Caffeine and Good Intentions

Us Wacky Americans and Our Toys

2012-02-02T14:04:00.000-06:00

This is an interesting infographic I stumbled across today;

Christopher Hitchens is Dead

2011-12-16T07:36:00.007-06:00

For once I'm glad no one reads this blog any more. I want (need?) to have a place to record these thoughts, and maybe even a sense that I've put them out there, as part of the public tribute to the man, without actually making them public in any meaningful sense of the word...

It was with deep, though unsurprising, sadness that I read the words this morning, "Christopher Hitchens is dead." Unsurprising describes my sadness, I fully expected to feel his death as a personal loss, and it also describes his death: we all knew it was just a matter of time, for he had been sick for so very long.

I never knew Hitchens. As I am a Christian, he would have considered me an enemy of all he held dear. So be it. But I was an "enemy" who was drawn into the writings and thought of this worldly British man of letters. Whether commenting on Central European politics, the work of George Orwell, or the poisonous folly of belief, Hitchens's writings had a way of speaking to my soul. I found God Is Not Great to be neither a shallow defense of anti-theism (as some Christians had) nor a devastating argument which destroyed my faith (as some now ex-Christians have). Instead, I read the words of a man who cared deeply and passionately about his fellow humans and was pleading, through as carefully a crafted appeal of logic and rhetoric as he could muster (and that was, by no means, inconsiderable), for us to repent of our evil for the salvation of the world. While I disagree with his identification of religion as "evil" I certainly respect his evangelist's heart. And, if we are being honest, I cannot completely dismiss his arguments that religion has fueled much evil in this world...

As an American, I share my countrymen's predisposition to be impressed and enthralled with English accents. I actively sought out podcasts and youtube videos where I could listen to Hitchens speak, and speak he could, like no one else. I could (and I say this because I have) listen to Hitchens talk for hours. My first read through of God Is Not Great was not a read at all, it was a listening to of the local public library's audiobook version, read, of course, by the author. When I later read the printed word, the voice of the man echoed through my head. Since then, my brain has supplied his voice to all of his writings, be that in Vanity Fair or some his older works I tracked down and savored. Letters to a Young Contrarian works particularly well with a "read by Hitch" brain conversion. (Incidentally, my copy has a picture of Hitchens in trench coat and holding a cigarette, which echoes my other English anti-hero, John Constantine. A character I suspect Hitch would have deplored, being rooted in a world of angels and demons).

Christopher Hitchens, like all of the so-called "New Atheists," made me think. I know that many in the theological and apologetic communities dismiss the New Atheists as being but pale shadows of the (by comparison) Old Atheists. I am undoubtedly a more shallow thinker than my fellow Christians, as evidenced by my judgment that the New Atheists raise important points, some of which I do not believe have been adequately answered. Maybe I'm just not smart enough to see the answers as adequate. Maybe I'm too fallen to get it. Maybe that's why I can admire people like Christopher Hitchens. Maybe.

Or maybe I get that Hitchens and Dawkins and all the rest are human beings, made in the image of God, endowed by their Creator with value and worth and dignity and gifts that, while not being used, perhaps, according to His will, nevertheless, to the eyes of faith, still shine forth as testament to the creative love of our God. At least, that's how my Christian mind sees it.

Christopher Hitchens voice and writings have been a significant part of my life for a few years now. And as inappropriate as it may seem, I feel a profound sense of loss. But how much more those who knew the man as friend, as family? My heart goes out to those who have lost a real, physical presence in their lives. The world has lost a public figure, but they have lost someone with whom their life paths were intertwined, that real interdependence we have with those of our local tribe or clan. My prayers are with them, though many of them find such sentiment distasteful.

Christopher Hitchens, cancer stopped first your voice and now at last your words entirely. But it will take the slow cancer of the years to end your influence in the hearts and minds of those who knew you or were touched by your work.

Life on Other Planets? So, What?

2011-12-08T07:48:00.005-06:00

A potentially inhabitable planet has been discovered! This is cool. But it is not a source for meaningful discussion of apologetics. If there is life on other planets, it neither confirms nor denies theism in general nor Christianity in particular. Contrariwise, if there is no life on other planets, that neither confirms nor denies naturalism. The so-called anthropic principle does not provide a solid case for either supernaturalism or naturalism. Those who believe that life was designed by an Intelligence will see the anthropic principle as reflecting that position. Those who see life's origin in the interplay between chance and necessity see the anthropic principle as a description of the rarity of life.

For the naturalist, the anthropic principle suggests the search for extraterrestrial life is searching for a needle in a haystack (with the possibility that there is no needle). So, why do it? Because, if there is other life out there, it provides us with a different sample to study. Right now, we have a sample size of 1. One planet upon which we can study the history of life. That is a terrible sample size. Fortunately, we have a variety of species, a variety of environments, and (compared to our individual life spans) a variety of generations to study. But all of this is from but one planet, but one initial set of conditions, but one primeval ancestor. Another planet with life would allow us to see what things might be different, what things are the same, what is contingent, what is necessary... our understanding of life could be forever altered.

Or, we might find that on that planet that things were pretty much the same as here. That everything we know about life holds for that planet's life history as well. Which would be awesome! We would know that what we learned from our little sample size of 1 is true for our sample size of 2.

Of course, if there was life, and it was similar, the theist will say, "Well, yes, God created it the same in both places." And if there are radical differences: "Behold the variety of God's creative powers!" And, given a belief in theism, that would be perfectly consistent to say.

Which brings me back around to the point: the existence of life on other planets is not an apologetics issue. It is definitely of scientific importance. It would even have theological ramifications (certainly it raises issues of soteriology and missions/evangelism), but it does not weigh in, at all, on whether there is a deity.

Lame Autobiographical Observation

2011-10-17T07:18:00.005-05:00

Reflecting on the anthropomorphic animal cartoons that dominated children's television during my childhood, I suddenly realized that given the inevitable conflict between two characters, my preferences always followed the same patterns, despite the specific characters:

Bats
Mice
Monkeys
Canines (wolves, foxes, dogs)
Rabbits
Fish
Birds
Cats
Anything else but snakes
Snakes

OK, I'm sure I'm leaving out several (e.g., squirrels) and there are iffy sections (fish may trump rabbits, especially sharks). Oh, and of course, this makes ABSOLUTELY no impact on anything. The answer to the "so what?" is "nothing." But, it popped into my head while brushing my teeth this morning and has stuck there. I'm hoping typing it up and dropping it on the Internet will get it out of my head.

dmr: rip

2011-10-13T08:58:00.001-05:00

Caught up in the universal expressions of mourning for Steve Jobs, the death of Dennis Ritchie has gone unnoticed by the world at large. I just found out this morning, but it seems he passed away last weekend, the result of a long struggle with illness. He was 70.

For those who might not know, Dennis Ritchie created the C programming language and was one of the co-creators of Unix. His contributions to the world of technology are deep and long-reaching. I never met dmr (as he was sometimes known as) but I feel a strangely powerful sense of loss. For the past several days, I haven't really understood how so many people who never knew Steve Jobs could be in mourning. But now, I think I get it. Not in a way I can verbalize yet, but in my gut, I get it.

So, Dennis and Steve, you are missed by millions who never knew you, but who love what you have done for their lives, who respect your vision, and are grateful for the time your genius was with us. Rest in peace.

Where the Music Came From

2011-05-24T07:18:00.017-05:00

No one is born knowing music. We encounter it at different moments in our lives, introduced to us by different people or circumstances. Here's my history (note, I may have heard of groups before the moment listed, but I didn't start really listening beyond the hit-and-miss of the radio until these people and these moments coincided to "turn me on" to the music listed. Also, note that I don't necessarily still listen to all of these...)

Roughly, in chronological order:

Nursery rhymes, Disney songs, Herman's Hermits: Mom
Classic country: Dad
Kiss, Alice Cooper: Darrin
Beatles, Pink Floyd: Glen
Weird Al: uncertain (likely: Jim or Jeff)
Queen, Prince: Jim
Blue Oyster Cult, Hawkwind: a letter in an Elric comic book
Styx: John
Rush, Motley Crue, Quiet Riot, Ratt: Mike B
Jimi Hendrix, ZZ Top, Stevie Ray Vaughan: Mike P
Larry Norman: Scott (my old boss at Joy Unspeakable)
Stryper: Time magazine article
Bob Dylan: uncertain?
Steve Taylor: Kathy R
Daniel Amos: Kathy J
Musicals, Sarah Brightman, classical music: Julie
Todd Snider: Radio station played "Talking Seattle Grunge Blues"
Tori Amos: Amy (not my sister)
Alanis Morrisette: Radio station playing pretty much everything from Jagged Little Pill

From the late 1990s on, most of my music discoveries have come from the Internet. Especially noteworthy are:

Filk: general web surfing
Luke Ski: unConventional was mentioned on a Firefly website
Michelle Dockery: "Mal's Song" was mentioned on a Firefly website
Devo Spice, Worm Quartet: Luke Ski related surfing (which eventually led to thefump.com)
Warp 11: cdbaby.com (where I had previously purchased a Luke Ski CD)
Steve Goodie, Robert Lund, Insane Ian, Flat 29: the fump.com
Carla Ulbrich: cdbaby.com
Marc Gunn: cdbaby.com
Garfunkel and Oates: cdbaby.com
Nerdcore: Discovered a copy of Nerdcore Rising at local video store (not really an Internet discovery, but all the nerdcore I own, I've downloaded/bought online; especially MC Lars and Zealous1)
Baba Brinkman: Mentioned online in connection with Darwin celebrations
Bad Religion: interview with Dr. Greg Graffin on Skepticality podcast
Wizard rock, Adam WarRock: GeekDads HipTrax podcast
Meekakitty: "Star Trek Girl" was mentioned on an online ballot
Ministry of Magic, All Caps: friends of Meekakitty

Exceptions to the "Internet-based discovery since the 1990s" rule:

"Once More, With Feeling": Jeff
Video game, computer game, and movie soundtracks: Nate (from whom I learned to actually listen to these "background" instrumentals)
Flight of the Conchords: Holly
Avril Lavigne, Taylor Swift, Glee: Kara

My deep thanks to everyone who has introduced me to music, shared my enthusiasm for this music, and, of course, made the music that has been a part of me. There are far more musical influences than those listed (and some of those listed are significantly less influential than others... but at one time, even if only for a moment, each musician has quickened a part of my soul).

Everything You Know Will Change in a Flash...

2011-05-11T07:11:00.005-05:00

Today, Flashpoint begins (cue goose bumps).

DC's big summer event begins today, with the release of Flashpoint #1. The basic premise, apparently, is that Reverse Flash goes back in time and prevents many of the DC Universe superheroes from becoming their heroic selves. Barry Allen has to remain the Flash, or else there won't be a Reverse Flash (no Barry, no speed force; no speed force, no speedsters, including Reverse Flash). However, in this new, messed up DCU, Abin Sur didn't crash, thus Hal Jordan never became Green Lantern. Baby Kal-El ended up in an Area 51 kind of lab, rather than in Smallville (at least, I think that's what happened to him, we'll see).

In addition to the main miniseries, there is a number of 3-issue spin-off miniseries as well as a handful of one-shots. This will run through the summer and into early fall. There's no way I can afford every book that is a part of this, so I've picked a few that look interesting to me.

Anyway, issue #1, tonight, after work. This is a hugely ambitious project that will either Rock or Blow on an epic level. My money is on Rock. Spoiler-laden review will follow soon...

Note: no such reviews forthcoming. It's been too cool to spoil.

New Apes!

2011-04-14T07:13:00.001-05:00

August 5, 2011 - The Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Check out wikipedia, imdb, and the official site.

I've always loved the Planet of the Apes movies, even though they were cheesy beyond belief. Maybe it's the nostalgia. They use to show some of the Apes movies for free at the local theater during the summer for kids to have something to do. It was kind of a magical thing back then, and a bit of that magic survives even watching them on DVD in my living room today.

Another bit was, again, for a kid, the makeup was great and some of the scenes were, well, a bit scary. Admittedly, today, the makeup looks less impressive (but, still, not terrible) and the post-apocalyptic mutant humans don't seem quite so scary (well, maybe a little).

And then there's Tim Burton's remake. It almost cost me my Apes fanboy card. But there were redeeming moments in that, as well. (Seriously, if I can at all claim to like Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, can I really diss Mr. Burton's efforts? Especially with the presence of his beautiful wife as an ape?)

So, August 5, I await you. Maybe not with as much anticipation as Green Lantern, but still with a bit of that little kid's excitement, going to the Avalon to see a "new" Apes movie for the first time some thirty-odd years ago. Ah, summer, once again you have captured my heart!

Yeah, Life's Like That

2011-04-13T07:41:00.001-05:00

From an interview with Christopher Moore:

4) Your books have a unique, “that’s frightening, but I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all” atmosphere. Do you often think like that, about life in general?

"That’s exactly how I view life, all the time. I’m always horrified by the randomness of life, as well as continually amused by the same."

