Fiction Friday: bad news (new entry)

This week's theme: Write the first thing that comes to mind when you read this line: Bad news cures all things.

Mama called it a silver lining. "See that cloud up there," she'd say, pointing off into the distance where it looked like a tornado might drop from the sky any second and gobble up half of Kansas City. "It's a cloud, and it's raining--you can see the lines in the sky where the rain is falling." I'd nod, though I never saw any lines. "That rain cloud has a silver lining. That's why it looks so dark and gray on the outside."

When my ice cream fell off the cone one day, Mama told me that it was God's way of keeping the sugar from rotting my teeth. When I ran over a nail with my bike and the tire popped, Mama said it was God's way of protecting me from falling off a few minutes later. Only God would know what was going to happen next, and He was just protecting me.

We were coming home from church that day, the day the tornado touched down outside Liberty. We heard it on the radio, and Mama thanked God that it was a Sunday and the tornado had come that day and taken the elementary school when the children were in church. Daddy said God was punishing the school board for something they did. I wanted the radio to play more music and stop talking about tornadoes. It was sunny in our town.

Mama sat between me and Daddy in the old truck. She wore her white gloves, and it being so hot and muggy she had on her sun dress with the yellow flowers on it, and her hat with the big rim sat on my lap where I liked to hold it when we drove. Daddy said it got in the way of the mirror if Mama wore it.

It happened quick, a little boy's ball bouncing out into the street. He was a boy who didn't go to church, leastwise not our church, but I think he didn't go to any church. He was dirty, dirt all over his face and his hands and holes in the side of his coverall pants and no shirt. He chased out after the ball, and I saw his eyes in front of the truck, his big dirty brown eyes.

The ambulance came. Some sirens had woke me up, and big, cold hands held my head. I saw the boy's eyes again above me with some dark clouds behind him. It must have got cloudy, I thought. Maybe a tornado picked us up and set us down in Liberty, I thought. Some men picked me up and set me down inside an ambulance. Mama was there, holding a big white thing against her ear.

"Darling," she said, and she looked scared. One of the men said something to her, and she looked less scared. "God looked out for us today," she said. "God sent that boy to save us, you and me" she said.

"Where's Daddy?" I asked her, feeling like someone had taken out my teeth and stuffed my mouth with straw.

"I guess," Mama said, "God had to talk to Daddy, so He took your Daddy away."

"Maybe God forgot to tell Daddy something when we were at church," I said, and I felt the ambulance jerk a bit and then bump around.

Mama laughed, but she had tears in her eyes. "Yes, darling," she said, and when she put her hand on my forehead she moved the towel and I could see a lot of blood. One of the ambulance men touched her arm, and she put the towel back up to her head. "I think," she whispered, "I think God wanted to tell him not to hit you any more."

Fiction Friday: bad news

This week's theme: Write the first thing that comes to mind when you read this line: Bad news cures all things.

I am sorry, folks, but due to travel and work, I am unable to spend even five minutes on Fiction Friday this week. I love the theme, though, and the moment I saw it I thought of two or three good twists on that. I look forward to seeing what you've all written... but it may not be until Monday or Tuesday.

[edit: I guess the above qualifies as "bad news." You're left to your own devices to figure out what things this particular bad news cures.]

[edit: I found the time to make an entry, here.]

Forbidden love

I caught these two in a back alley today. It just seems... unnatural.

Thursday Thirteen (#12) : Fun (?) Facts

Today, I offer thirteen facts which, when taken together, paint an interesting picture of the state of the American family's finances. Given the rise in foreclosures in the area where I live and the skyrocketing cost of living including housing, health care, and transportation, it's a wonder families can make ends meet at all. Fifty percent (50%) of the world lives on $2 a day. The average American household has a credit card debt of $9,300. One in three households reports using credit cards for basic living expenses (rent, mortgage, groceries, utilities). The personal savings rate in 2006 as a percentage of personal income was the lowest in over 70 years: negative one percent (-1%). Up to 56 million American adults do not have a bank account and therefore are without access to mainstream financial services. Approximately 46% of African-American households are unbanked. Approximately one in three Latino households are unbanked. Those "check cashing" places prey on the unbanked, often taking 50% of the check's value in fees. In 2005, two million Americans filed for bankruptcy. Of those two million who filed for bankruptcy in 2005, half were caused by medical care debt. Over 38 million Americans earn less than the federal "poverty level." Of those 38 million, half are employed. (Ever heard the term, "working poor"?) Each year, more than $30 billion in public benefits goes unclaimed or unused, often because of confusion over eligibility or a difficult application process. This is money already allocated and budgeted by federal and state governments but which people don't know they can take advantage of. And then I offer this last little jab at the current administration in these two "fun facts": Number of American soldiers killed in Iraq since September 11, 2001: 3,533. Number of Osama bin Ladens captured or killed since September 11, 2001: zero. Are we winning yet?

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

a new short story

I've just finished my first draft of a new short story. I would love honest critique from other writers. It's 4,225 words right now, and I want to prune it to 4,000 or fewer before sending it off anywhere. If you have the ability and desire to critique it, please leave me a comment with your email address or email me at peter at peterdudley dot com.

Ten on Tuesday: 10 movies to quote

[link]

10 favorite movies to quote
I am not big on quoting movies, but let's see if I can think of any that I like to quote from

1. It's not a movie, but Cheers. How can you not quote Coach, Woody, and Carla? Even Diane and Sam had some great lines.
   "Coach, we don't want to be bothered." ... "Who does?"
   "You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a guy who once dumped on me."
2. Pirates of the Caribbean. OK, it's often difficult to quote this in context because I don't hang out with pirates or the damned very often.
   "You cheated!" ... "Pirate."
3. Monty Python and the Holy Grail. What line don't I quote?
4. Monty Python's Life of Brian. "Always look on the bright side of life." 'nuff said
5. This Is Spinal Tap. OK, so it's just one line really. "But... but, this one goes to eleven."
6. Repo Man. "There's fuckin' room to move as a fry cook. I could be manager in two years. King. God." "The life of a repo man is always intense."
   
7. Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. OK, a lot of quotes from this movie come to mind from time to time, but I'm too wise to say them out loud.
8. The Princess Bride. "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."
9. Dirty Harry. "... you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?"
10. And, of course, Mary Poppins. Oooh, just too numerous to mention, even outside the songs. Just go here for some memorable ones. Spit spot!
    

I know there must be other movies I quote from, perhaps without even realizing it. But these have given me certain lines that come to mind often or even come out of my mouth from time to time. These aren't "movies I love to quote" so much as movies that have had lines that stick with you.

haiku diner

can't sleep? go on line.
haiku diner -- open late!
now serving breakfast

on a plane all day
room service, email, and blogs
minneapolis

fifteen hundred words
prose at thirty thousand feet
new short story draft

busy tomorrow
i'll finish the story then
don't tell my boss, 'k?

my travel diet:
snickers, coffee, and no sleep
quality suffers

distant siren fades
pale, ghost shadows flicker blue
laptop in dark room

thanks for visiting
haiku diner: never closed!
y'all come back now, hear?

Family Hike

I love this new mobile blogging thing. I figured out how easy it is to blog a photo from my phone. Once you set it up, all you do is send the photo to go at blogger dot com and it shows up on your blog. Very cool.

