone has ever asked you?" I asked Rick Emerson, local disk jockey. We were both standing on the sidewalk in front of the Mt. Tabor Legacy Theater in southeast Portland, late on Sunday night. From inside the theater, past the burly bouncers, an invitation-only party was raging, the theater filled with a rock & roll crowd: lots of black - black leather, black jeans, dyed black hair; lots of tattoos and piercings; hair of all lengths, from bald to past their ass (men AND women).

"Tonight? Or ever?" Emerson shot back at me.

I stepped closer, smiling. I should have known he'd be quick on his feet. "Uh... ever."

He considered a moment, then said, "Well, there was this one time a guy asked me if I had a mackerel."

"That's pretty random," I agreed. I had expected him to say that my question was the most random thing. But this reply was better.

"Not really," he said, "because if you think about it, if I had had a mackerel, it would have been pretty obvious."

"Sure," I said, "the smell alone..."

We were both here, attending the 2007 Barfly Awards Gala; Emerson as a nominee for "Person most likely to be famous", and myself as a fan of Stormy. Stormy had asked me to be here to help her in her quest to become Portland's Sexiest Stripper. She was stacking the ballot.

"Right. And so he was pretty safe in asking me that question." He looked at the door, where a skinny kid with long black hair barely contained by a stocking cap and carrying a skateboard was toe-to-toe with the bouncer, in spite of the bouncer having a full head of height and at least another 100 lb. of advantage over him. "I think we're about to see a beat-down" Rick said.

The night before I had been at Devil's Point, making the most of the extra hour provided by the end of Daylight Savings Time. Because the Oregon Liquor Control Commission forbids the selling of alcohol between 2:30 AM and 7:00 AM, the end of DST means that bars - and drinkers - get another hour to drink. For someone like myself, it's almost like Christmas.

Stormy had been putting myself and others off for a private dance, though, and when she had offered me the chance to go to this event as a consolation, I had accepted.

"But if you'd had a mackerel, that would have been random" I said to the disk jockey, pursuing my original line of thought.

"Sure, OK," Emerson said. Still watching the bouncer argue with the skateboard kid, Emerson started chanting "Tas-er, tas-er, tas-er..." softly but increasing in volume.

A pretty brunette approached Rick, and started chanting along with him. I'd seen her with him inside and assumed she was Mrs. Emerson. The combined effort of the bouncer's intimidation and the chanting crowd finally penetrated the skateboard kid's booze or drug fogged mind and he left, literally shaking his fist at the bouncer.

I had showed up tonight with the hope that I could hang out with Stormy, even for a bit. Maybe sit with her entourage, meet some of her friends. But when I had seen her earlier, she had hugged me, thanked me for showing up, then walked off through the crowd with her trademark click-click-click walk, dragging a tiny little emo boy behind her.

After the disappointment of Stormy's brush-off had worn off, minutes later, I had realized that the party was fun for multiple reasons. Like exchanging jokes with Rick Emerson. Like seeing the petite Bud Light girls in their next-to-nothing short-shorts and halter tops, and turning them down for the free beers because I was already drinking vodka-crans.

Oh, and did I mention that the booze was free? Nothing soothes a broken heart like an open bar. I only drank three of them. If I hadn't been driving, I would have tried to make sure that they lost money on me. That's how my I roll.

Emerson shouted at the bouncer, "I would totally have backed you up, man. I would have said that he'd pulled a knife on you."

The bouncer replied, almost bored, "Dude. I don't even carry a taser."

"He didn't know that!" Emerson bounced back.

I realized that my question about random questions made a pretty good conversational opener. Maybe I'll go back inside and try it out on people who aren't famous and used to being asked random questions...

Emerson and the brunette walked off. As she dragged him away, he turned back to me, and pointed. "I did not have a mackerel!" He emphasized every word.

I laughed, and shouted back, "Thanks! That's my new slogan for the night!" I went back inside, squeezing past the people trying to get in, flashing my wrist band at the bouncer.

Postscript: I did not actually use my new opener on anyone else. I did not stay long enough to see the awards given out. And I did not see Stormy again for the rest of the night. Emerson and the lady accompanying him did return, however.

And did I mention the open bar?

Update: Fixed the link to Stormy's MySpace page. - 3:56 PM 6 November 2007

Labels: stripclub

• 11:10 AM 0 comments

Yes, but

Sure, sure.

All is well. All will be well.