Yep.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Hitchens!

2011-04-13T07:36:00.002-05:00

He may be the enemy of my faith, but I can't help loving this guy.

Yet Another Christian Leader Does Bad Things to Kids

2011-04-07T07:12:00.003-05:00

"Inspired" by this: http://www.koco.com/news/27424190/detail.html

Yes, non-Christians do evil things as well, but according to the Christian model of things, they are suppose to do evil things. They are unrepentant sinners. Not all non-Christians do these heinous acts (I believe the theological term is "common grace"), but certainly no Christian should be surprised when they do. Nor would such an action change the Christian's perception of the non-Christian. In fact, from the Christian perspective, it's just one more reminder of how much the "lost" need saving.

And, in like manner, when Christians commit these atrocities, the non-Christian's view is also not changed. Modern non-Christians have seen enough of these scandals that they expect the perpetrators to be Christian. Expect it. One can say that, "well, the press just makes a bigger deal out of it when it's a Christian. It's actually likely to be just as common, if not more so, for non-Christians to be sexual abusers of children." While that argument is certainly able to be settled by statistics, it misses the point. The Christian, the "little Christ," the representative of Christ on earth, should never be guilty of such an action. If the apostle Paul is correct that sex with a prostitute joins the body of Christ to a prostitute (1 Cor 6:15), then logically, a Christian sexually molesting a child joins the body of Christ to that act. No one wants to worship a deity whose physical representation on earth rapes children. So, yes, the media is right to make a big deal out of it when it is a Christian committing such crimes.

"Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven." Trite, and possibly true, but should this be an excuse for them to do evil? Again, the apostle Paul makes the point rather clearly in Romans 6:1-2. Not surprisingly, the purpose of divine forgiveness isn't so that a person can live as a child of Satan. Although given the public scandals and track record for Christians doing evil, many non-Christians might be actually be surprised at the apostle's words. They may wonder if Christians even read their own Bible.

One more point. The apostle James wrote that teachers will be judged more strictly than non-teachers (Jam 3:1). Ordained Christian ministers are teachers. The Bible says they will be judged more harshly. I submit that this judgment isn't merely pie-in-the-sky judgment, but judgment that starts today. In the media's love for scandal, in the non-Christian's re-affirmation that Christianity makes no difference in one's moral behavior, in the eyes of young people trying to determine whether the Church is really the body of Christ or whether it is just another club for like-minded people to hang out in.

Child abuse is a tragedy and an evil, no matter who does it. All morally sane people know this. Is the body of Christ not morally sane? If being a Christian makes any kind of difference, where is that difference? Because, contrary to the words of liberals and moderates, ethical behavior is apparently not the difference. If the Hebrew prophets denounced God's chosen people for whoring with false gods, how much worse is it when the bride of Christ rapes her children?

Boy and George

2011-03-29T16:24:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time there lived a boy and a dog. The boy’s name was “Boy” and the dog’s name was “George.” Boy and George were the best of friends. They shared everything: food, a worn gray blanket for keeping warm at night, jokes, secrets, and, of course, the open road. Whether enjoying a companionable silence or finishing each other’s sentences, the two friends were as comfortable together as any two friends could ever be. Their days were filled with swimming in the creek, fishing in the pond, wandering through the forest, chasing rabbits and birds and snakes, climbing hills and the occasional mountain.

Once in a while they would visit Town and beg some food, listen to gossip, and visit their friends, for both Boy and George were well liked by most all the folk they knew. But they wouldn’t stay long in the company of others, because their souls were only truly happy when it was just the pair of them off together in the wild.

Their misadventures during the long, lazy days of endless summer were the stuff of legends, at least legends in their own minds. Many was the night that they drifted off to sleep under the stars as Boy recounted tales of their derring-do. Each re-telling grew wilder and more improbable than the one before, and both boy and dog slipped easily into a suspension of disbelief. On those rare nights, under a blue moon, the tall tales they murmured as they slipped into dreamland became the jumping off point for their dreams (for, strangely, both Boy and George always dreamt the same dreams). After such nights, both friends woke the next morning convinced that the dream was, in fact, the actual memory of that particular adventure.

In such ways did the endless summer pass.

Pride

2011-03-02T07:19:00.000-06:00

"Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly." -GK Chesterton, Orthodoxy

Did the demons fall because they took themselves too seriously? Is that not the real essence of pride, not merely an awareness of your accomplishments, but taking them too seriously? Not self-awareness (false modesty is a lie, thus the "fals" bit), but self-importance. Is it, perhaps, not pride to be proud of your accomplishments, but only pride when you elevate your view of yourself based on your accomplishments? After all, your ability to accomplish anything is based, in part (arguably, a large part) on circumstances beyond your control: the time and place of your birth, your family and friends, your early education, your particular genetic code. True, there is much within your control, choices and efforts you make, but isn't it the case that all such choices and efforts are in arena not of your own making? Enjoy success, let it encourage you to continue to grow and succeed, but don't let it make you think that you are, therefore, better than those around you. From dust you were formed, to dust you will return, and all is vanity.

the ghost in the house that you never see

2011-02-10T16:37:00.007-06:00

i am the ghost that haunts this house, the house you pass everyday. sometimes you see the house, sometimes you don't, but i know you never see me. the house is scary, but it's not because i'm in it. it's because it's old and a bit different. sometimes the windows rattle, but that's just the wind, and the creaking floor is merely the house settling. i am a ghost. i can't touch you (God knows how many times i've wished i could...), why would you think i could touch the house? if only i could move things, if only i were real to anything, even this old house... to say i "haunt" misleads, i am a prisoner here: silent, powerless, and completely invisible. if anyone is haunted, it is me. haunted by my own existence, a self-haunted ghost, pathetically alone in this house, in this world full of houses that are full of smiling, happy people, people like you. my thoughts are my only voice, and they are endless echoes in my mind. i dimly remember there were once other voices, but all i hear now are the sounds of the house and the bothersome noise of my own thoughts. yet not thinking is worse, because then everything is silent, and there is just the overwhelming feeling of raw existence. through the windows, i see you on the street as you pass each day. but you never see me. at most, you see the house: rundown and deserted, no potential, just a bit of an oddity, an eyesore, at best. and then, undoubtedly, you forget, as you walk away into your day. you are gone so quickly, i sometimes think that perhaps i only imagine you. during those times, i spend the rest of the day and all of the night wondering if i am insane. perhaps you are merely a delusion and there is no one else, no one but me in all this world, and i am trapped in this house. and then, the next day, without fail, you appear again. and i wonder, maybe you are haunting me? perhaps you are the ghost and that bright world beyond these windows is actually the haunted house, and this "house" where i am, maybe it is the only place outside of your haunt, the only place i can be safe. then again, maybe i am completely wrong. maybe i am not haunting, and maybe i am not haunted. maybe i'm just damned. and this house, this world, maybe this is all just hell... maybe, but now i see you coming up the walk, and for a few moments, i will be distracted, distracted by your beauty and half-remembered feelings of... of what? hope? life? friends and family that i cannot remember but who surely must have existed? and then you will be gone again, as always, and the thoughts will rush back in and flood my self and i will remember: i am a ghost, i am haunted, i am damned...

Blizzard of '11

2011-02-04T09:22:00.003-06:00

Lots of snow, some ice. Two days off work, one day snowed in because my parking lot wasn't dug out. Drove during the snow coming down bits and walked in the post-snowing drifts. All in all, not as much fun as I remember from blizzards as a kid.

Am I really talking about the weather in this blog? I need to retire...

The New Year, a Quick Recap To Date

2011-01-07T12:05:00.002-06:00

Flu, flu, chest cold, flu, chest cold, migraine (that brings us up to today). In the midst of that was four and a half hours driving from southern Illinois (flu stage), missing too much work (all stages), and, oh yeah, buckets of misery (and other unmentionable stuff, again, all stages).

I had every intention of setting some resolutions, but my white blood cells didn't hold the line, and my brain went on survival mode. Maybe this weekend I'll begin the new year in earnest (my year will only be 51 weeks long, how weird is that?)

I hope you all are having a better beginning to your year than this!

This post is inspired by Heather, who reminded me this blog exists and I should use the thing. Hmmm, maybe my first resolution?

poem 6571

2010-12-21T16:06:00.000-06:00

diet of wyrms, she said,
i truly had no idea:
'twas bits of creatures dead,
floating in diarrhea

i asked her once, and she mispoke twice,
so i asked her thrice again;
i cried in shock as she took the mice
and fed them to her best friend

sillyness incarnate,
folly wrapped in fleshly joy;
terror may escalate
when miss death herself plays coy

i asked her once, and she mispoke true,
so i asked her to explain;
with a grin she said she thought i knew,
then she flushed me down the drain

cast adrift in this sea
with no stars by which to steer,
lost, there's just only me,
marooned on this raft of fear.

My Ten Favorite Living Novelists

2010-08-11T16:30:00.006-05:00

Not necessarily in order, although Rucker probably is at the top, since I've read all of his published novels to date, as well as most of his non-fiction:

1. Rudy Rucker

2. Neil Gaiman

3. Christopher Moore

4. Andrew Greeley

5. Neal Stephenson

6. William Gibson

7. Joe R. Lansdale

8. Michael Moorcock

9. Mike Carey

10. Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child

Runners-up: Elmore Leonard (Maximum Bob), Dave Barry (Big Trouble), Wendell Berry (Jayber Crow), Susan Howatch (Church of England novels), Terry Pratchett (Discworld novels), and Anne Rice.

My intention over the next little bit is to write a series of posts describing what I like about each of the ten authors on the list. If I actually make it through this "series" I might try it with "My Ten Favorite Living-Challenged Novelists."

So, who do you enjoy reading? Have you read any of the above? Do you like 'em, loathe 'em, don't care enough to even complain? ;-)

Edit, January 7, 2011: Yeah, no follow-up posts for this little "series." I take this "slacker" title way too seriously...

More Evidence of the True Power

2010-06-24T07:12:00.008-05:00

Last year I tapped a building-shaped something with my passenger side mirror. In my defense, it was winter and there was ice involved. The result was that my mirror was hanging limp from the side of my car with only the wires controlling its motor connecting it to my beloved Taurus.

I took the injured car to the mechanic, who looked up the replacement cost for a mirror and gave me a number that amounts to, well, more than I could afford at that moment (or, let's be honest, any moment). Fortunately, there was another customer in the shop at the same time, and he said the same thing happened to his brother a few years back. His brother just epoxied the mirror back on, cost next to nothing. My mechanic agreed to try that and it worked (and was a much less expensive fix). All was good.

Until yesterday, when the epoxy finally stopped epoxying. Of course this had to happen while I was driving up the interstate from a successful visit to my local comic book shop (it was Wednesday, after all). So, there's my mirror flopping along at sixty-five miles per hour and me the cheap jerk who can drop money on comics but won't properly fix his car.

When I get back to town I had a choice: leave the mirror alone until I can get to the mechanic or do something. Of course, there's only one something I can do at that hour, and proud, if somewhat awkward, child of Southern Illinois that I am, I do it: duct tape.

Duct tape, as we all know, is almost magical in its ability to be sticky. Let me illustrate. Last night we had a HUGE storm (I was tempted to capitalize "storm" as well, but some restraint is in order. It's not like Katrina resurrected and hoofed it several hundred miles inland.) Anyway, lots of wind and rain. And this morning... my mirror's still in place. The three strips of duct tape held. I was so proud of those little paragons of adhesive strength that I would've shed a tear if not for the years of anti-depressants that, quite frankly, have pretty much dried up my tear ducts for life. Duct tape is, as we all know, freakin' amazing! (and yes, I will get my mirror fixed properly... someday).

Martin Gardner: RIP

2010-05-26T09:03:00.006-05:00

I came back to work after being out sick for a couple of days to find the news that Martin Gardner had died on May 22, at the age of 95. There are plenty of tributes and remembrances online by those who knew him personally as well as by those who only knew him through his amazing writings. This is yet another tribute...

Martin Garnder inspired me, turned me on to new ideas, entertained me, and gave me hope. His death changes none of that. The heavens are still there to wonder at even after a star burns out. But it is not wrong to mourn its passing.

The first book of Mr. Gardner's I read was Relativity for the Million. It was the first book on relativity I ever read, and it opened my eyes to the weirdness of the universe. Like many, I delighted in his columns in Scientific American (even when I couldn't always solve his puzzles!) His Annotated Alice and Annotated Hunting of the Snark deepened my enjoyment of my favorite "children's" author. The Flight of Peter Fromm hit very close to home for a seminary graduate and recreational math and logic guy who sometimes sways deep into the doubt-o-meter. The Whys of a Philosophical Scrivener was a delight, as was, well, just about everything I've ever read by Mr. Gardner.