Today we took a walk (not really a "hike" if it's on a paved jogging path, is it?) around the reservoir. Beautiful but windy day. There was a wedding taking place in the grassy area. Beautiful young bride, smiley wedding party in purple (almost a deep wine color but it was really purple). There was also a disownered beagle running away from the two women trying to rescue it and find its rightful owners.

Mobile blogging also has me looking at things a different way, as if everything I see could make an interesting photo. The reality is that it wouldn't, of course, but I realized I'm seeing things in more detail now that I've got this new blogging tool and need some reason to use it.

3,521 and still counting. We also drove past all the crosses on the hillside today. It is staggering if you let it get into your head and into your heart.

Fiction Friday: an offer unrefused

This week's theme: Write a story/poem beginning with this line: No one refused her offer.

No one refused her offer. She'd made it a thousand times over the years, her hands submerged in greasy, sudsy dishwater, a dingy red and white dish towel limp on her shoulder. She'd just turned off the tap, and steam patched the bottom half of the kitchen window looking almost like frost on the pane with blackness beyond. A single drip clung to the bottom of the faucet. Every night it held on no more than fourteen seconds before finally letting go.

As she exhaled at the black window, I wondered what she saw out there. What she would write in the diminishing steam with her naked finger if she dared. Behind her at the kitchen table, Dad and Todd and Luke listened not to her but to John Madden expounding on the virtues of a gargantuan left tackle on the Colts' offensive line.

My eyes darted once to the TV to see Peyton Manning throw incomplete. When I looked back, I was almost surprised to see Mom still standing there, now silently scrubbing a pot, her shoulders more slouched than they had been. I wanted to say something, but the world had moved on. Something in the slowness of her arms, the calmness of her breathing made my skin tingle. She really meant it this time. Maybe. That intrepid drop finally let go of the faucet to splash among the unwashed pots. Tonight I hadn't counted the seconds.

Six years ago was the first time she threatened to leave. "Maybe I'll just disappear," she said as she washed the dishes one night. "I bet you'd never notice." Dad stopped chewing his spaghetti just long enough to look at each of us boys and then reply without swallowing or looking, "You go right ahead. Thanks for the offer." Offer. He called it an offer.

At the time, all I knew was confusion. What could I know? I was just seven, barely starting second grade and in awe of my loud, strong, tall father. I could tell my brothers had a moment of doubt, too, and terror coursed through my body. I didn't know whether to cry or protest. What second grader can conceive of a life without his mother? When Luke decided it was a joke, I relaxed and smiled along with them. Mom gazed out into the blackness. Even then I didn't think she was smiling too.

John Madden said something about a field goal, bringing me back to the table where Luke was counting the point differential on the fingers of both hands. He'd be going to Nebraska next fall on scholarship. For a few more minutes I pretended to watch the game while I pushed mashed potatoes around my plate. Mom looked so calm, her slight movements rhythmic in the way tall trees sway in a high breeze.

I stood and gathered my plate and fork. Dad looked up. "Done already?" I nodded. "Aren't you gonna watch the game? Not even halftime yet." I shook my head and mumbled something about trigonometry homework, then waited until they all looked back at the TV.

I stepped up next to Mom and set the plate on the counter. When I looked at her, for the first time I saw--really saw--the creases in the corners of her eyes, exhausted resignation in the corners of her lips. As she looked up at me--I'd finally grown an inch taller than her--I felt not fourteen but eight again, and I fought against the same uncertain terror coursing through my body.

"Thanks, Mom," I whispered to her. She smiled with love and sadness. I hugged her and put my mouth close to her ear so Dad couldn't hear. "For everything." I paused there, wanting to etch the feeling of her warmth into my memory, make indelible the softness of her old sweater, her untoned, feminine arms, the dry oldness of her hair. I thought I felt a slight tremble in her, and as I pulled away, I whispered, "Write to me."

Thursday Thirteen (#11) : Disneyland!

Since today is the last day of school, I thought I'd share 13 of my favorite Disneyland memories. Most of these would be from when I was 9 or 11 and went there with my mom, but some are from my adult days. The Disneyland Railroad As a kid, it's always fun to ride any train, particularly a steam train that has neat exhibits along the way like the dinosaurs which is, I think, between Tomorrowland and the main entrance. As a parent, it's a very nice way to cool down and sit for a while, as long as the train is not jam-packed. Main Street Cinema What can I say? I love Steamboat Willie and the other early cartoons in this small, six-screen rotunda. So much more innovative than what you see in today's formula cartoons. They were just fun and crazy, and you could almost feel Walt having fun experimenting with the new technology. Autopia! Still the coolest amusement park ride ever. Where else can a six-year-old drive a race car? Yeah, it's on a track and the speed is regulated, but so what? It was cool before Chevron took it over and before the movie Cars came out, and it's still cool now. Country Bear Jamboree I think I wore out two phonograph needles listening to this soundtrack. I can't remember any of the songs or words now, but I bet when I was 11 I could have sung the entire album, beginning to end. Jungle Cruise Thirty years ago, the animatronics were state of the art. Three years ago, I still enjoyed this ride and pointing out the crocodiles and everything to my six-year-old. They enjoyed it, too, and the line is never that long because people would rather be on the newer rides, I guess. Haunted Mansion I loved loved loved this when I was a kid. Do not take a tired six-year-old into this attraction, though. All poor little Sam wanted was to sit down and maybe have some ice cream or something, but we had our fastpass (whatever it's called) and went in anyway. Three minutes later, I was carrying him out the side exit in terrified tears (him, not me). Still a great ride, though. I loved the ghost sitting between my mom and me when I was nine. I'll never forget that. Pirates of the Caribbean The best time for this ride is when they're having the pirate battle on the water just outside. Everyone watches that, and the line for PotC is almost nonexistent. Unfortunately, that's late and poor little Sam was so tired he slept through the entire ride... twice. It was fun before the movie, and it's still fun. People watching and photographs My first trip there, my mom had bought me my very own Kodak pocket instamatic (remember the 110 film cartridges? do they even make them any more?). Of course, the photos I took were of her, my stepbrother, and my stepfather, and of Disney characters and all that. But today I'm more into people-watching. And no, it's not just scoping out the pretty women when my wife's not looking. Disneyland attracts people from all over the world, and I love to watch them interact with their children, watch how they deal with the lines and the shops and the other people. But I'll never forget that cool, little camera I carried everywhere as a kid. The parking lot tram Before California Adventures, that area and the shopping area outside the main gates of Disneyland were parking. I still remember driving into the lot and seeing Disneyland--particularly the peak of the Matterhorn and the main entrance gates--and the anticipation that only a 9-year-old can feel. Then, as if it couldn't get any better, there was a ride even before you got into the park! The parking lot tram snaked around the lot and carried us to the gates. How cool is that? Today, we take that kind of thing for granted, but back then it was wicked cool to me. Submarine Voyage I'm still not sure why I liked this ride except that it was under water and right next to the monorail station. This made it easy to get to first thing after arriving from the Disneyland Hotel. It was kind of cheesy, as I recall, but what 9-year-old boy doesn't like the idea of riding in a submarine? Especially when I'd watched all those WWII movies on Channel 36's "The Four O'Clock Movie" over the years? The Matterhorn Still a classic, with that roaring yeti and the splash coming through the tunnels. My first roller coaster that was built into a fake mountain. I still think it's much better than Space Mountain, which opened several years after my first visit, and which underwhelmed me after all the hype about how awesome it was going to be. Adventure Through Inner Space This ride I loved for its Vincent Price feel--you were shrinking down to subatomic size, looking at water molecules and even the nucleus of an oxygen atom, I think. The narrator gave the ride a tension that really never existed, but I thought it was a cool ride anyway. Cool to do once, boring to do twice in the same trip. Eating and shopping As an adult, I like to spend ten minutes in one of the stores browsing and not buying anything. The prices are outrageous on everything from breath mints to quality souvenirs. But as a kid, there was little better than having lunch in one of the restaurants or running through the shops full of the neatest stuff imaginable from the funnest day in history. I can't wait to take the kids back to Disneyland this fall. We've got a week booked some time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, so hopefully the crowds will be limited. (Yes, this bad parent is removing his children from school for the week. So sue me.) One thing I would stay away from is the show in the California Adventure "bug's life" area. It was not much fun, and it terrified both my kids with spitting water at them, noises way too loud, and other things. Not a one of us enjoyed it, and we wished we'd spent our time doing something else. I did like the Mission Tortilla Factory tour. Short and yummy.