I just want (hope, desire, hunger, lust) for all to be better. • 7:33 PM 1 comments

Why I'm lonely

"Blame it on the television, blame it on the company
don't blame it on the fundamental fact that no one owes you somethin'

"I've come about my share, I only want what's fair.
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not greedy.
Like everybody else, I want to pay my dues.
I only want someone to tell me who to make the check out to."

Ladies and gentlemen, the incomparable Sean Nelson. From "Pike St./Park Slope" on "King James Version". • 7:34 AM 0 comments

Stories

Why is it that stories in real life don't often turn out right?

Fictional stories have rhythms and hooks and beginnings, middles and ends. They have protagonists, antagonists, major and minor characters. Sure, they have red herrings and wild goose chases, but eventually things get back on track and reach a satisfactory conclusion.

Stories in real life? No. Let's just say I'm still waiting for mine. • 10:48 PM 2 comments

NaNoWriMo update

The book is tentatively titled "Campaign" and it's proceeding apace. I'm about where I thought I'd be, and basically caught up. I hope to pull ahead this weekend.

The last four words I wrote, which will likely make no sense out of context, are:

"An elephant named heroin."

Those bring me to 4,864 words.

Back to writing. • 3:23 PM 1 comments

Did you see...?

While I'm working on writing a 50,000 word novel in November (I'm currently at 3,046 words and counting), here's some cool stuff from around the internet from the past week. Did you see these?

• Darth Vader in love.
  
  ...via Blogtown, PDX.
  
  
• Skeletal Looney Tunes... from a Hollywood Day of the Dead display.
  
  
• Production has wrapped on the 10th film adaptation of a Philip Dick story. In this case it's "Radio Free Albemuth", one of the few I have not read. Time for a trip to Powell's...
  
  
• Who says Hummers are environmentally unfriendly? Sure, the stock ones are. But they can be modified... In spite of what Detroit says. And how about a biodiesel-burnin' muscle car? 800 horsepower, 25 MPG, runs on vegetable oil? Sign me up, please!
  
  
• Cats shouldn't be dressed up. But it's so cute when they are.

Sorry... that's all I got this week. Back to writing. Is "comradeship" a word? Google says yes, but it just doesn't sit right with me... • 10:13 AM 0 comments

Excerpt from "Campaign"

Just wanted to tease all y'all with this excerpt from my novel-in-progress. The scene is the Portland office of Representative Matthew Candleman, Democratic Congressman from Oregon's Third District.

*****
"I am not debating him. He's not a serious candidate! He's... he's just doing this for lapdances and booze! It's a fuckin' game to him." Candleman didn't even look at his aide as he pawed through the papers on his desk, looking for the memo he needed for the meeting.

His aide stood there near the door, hands held in front of her, her face placid and sympathetic, her body still, her manner calm. "Matt... He got the AFSCME endorsement."

Candleman stopped and looked at her. "What? What did you just say?"

"The county union gave your opponent their endorsement. It was in that newspaper," she pointed across the room to the local Oregonian, tossed on top of other papers on the overstuffed burgundy leather couch, along with the Congressman's briefcase and suit jacket, "this morning."

Candleman sputtered, "But they've always endorsed me! It's a done deal! Their endorsement was what got me elected in the first place!"

"Matt," she replied, cutting him off in mid-rant, "that was almost 20 years ago."

Candleman's mouth puckered up, his eyes narrowed down. Jaw jutting forward, teeth clenched together, he growled out, "Fine. I'll debate him." He turned to look out the window and squared his broad shoulders. "But let's make sure and pick a proper venue. I'm not sitting in some smoke-filled bar full of strippers and punks. See if the ballroom at the Hilton downtown is available." Over his shoulder he snapped, "Make it happen, but take control of the frame. We debate him on our terms, not his."

Sensing the conversation was done, she turned and left.

Candleman muttered, "Fucker. Fuck him and his hoochie campaign." • 10:08 AM 1 comments

You say it's your birthday?

It's my birthday, too, yeah. OK, it's actually my blog's fourth birthday! My birthday isn't until December.

I'm deep in writing, so I don't have much to say beyond "yay, me!" Later I'm going to dig up some of my favorite posts from the past four years, and maybe see if I can find other places where my posts have been linked and quoted.

Feel free to talk about how awesome my blog is in the comments. Any hate mail will be mercilessly snarked and mocked.