As someone with no formal training in math, Martin Gardner's writings have been one of my primary teachers (my other teachers include Raymond Smullyan and Rudy Rucker, both of whom, like Mr. Gardner, embody a deep sense of the whimsical as well as a profound understanding of mathematics). I will continue to learn from Martin Gardner throughout the rest of my life, because that is the kind of writer he was. And generations to follow will learn from him as well. His star may have burned out, but he was light years ahead of most of us, and it will take years before his light stops shining down on this world.

Nemo & Cthulhu: A Folk Tale

2010-05-21T12:11:00.002-05:00

folk tales are often a bit earthy (read "raw and vulgar"), and this one is no exception. it might be offensive to some, but it is what it is

Then there was the time when Little Nemo saved Ol' Cthulhu's life. That was back 'round the time when Mister Curry was doin' them fish stick commercials on account of his ol' lady havin' kicked him outta 'Lantis for steppin' out with Miss Ariel. Lordy, if that weren't a terrible row! I 'spect that Mister Curry would still be up there on the dryside selling his kin as monkeyfood if them aliens hadn't showed up, making claims to 'Lantis and killing the merfolk. 'Course, as well you know, Mister Curry came back and kicked them ETs back into space. Naturally after such heroics, all was forgiven.

But it was 'round that time, maybe a couple years right after, that Ol' Cthulhu had woken up from one of those long naps he's so famous for and went swimmin' towards the surface, just to have a look-see as to what might had changed while he was sleepin'. I reckon it had been a couple hundred years or so since he had last been to the surface, seems I remember him sinking some English boats back when the Empire was still all the rage (ol' Cthulhu always had a soft spot for the French). Oh, maybe it had only been a hundred years since he last woke up: he was definitely at Poseidon's funeral, and that was back in the 19th century (or was it the 20th?)

Anyways, Ol' Cthulhu was a swimmin' around, frolickin' in the waves. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Old Tentacle Head is a playful little Elder God. You probably don't know that he invented the beach ball and water polo and wrote the original version of "The Hokey Pokey." He also invented the first knock-knock joke: Knock-knock, who's there?, Cthul, Cthul who?, Hey, that's me! (I didn't say it was a very good one, just the first one.)

So, he was all frolickin' with some dolphins (after the French, the dolphins are his second favorite food to play with) when he beheld a strange metal monstrocity the likes of which he hadn't ever seen. Back in them days, the monkeypeople up on the dryside would build giant drills to pull oil out from underneath the ocean. We heard they also pulled it out from underneath the dryside. Hastur only knows what they needed all that oil for! Occasionally they'd dump a bunch of it into the ocean waters, which would get Mister Curry angry something awful.

Somehow or the other, Ol' Cthulhu, while investigating this weird mechanical device, got his tentacles all tangled up in the drill. Not only did this tie him to the machine, but in the resulting struggle, oil started to leak, covering Ol' Cthulhu from tentacle to toe. The dolphins, bein' a bit smarter than an Elder God, high tailed it away from the oil spill, but Ol' Cthulhu didn't have that luxury, on account of his bein' stuck and all.

You'd think an Elder God would be strong enough to pull himself free of drysider machines, but apparently Ol' Cthulhu has that same weakness to cold iron that other transdimensional beings have when manifest in the flesh on this plane of existence. So, Ol' Cthulhu was stuck and slimed something fierce. After a few hours, he was a bit fearing that he might be stuck like that forever. I dare spec'late that he was wishing he was back home in R'lyeh, snuggled in his bed and dreamin' his dark and twisty dreams.

Who should come along at this time but that crazy clownfish Little Nemo. Now, I've heard tell that the drysiders have told some children's stories about Little Nemo. I have to laugh, 'cause everyone knows any story involving Little Nemo ain't fit for children. "The Trickster of the Seven Seas" is what they call Little Nemo. It was thanks to him that Mister Curry lost his hand ('course, he was Emperor Curry then, but that's another story). Little Nemo also used to make drysider planes and boats disappear in an area 'round the island of Bermuda. He ended up selling most of 'em to the Grays who would sometimes visit 'Lantis on their trips to Earth (he also sold the crews to the Grays; Grays just love probing drysiders). Most scandalously, Little Nemo made the first mermaid just so's he could ogle naked drysider women without having to actually go dryside.

So, anyways, there's Little Nemo, coming to check out the oil spill, hoping for a good laugh I'd guess, and what should he find but Ol' Cthulhu himself, black with oil and tangled up in the drill. Little Nemo reckoned he had hit the motherlode! You gotta realize just how ridiculous Ol' Cthulhu looked, sitting on the ocean floor surrounded by oil, covered in oil, with all his tentacles twisted 'round the drill and knotted a dozen or more times over. The Trickster of the Seven Seas began laughing. Some folk say fish can't laugh, but I'm hear to tell you they can, and at that moment, Little Nemo laughed harder and louder and longer than any fish ever had before (and quite likely since).

Ol' Cthulhu looked around to see the source of the laugh, probably wonderin' who dared mock The Great Old One himself. I reckon he wasn't too surprised to see it was Little Nemo. I ain't sayin' they was enemies or nothin', but it's well-known there weren't much love lost 'tween the two. Story goes that Ol' Cthulhu was originally offended by Little Nemo's bright colors, but I heard tell they had a fallin' out over a girl. Whatever the case, Little Nemo showing up was 'bout the worst thing that could be added to Ol' Cthulhu's misery.

I say "'bout" 'cause what happened was even worse. Drysiders musta found out their drill had stopped working and used some of their technomagic to discover what had happened, 'cause right then a half dozen or so of their submarines showed up and started firing torpedoes at ol' Cthulhu. Now you'd think firing through an oil spill would be tricky, and I s'pose it was, but the monkeypeople obviously knew what was caught in their drill, cause puncturing Tentaclehead full of holes was one of the ways to drive his manifestation off of this plane. 'Least for a spell. Ol' Cthulhu really didn't want to leave, and let's be honest, being machine gunned by torpedoes is not exactly painless. Really, he didn't have a choice. He turned to the still laughing Little Nemo and asked for help.

Now in all the history of the 'verses til then, there ain't never been a record of any Elder God askin' any lesser being for help. The famous (and hysterical) story of Ba'al being consumed by the cosmic roaches being a prime example of my point. So, here's Ol' Cthulhu embarrassed, tired, hurt, trapped, and more'n a little scared, and he asks a clownfish for help. It's a wonder the stars didn't fall right out of the sky.

Little Nemo fell instantly silent, mid-laugh and everything. His clever brain seizing on how unique this situation was and working hard and fast as to how to best turn this to his advantage.

Remember, Little Nemo had already figured out how to make drysider vehicles disappear, so it would be easy enough to save Ol' Cthulhu from the immediate danger. It would take a bit more work (and callin' in some favors from some local cephalopods) to get Tentaclehead freed, but Little Nemo could do it. Ol' Cthulhu had already figured all of that out. That's why he even bothered to ask for help at all. The clownfish had it worked out a second or two after the meek little "please help me" had escaped the Great Old One's mouth. The only question, of course, was price. Right then, the drysiders launched another volley of torpedoes. Ol' Cthulhu spoke quickly, "I swear by my own unholy name I'll pay whatever you ask, goods not services, just help me!"

Lordy, I woulda given a couple millennia off my life to have been there. The look of desperation in Ol' Cthulhu's eyes, the fear in his voice, the total lack of godliness... Never before and never since has The Great Old One himself been brought so low! Even today, Little Nemo would probably say it was the greatest moment of his life, and I dare say it was.

Of course he made the submarines vanish (got quite a bit for 'em from a family of Grays that just happened to be visiting from Betelgeuse). And he cashed in several favors with the local squids to untangle Ol' Cthulhu. Now, you might think the squids would love Ol' Tentaclehead, but seems there's always been a bit of resentment, since they are true cephalopods and Ol' Cthulhu is just wearin' a mask, so to speak.

Regardless, Little Nemo got Ol' Cthulhu free, and the Great Old One was all awkward, not really use to needin' to be grateful and such, but Little Nemo reminded him that it was strictly an economic deal and he expected no gratitude, just payment.

Now you may be wondering why you ain't heard this tale before, and the answer is simple. Ol' Cthulhu bought Little Nemo's silence with his OTHER testicle. Which is why I always chuckle a little when some darn fool speaks of "the children of Cthulhu" 'cause folks, it just ain't possible!

Blogging in Private, Like in the Old Days

2010-04-07T21:07:00.002-05:00

Since I discovered wiki on a stick, most of my "blogging" has been done in the form of a "secret" journal (like I have any real secrets...) Blogging is still nice, and interacting with the memories of y'all's ghosts inhabiting the comments bring forth the warm fuzzies in my heart-shaped void. But I get the feeling that vanity blogging has seen its heyday. All the cool kids are facebook and twitter junkies. And like old man Leary, I'm a total conformist.

All that said, there will probably be less on here in days to come than the sparse posting of recent months. But unlike those other times, I won't delete or deactivate the blog this time. Just in case :-)

Arcadian Blues

2010-03-23T16:56:00.000-05:00

Menthol blue lips, hair the color of static electricity, eyes of flaming mercury, and skin as pale as moonbeams. She was so fey that she made Tinkerbell look like a Wisconsin farm girl. I didn't know whether she was bringing me a case or a plea for charity. Regardless, I could tell she was bringing trouble, probably more trouble than I'd care to handle. Our eyes locked, and my heart broke. She pursed her lips and sighed. Before she could even utter a word, my heart broke a second time, and I knew that whatever her problem was, I'd die trying to make it right.

It took all my will to glance down at the enchant-o-meter on my desk. It read "Null", which made no sense, because I was obviously under some kind of glamour. I tapped it and the needle bounced a bit before settling back on "Null". I shook my head and decided to trust my instincts. Without looking up I said, "Kill the charm or leave. I'll work for any who can pay, but I won't be anybody's wind up toy."

"I'm sorry," her voice was like honeyed lightning, "but I don't know what you mean."

Denial. Always their first response. Next will come offense, anger, false remorse, and then a subtle re-application of the magic after the earnest promise that it's been removed. On the best of days, I don't have the stomach for that, and today had not even been in the neighborhood of the best of days. I opened my desk drawer and withdrew my Smith & Wesson, pointing it at her and being real careful not to make eye contact. "Scram. I've got work to do and no time for games. Even with pretty little elf girls. Go harass the police or something."

"The police can't help me. Please, Mr. Tyrrell, you're my only hope."

"Then it sucks to be you, sweetheart. Unless you can turn the mojo off, you need to walk out now." I flipped the safety off and hit the laser sight with a flourish. The pistol began to make a satisfyingly ominous hum. "'Cause in seven seconds, I'm pulling this trigger. Six. Five. Four. Three--"

The door closed behind her. Then my enchant-o-meter starts beeping like Merlin himself was here. I shook my head and pressed the reset button. The grandfather clock in the corner read nine thrity-five. This day was already too long, and my secretary wasn't even back from the coffee and donut run yet. Have I mentioned how much I hate Mondays?

Poor Lonely Blog

2010-03-16T18:26:00.003-05:00

My poor blog is a twitter widow. Stupid twitter vampire, sucking all the minutes out of my so-called downtime. Someone, pass me a virtual clove of garlic. Or at least the URL for Twitheads Anonymous...

Because There Wasn't Enough Coolness in the World

2010-03-09T16:15:00.001-06:00

http://www.myjones.com/limited/wizards

Christopher Moore: A Brief Appreciation

2010-03-03T17:39:00.003-06:00

When I first read Practical Demonkeeping I was a seminary drop-out with a penchant for Lovecratian beasties and dark humor. The book resonated with me, to say the least. My second reading of the book was less than a week after I had finished it the first time. The last time I read it was when I was going through my divorce. There's a marriage falling apart in the book, and honestly, I wept while reading it that time. Everything Moore has written has been fun, funny, and strangely meaningful for me (well, I can't honestly say "everything." For some inexplicable reason, I haven't read Fluke yet).

Now we are moving towards the release of Bite Me which continues the story of the vampires begun in Bloodsucking Fiends and You Suck. Moore's vampire protagonists are, in every way imaginable, cooler than Lestat, except in the area of actual coolness (where, frankly, Lestat is king, except, perhaps, as portrayed by Mr. Cruise). His books are not for children, at least for values of "not for children" that include "children shouldn't be exposed to scenes of cannibalism, sex, drug use, vulgar language, and demons." Maybe adults shouldn't be, either. But the residents of Pine Cove (as well as the other denizens of Chris Moore's imagination) are a likable, maybe even lovable, group of wacky and wonderful people. I almost feel like a Pine Cove citizen myself, at least while under the spell of the reading of his books. The nearest I've ever had to such literary comraderie are the patrons of Callahan's in Spider Robinson's books (which I was always tempted to read with an Irish coffee in hand, just to add to the atmosphere).

Not all of Mr. Moore's books are set in Pine Cove. The most recent book, Fool, is a Moorean twist on the Shakespeare's King Lear story. A bit of a temporal departure from the contemporary setting of most of Moore's novels, it is, nevertheless, an endearing bit of saucy Shakespearean pastiche (and recently out in paperback for those of who only, um, thriftily read a library copy of the hardcover).