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

expired permit

The building where my day job takes place has four elevators. Often when I walk into the building, one will open as if I tripped a sensor. Sometimes when I'm leaving, I will push the "down" button and three of the four will appear simultaneously. All four now have issues with the buttons--they all work, but some light up and some don't.

One of the elevators, the one that doubles as the freight elevator and is the only one with a "B" button, does this really amusing thing going up sometimes where it will overshoot your floor by about ten inches, then settle to the proper elevation after a few seconds with the doors open.

Recently I noticed that the permit posted in the elevator has been expired for several months.

Yeah, today feels like that kind of day.

Evil Editor Strikes

I admit it. I set myself up to be slapped, and slapped I was. Go here for my draft query letter for "Forced Air" and to see what Evil Editor and the Evil Minions had to say about it.

Submitting a query to EE is like calling in to Doctor Laura. You are willingly going into the lion's den wearing eau de raw steak. But I am happy to say I came out not only alive but having learned a lot more about what it's like to be a raw steak.

Ten on Tuesday: 10 awesome things about me

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10 awesome things about me
When I saw this theme, I thought, "That'll be fun." But really, it's not.

1. I'm humble. I would really rather not try to tell people I'm awesome in any way. Judging from the non-humble people I've met (particularly those who have no cause to brag), being humble would seem to be an awesome trait.
2. I am in pretty good shape, especially for my age. I can still outrun a lot of guys younger than I am on the soccer field, and I don't look bad (for my age) when I go shirtless (like sometimes I do when I'm out weeding or mowing the lawn and it's over a hundred degrees).
3. I've had three short stories published and have written (but not yet published) three novels. Don't look for me in the NY Public Library, though. The journals my stories showed up in (Thereby Hangs A Tale, THEMA, and The First Line) don't appear to be indexed by author in their catalog.
4. I have an electrical engineering degree from the #1 public university in the country.
5. At my job, the web site I built and maintain helped employees give over $20 million to charities this year. I, of course, donate a small part (a very small part) of that $20 million. But I think that's an awesome thing.
6. I'm a crossing guard at my kids' elementary school. I've done it four years now (two days a week), and it's actually a lot of fun. I've been nearly run over four times--once I really thought I was going to get hit, possibly killed--and I've saved a kid's life three times. You would think that most people drive slowly through a residential school zone, particularly when there's a crosswalk and it's the time when school is getting out. But, not so. Moms are distracted by whiny kids who forgot their backpacks, or they're on their way to the middle school to pick up their other kids, or they're on their cell phones arranging play dates. So please, when you're picking up or dropping off your kids, obey the traffic laws (don't make up your own rules like so many people fee entitled to do) and watch, watch, watch for kids... they have a tendency to run out at the most inopportune moments.
   
7. I've been to ten countries besides the one I live in. I plan on visiting more when the kids are a little older.
8. My wife and I completed the Avon 3-Day breast cancer walk in 2000 in San Francisco. What a tremendous experience. Sixty miles of walking in three days is not that easy, even if there's someone giving you snacks and drinks every few miles, and cooking your food each night. Still, I enjoy the looks people give me when I tell them I once walked from San Jose to San Francisco.
   
9. I don't totally suck at music. As a kid, I played snare in a fife & drum corps (the Nayaug Ancients, which appears to have folded years ago, but who made an album at one time... if you know someone who has it, I'd love to get a scan of the cover art and a copy of the recordings). Then I taught myself guitar; now I can play anything that is labeled by "made easy for guitar" pretty much. And I'm not an atrocious singer. I'm not dumb enough to put myself onto American Idol, but I think I could hold my own at karaoke.
10. I was once given "the finger" by 10,000 people at once. Dismayed by the awful job the fans were doing at a Cal football game, I ran down and took the mike and tried to lead a cheer. Of course, I had to turn my back to the game to face the other students. While I did, the refs made an awful call and the fans all booed. I thought they were booing my attempt to lead a cheer and said something I regret. I'm lucky I didn't get rolled up.

OK, do you think I'm awesome now? Nah, me neither.

powering through it

Each morning I come in to the city for work, I work for an hour and then hit the gym. Many days I am tempted to skip the gym (I'm always tempted to skip the work part of my day, but that rarely works out). After all, I play soccer two or three times a week and I'm in pretty good shape. But most of the time I grit my teeth and power through the laziness and get my butt over to the gym.

Then, while I'm there, every pause in exercise (typically I lift weights, so there are a lot of pauses) gives my Inner Couch Potato an opportunity to speak. "Maybe we can skip this set," he says. Or, "You know, you don't need to do that many reps." Or, "You feel tired. That must be your body telling you to slow down." But I power through it (most of the time) and, after finishing, feel great about the workout.

I realized this morning that writing is often like that. The inner editor or critic pipes up at every pause. The many demands of house, family, work, and daydreaming clamor for attention. And often I give in to those voices when I wouldn't give in to my Inner Couch Potato about exercise. Why is that? Doesn't matter, I suppose. I just need to power through that writing time no matter what.

Easier said than done some days.

Congratulations pack 464!

Fiction Friday: fatherhood, doctors, and mugs

This week's theme: Write a story/poem about fatherhood with a doctor as the main character and a mug as the key object. Set your story/poem in a garden.

"Time to let Dad go." I reached again for the oversized coffee mug in my sister's trembling hands.

She pulled back from me in reflex, her body more on autopilot than under any conscious control she might muster. "I just can't believe I couldn't do anything for him," she mumbled. I tried hard not to roll my eyes or sigh. Her tear-filled eyes glanced up from the mug, and her gaze locked onto mine. I couldn't imagine she saw much sympathy, or any feeling there. "I'm a doctor, I should have been able to do something."

"Gwen, you're an ER doctor, not an oncologist." I resisted the urge to remind her how many times we'd had this particular conversation. I could count four just since breakfast. "Look, we're losing the light. Let's just get this over with, OK?"