Seriously, though, by my count I've got, on average, over 400 unique visits every day. That's awesome. I write for me, and having the eyes and ears of that many people is a humbling thought. Thanks very much to all of y'all out there reading my words. If only I could figure out how to make money doing this... Heh. Just kidding.

Probably. • 8:16 AM 2 comments

NaNoWriMo Day One

One thousand, seven hundred and sixty eight words.

Not bad for my first day. • 10:48 PM 0 comments

Open Letter to Senator Ron Wyden (D-OR)

First, as a constituent, let me offer my congratulations to you and your wife on the birth of your twins! A happy day for your family.

And then... Then I read last night that, while you were busy attending to your personal life, our Majority Leader in the Senate, Harry Reid, ignored your hold on the nomination of Lyle Laverty to an assistant Secretary of the Interior, and brought the matter to a vote on the Senate floor.

Did that sting? Did you see red? Does that seem like a betrayal of the collegiality of the world's greatest deliberative body, for the leader of our own caucus to ignore a long-standing tradition? I think that Senator Reid's actions would be bad enough if he were a member of the opposition. But to override the wishes of a member of his own party? Ouch.

Believe me, though: Senator Wyden, perhaps now you know how the majority of the American people feel.

I'm used to feeling betrayed by my leaders in Washington. After the debacle of the presidential election in 2000, where the will of the people was overridden by the Supreme Court preventing the votes from being counted in Florida, to the administrations' subversion of the laws in regards to wiretapping (prior to the sad events of September 11th, 2001, we now know), to President Bush's dismissal of the threat posed by Osama bin Laden until 3000 lives were lost on that tragic day, to the failure to pursue OBL in Afghanistan and the rush to war in Iraq against a country that posed no threat to us...

The list goes on and on.

And I voted in hope in 2006, on the promise of Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid and other Democratic leaders, that with control of Congress, the betrayals would stop. I know many of my friends and family members, and others I read about across the country, in story after story, poll after poll... they all thought the betrayals would end, too.

It hasn't stopped, Senator Wyden.

I sat in a forum in NE Portland and heard person after person stand up to speak to your colleague, Earl Blumenauer, and tell him over and over again the many reasons why the Bush administration's dangerous "unitary executive" policies must be stopped, and why, in the eyes of the American people, simply pursuing toothless "non-binding resolutions" or passing legislation that this White House feels it can simply ignore or modify with a signing statement is not nearly enough. Impeachment appears to be an impasse and yet, I feel that President Bush and Vice President Cheney would find impeachment impossible to ignore as they have so many other efforts by you and your colleagues in Congress.

My email sounds to me, upon reading what I've already written, to be a smug "the shoe's on the other foot" taunt. I do not want to diminish my respect for you and your efforts. Many times you have been one of just a few lone voices of dissent on some key issues, and for that I thank you. You seem to prefer to work quietly, behind the scenes, and you try to reach consensus and build bridges with those who disagree with you, which is a noble and honorable way to approach your position.

But, again, as a constituent, as a voter, as an adult who has watched the traditions of our form of government under attack by a president, and a party, and a coalition that has only their own narrow interests at stake, I have to say: I don't believe you can count on the traditions of Congress and the spirit of civic-minded people to carry the day.

More, much more, courage and leadership is required.

You are not alone. The vast majority of America, including sizable groups of people identified with either major party, wants these dangerous presidential powers and precedents stopped.

It can't happen soon enough. • 1:08 PM 0 comments

Writing Buddies

This is for Metroknow, who commented here yesterday.

First, thanks for your kind comments! I write what I feel, and put it out there for anyone. It's great to hear that others are out there reading it! Just knowing that is the best compliment I can think of for my writing.

And second, my NaNoWriMo handle is "Lunarobverse", same as my blog name. I've been Lunar or Lunar Obverse online for almost as long as I've been online. This is my NaNoWriMo page. Good luck, Metroknow! May the words flow like... um... flow-y stuff. (See how many words I used there? And it's funny. That's a helpful trick for this thing. You're welcome.)

I tried to find an email to send it to him (her?) privately but couldn't find one. And if Metroknow, or anyone else, would like to be my "writing buddy" or otherwise keep track of my progress (and compare it to theirs if they're feeling competitive, heh), feel free.

I know my friend Kevin is also doing NaNoWriMo this month for the first time! Maybe I'll see any other lurkers out there at any of the several Portland-area meetups over the next month.

And, no - I haven't started writing yet. In fact, I'm late for work and I have to get going... • 8:45 AM 2 comments