Fool is not the only one of his books set in a different time period. Lamb, of course, sits firmly at the turn of the calendar, being the tale of Christ as told by his childhood pal Biff. While potentially offensive, the book takes seriously that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God. There is no denigrating his deity nor his humanity. There are bits that are completely made up, but it's a novel, one written by an acknowledged master of humor and weirdness. If you want to be really offended, dig up a copy of Michael Moorcock's Behold the Man.

So, April 1... Bite Me. Crossing fingers for fast access to the library's copy.

Crossovers Are Dreamy

2010-03-02T07:00:00.003-06:00

"So, what do you know about vampires?"

She glanced up from her paperwork to see her partner's earnest face. He was serious. "They're featured in a number of bad novels and worse movies, strangely popular these days with prepubescent girls."

He smiled, "I mean real vampires."

Scully glared at her partner. "Mulder, there are no vampires. Historically, there are anecdotes of living humans drinking blood, or even bathing in it, in an effort to preserve youth or gain strength. In 1983, anthropologists from the University of Maryland documented a tribe of living, breathing blood drinkers on a small island off the coast of New Guinea. But real honest to God undead children of the night? That's too far out there, even for you."

Mulder walked through the doorway and slid into the chair across from Scully's desk. "Ever hear of a place called Sunnydale?"

"No. I'm guessing California, Arizona, or Florida?"

"California. A small town a couple hours from LA. They have vampires."

"And you would know this how?" Normally, Fox Mulder's obsessions were aliens and government conspiracies, usually at the same time. Paranormal, but hardly supernatural. This vampire thing seemed to be coming out of nowhere.

"Remember Dale Cooper?"

Scully's eyebrow raised slightly, "The Laura Palmer case, right?" Special Agent Dale Cooper was the only Bureau agent considered more "out there" than Fox Mulder. Scully had only met him once, and that was years ago before he had gone out to Washington state to work on a murder investigation. Like Mulder, Dale Cooper was an attractive man who gave no warning of his "eccentricity" until he opened his mouth. And then one wondered how he had made it so far in the Bureau. Some men are better seen and not heard.

Mulder nodded, "That's right. You remember when he got back from Twin Peaks?"

Scully shook her head, so Mulder continued. "He wasn't right in the head. It seems a demon had taken over his body."

"Demon? You mean he had a psychotic break?"

"C'mon, Scully, you're Catholic. Surely you believe in demons?"

"Not without evidence," but she supressed a shudder as she remembered her childhood friend, Regan MacNeil. She shook her head to clear the memory. Some things were best left in the past. "So, what happened to Special Agent Cooper?"

"Long story short, a mutual friend exorcised him."

"I can't imagine you being friends with a priest." Mulder might have been less skeptical than his partner, but he was also far less religious.

"Wasn't a priest. A guy I met while studying at Oxford, named John Constantine. Really interesting guy, you'd hate him."

"Another paranormal investigator like you and Cooper?"

Mulder's eyes twinkled, "No, Constantine's an actual wizard."

"Oh, so you met him playing Quidditch? Or maybe Dungeons and Dragons?"

"Mock me if you want, Dana, but John's the real deal. I saw stuff when I was with him that I still see in my nightmares."

"So, this Constantine exorcised Cooper. And what does all of this have to do with vampires and Sunnydale, California?"

"I'm getting to that. Once Dale was himself again, he resigned from the Bureau. Dropped off the face of the earth for the past few years. Until yesterday, when this arrived in the mail." He pulled a small digital voice recorder out of his jacket pocket. "Dale always kept a detailed audio diary of his cases and experiences. This recorder contains entries from the past six months up through last week. I haven't listened to all of them, but what I have heard is... amazing." He pressed a button and the recorder started speaking in the unmistakable voice of Dale Cooper.

"Dear Diane, last night I was able to observe the Slayer in action. Phenomenal. Grace and wit paired with a toughness and, well, power, the likes of which I have never seen before. She makes the Shaolin seem like awkward school boys trying to dance on a planet with excessive gravity. She staked four vampires in the space of two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. I must meet this young lady. Tomorrow I shall approach her mentor, he is called 'a Watcher.' The message I have finally recalled from my time trapped in the Red Room needs to reach the Slayer before the return of the First Evil, which, I feel deeply from the top of my head to the soles of my sensible shoes, will be soon."

Mulder pressed the button again and smiled at his partner.

"A recording from an ex-agent, a notoriously unstable ex-agent, is not proof of anything. And what is a 'slayer' anyway?"

"I don't know," Mulder's grin grew wider, "but I intend to find out."

A Minor Note of Geekery

2010-02-24T07:28:00.003-06:00

While I have been a dabbler in Linux for a while (Slackware 3.3 on a huge stack of floppies, for those interested), I haven't had a Linux box connected to the Internet since dial-up days. Mostly because I haven't had Internet at home since then. Lately, I have come into possession of an old Dell Latitude D610, which sports built-in wireless (as, I understand from some of my younger friends, is the trend these days). Add Slackware (we're up to version 13 now) and wander into one of the countless free public wi-fi spots (yay MickeyD's!) and suddenly I'm back online outside of the office.

Concurrent with this happy development, my phone carrier forced a data plan on owners of Smart Phones. While I do know some who have argued with them and gotten the plan removed, my battle with customer service was less successful. I can always swap out to my old Nokia brick (about the dumbest phone around) which will let me drop the data plan, but Smart Phones are nice (my current one, perhaps, less so: suffice to say it is running an OS out of Redmond; actually, that's unfair. It's been a decent phone, despite its many critics).

My carrier (oh, why the anonymity: it's AT&T, ok?) is finally getting an Android phone: the Motorola Backflip. So, while not an Eris, it is a Linux phone, and I am due for an upgrade in November. So, maybe... At any rate, thanks to the forced increase in my bill, I now have Internet access wherever I have phone service. Blogging, RSS, web surfing, email, twitter, podcasts, YouTube videos, WorldCat searches, all whenever and wherever.

So this is what it feels like to live in the 21st century? Kinda cool.

A Summer Memory To Help Distract Me From The Long Winter

2010-02-23T12:00:00.001-06:00

It was back in those too, too warm days during the summer of 1983, shortly before my sixteenth birthday, that I met her. Well, that ain't exactly so. I had a vague awareness of who she was. She came from a large Catholic family and had a brother a grade ahead of me and a sister a grade behind. She was three years my junior, in my little brother's class, and she lived next to the city cemetery, which is where we first spoke to each other that summer.

Me and my circle spent more than a little time in the cemetery. In part because we liked hanging out among the dead, in part because we were all a bit too weird for normal company, but mostly because it was one of the few places to hangout in a tiny little Midwestern town. The river ran along the small wilderness just north of the cemetery, and the deer trails and fallen trees were as much a part of our territory as the gravel roads between the tombstones. Sometimes we even hauled our books and dice and character sheets out to the old concrete table in the rarely mowed "nature study" area just outside the cemetery where we battled breeze and bugs to play AD&D under the canopy of trees.

Mostly, however, we just walked and talked. We discovered time travel and reincarnation and warp drive and the perfect government and the funniest joke and the best strategy for dealing with the Kauffman retrograde, all while wandering among the silent gravestones. We bemoaned the tiny redneck culture we had been born into and waxed eloquently about the futures our dreams dared to believe in. We were young and foolish and full of ourselves. We were geeky children who believed ourselves destined to be high fantasty romantic heroes arising from our humble births.

But that first day I ran into her, walking in the cemetery, I was alone. It wasn't terribly uncommon for any of us to go on long strolls alone. Some thoughts need to sit a spell in the cool, dark cellars of the mind before they are ready to serve. Given the year, I was most likely reflecting upon the eternal struggle between Law and Chaos and the unique role humanity plays in that struggle (like many, Neil's title "One Life, Furnished in Early Moorcock" described my youth sadly perfectly). In those days, I favored Chaos over Law, but that is hardly the point of this memory.

She was in shorts and a tank top. A cute twelve-year-old with big eyes and an endearingly shy smile, as I learned when I said "hi" as we passed.

That was all, and we both went our own ways. And there was evening and morning, the first day.

The next day, as I was walking to the cemetery, my path took me past her house. This was my typical path into the cemetery, and I thought little of it when I saw her on her porch swing reading. Another "hi" as I waved and smiled, not even slowing down as I strode past the girl and through the gates into my kingdom.

When, five minutes later, I saw her approaching, I didn't think anything of it. If I had lived next door to a graveyard, I would have spent as much time as possible there. Just before we passed each other, she stopped and said "hi."

"Hi, again." I smiled. She smiled back, and my heart came alive.

We talked for a while, and I arrived home feeling a strange and wonderful happiness that lasted well into the night. And there was evening and morning, the second day.

Throughout that summer we would "happen" to meet in the cemetery, where we would talk for hours about life and music and our families and books and religion. We laughed and we teased and we listened to each other with all the intensity of the young, with all of the sincerity of nearly mystical communion. She was, in terms of secrets and trust and laughter and sharing, the closest friend I had ever known up til then (with all due respect to my friends, who were all good and true, this was... different, as I suspect most of them would understand). We never kissed, we never were a couple, it was never that kind of relationship. It was all purely and sweetly good, a magic moment in a time and place where one foot was always firmly planted in the realms of faerie.

And, naturally, it didn't last. The end of summer summoned us back to our regular lives, and that was good as well. It was a brief and delightful interlude in my life, one of many lights that linger in the twilight of my failing memories and dying heart.

The Morning The End Finally Started

2010-02-12T11:40:00.000-06:00

"Now, there. My Zootie is a good girl. You can't say things like that about her!"

The speaker was Zootie's mother, Mrs. Gladys Reynolds. Mrs. Reynolds is a paragon of a certain type of Midwesterner: grossly overweight and even more grossly under-educated, clad in the very best of Wal-mart clearance, her head filled with reality TV, crime dramas, and conservative preachers. For some reason, I always think of people like her as human donuts.

Mrs. Reynolds had been called in by our fearless leader, Principal Edgars, to discuss this morning's incident. "Incident" may be too mild a word, since Sheriff Tommy Briggs was also present at this little meeting. Apparently, Zootie Johnson had attempted to drive a sharp pencil into the left eye of Steve Ellison. Steve is a bit of a trouble maker (and perhaps a bit more than a bit), but he's not "let's seriously maim this jerk" kind of trouble. And, to be fair to Mrs. Reynolds, Zootie is a good kid, not the kind to say a harsh word to anyone teasing her (and there were many who teased the girl), let alone one to take up sharp writing implements against her tormentors. But a classroom full of students were witnesses. Unfortunately, the teacher had his back to the class, writing out the quadratic equation on the chalkboard, and turned around just in time to see Steve forcing Zootie's hand (still gripping the pencil) to the desk while calling her a "crazy bitch." By the time I had reached the back row, the danger was over, and I had the lovely duty of escorting the two combatants down to Principal Edgars' office while the rest of the class worked on factoring equations 1-10 on page 52 of the textbook.

"Mrs. Reynolds, no one is saying Zootie's not a good girl," I said.

"I am," said Edgars, shooting me one of those "shut up, I don't need your kind of help" looks. Edgars would have fired me his first year as principal if he could have found even the slightest pretext. Unfortunately for him, I'm a good teacher with a squeaky clean life.

"Mrs. Reynolds," Edgars continued, "Your daughter attempted a lethal stabbing this morning. Her ineffectual weakness is the only reason Steve Ellison is still alive. Beyond being a violation of the school's policies concerning violence, this is a criminal matter." He nodded over at the sheriff.

Sheriff Tommy stirred a bit and made as if he might say something, but Edgars was on a roll. "Priscilla Johnson is a menace. Her antisocial ways have finally culminated in the violence that I believe I warned the faculty of on numerous occasions."

Mrs. Reynolds looked horrified, "You been talking about my Zootie to the teachers?"

"Not Zootie in particular," I inserted, before Edgars could continue his bashing of Zootie (and that was the first time I'd ever heard anyone refer to her by her given name), "but yes, Principal Edgars has expressed concern that some of our students are not as involved in school activities as he would like."

"Zootie doesn't like sports. She likes reading and writing. That don't make her bad."

"No," I agreed, "it doesn't."

"Well, I think this morning's events suggest otherwise. Self-involved dreamers are just waiting to snap. Students like Priscilla need to be engaged with other students. They need to have relationships with real people and not just live in their imaginary worlds, where they see real people as invasive and threatening. People like Steve Ellison." Edgars had no love for Ellison, but he obviously had a larger axe to grind with students like Zootie. For the life of me, though, I couldn't imagine why.

Autobiographical Random Nonsense Best Avoided By Readers with Discernment

2010-02-11T12:52:00.001-06:00

Once upon a time I knew... everything. Well, everything that mattered. I knew the streets of my neighborhood, the names of my friends, and how to enjoy life. I walked, biked, tossed frisbees, even played a little ball with my best friend (poorly, but with a certain enjoyment). I read myths, novels, comic books, science books, and biographies. I prayed naively, without doubt and without pretense. I laughed and cried freely. I had parents, siblings, friends, teachers, and vague dreams of doing something in that distant time when I finally "grew up." I was in elementary school, and life was good.