"You know he always liked you better," she whispered, a sniffle punctuating a slight pause between "always" and "liked." "Maybe..."

"Maybe nothing, Gwen. Jesus Christ, just give me the mug."

She shot me a glare like I'd just stabbed her children. "I was going to say," she enunciated at me, "that maybe he told you about the will."

"Oh." I hadn't seen that coming. "I thought you were going to say maybe you couldn't help him because your subconscious wouldn't let you." As the words were tumbling out of my mouth, I realized it was exactly the wrong thing to say. "You know," I tried to recover, "because he always liked me best."

She thrust the mug out at me and held it there in silence, her unblinking glare fixed on my nose. She learned that glare when she was only four and I would sneak her toys away and bury them in the cat's litter box. I wished she would say something. Maybe yell at me. Around us, the thick hedges and lush roses blocked out most of the city noise from the streets beyond. If it were me, I'd have poured the old fool's ashes down the toilet. No, Gwen had to honor all his wishes. Our jerk of a father had stomped on her ever since the divorce, ever since she could talk. It was his disdain for her that drove her to achieve so much more than I ever could. She, an ER doctor. I, a supermarket store manager.

I lifted the mug from her hands and turned to face the roses. I glanced at Gwen, who clearly was waiting for me to say something funeralish. "Dad," I said at the green leaves and pink blossoms, "You tended these roses as a volunteer here, at City Garden, for twenty years. Now you can stay here forever." Slowly, I tipped the mug to the side and watched the smooth, gray-brown ash slip over itself and then fall to the dirt, drifting in an ethereal sort of cloud along the hedgerow.

Gwen heaved a heavy sigh. "That's that, I guess," she said to no one in particular. She turned and strolled along the hedge, and I followed, still holding the mug.

"So," she said as we reached the vined arch exiting to the street, "did he give you the will?"

The truth rattled around my mouth for a bit, but I swallowed it. "No."

"So that means we just split everything up?"

"I guess."

We ambled down the hill, my sneakers scuffing along the scratched and fragmented concrete of the sidewalk, until we got to the bus stop. The eighteen wouldn't arrive for another ten minutes, if it was on time. We sat on the bench in the little bus shelter, and Gwen set her hand on top of mine.

"Dad was a son of a bitch, but really, I totally expected him to carry through on that threat of writing me out of the will." She smiled a bit and looked at me. "I guess he wasn't all bad after all."

I smiled back at her, every bit of me glad that I'd flushed the asshole's ashes down the toilet and that his destructive, hateful will--in which he left everything to me--would be fertilizing the City Park's roses. I squeezed Gwen's hand and said nothing.

ISTJ? Me?

You are an ISTJ!

As an ISTJ, you are Intraverted, Sensing, Thinking, and Judging.

This makes your primary focus on Introverted Sensing with Extroverted Thinking.

This is defined as a SJ personality, which is part of Carl Jung's Guardian (Security Seeking) type, and more specifically the Inspector or Duty Fulfiller.

As a weblogger, you may have a dependable form of posting. You may be more likely to be judgmentatal toward others who aren't as dependable. You may get taken advantage of in group situations because you are known as not being able to say no. Because of your respect for facts and information, you may need multiple blogs to keep all of the information sorted in your head.

Thanks to Crimson Wife for the link to the test.

3,504 and counting

Over 3,500 now. That's American soldiers killed in the Iraq war, according to icasualties.org.

Do you feel safer than you did five years ago, before the US invaded Iraq? I certainly don't. In fact, living in earthquake country, I feel significantly less safe than five years ago. At least then I had some hope that the national guard was standing by to help recover and rebuild.

By the way, that guy bin Laden is still out there somewhere.

But I guess none of this is "news" so it doesn't matter.

thursday thirteen (#10)

Thirteen of my favorite "Guess The Plot" entries I've submitted to Evil Editor's blog. Evil Editor critiques query letters, and blog readers are given only the title in order to supply a brief potential plot summary. I love doing this because, well, it's fun, but also because it makes me try to conceptualize a premise that could support a novel and then distill it into just three or four sentences. Or it's an opportunity to be humorous. So far I've submitted around 140 GTP entries, about 75% of which Evil Editor found worthy of using. Remember, the titles are from allegedly real books people have written and are trying to get published. I didn't make 'em up. Blind Side Only a quarterback could truly love a left tackle. When the coach finds out just how much his QB Brad loves the left tackle Don--and just how hard Don works at covering Brad's blind side--he considers trading Don for a big tight end. Less Than Mighty During two weeks in drug rehab, Mediocre Mouse comes to realize that he does not need to live up to his older brother's reputation in order to find true love. From Gray Mists, Returned For fifty years librarian Millicent Bottomweather tsk-tsked when patrons claimed they had returned books which clearly they had not. Now, one foggy day in November, hundreds of goblins emerge from the mists to return the thousands of missing books. Will Millicent succeed in collecting their late fees? The Orphan Pearl An albino toddler washes up on the beach after a devastating storm in 1904 Okinawa. An aging fisherman suffers ostracism and prejudice when he raises her as his own child. Can she redeem his memory as an adult by saving the village? Worse Than Death Teenage techno-polkafunk band Steeped In Molasses is known throughout the region as the only band worse than their headbanging classmates, Death. The band nearly breaks up when Roxy wants to improve but Dale thinks they should try the William Hung route to stardom. Can their friendship survive the tension and the vampire drummer? Loving Yourself With Food Mike Daley and tech support phone rep Chi meet when Mike calls in to find out just what the DVD player manual means by "loving yourself with food." Will their language barrier keep them from true love? Like Running in Dreams You know how in a dream, when you really have to get somewhere and you try to run, and it's like slogging through neck-deep molasses? Reading this book is, yeah, kinda like that. The Zero It's 1941 meets Connecticut Yankee meets Ran as a Japanese fighter plane from World War II slips through a time warp and lands amid a Samurai war in fourth century Japan. A Disorder Peculiar to the Country Max Bling wants to spend a quiet weekend away from the busy city. He finds, however, that a sleepy upstate New York village is populated by a group of people with an odd speech impediment . . . and a common history tied to a shallow grave and a woman known only as "Bibibibilanoo." Eat The Document Mark thought he was instructing his secretary to "edit the document." But his faulty experimental speech recognition software has her chewing it up with her cottage cheese and grapefruit for lunch. Hilarity ensues until the two fall in love--she with his quirky instructions, and he with her zany behavior. Eat, Drink, and Be Married Patricia, single and nearing forty, her biological clock ticking like a suicide bomber's watch, begins to dabble in love potions. When she accidentally discovers the secret ingredient by spilling her potion into the pomegranate punch at the PTA's dinner-dance, hilarity ensues. A Perilous Reunion He's a gay prostitute to the rich and powerful. She's a genius ex munitions expert with a passion for social justice. Together, they're fraternal twins who were separated as kids in Houston's foster care system. An accident involving a broken heel, a spilled drink, and a craps table brings them together again. Now no one in Washington is safe. The Secrets of Harworth Castle Harworth Stillwell built a castle using a genius, groundbreaking architectural innovation never before seen and unlikely ever to be repeated. Too bad Harworth is four yeas old and the tide is coming in.

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Ten on Tuesday: 10 jobs

[link]

10 occupations you wanted to be when you were young
I'm not sure I ever wanted to be an occupation. But I think I get what the topic means. There are two problems with this topic, though: What is meant by "young," and if "young" means 8 years old then I can't remember anything I wanted to be except retired. So I guess I'll go with that as #1.

1. Retired. I didn't know what that meant, really, but I knew it could involve an RV, and I thought RVs were wicked cool. I still want to be retired.
   
2. Jai-Alai player. I used to watch (and bet on) jai-alai at the old MGM Grand in Vegas. Ricardo, Acosta, Juan, and all the others whose names escape me but whose play I remember. I still have a couple of programs from the late 1970s before they closed the fronton and turned it into convention space. That was a sad, sad day for me. I wanted to learn to play jai-alai so bad that I almost used all my own money to by myself a cesta and looked into where I could take lessons. I'll just say that it's a good thing we all grow up at some point. But I'd still love to have been a player.
3. Baseball player. I stunk at baseball. I had more strikeouts than putouts. The coach put me at second base my first several years because I couldn't throw all the way to first base from shortstop. Plus, I was short, so I guess he thought I could block the grounders. Now I would still like to be a baseball player. Not because I like baseball (I don't) but because the average salary is over $1 million a year, and it would take me closer to my #1 career choice (see above).
4. Pilot. This was back in the days when stewardesses were young and hot and slept with the pilots on a regular basis. But it was also back in the days when I was too young and still thought girls were sort of pointless. I just loved all the gadgets in the cockpit and the idea of flying. I really liked those little plastic wings the airlines gave the kids, and I figured pilots got as many of those as they wanted.
   
5. Casino Dealer. My mom drove a cab in Vegas when I was young, and I spent a lot of time walking through casinos to get to the movies, or to restaurants, or to the video arcades, or to jai-alai. I was a regular at the craps table by 18 even though I still looked eleven years old. Never won anything but never lost much, either. As a kid, though, I though it was all cool. Now I feel sorry for the dealers because of what they have to put up with from the customers.
6. Soldier. But not just any soldier. A black-and-white soldier from a WW II movie. Those guys were tough and had integrity and grit, and they always won with courage and aplomb or died trying. And the nurses they hooked up with when they got some injury. Mmm mmm.
7. President of the United States. Initially, I thought I could be a good one, and flying in your own 747 seemed like a neat idea. Plus, you got to order aircraft carriers around. Later, after my grandmother told me I could never be President because it took a certain kind of person (I was hurt at first, but now that I'm older I understand she meant a power-hungry liar who will stop at nothing to achieve personal gain), I still wanted to be president because the best job in the world is retired president. Big pension, your own enormous library, and your own entourage of secret service people.
8. Race car driver. What isn't cool about race cars when you're a 10-year-old boy?
9. Writer. I didn't really realize this was a career until middle school, and by then I was already into computers. But I loved to write as a kid. Although I got my college degree in electrical engineering, my first jobs were in tech writing and I managed to author several articles in industry journals.
   
10. Computer programmer. I'm not sure I ever really wanted to be this when I was "young." I wanted a video game system (Intellivision at the time), but my dad got me an Apple ][+. I learned to program it in BASIC and then Pascal and even assembly, writing programs to help run the Dungeons & Dragons games my friends and I spent our time on. I thought I was a nerd until I got to the UC Berkeley school of engineering when I found out what the word truly means. I didn't even know they had AP classes in Pascal until I realized I'd much rather be taking History or English. But I knew that if I switched to History or English, I'd have a much harder time reaching my #1 career goal. Which is why I have been building complex, database driven web applications for the past eight years.
    

so THAT'S what it's called

This list has apparently been around a very long time, but I did not know most of these terms. I had heard of a MacGuffin, of course, and Deus ex Machina, the "And Plot" and "as you know, Bob." And a few others. But I feel like my writing education improved dramatically after reading it. Highly recommended.

lacking momentum

People talk about being at a crossroads at certain points in their lives. But me, I think I live at the crossroads. My entire life seems to be one long debate about where I should focus my energies.

OK, it's clear some things come first: Family and beer, for example. And college football in high definition. But look at my career. Halfway through college, I nearly switched from Electrical Engineering to English. My career arc has taken me in a sort of spirograph from tech writing to programming to marketing back to programming to project management to entrepreneurship to programming to program management. And along the way, I've dabbled in writing fiction (and nonfiction) under the fantasy of some day being able to write as a career.

Back in 2000 when the dot-com bubble was expanding, I turned away from marketing (not entirely but mostly) to focus on web programming because I figured when the bubble burst, I could benefit from having established programming skills. Turns out that was a terribly prudent move. I fairly quickly got a good programming job at a bad company while many marketing people were out pounding the bricks looking for openings. And it was my database skill that hooked me up with my current company, and my web skill that got me my current job. But I find my role shifting dramatically away from programming, and now I'm very confused.

I love my job, my company, my boss, and what I do. What I do makes a difference [pdf]. But it's one of those jobs that can expand itself to take up all your waking moments and all your energy. The number of task forces and committees and boards and advisory councils and such I could join is enormous, and all of them full of interesting people doing meaningful work. And, it looks like there will be a call for that expertise in the future, and not just on the regulatory side. Plus, I get to hobnob with some pretty interesting people in some pretty high places in the corporate, nonprofit, and public sectors.

When I look ahead to my twelve-year personal plan, though, I pause. (Why 12 years, you ask? If you've ever had your youngest child in first grade, you'll understand.) In 12 years do I want to be at the top of this field, an expert among experts? Given that I'd have nearly 20 years experience in the field at that point, it's not unlikely. Or do I really want to be doing something else like living the life of an author in a mountain cabin, writing best sellers? Maybe that's unlikely, maybe not. But I know I can't have two parallel 12-year plans with such disparate outcomes. Especially when family and beer come first.

If you have advice on this question, feel free to share it in the comments.

Writing Update:
I've just fine-tuned and sent off my three short stories that recently boomeranged back to me in their SASEs. Although finding little & literary markets can be time consuming, one benefit is that you get to read a lot of good stuff in the process.

thursday thirteen (#9)

Thirteen haiku for your Thursday enjoyment. As you can see, I tend toward the light verse in favor of the serious, traditional poetry. The ones in purple I wrote while on a business trip a few years ago. Crowded room, white noise Witness my enlightened truth Hey, is this thing on? A haiku I wrote. Magnetic poetry rocks. Blogging makes it so. coffee-stained papers crumpled on an airplane seat haiku from the road smiling stewardess no, I don't wear red makeup ink stains... damn pen leaked! big mac for dinner taxi stinks like an ashtray how was your flight, sir? sudden gusts of wind sweep across bare, white plateau farts in hotel bed channels mislabled Law & Order on AGAIN?! I wish I could sleep empty, hot darkness pale voices adrift outside one pillow vacant forty-dollar steak worth every penny I spent it was your money when will this day end? clock, in slow motion, ticks once vacation pending clear-cut, barren hill no more old growth, no new seeds receding hairline sweet, wet, wretched stench slime oozes, something sticky take out the garbage! ... sweet, wet, wretched stench slime oozes, something sticky don't elect that guy! long, smooth cylinder two double-A's bring such joy plastic submarine And one more just because hey, it's my blog: pain, anguish released willful fury, cold attack pen touches blank page

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The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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nurses are angels

My boss was diagnosed with lung cancer back in January. She is one of the most remarkable women I know, and someone I respect and admire deeply. She is being treated at Swedish Medical Center in Seattle, and a little bit of her story appears in the Spring 2007 edition [pdf] of the medical center's magazine, which is called Forum.