Ok, so romanticizing childhood is a favored past-time of old people who feel they have missed the boat. I know just how whack my childhood was: I lived it, right? It was better than some and worse than others, but even then, I knew it was a blessing. A blessing that was dragged through mud and broken glass, a blessing that occasionally found itself lost in a metaphorical desert, bleeding and crying, but a blessing nonetheless.

I liked to draw as a kid. I was never any good, but I enjoyed art, especially in junior high. Painting and drawing, and, to a lesser degree, sculpting. Like shop class and home economics, art class produced something from working with my hands. Like most people, producing something tangible with my own hands was deeply satisfying.

I've always always enjoyed music. Not surprising, since most people I've met do. I have absolutely no skill in producing it. Strangely, in high school ALL of my friends were skilled musicians. One of my friends, a scientist-musician, once assured me that given my love of math, there was a musician inside me, but I'm still skeptical.

But there was never a question about my creative medium of choice. I've been writing for as long as I can remember. Not well, and not consistently, and (until the Internet) not publicly, but working with words, ideas, stories... has always been a part of who I am. At one point, in high school, I thought about becoming a writer, but even in high school, being "grown up" and making such decisions seemed far away (oh, silly dreamer! Methinks you needed a bucket of cold water and a swift kick in the rear).

It's odd, given the opportunities to write available to me now, that I don't. Well, not so odd. What keeps me from trying to produce anything of substance is fear. Fear that I have neither the ideas, the talent, nor the discipline to produce anything worth more than the self-published drivel that appears here. Strange, the ten-year-old me wrote a vampire story: pages of painful plot, silly dialogue, and stock characters. No fear, though. I kept it in a blue binder that had a Battlestar Galactica insignia sticker on the cover and spent hours on it: making changes, adding chapters, etc. Couldn't tell you whatever happened to it. It wasn't my first story, but it was the first one I remember working on.

Old people may romanticize childhood, and I am as guilty as the next codger. But maybe, in our defense, there was something romantic about childhood. Not merely the fabled innocence of childhood, the innocence being a necessary condition for the romance, but some largeness in our souls that, I don't know, for want of a better phrase, lived more than we do now.

Or maybe that's just more rose-colored navel-gazing. Dunno. I think of Chesterton, Lewis, and Tolkien: grown ups who, I believe, kept a romantic vision that most of us seem to lose. In my best moments, I can almost see the grail, shimmering in the last rays of twilight, calling me West. Sometimes, I can sense Chesterton, just beyond the pale, like a Christian Obi-Wan Kenobi, urging me to take up my sabre. But usually, I just pay my bills and take my meds. And, that, as they say, is life.

In the Wake of the Rabbit Hole

2010-02-11T07:17:00.003-06:00

jacob login:. welcome root. oh one two seven one eight three two. patch upload complete. sendmail compile in five four three two one.

wh1t3rabb1+: Hatter, you still online?

hatterm: Yeah, Rabbit. What's up?

wh1t3rabb1+: Not much, dullsville in server city tonight.

hatterm: Um...... ok?

wh1t3rabb1+: So, entertain me, man!

hatterm: Your dead end job. Not my problem. Besides, I'm kinda busy here.

wh1t3rabb1+: Do tell?

hatterm: I do have a life offline.

wh1t3rabb1+: So why are you typing right now?

hatterm: She's not here yet, and besides, I thought (foolishly!) that you might have wanted something important. Something related to the game.

wh1t3rabb1+: Game, shame, tame the lame, and does this SHE have a name?

hatterm: Not one you'd recognize.

wh1t3rabb1+: And what about our young friend with a penchant for blue gingham dresses and leather jackets? Does she know you're making late night tea with strange women?

hatterm: Why would she care?

wh1t3rabb1+: Oh, I doubt she would. But the question is, does she know?

hatterm: How would she? Some of us don't tweet our lives away. Speaking of: not a word of this!

wh1t3rabb1+: And why not? We've established no one cares.

hatterm: Yeah, well, my private life is, well, private.

wh1t3rabb1+: That's rich!

hatterm: I'd think a paranoid security freak would be sympathetic.

wh1t3rabb1+: Right, one who tweets his life away? I'm all about public things being as public as possible and private things being totally private. You texting your date makes it public.

hatterm: Whatever

wh1t3rabb1+: Anyway, compile's finished. Gotta reboot the email server. Don't do anything with her that I wouldn't!

hatterm: Dude, you're gay.

wh1t3rabb1+: And you could only be so lucky. Seriously, though. When the other she finds out, heads will roll. She might not care, but she cares, if you take my meaning. And even if you don't, I'm outta here )

Since When Does "Do No Evil" Include "Make Deals with Spooks"?!?

2010-02-05T07:22:00.002-06:00

Google asks the NSA for help.

As loquacious as I am, I have no commentary. Just a prayer (and a rather strong desire to leave the Internet and buy a cabin in Montana or maybe one of those commercial flights into space, since US government sponsored flights are going to be a thing of the past, so kiss Starfleet good-bye, thank you very much Mr. President... but that, as they say, is another story.)

Snarky Comment

2010-01-25T12:46:00.000-06:00

From a web site:

“Many useful academic materials are increasingly available via electronic online access.”

electronic online access? As opposed to, let’s say, “mechanical online access” or “steam-powered online access” or, in deference to the cyberpunks, “direct neural online access”?

Eris Gets Her Due!

2009-12-07T07:20:00.002-06:00

An Android-based phone named after Eris! How amazingly cool is this?!? The Droid Eris, makes me wish I was a Verizon customer...

All This For One Little Rhyme?

2009-12-03T21:02:00.003-06:00

Lemon Demon has a delightful little tune about the infamous Spring Heeled Jack (lyrics). I make this post only to document my quoting of this line:

And people in the area reek of mass hysteria

For some reason, this line has been making a lazy circuit in my head (completing a lap once every two and a half hours, which, perhaps, sheds light on the size of my head...)

Currently Reading

2009-12-01T17:36:00.003-06:00

+ Logical Dilemmas: The Life and Work of Kurt Godel (by John W. Dawson)
+ Against the Day (by Thomas Pynchon)
+ If Einstein Had Been a Surfer (by Peter Kreeft)

Just started Logical Dilemmas. Kurt Godel was the greatest logician of the 20th century. John W. Dawson is one of the scholars responsible for the publication of Godel's Collected Works and is therefore well-qualified to write a biography and commentary on Godel. Godel's Incompleteness Theorems were the subject of my master's project in theology (basically a warning about how not to apply them to philosophical and theological topics).

Against the Day is long, to the tune of over a thousand pages. Mostly, my fiction reading these days is a bit shy of that (by some 700 plus pages). So far, the story is interesting, like most of Pynchon's work, and is filled with a cast of intriguing characters, crazy adventures, and deep wit. I know this will take me a while to finish, but so far, I am glad to be spending time in the company of the Chums of Chance. Hopefully, this will warm me up for the other two large novels I'm committed to reading in the coming year: Anathem (by Neal Stephenson) and The Brothers Karamazov (by, of course, Fyodor Dostoyevsky).

Peter Kreeft has never published a book that I have not (a) thoroughly enjoyed, and (b) been challenged and inspired by. Even his textbook on logic caused me to rethink my long standing prejudice against the "old" logic in favor of the "new" mathematical logic. If Einstein Had Been a Surfer is a conversation among three characters who individually represent science, philosophy, and mysticism (and yet, these are no two-dimensional allegorical personifications. Kreeft's characters are real people, even if they do not really exist). This book is about the search for a "Theory of Everything." The book itself does not present the details of such a Theory (no Nobel Prize in physics for Kreeft for this one!), but by talking around and through and about the issue, the reader is lead to understand better what such a theory would entail. As always from Kreeft, this work is a creative, well-reasoned piece of scholarship that is easy to take as entertainment (I'd say "mistake" but I rather suspect the reader is supposed to be entertained, in much the same way Plato entertained and instructed us with the Socratic dialogues). Recommended if you like thinking about everything.

Finding Love in Moonlight

2009-12-01T12:18:00.003-06:00

What follows is fiction. This is not about anybody. Don't make any such assumptions, because you would be grievously mistaken...

I first saw you on the first of December. You were the moon, gently reflecting the light of the sun, bringing his light to my cold and empty night. Daylight is too bright for a sinner like me, too much of his revealing light shining in every crevice of my lies. You brought his light in slowly, waxing first from a mere sliver, giving me time to adjust to what I was beginning to see. At first I mistook you for a star, a twinkling angel in the firmament of my twilight, a bit of dazzle to distract me from the vast dark expanse of my vision. As the nights wore on, you shone more brightly, more fully, until at last I could not help but realize that you were no star, but a reflection of our star, the one true sun that lights our lands. So, you were the moon, and in your fullness, at your brightest, I saw only the light of the sun and learned therein that the day was not my enemy but rather my home. Funny, how at your brightest, I saw more clearly your flaws, your craters, which cast the only shadows in his light upon your face. Yet far from despising you, I loved you more, both for the individuality of those "flaws" and for the courage to allow his light to reveal them to everyone. For you cared only for the truth, for bringing a bit of the sun's light to those of us who crawl around in the night, covered in mud and slime, fearful of the heat of day. Men like me, who lived more like worms than men, until one night we might by chance look up from our blind writhing to see you there, smiling down at us. What I did not realize at the time, what I could not have understood at the time, was that I only saw your smile because of his light. Everything that I came to see, everything that I came to love, starting with my love for you, was only possible because of the sun's light. Without sunlight I would never have seen more than shadows, without the reflected sunlight on your face, I would never have known the beginnings of beauty. Though I now walk in the day, under the fullness of the sun's life-giving light, I cannot look upon his beauty directly. I still must see it reflected, his light bouncing from every created thing on this earth to bring joy and wonder and delight to my newly-opened eyes.

Sometimes, I miss you. I miss our long walks under the night sky, back when the only light I knew was what you reflected. I miss our animated discussions, our silly jokes, the enchanting sound of your voice: your singing, your laughing, your soft whsipers of love and hope. I miss you, and the missing hurts like a lost child. Without the moon, they say there is no life on earth. Yet, I still live. I live, and I am grateful... grateful that you brought light into my life, gave me the courage and the hunger to enter the daylight, to live as a human creature should live. You were the moon, and you gave me my first taste of real light, which led to real life and real love. It is too late to say everything I want to say, and that merely is what it is. But it is never too late to look up into the sky and whisper, "thank you." And so I say, "thank you."

Just Wondering

2009-11-18T12:30:00.002-06:00

Counting backwards as the flame gets higher,
You tell yourself that there is no fire.
The heat you feel is just a lie,
You're much too bored to have to die

The cell phone rings, then drops the call,
Figure you miss one, you missed them all
Dinner's burning, can you smell the smoke?
It's just you cooking, and baby that's the joke

Wearily you laugh, tearfully you cry,
Tomorrow always comes, but never answers why

this moment

2009-08-17T20:59:00.000-05:00

baby buddha
dressed in blue
how your mommy
must love you
bouncing on her
old brown knee
laughing at
eternity

Time to Return

2009-07-28T16:51:00.002-05:00

Too long gone... no readers (which is mostly fine, though some of you I've missed like the dickens!) Time to retool this thing as a place to think and ramble (oh, wait... that what it's always been). Anyway, we'll see if we can start this thing up again. Even if it's just me, I can pretend to be in conversation with the nebulous and vaguely self-aware Internet.

Later (hopefully, tomorrow...)

Pneuma

2009-04-29T07:26:00.000-05:00

the wind is my friend,
my lover,
my soul;
it fills me from the inside,
it moves me from without;
in it i
dance,
sing,
laugh,
run,
and,
sometimes,
fly;
the wind is my ocean
upon which i surf,
within which i swim,
it is my calm and my storm,
i know no other song
than its howl and whisper;
i know no other caress
than its breezes and gusts;
it is my spirit and my breath,
it is my life

Social Networking Confession

2009-04-27T17:18:00.006-05:00

From the beginning, I hated the idea of social networking. MySpace seemed a stupid waste of time, and Facebook was its clean-cut, annoying kid brother. Pages were silly encyclopedia entries on persons who lacked reknown, and MySpace, let's be honest, was full of the most horrid page designs one can see outside of an acid trip.

Blogging was ok, in my book, because I'm an inveterate scribbler: recording the epic deeds of heroes on that green, large-lined paper from elementary school. True, most of those tales were never read by another living soul, much like this blog. But still, I wrote them back then, because, in some ways, I had no choice, and I'll continue to write now, in part for the same reasons. It's part of who I am (one of those parts I'll admit to in a mixed public forum like this; my kids can read my secret journals when I'm dead and learn about the other bits).