Page 17, the bit about Joan, is the page blogged here. (Click it to enlarge.)

Script Frenzy

Those of you who know me know that I've now won NaNoWriMo three times, writing three novels in the process. The first I revised and shopped to six agents, four of whom rejected it and two of whom never replied. I've since mothballed it, at least for now, because, well... it suffers from some "first novel" ills that, while not insurmountable, I don't feel much like surmounting at this time. I'm not sure if the second one will ever see the light of day. The writing is pretty good in spots, but the plot and characters are a bit clichéd and vanilla. The third novel, Forced Air, has commercial potential and is in revision now.

But there's this new thing called Script Frenzy, wherein you write a full-length screen or stage play of 20,000 words in one month. I wrote a short one-act a few years back, and I strongly recommend it to every aspiring writer. The focus it takes to move a plot along by dialog alone and to restrict yourself to a manageable cast and settings is a challenge indeed. And, if you do it well, it is a terrific learning experience.

As for Script Frenzy, however, here's how I feel about it [link to original]:
(Calvin says in the final frame, "I can't imagine mastering the skills involved without a clearer understanding of who's going to be impressed.")

While it does, potentially, sound like fun, my extremely limited writing time is sucked up with revising Forced Air and with trying to get these three pretty good short stories I have sold somewhere. So I won't be frenzied about a screenplay in June.

Are you participating in Script Frenzy? Or are you a fellow NaNo winner mired in revision and needing a shot of enthusiasm and momentum?

Work Update: Still crazy busy. We have a contractor coming in to help. I travel twice in June: an overnight to Seattle and an entire week in Minneapolis.

Writing Update: I've gotten through chapter six of Forced Air but still have a long way to go. "35 Across," a story that everyone seems to like a lot, just got another door slammed on it, so it's going out to try again this week.

Yard Update: No more contractors or landscapers crawling around! The pool is in great shape, and the hot tub is a dream come true. Just some planting to take care of. Sweet. Photos to come some time soon.

thursday thirteen (#8)

(Under the new Thursday Thirteen format, which I am late to join!)

Because it can never be repeated enough: 3,434 and counting This daily sight on my commute grows more confounding every day, and not because I disagree with its message. 400,000 died in World War II Those who suffered through a confusing period of our country. Still one of the greatest self-sacrifice heroism stories in our country's heritage. Not all soldiers bear arms. Some find the pen is mightier than the sword. 115,000 died in the trenches of hell in World War I. What a tragedy the Civil War was. Women: are they really the "weaker sex"? A group I don't know enough about. Abraham Lincoln: "What constitutes the bulwark of our own liberty and independence? It is not our frowning battlements, our bristling sea coasts, the guns of our war steamers, or the strength of our gallant and disciplined army. These are not our reliance against a resumption of tyranny in our fair land. All of them may be turned against our liberties, without making us stronger or weaker for the struggle. Our reliance is in the love of liberty which God has planted in our bosoms. Our defense is in the preservation of the spirit which prizes liberty as the heritage of all men, in all lands, every where. Destroy this spirit, and you have planted the seeds of despotism around your own doors." There are many good reasons he's called The Father of Our Country. And I also want to honor those currently serving, particularly my friends Chris and Rob and, possibly somewhere in the Marines, Jim.

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

i love my new hot tub

Expensive as hell, but it's totally sweet to go soak in a spa for fifteen minutes just before bed. I've never slept better, and the aches and pains from too much soccer seem to be more muted. I shoulda done this years ago. Now all I need is the privacy screen so the whole thing isn't exposed to the street.

thank-you note

Sam had to write his thank-you notes for his birthday gifts recently (he's just turned 8). Mom directed him to personalize them, say something about each gift. He did quite well, saying things like this: "Dear Nate, thank you for the present. I really like it. You are a true friend." My favorite, however, is the one he wrote to Isabelle thanking her for the gift card she got for the Oakland A's: "Dear Isabelle, thank you for the A's gift card. I do not know where it is. From, Sam."

Fortunately, Mom knows where it is.

regarding timetables, software, and Iraq

I have had mixed feelings about the president's insistence that there be no timetable for leaving Iraq. Any timetable, he opines, would simply embolden the terrorists and undermine the work of the American (oh, sorry, "coalition") generals and their soldiers in Iraq. How can they plan and work effectively if there's a timetable for when they have to stop? How can you expect such a chaotic thing as war to fit into a neatly budgeted and politicized timetable?

My problem with these questions is that they are a political smoke screen for the fact that Bush has no definition of "success" in Iraq and no idea how to achieve it.

Anyone who has ever had to deliver a product knows that you can't realistically do it without a deadline. And you can't set a realistic deadline without knowing your definition of success. I've been involved in the delivery of several software products in my career, and the ones that always failed miserably were the ones where the end result was not well defined, and the approach involved "it will be done when it's done." They invariably took far too long to market, and they invariably failed to meet the precise needs of the target market... or in many cases did not have a defined target market. That is, they had no clear definition of what success looked like, so the developers kept building until finally someone said, "We need to sell something in order to keep paying you all, so let's release it."

That's how Bush is approaching Iraq. There is no clear definition of success towards which the soldiers are working, so they just keep plugging away. Because there is no definition of success, there is no way to set a realistic timetable; any timetable would appear arbitrary.

A far better approach would be to state clearly and unequivocally what goal Bush hopes to achieve in Iraq. Then, given that goal, determine exactly how long it will take and how much it will cost. Then commit the adequate resources.

I am not naive enough to think that war is as clean and predictable as software development. Hell, we can't even end homelessness or poverty or hunger in our own cities. We can't even graduate 80% of our children with the skills to read and write. How can we expect to build a thriving country on the other side of the world in a hostile environment with an aggressively hostile population? Yet that appears to be Bush's goal, with the ultimate intent that a positive cycle will result and the rest of the Middle East will westernize and become our friends.

If a stable Iraq is the project, and the US military are the developers, then Bush is the CEO of the company developing it and Congress are the venture capitalists who have been funding it. In business, which is something most Republicans seem to understand and appreciate, venture capitalists eventually pull funding from failed projects and especially from failed management. And always, always, venture capitalists have a timetable in mind when they approve funding. Bush and the Iraq project have failed all but the earliest milestones, and we are now in a neverending cycle of paying for something with no hope of success. It's time either to manage it properly or to pull the funding. Since Congress appears to have decided they can't manage it properly and be reelected, they have decided to pull the funding.

What a tragedy for the Iraqi people that this has all gone so wrong.

I find this chilling

From an article in today's Washington Post:

U.S. District Judge John D. Bates asked: "So you're arguing there is nothing -- absolutely nothing -- these officials could have said to reporters that would have been beyond the scope of their employment," whether the statements were true or false?