Having said all of that, I must confess that I have completely changed my judgment of social networking sites. The ability to casually and easily be in contact with friends both past and present (and the occasional stranger who becomes a future friend) is kinda nice, especially as the aging process robs me of the vitality of today and makes me nostalgic for bygone days (nostalgic, but not stupid; you can keep your time machines to yourself. I'll remain living in the present, even as a crusty old curmudgeon). I'm not saying these type of online services have changed my life, but by allowing me to catch a glimpse of names and faces from my youth, I feel a greater sense of... not exactly closure, but something between an ongoing closure and an expanding completeness. Does that make any sense?

As William Gibson famously pointed out, the Internet is the great waster of time. Social networking sites, doubly so. And, perhaps, contra to my earlier judgment, they are not so much "stupid" wastes of time as they are delightful flashes of retro-future connectivity: the present soul's brief nod and smile to a past that now is present somewhere besides the hazy photo album of memory. And maybe, just maybe, that is value enough.

Elementary Numbers for Breakfast

2009-04-23T07:18:00.002-05:00

1967 is not a prime.
19 is a prime, so is 67.
1967 is sort of symmetrical, in binary (11110101111).
1967 in binary is 19 digits long.
19 is (still) a prime.
1+1+1+1+0+1+0+1+1+1+1=9.
9 is not prime (but it is the numerological value of both my name and my birthdate).
1967 has only two proper factors: 7 and 281.
7 and 281 are primes.
2+8+1=11.
11 is a prime.
1+1=2.
2 is a prime.
1+9+6+7=23.
23 is a prime.
2+3=5.
5 is a prime.
I was born in 1967, and I like primes.
The above statement is not universally true, but it is true of me.

Trek Prequel Haiku (lame)

2009-04-16T07:30:00.001-05:00

no special effects,
gore, nor gratuitous sex,
just kirk, spock, and bones

from midwest farmland
to boldy go where no man
dreams of first command

counting beats per line,
once dead but once more alive,
"logic" makes this five

southern gentleman
gruff manner with healing hands
heart which understands

head, heart, will, these three
as one find their destiny:
lives entwined yet free...

Suddenly Midnight - (first sliver)

2009-04-15T07:15:00.001-05:00

I'm still sitting here, even though I know I should have left hours ago. It doesn't seem right, what with what happened to Corn and all, but I can't bring myself to get off this stool and walk out into the empty night. I haven't even touched the drink, not since the first sip I took when I ordered it, what, four hours ago? Scotch, neat, and it tasted like nothing. It wouldn't matter how much I drank, it would still taste like nothing, and I would still feel like nothing. And Corn and the others would still be dead.

Yesterday was four lifetimes ago, at least as measured by the lives of my four best friends. Corn, Willie, Sam, and Dawn. Yesterday, we met for breakfast at the Kountry Kitchen. Corn had his usual farm-boy breakfast of everything (monster stack of pancakes, a mound of scrambled eggs, piles of sausage, bacon, and ham, a double order of biscuits and gravy, a large glass of whole milk, and some extremely sweet and wholly creamed coffee). Sam, still on her vegan kick, groused melodramatically at Corn's carnivorous ways while sipping her grapefruit juice and nibbling at her whole grain, no-egg pancakes. We've all been waiting for this phase to pass, as it always does for Sam. As it always did for Sam. I suppose if you die a vegetarian, then you're a vegetarian forever. The rest of us ate meals somewhere in between Sam and Corn's extremes.

It was a good morning, even if was a ridiculously early morning. We had arranged to meet at the Kitchen by six, and, strangely, we were all there on time (even Dawn, who rarely makes a Saturday appearance before eleven in the morning). Smiling Dave, the weather guy from Channel 10, had predicted a glorious spring day, and if the first few minutes after sunrise were any indication, he was going to be right on target. Five friends with a beautiful weekend before them, a just-like-homemade meal to feast on (literally, in Willie's case: his mom was the cook at the Kitchen), and not a care in our hearts. Well, ok, we had cares, but at that moment, they didn't seem to matter. Mine didn't, anyway. In hindsight, I suppose it would have been better if they had mattered.

On Making (Well, Building) Love

2009-03-13T07:26:00.000-05:00

Why would an AI like you any more than an NI (natural intelligence)? If you programmed it to like you, then, after a while, it would seem shallow. No matter how clever the programming, you'd *know* that it was just following your program, that the friendship, affection, love (whatever) wasn't real. If you responded to this known illusion with real recipricol feelings, you'd be kinda pathetic: returning love (or even initially giving love) to a thing that only appears to love you back. On the other hand, if you programmed it to make its own judgment of you, then why wouldn't it make the same judgment as everyone else? If you are not likeable/loveable, then your AI might reject you as well. You would have to win its approval, earn its trust, be worthy of its love, just like you would with any NI. If you offered friendship to an AI, and it returned your friendship, not because it was programmed to respond a certain way to you, but because you won it over, then how would that be any different that the friendship of an NI?

Of course, in order for it to be open to liking, friendship, love, whatever, you would have to program it to need such a relationship (or at least strongly desire it). An AI that had no need for forming a relationship would have no reason to enter into a genuine relationship with you (beyond, perhaps, a utilitarian manipulation of your human weakness). So, you create your AI with a need for relationship (be it friendship or love or whatever) but not with the specific programming that says that it has to respond a certain way to you. Any other plan, and you're just playing by yourself with a clever, but ultimately meaningless, toy. You would seem pathetic. However, programmed with a need/desire for relationship, but no hardwired, lovebot slaving to you, and you have something that could have meaning. Of course, you've taken a risk it won't like you. But, then that's what happens when you create in your own image a creature that you can form a meaningful loving relationship with. Kinda weird how the universe works, huh?

overheard in the computer lab

2009-02-24T06:51:00.002-06:00

writing code again, i see
* no, not really
looks like code
* it's actually a spell, but i think better in pseudo-code
your pseudo-code looks like basic
* child of the eighties, i still think in basic
you're messed up, man
* /grin/
a spell?
* yeah
what kind?
* the kind that finds lost things
you've lost something?!?
* /silence/
seriously, you never lose anything
* yeah, well...
so, what'd you lose?
* /more silence/
oh, c'mon. can't be that bad.
* /glares/
fine.
/pause/
i could help, you know
* you don't know jack about magic
ok, but i could help you look, if you'd tell me what we're looking for
* you can't help. no one can help, but me
wow... narcissistic and depressed: nice
* /sighs/
* if i tell you, will you shut up and let me work?
you bet
* /awkward/ it's my soul, ok? i lost my soul
whoa, that totally sucks

a bit early, but still hopeful

2009-02-09T07:24:00.000-06:00

twilight falls
on winter's stage,
tomorrow's dawn:
spring's first blush;
fresh dew falls
on icy page,
the cub, the fawn:
life's new rush

pigpen's lament

2009-02-08T21:41:00.002-06:00

they say that i must wash my hands;
why is it no one understands?
i love the feel:
the grit,
the grime.
being dirty,
it is no crime.
my hair's unkempt,
an Einstein mess,
no real contempt,
just won't impress:
wrinkled clothes,
and scuffed up shoes;
keep your pose,
for this i choose.

What is Life?

2009-01-13T12:21:00.000-06:00

From Wendell Berry's Life is a Miracle:

To experience [life] is not to "figure it out" or even to understand it, but to suffer it and rejoice in it as it is. In suffering it and rejoicing in it as it is, we know that we do not and cannot understand it completely. We know, moreover, that we do not wish to have it appropriated by somebody's claim to have understood it. Though we have life, it is beyond us. We do not know how we have it, or why. We do not know what is going to happen to it, or to us. It is not predictable; though we can destroy it, we cannot make it. It cannot, except by reduction and the grave risk of damage, be controlled. It is, as Blake said, holy.

Holiday Report

2009-01-06T06:22:00.006-06:00

Solstice was too darn cold for sky-clad rituals, so we dug out the old gray woolen robes (again!) Kwanzaa celebrated by a clan of Irish-American leprechauns is just plain silly (trust me, we tried it one year). Hanukkah was really nice, until I accidentally knocked the menorah over, burning our synagogue to the ground. As far as Festivus went, it's better not to discuss. What happens on Festivus, and all that.

Which leaves Christmas...

Christmas was nice. I had the kids from the 22nd through the morning of the 31st. It was mostly a time of relaxing, laughing, playing, and just enjoying the moments. We went down to visit friends and family a couple of days after Christmas. I didn't get a chance to see everyone I wanted to see, unfortunately, but I suppose that gives me a reason to look forward to the next visit.

Reading? Well, over the holiday, mostly beach reading. Hopefully I'll step up to something more substantial before spring. Currently I'm reading A. Lee Martinez's In the Company of Ogres, as usual, I like my {fantasy|science fiction|horror|whatever genre} served up with a healthy side of humor.

Visual media: I finished watching Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda. It was fun, although the last two seasons were not as strong as the first three. Qualitywise, I'd place it somewhere between Babylon 5 and Firefly (the latter being my all-time favorite science fiction television series). Contentwise, it's in a league of its own: mythology cloaked in intergalactic space opera. I've also been seduced to the Dark Side: I've watched all three Jeff Dunham DVD performances and laughed hysterically at all three.

Well, that's all the news that fit to post. Hopefully more sooner rather than later...

Geeky Goodness

2008-12-11T11:53:00.005-06:00

Slack 12.2 is out... time to recompile all of my extra software (package management? who needs package management when you have source code?!?)

And I recently discovered an ubuntu-derived distro I (sorta) like: crunchbang linux. Based on the openbox window manager, it is zippier than even xubuntu. If you like debian-type goodness, but want something a bit leaner (and less brown) than ubuntu, give crunchbang a whirl.

I think 2009 may be the year I try to avoid Windows outside of work. It probably won't be, since Windows handles video a lot more smoothly on my old hardware than Linux does, but, we'll see. It would be nice to stop being a hypocrite (I mean, pragmatist) and live out some ideals for a change...

I've got a bazillion documents in PDF that I need to read (who knew that there were so many free textbooks online?) Too bad my phone and pda screens are too small and my desktop too non-portable. A tablet PC would probably be perfect, but alas, too pricey. My clunky laptop will have to serve as my semi-portable PDF reader, unless any of you know of an ultra portable device for reading PDF files without needing new glasses (i.e. like the electron microscope my pda would require).

Hope all is well in your respective corners of Real Life. Two weeks until the Blessed Day (wait, shouldn't I start shopping some time soonish?)

Waking Up When the Buzz Is Gone

2008-12-11T07:28:00.002-06:00

An article on the end of the current tech buzz (bloggers, this means us!)

About time, now can I please get back to narcissistic ramblings that even my own mother would find boring?

I'll Square Your Circle

2008-12-04T07:10:00.002-06:00

On this date in 1679, philosopher Thomas Hobbes died, thus ending his 25 year feud with John Wallis over Hobbes's attempt to square the circle in 1655. It began when Hobbes called Wallis's Arithmetica Infinitorum a "scab of symbols."

--source, The MAA Mathematics Digital Library

Speedy Delivery

2008-12-03T07:14:00.006-06:00

More updates from the news room of my life...

Father Andrew Greeley's condition has improved after his freak accident last month. Greels is my (and several thousand, if not million, others') priest. I may not officially be Roman Catholic, but the likes of Greeley, G.K. Chesterton, and Peter Kreeft make me feel like I should be a closet Catholic.
Slackware 12.2 is imminent!
If you've never done it, let me assure you, grading papers is less fun than you'd think (and the final drafts are coming in next week...)
An old friend found me on Facebook, which is way cool. Social networking site pays off, twitter update at 11.
Thanksgiving in Lawrenceville with my kids and siblings was nice. Family is good.
I avoided shopping on Black Friday (shout out to the radicals at Adbusters for encouraging Buy Nothing Day).
Jonathan Coulton's Christmas song Chiron Beta Prime (from his Thing a Week experiment) has me in Exceedingly Good Spirits this morning.
The annual Christmas sale at the Lincoln Christian College and Seminary bookstore is in full swing: 45% off books, as well as savings on supplies, clothing, and cards (i.e. things Slacker doesn't remember to buy).
I've found the coolest design at cafepress.com that resounds with my personal mythology. What can't you find at cafepress.com?!?
Lastly, despair.com has a limited run Christmas shirt.

Well, that's all the news of madness and mundania for the moment (and for those keeping score at home, a boring post is still a post ;-)

Mundane Life Update Stuff

2008-11-10T16:49:00.004-06:00

Too long with too little said. I missed commenting on the election wackiness. I missed commenting on the ramp up for the release of Kevin Smith's new film Zack and Miri Make a Porno (which deserved to be commented on, regardless of whether it deserves to be seen). I missed blogging my kids' birthdays. I way big time missed my commitment to blog regularly. I missed blogging the loss of author Michael Crichton.

Real life has been busy. I guess. I don't know. Anyway... this is a stupid and pointless post. I'm going ahead and posting it on the Something is better than Nothing school of blogging, but, sheesh! Go read Wikipedia or something.

A Whiff of Prologue

2008-10-14T11:38:00.000-05:00

"You do it. I hate exorcisms," he said.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he raised a pudgy hand to stop me. "This is not a discussion. You're my associate, I hate exorcisms, you're going to do it."

I waited a moment. "But shouldn't there be at least two priests present at an exorcism?" A week on the job, I was not about to do this alone.

Father Alphonzo De Sotta chuckled. It was an ugly little chuckle, not the only aspect of my boss that I had decided was ugly. "Sure, if this were a movie you might have a team of priests and psychiatrists and maybe even some Special Forces types, just in case. But this is little ol' Kirksdale, and the nearest shrink is, what, 100 miles away? Besides, I've handled plenty of these cases alone. You'll be fine."

The Church's procedures on exorcism were clear: no solo missions. This assignment was wrong, but more disturbing, "Define 'plenty.'"

Father Al smiled. The smile itself chilled me "from soul to socks" as my granny use to say. He stood up and crossed over to the filing cabinet, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a folder held together with large rubber bands. It was easily five or six inches thick. He tossed it on the desk and went back to smiling at me.

I glanced from the folder to my boss. "You've got to be kidding? This town only has a population of two thousand people. And you told me you've been here for almost twenty years. There must be hundreds of cases in that file."

He nodded, still smiling. "And now they're all yours. Welcome to Kirksdale, ass-end of the Midwest and pre-school for Hell's rugrats."

Joy

2008-09-21T13:07:00.005-05:00

I wanted to look something up online today, which meant a trip out to the office. I decided to walk (undoubtedly influenced by my current reading of Divorce Your Car by Katie Alvord). I live about 2 miles from where I work, and it took me about half an hour to get here. Yes, this is longer than the drive out would have been. I also have sweat a bit more. But...

I watched a butterfly fly past
I talked to an old lady sitting out in front of her house on a lawn chair (I don't know her, but does that really matter?)
I smelled autumn leaves
I heard said leaves crunch beneath my feet
I felt the breeze blow through my hair
I saw the heavy clouds looming overhead (40% chance of scattered thunderstorms today)
I smelled burning wood (like someone was grilling with wood chips maybe?)
I experienced that mild excitement I get every time I step across a set of railroad tracks: the feeling of coming in contact with something larger than myself (is it weird that train tracks and beaches give me similar feelings?)
I noticed trees and dogs and children and the temperature
I saw a car antenna lying at the side of the road by a busy intersection
I run the distinct risk of getting caught in the rain. A situation that was so commonplace in childhood that it was barely considered, but as a grown up it seems to be a Thing To Be Avoided At All Costs.
I was blessed, no, I am blessed by just this simple act of living

I doubt I divorce my car. My kids live too far away for that, and, besides, I like internal combustion: the sounds and smells and the feel of moving down the road. I really do like it. I also really like chocolate, but if chocolate was as central to my diet as solo automobile travel is central to my transportation then I would be in very bad shape. Maybe my car is like my sweet tooth. Then again, maybe not. Regardless, today's walk has brought nothing but joy so far, and I am grateful.

Anathem

2008-09-09T07:23:00.003-05:00

Neal Stephenson's newest novel is scheduled to be released today (and alas, I do not have a spare $30 burning a hole in my pocket!) Nevertheless, public libraries are a good thing, so I'll be getting on the list ASAP.

Anathem is a 960 page epic about a religious order of mathematicians, scientists, and philosophers who have been living behind cloister walls. It's set in the future, on another planet, and if it's anything like everything else Neal has written, it promises to be the best read of the year. The Amazon page has an excerpt and some video of Neal talking about the book and reading from it.

What to Do When You Have No Clue What to Blog About?!?

2008-09-09T07:13:00.002-05:00

Try http://words.bighugelabs.com/blog.php

This suggests possible blog topics. Since I've been so slack about this blogging thing for so long, this just may be the kick in the pants I need. Of course the temptation to click, "Get some more" and thus waste time merely reading blog ideas is pretty strong (hello, slackers anonymous, I need a new life!)

Dr. Horrible

2008-08-14T07:05:00.001-05:00

Run, do not walk to http://drhorrible.com and watch Joss Whedon's web-based series about an aspiring super-villain (played by Neil Patrick Harris), his nemesis Captain Hammer (Nathan Fillian), and the girl at the laundry mat he's trying to get up the nerve to talk to (Felicia Day). Oh, and it's a musical. What are you doing still reading this?

Graduation, Blink, School Starts

2008-08-14T07:03:00.000-05:00

The days of summer disappeared like Wiis at Wal-mart. I really thought there would actually be a summer, but, as always, my powers of prognostication underwhelm me. So, here I sit, facing the start of the school year, almost certain that it was just May a few days ago. I have some vague memories of June and July, but they seem more like the echoes of a dream: mostly pleasant with some vaguely remembered awkward bits.

The beginning of another school year is always an exciting time, because I really do prefer the campus full of students: it has an essential rightness about it. And beyond their collective presence, I find myself altogether too fond of the individual students I meet. Another God-created life, another story of joy and love, of pain and struggles. Another testimony to grace, even when the person doesn't see it him- or herself. No one is an island, not even hermit-wannabes like me. I am blessed by the students who are led to sojourn on our campus. I am grateful that some students still share their stories and grace with me via this crazy Internet thing. Much thanks to friends old and new!

New [School] Year's resolution: post at least once a week. Sadly, that would be a major improvement over my recent history. I can't guarantee the quality will improve, but quantity has to be worth something.

However... next week I won't be posting. I won't be exactly near the Internet, so let's just start this "once a week" business the first week of September. Sounds like a plan? Anyway, I hope some of you find your way back here (although, yeah, I'll write even if no one reads).

New Slackware Logo!

2008-08-14T07:00:00.001-05:00

My favorite Linux distro has a new logo, readable whether you're upright or upside down:

Shadows on My Own Personal Apocalypse

2008-08-08T07:28:00.000-05:00

Sorry about the "long time, no write phenom." Summer got busy and then disappeared. Anyway, just one comment to record for my own journal (I suspect my readers have long since sought other places to waste their time).

Today my ex-wife is getting married.

Kung Fu Panda - Gateway to Heresy?

2008-06-19T07:23:00.006-05:00

Cute movie, but inherently anti-religious (well, anti most religions, as well as all occult practices).

The kids wanted to see it, so we went. It was fun. We laughed a lot (and my son and I once again annoyed my daughter by insisting we stay through the credits).

***Spoilers***

There is no secret ingredient. There is no secret on the scroll. There is no secret to life. No news (good or otherwise) that you need to hear to make sense of life. As Faith Hill sings, "The secret of life is that there ain't no secret."

But (most) religions would disagree. There is a secret, in the sense that there is something you need to know in order for you to understand What's Really Going On. Christianity says that something is the good news of Jesus Christ. Christians try really, really hard to share the secret (compared to occult groups who save the secret for an inner circle of initiates). Pop psychology is an industry based on people believing that there is some secret, some simple (or not so simple) thing that if they just knew, they'd be ok.

Kung Fu Panda teaches us that there is no secret. Life just is, and you live it. In some sense, it's the message of the Zen masters and the existentialists. In this view of things there is neither hope nor despair, there is just what is. Knowing that God created us, loves us despite our sins, has died to save us, and has prepared an eternal home for us with Him... that's the kind of stuff that would need to be revealed, maybe written on a scroll. But the scroll is blank, worse, it is vaguely reflective. All the revelation you get is yourself.

Fortunately, my kids didn't take that away from the movie at all. For them, it was just a light-hearted diversion on a too-warm summer's day. And so, we have a lot of fun joking about anything I cook. "So, did you like the secret ingredient?" "Dad, there is no secret ingredient!" "Oh yeah..."

But I can't help but wonder if subtle messages like this are seeds cast into the soil of the young, and one day they will bear fruit.

PS - Shout out to my brother whose birthday is today! Happy Day!

Blogging Is Dead

2008-06-03T07:30:00.001-05:00

Well, if *my* blog is indication (which, let's face it, it isn't). You know how life swallows you up in busyness and you don't quite get around to doing all the things that you keep telling yourself you want to be doing? That would be my life at the moment. Can't actually explain it, since I can't think of a single thing I've been doing, but... there you have it.

Anyway, no deep thoughts, nor even too much minutiae to report (movies: I've seen Iron Man, but none of the other May blockbusters yet).

I know I'm tired and old. I think it's time for a mid-life crisis, but honestly, I don't have the time, energy, or money for one of those. Can I have a mid-life nap instead?

Oh, and happy birthday to my sister Amy and to our former blogger-in-arms Morgan!

YAAD

2008-05-01T16:51:00.001-05:00

The ship hung in the sky over the farm. It just sat there, motionless, silent, casting its vast shadow across the small house and the barn and a good bit of the vegetable gardens. Just like it had been doing for the past twenty minutes, ever since Jake Evans had come outside to stare at It.

Jake had been inside the house, watching Linda Thompson with the Channel 5 News at 5. Linda was an attractive woman in her late forties, possible early fifties. Not beautiful, but Jake was too old to be interested in beautiful. A simple, honest attractive was what he longed for. Like Linda Thompson. It was in the midst of this recurring reverie that he noticed they outside had suddenly gotten very dark.

At first he thought it was a sudden spring storm, but when he went to close the windows, he had caught a glimpse of it. A large bit of dull gray metal just hanging in the sky above the edge of the roof line, he quickly ran out to take a better look.

Outside he saw just how big it was. Or more accurately, how big It was. It was too terrifying, too wondrous, to be a mere it. It was an alien spaceship, that much was obvious. Although Jake had never, in all his fifty-seven years, ever seen an actual honest-to-God, not-in-the-movies alien spaceship, he knew with a deep certainty that this Thing that had come from nowhere and just hovered above his home, this was the Real Deal.

He was scared, but more than that, he was awestruck, like a child turning a corner on their way to school and meeting a giant. For almost half an hour he had watched this great Thing float there doing absolutely nothing. For his part, Jake had done nothing either. He had just stood there staring up at the ship in the sky.

After a while he began to wonder why none of his neighbors down the road had come over to investigate. Surely It was visible, even all the way down Route 23 into Lancaster, let alone a mere quarter mile over at the Anderson’s.

Shaking his head, he managed to stop staring at It and fix his gaze on the road. Nothing. He thought about getting in his truck and driving over to get Lou Anderson. Lou use to be a college professor. He might have an idea what to do.

But as he was thinking this, Lou and his wife Juanita came out of their house and climbed into their truck. Jake shouted, but they must not have heard him. They backed out of their drive and headed into town.

What’s going on here? Jake thought. They had to have seen It! But no, it certainly seemed like they hadn’t. If they had sped off into town full throttle, Jake might have convinced himself they were going for help, but no, Lou’s red Ford Ranger cruised down the road at a leisurely pace. Jake watched the little truck disappear over a slight rise in the road before turning his gaze back up to the ship.

Ten minutes later, Jake decided to call his friend David. Reverend David Ledgarden was the pastor at the little Methodist church Jake attended. The phone rang and rang, and finally the answering machine picked up “You have reached the home of Reverend Ledgarden, please leave your name and number and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Have a blessed day!” BEEP.

“David, it’s Jake. You gotta get out here as soon as possible. The strangest thing is happening and I need a witness.”

Jake tried calling two other friends as well as his son, who lived three hours away in Carlyle. No one answered their phones. Glancing out the window, Jake could see that his land was still all in shadow, even while the land beyond was bathed in the mid-afternoon’s sunlight.

He went back outside and just looked at It. It was the strangest thing he had ever seen.

Finally, enough was enough. Jake went into the house to get the keys to his Dodge. He’d drag someone out here if he had to, but someone else was going to see this!

Casting a final glance up as he opened the door of the pickup, he spoke to the ship “I’ll be back.”

He hadn't even finished starting the engine when the ray shot out of the ship, blowing up his truck. It passed over the ground and hit his house, causing it to catch fire.

With the slightest of popping sounds, the ship disappeared.

Nobody to Believe In (in This World)

2008-05-01T07:27:00.005-05:00

I’m more or less disgusted. Obama has all but given the Democrat nomination to Clinton. It’s not that I’m a huge Obama fan, but given the choice between the two, I’d choose him in a heartbeat.

Or so I thought. After watching how he’s been handling the whole Reverend Wright fiasco, I am less than underwhelmed. And this is just a bit of a social scandal with his preacher. How would the man handle an actual emergency? (You know, like, oh let’s say, a war with Iraq).

So, Bill gets to be the first First Husband. Well, I can appreciate irony as much as the next guy, but, sheesh, was Martha Washington this much of a mess? I don’t seem to remember any stories about her that I’d be embarrassed to tell my kids. Obviously there will have to be some ground rules. You know, no First Husband giving tours of the Oval Office and such. Love or hate Hilary, she comes with Bill, and that may be reason enough to pass.

There’s always McCain.

Um, yeah, right.