"That's true, Your Honor. Mr. Wilson was criticizing government policy," said Jeffrey S. Bucholtz, deputy assistant attorney general for the Justice Department's civil division. "These officials were responding to that criticism."

This is regarding the civil suit that Joseph Wilson and Valerie Plame have brought against Dick Cheney for violation of privacy and ruining Plame's career.

The implication here in what the defense is saying is that the Vice President can say anything--anything at all--about any citizen if that citizen criticizes current policy. For example, if John Doe said he thought Bush and Cheney should be impeached for their consistent and ongoing [insert any number of examples here], Cheney could come out and call John Doe a child molester who funds terrorism with stolen pension checks from old Army widows. And the Defense in this case is arguing that that would be part of a normal "policy dispute" in line with the normal duties of the Vice President. And therefore the Vice President would not be liable for any damage caused to John Doe's career, reputation, or life.

Talk about un-American. This is about as un-American as it gets. This is totalitarianism at its most bald-faced, unapologetic extreme. The idea that the top policymakers in the United States can essentially ruin anyone without consequences simply because that person disagreed with their policies is... well... chilling.

Almost makes me wish Pat Robertson had won the Republican nomination in 2000.

Happy #8!

Tonight we go to McCovey's (an overpriced, baseball-themed restaurant here in town) to celebrate Sam's eighth birthday. We're going there because his first grade class made a field trip there a few weeks ago, and he hasn't stopped wheedling us about going back. And he doesn't like baseball any more than I do.

Last night was open house at the school. Ethan's fourth grade teacher is awesome. Not only did he put together a DVD with baby pictures and class photos from the year for Mothers Day, but he had all kinds of stuff set out for the parents to look at. I remember doing open house as a kid and being so proud of all the things I'd written, pictures I'd drawn, projects I'd posted. I saw that same pride and eagerness to please in the kids last night. At times I felt a little impatient about getting out of there (much of the work like the mission report and some writing I'd already seen), but I know how much it means to them to show off what they've learned and done. And I totally get it. And it won't last forever.

Writing update: I revised a few more chapters of "Forced Air" on my trip to DC, but I've stalled again for the moment. Ah, what I wouldn't give for a really good writing group right now to keep my momentum up.

Other update, because it bears repeating: 3,400 and counting.

the view from here

The conference I attended last week was at the very nice building of the US Chamber of Commerce, which is on H Street NW just north of the White House. There was a pre-conference reception that was supposed to be on the roof of the US Chamber building. But we were told that due to a helicopter landing at the White House, we shouldn't go up there if we didn't want to get shot. So that wasn't a difficult choice. But at 6:30 we were allowed on the roof, and we were treated to a perfect night with the dramatic view pictured here. (The photo was snapped with my cruddy little phone camera.) The building to the right is the Eisenhower Old Executive Office Building. I think it means the building is old, not that it's a building full of elderly executives.

I admit that it is a bit of a different thing for this liberal Democrat to be teaming up with serious business-first and faith-based proponents, but the ultimate goals of everyone at the conference were improvement of our communities, elimination of (or at least amelioration of) poverty, and overall improvement of opportunity and quality of life for everyone, especially the neediest in our country. And unlike certain things in politics where it's either one philosophy or the other, in this arena there's room for all approaches as long as you can find someone to underwrite it. The trick is to get all those different approaches coordinated to reduce redundancy and maximize impact. And after all, that's not a bad job to have, if you have to work for a living.

the halls of power

Today I was in a meeting with a person famous enough to have his very own Wikipedia page sporting a photo of him with Vice President Dick Cheney. The meeting was in a gated/secure White House facility. I was disappointed with the security, though. I mean, there was a metal detector, sure. But if I want to get on an airplane they make me take my shoes off and run them through an x-ray machine. These yahoos didn't even make me untie my shoes. Amateurs.

looking good ain't cheap

I am off next week to some very interesting meetings about corporate community involvement. The centerpiece of my trip is a conference put on by the US Chamber's Business Civic Leadership Center. Should be very interesting. But I also have some other meetings set up with some pretty senior government and corporate leaders involved in solving problems in communities across the country.

So we figured my 10-year-old suit wasn't going to cut it, and we headed out to The Men's Wearhouse with one little credit card and a lot of angst.

Several hundred dollars later, I have what amounts to a whole new professional wardrobe. But if I'd gone to Macy's, I'd have paid twice as much. And if I'd gone to Nordstrom, I'd have paid twice as much for half the stuff. And Orlando, the store manager who helped me, was terrific. At no time did I feel entirely foolish for my lack of style and my outdated clothes, and he set me up with some flexible mix-n-match that will cover my entire trip and be useful for what I hope will be the next ten years.

Now I just have to get me a job that requires me to dress up more.

Side note: I feel really bad for the receptionists of the world who work in professional settings. They typically get paid the least in the office yet they have to wear expensive clothes and deal with The Public. How anyone could be a single mom receptionist is beyond me. Especially in a high priced area like the Bay Area.

Writing update: Nothing to report.

to swim or not to swim?

My soon-to-be-eight-year-old wants to join Swim Team.

Besides the normal blessings we count with our children--ten fingers, ten toes, that sort of thing--I had always considered a major blessing that neither of my boys wanted to play baseball or join swim team. I know what you're thinking: what an un-American commie pinko I must be. Baseball? Who wouldn't want their son to play baseball, for God's sake?

Me, that's who. Around here, little league is not just a game. It's not just a sport. It's not just an activity. It's a serious commitment in time, energy, money, and emotion. Most teams practice at least two days a week with games another one or two days a week. And I remember my own little league games--interminably hot and dreadfully boring, sitting around for an hour between brief periods of activity. Most of the activity involves failing to hit the ball, failing to throw the ball, or failing to catch the ball. Don't get me wrong--I wasn't bad at the sport. In fact, on opening day one year I hit the game-winning triple. And I was often asked to attempt to steal second. But I also ended many games with a swing and a miss.

In any case, I just don't get why kids like baseball. Talk about boring. And it can't be much better for the parents. I suppose if you are a fan of the majors, playing would be fun. I used to like it, before the last player strike. Now all I see of the professional sport is the economic stupidity of it all. Forty bucks for a few hot dogs and beers, and where does that money go? To a guy who makes ten million dollars a year to sit on the bench because he has a deep thigh bruise or something. People call the lotter a "stupidity tax." I think major league baseball is probably the biggest wealth redistribution program in the nation's history--taking from the poor and giving to the rich.

But I digress.

Most of the little leaguers around here will probably be out of the sport after 8th grade, if not earlier. So why spend half the weekend canceling other activities because of baseball games?

Swim team is different in that at least it helps the kids become better swimmers, and that can only help when they're adults, even if they don't stick with it as a sport. But it's even more of a commitment than baseball. Swim team practice in the summer is every freakin' day. Swim meets are every Sunday, all day. Parents are required to volunteer in the snack bar, or timing races, or doing something else. Out here in the summer, the weather gets to be over a hundred not infrequently. And again, it's a lot of sitting around waiting with brief periods of frantic activity.

So I was not that happy when Younger Son declared he wanted to join Swim Team. I was much less happy when I realized how much it would cost, even forgetting the personal time commitment in the snack bar. Keep in mind that we have our own swimming pool, which is not an inexpensive thing to maintain. We keep it up ourselves and chemicals don't cost that much, but energy to run the pump and a new liner every eight years and other activity add up. But to join Swim Team we have to join the local "cabana club," the community pool. There's a $400 initiation fee. Then another $400 annual fee for membership. Then another $125 for each kid that joins Swim Team. Holy crap. A grand just to sign up. Then another $500 a year until he gets tired of it. You'd think Swim Team would be the cheapest sport on the planet. A speedo every couple of years, maybe some ear plugs. Goggles perhaps. Even soccer should be more expensive.

But he's my kid. What am I going to do?

3,333 and counting

it bears repeating

am I a real Californian now?

Someone accused me of being a "real Californian" now. That person's nose will heal somewhat less quickly than my fist.

The reason for their insult is that part of our large backyard makeover includes installation of an in-ground spa. That's "hot tub" to you on the east coast, but a true "hot tub" is actually one of those redwood tubs you think of when you envision naked people in Marin on a big deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean at sunset with glasses of wine in their hands. But that's not us. (And don't pretend you don't envision naked people. I know you do.)

For one thing, we're not in Marin and you'd have to be in a damned tall building to see the ocean from our town. In fact, I don't think you can see it from the top of the mountain because the Oakland hills are too tall. For another, it's unlikely we'll spend much naked time in the spa because we have no fence, so we have about thirty feet of clear, unfettered exposure to the street. Plus, we're about two hundred yards from the local elementary school. So that's pretty much out, at least until we get some sort of barrier up.

But no, I'll never be a true Californian. My heart will always be where my home was when I was little, and I don't think that's terribly uncommon. I've lived in this state approximately half my life, yet I still feel more at home in Seattle than I do here, and I only lived in Seattle one year. Hell, I felt more at home in Santa Fe, and I spent only three days there. But "home" will always be in New England.

Anyway, the point is, we have this new spa, and the installation was completed Saturday. The boys jumped right in, but I'm waiting until the patio is finished at the end of the week. It'll take a long time to pay it all off, but at least I'll be relaxed when I write the checks each month.

stop being so vague

OK, so I loved this sign in the kitchen at work today. But it came down this morning. Not sure who took it down. Maybe they thought it was in poor taste given the recent Virginia Tech thing.

I thought it was hilarious.

Needless to say, it is not my food, and I am not the bandit.

I'll show you mine if you show me yours...

Saw this link on Miss Snark yesterday. Or rather, on Miss Snark's blog. I've not seen anything on Miss Snark. Which is not to say I've seen Miss Snark with nothing on. That's not what I'm saying, not what I'm saying at all. No, I saw that link. The first one. On her blog. So I clicked it. One has to be careful clicking links from Miss Snark's blog because quite frequently they go to YouTube videos with sound. But this one doesn't. It goes to a decidedly quiet place, LibraryThing.

I've only just started trying it out, but it looks very well done. I'm trying the free version now and may even pony up for the full version if I really like it, but that's off in the future.

I'm still trying to figure out how to get the "recent books" list to show the books in the right order, and when I do I'll replace my hokey book list here with a more robust LibraryThing.

Writing Update
Nothing written recently. I did submit something to the "stolen" issue of Thereby Hangs A Tale, but work has been so busy that I haven't had time to think about writing let alone write anything. Although I need to change that, I don't see it changing any time soon.

snow in Flagstaff?

So we're staying overnight in Flagstaff on our way from Santa Fe to Ventura for a wedding that became a non-wedding when it was called off at the last minute. The drive through New Mexico was beautiful--green high plains hills, the colorful and dramatic mesas stretched across the skyline. The Arizona desert wasn't so beautiful, but it was an easy drive, until we got to the Meteor Crater. We didn't go see the crater because it seemed expensive and because we had a tight schedule, but shortly after that highway 40 dips down into the Flagstaff area... and that's where the hail and sleet hit. And snow. Snow? It's April 12th. I'm not sure I've ever been snowed on this close to tax day.

Anyway, we went out to dinner while large flakes drifted down. I won't be surprised if we get an inch or more overnight. The roads seem clear, but it's still coming down outside.

So tomorrow is our penultimate day of long-distance driving on this ten-day vacation, which has become a nine-day vacation due to the wedding's cancellation. The itinerary:

• Friday: Drive from San Francisco to Las Vegas (550 miles)
• Saturday: Hike to the top of turtle peak in Red Rock Canyon. This is a "difficult" hike that both boys completed with energy to spare and no whining at all. Everyone we passed was thoroughly impressed.
• Sunday: Easter baskets in Vegas. Lunch in Kingman, AZ. Dinner in Gallup, NM. Check in to the hotel in Santa Fe near midnight. (650 miles)
  
• Monday: Santa Fe museums and shops. Dinner at Maria's New Mexican Kitchen. The best chile rellenos I've ever had. Although we did not have the $45 margarita, the $12 margarita was outstanding. HIGHLY recommended.
  
• Tuesday: Seeing long-lost relatives and work colleagues in Albuquerque, along with a walk through Old Town and a visit to Explora. Highly recommended. (120 miles r/t)
  
• Wednesday: More Santa Fe shops and museums.
• Thursday: Driving from Santa Fe to Flagstaff. Finally, high speed internet! It's like returning to civilization after camping in the wilderness. The Santa Fe hotel had only dial-up, which worked at 26k most of the time! Can you believe it? (330 miles)
  
• Friday: We will drive to Ventura and visit with other long-lost relatives. (550 miles)
  
• Saturday: We will visit Mission Santa Barbara and head home, trying not to think too much about the wedding we won't be attending because it won't be happening. (300 miles)
  
• Sunday: Laundry, lawnmowing, cleaning the litter box, dreading the return to work on Monday.

Total road dogging: 2,500 miles in six days of driving in a nine-day vacation.

how to pronounce my name

I just found out that Merriam-Webster can help people pronounce my name! There are three possible ways to pronounce it. Click the links below to hear your computer say them out loud. These links will pop up a new window.

First

Second

Third

Thanks to Miss Snark for the tip.

it can--and does--happen in America

The exact reason I abhor government secrecy and the "war on terror" is described in this op-ed in the Washington Post.

Liberty is rarely taken away from a population all at once. Invasion from outside, or a coup from inside are about the only times that happens. More often, it is eroded over years in what appear to be small concessions... a little more unrestricted authority for police here, a little more censorship there. Twisting language to turn someone with a differing opinion into a dissenter.

The most obvious recent example of this is the yellow "Support the Troops" ribbons on every Republican's car. Anyone who does not "support the troops" must hate America because... well, because who would oppose the brave men and women who risk their lives for our own security and freedom and way of life? The implication is that you can not support the troops while opposing the war, and this is dangerous thinking within our republic. It implies that if you do not support one political idea, you are un-American and un-patriotic.

When you take subtle, insidious ideology control through language and symbols, and you match it with decreasing restrictions on the power of law enforcement, you start on a slippery slope toward totalitarianism.

Four More Years!

Not.

Happy 4th anniversary, Iraq war.

Peace.