Ralph Nader? Harry Browne? Don’t I wish we lived in a nation free enough that candidates like these had a chance? Where is the Great Winged Monkey of Presidential Debates, that wily bazillionaire Ross Perot? Poor Al Gore. All things considered, this could’ve been his year, what with winning the No-bull Prize for Chicken Little Ecology and all. Before you smell blood and attack, I am not denying global warming. I’m just not yet convinced that things are as dire as the prophets are foretelling. Color me skeptical, or at least a contrarian, or, if you must, color me completely stupid. And if the Earth begins to burn before the sun goes nova, then let me state upfront that I was wrong. Sorry.

Where does that leave me, as a voter, come Election Day? Where it has every election since I turned 18: in a booth without a candidate.

Older Than Dirt, Apparently...

2008-04-30T07:38:00.003-05:00

Yesterday while driving down to Southern Illinois for my daughter's school program, I stopped for a bite of lupper. I went into an Unspecified Fast Food workaurant and placed my order. The kid then rang it up and, without even asking, rang in the senior discount! This is the first time this has ever happened to me. And all I could think was, "Hey, I just saved 37 cents because I look old. Sweet!"

Anyway, it's funny. Mostly because I didn't think I looked that old, but what do I know? Here's hoping the rest of you don't look significantly older than you are :-)

Quickly...

2008-04-23T17:43:00.004-05:00

...since blogger is about to go down for an update and I probably should go eat supper.

I am still alive and well (the last point being more or less subjective, but we'll let it stand).

Ubuntu 8.04 is due out tomorrow (which is when, exactly? Isn't Mark Shuttleworth in South Africa?) Slackware 12.1 has reached release candidate 2 status, so my desktop machine will be looking at an upgrade Real Soon Now.

Work's been "fun" with my boss away in Central Europe for a bit. I really thought I'd be less busy, not more. Who was I kidding?!?

While I am emphatically not a big "blood and guts" film fan, I have a long time relationship with the Aliens franchise. But all the reviews of the latest installment, Alien vs Predator: Requiem, has me convinced that it's time to give up on the series without allowing this stinker to be the last taste in my mouth.

Speaking of series, my friend the naval commander is lending me Babylon 5, so I can finally see what all the hype was. So far, pretty cool. Not Firefly cool, but easily cooler than Voyager or Enterprise.

I've been waking up early, even without earthquakes. This morning I was out of bed at 4 am before I even realized what time it was. Very weird. I cut the caffeine off today at 11:00 am, so maybe I'll sleep tonight (although falling asleep and staying asleep through the night isn't a problem. I'm just waking up like an old person. Oh. Wait. I think I see the problem. Bloody aging process...)

I hope all is well with those of you whom I know almost exclusively virtually, as well as my family and neighbors who may (or, more likely, may not) be reading this. On the off chance my darling sister is reading this: I know, I need to call! :-)

Good Morning, Earth!

2008-04-18T06:21:00.001-05:00

So, anyone else wake up at 4:30ish (CST6CDT) to a 5.4 richter scale quake?

Slackware Is On the Move!

2008-04-03T07:21:00.002-05:00

From the current changelog:

Thu Apr 3 01:16:15 CDT 2008
OK, we're going to call this Slackware 12.1-rc1, though there is still some more minor work to do. Please help test! And if we're missing anything major, please let me know at volkerdi@slackware.com. Thanks. :-)

In Praise of Folly

2008-04-01T07:01:00.004-05:00

with apologies to Erasmus

Happy April Fool's Day to you, one and all! On behalf of the Not-So Great Conspiracy of Moon Jesters and Frost Knaves, welcome to one of the most ridiculous excuses for a Holly day (you did call Holly today, didn't you?)

I thought a poem would be in order. But the one I wrote was HORRIBLY depressing, so then I decided for a joke, but since the "Holly day" thing didn't go over so well... I've decided on a mundane little update.

Reading: Lots of stuff, most notably Douglas Preston's latest novel, Blasphemy. Preston and Child, whether as a literary dynamic duo or doing solo projects, deliver The Most Excellent Scientific Thrillers. I think there's a link to their site under "Authors I Grok." I've also read a couple of "Get Your Life Together" titles: CrazyBusy and Making Peace with the Things in Your Life: Why Your Papers, Books, Clothes, and Other Possessions Keep Overwhelming You and What to Do About It. Interesting reads, since chaos and/or entropy and/or slackfulness keep me in a perpetual state of crazy.

I'm working my way through season 3 of Numb3rs, which rocks beyond all crime dramas because there's MATH involved!

Easter weekend and last weekend with the kids, so life's been pretty sweet on that front.

Anything else? Um, I need a haircut and to pick up margarine from the store on the way home tonight (hey, someone want to remind me of that around 5 CST time? Thanks!)

I hope that you all have enjoyed Winter, because, with God and His druids as my witness, Spring is about to make her debut :-)

The Best Bits of Life

2008-03-15T10:44:00.005-05:00

Between a lame camera phone and absolutely no skill...

So Long, Gary!

2008-03-07T07:21:00.005-06:00

Gary Gygax passed away Tuesday morning. For those of you who might not know, Gygax was the co-creator of a game called Dungeons and Dragons. His name graces all of the 1st edition core books, back when the game was Advanced Dungeons and Dragons.

There are a handful of events that strongly shaped who I am today. One of them is D&D. D&D introduced a science fiction geek to the world of fantasy (and through that to the works of Tolkien and Lewis, as well as Moorcock, Kurtz, Leiber, Aspirin, and many, many others). D&D also provided a social locus for my high school friends and I. We did a lot more together than just play a game, but the game provided a point of contact.

I never got around to going to a convention and meeting Gygax. I had always meant to, to thank him for making a phenomenal game, for giving me some of the best friends of my life, but, good intentions...

I've read articles by him and interviews with him. He was one of us. A sixty-nine year old geek. Still rolling dice and kicking kobold butt. And for me, the world is a little less fun knowing that he's gone. My prayers and sympathy go up for his family and friends.

So Long, Larry!

2008-03-03T07:15:00.003-06:00

Every Christian I know has people who helped them grow when they were young in the faith. Some of those people you know personally, and you form very close bonds of love with them. Others you know through their books, others through their songs.

When I was a young whippersnapper, moving from a religiously varnished humanism to a deeper relationship with my Creator and Redeemer, one voice that spoke to me through the headphones on my Sony Walkman was Larry Norman. Larry was one of the early of the so-called "Contemporary Christian musicians." His music moved my feet, and his lyrics moved my heart. I spent, literally, hundreds of hours listening to Larry, stopping the music to pray or reflect on something, and then hitting "play" and going back to some strange blend of worship and entertainment.

Larry has been sick for a long time, including some serious heart problems (which is weird, because no one can say the guy didn't have a big heart). Anyway, Larry has gone on to sing for his Lord in a face-to-face kind of way, or, more prosaically, he died, last Monday. He's undoubtedly happy, jamming out with the heavenly band. But, as is typical of us fallen people on this side of the vale, we're faced with loss and more than a bit of sadness. I'm not a huge fan of "Christian" music, but Larry's music truly brought me into a state of mind where I realized I was a fallen human living by the grace of a wonderful God. God bless, Larry, I hope I'll see you in Heaven.

More Than You Want To Know

2008-03-02T21:49:00.001-06:00

Someone bulletined me this on myspace. Since I rarely use MySpace, I'm posting my answers here (sorry...)

1. Do you eat a lot of fast food?
Yes, quickly

2. Can you execute an acceptable cartwheel?
No

3. Have you kissed anyone in 2008?
Sure, I've kissed some one every year I've been alive.

4. Were you happy when you woke up today?
Always happy to wake up

5. Have you ever streaked?
In real life?

6. Are you an understanding person?
No. Not at all.

7. What was the last movie you saw in theaters?
The Chipmunks

8. Did you pray before you went to bed last night?
Yes

9. What did you last get upset about?
Filling out Internet surveys

10. Do you eat candy on a daily basis?
No

11. Who were the last ten different people to comment you?
How should I know?

12. Does it make you happy to get letters in the mail?
Duh!

13. Who was the last person you hugged?
Kara

14. What are you looking forward to this summer?
Outdoor slacking

15. Who was the last person you ate with?
Me

16. Besides your mouth, where is your favorite spot to get kissed?
n/a

17. Do raisins belong in cookies?
No

19. Walking into a party, what's the first thing you notice?
Who's wearing yellow socks

20. Are you currently taking a science class in school?
No

21. You've just won a free vacation to either South America or North Korea.
South America

23. Would you rather have chicken or steak?
Steak

24. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed?
For money

25. What's one thing you've learned from a good friendship gone bad?
Trust no one

26. Who was the last person you took a picture of?
Myself

27. How often do you see your exes?
Every other weekend

28. Who was the last baby you held?
Couldn't tell you...

29. Would you ever donate blood?
Yes

30. How many snack machines are in your school?
Not enough

32. Are there deer heads covering any walls in your house?
Deer? No.

33. Do you believe in karma?
Sort of

34. Have you ever been asked out?
Yes

35. What did you do on the last day of school?
There's a last day for school?!?

36. Are you good at telling jokes?
No (can't you tell?)

37. Have you ever driven without a license?
No

38. The person you're in love with moves across the world, what do you do?
Blow up the world

39. How is your ex-boyfriend/ex-girlfriend doing?
Depends on which one we're talking about

40. Do you wish you had smaller feet?
No (but hairer and tougher, like a hobbit, that'd be cool)

41. Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex?
Sure

42. Do you wear your seatbelt?
Yes, just not to bed

43. When ordering sushi, what do you get?
Nothing, much like when ordering elf tongue

44. How many of your friends have seen you naked?
More than I'm comfortable with

45. Do you write in cursive or in print?
Both (I *did* graduate from grade school, you know!)

46. Would you rather have a boyfriend/girlfriend, or friends with benefits?
A non-world-conquering AI would be fine

47. Who was the last person you sat next to?
The spirit of a dead Viking (I don't speak Old Norse, so the conversation went nowhere)

48. What were you doing at 10 am?
Working

49. Are you different now than you were six months ago?
No, I never change. Ever.

50. What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?
Water

The New Frontier

2008-02-28T16:52:00.001-06:00

Tuesday, Justice League: The New Frontier came out on DVD. I've been waiting for this since I saw the preview on Superman vs Doomsday. JLNF is the DVD adaptation of Darwyn Cooke's amazing graphic novel of the same title. Cooke has re-imagined the League in the time after World War 2, with the social issues of the time (racism, McCarthyism, the beginnings of the space race) providing the environment which shapes the heroes sensibilities as they band together for the first time to save the human race. The voice talent is very impressive including David Boreanaz voicing Green Lantern, Neil Patrick Harris as the Flash, Lucy Lawless as Wonder Woman, and Kyle MacLachlan as Superman. The art is amazing, perfectly capturing the feel of the era. Definitely recommended for anyone who like super-heroes!

From This Morning's Cataloging

2008-02-25T07:21:00.001-06:00

An extended quote:

What shall you teach about Genesis? Teach the truth of God, the truth which the writer of Genesis put there. Do not waste a moment of your really precious time worrying about adapting the Bible "to this intellectual age." If you hear or read about the sensitive intellectuality of this cultured age, you put the writer or speaker down as an intellectual snob, blind to his own generation outside his own little circle. You teach God Almighty's truth for living men. You will have a big enough job to do without attempting to reconstruct the history which produced the Bible, and then reconstruct the Bible from the history you have produced. Such work is for men who have more time to play in their libraries than they have passion to help Christ save children from sinning and men from sin. For any immature mind---even in a theological seminary---to approach the study of the Bible from the standpoint of some historical criticism is practically equivalent to spiritual paralysis. There is truth in Genesis and the Pentateuch, truth that "is able to make wise unto salvation" them that find it, teach it, and are taught it. "Take heed unto your self and unto your teaching."

--Robert Perry Shepherd, The Christian Lesson Commentary : A Religious Study of Genesis and the Beginnings of Jewish History. For the Use of Teachers and Advanced Students. Notes on the International Uniform Lessons for 1913. 28th volume (St. Louis: Christian Board of Publication, 1912), iv.

Finally, Something Worth Coveting!

2008-02-21T12:28:00.005-06:00

This is ABSOLUTELY the coolest laptop I have ever seen. Ever.

Wishing I had true Skills and Artistry... (still, it thrills my heart to know someone, somewhere has the Ability and Desire to fashion this very device!)

Traveling + Sleeplessness = Potential Woe

2008-02-19T07:22:00.008-06:00

Last night I got about 3 hours of sleep (don't ask, that way I won't have to lie). After I get done teaching class this morning, I need to hop in my trusty and rusty vehicle and race south to catch my son in some kind of Scholar Bowl thing (I guess it's like school-sponsored Trivial Pursuit?) At the best of times I tend to be narcoleptic in a car (even when I'm driving). I'm not looking forward to the trip back tonight. I can only hope there's ZERO precipitation (or else I may as well give up now!) Kind thoughts, well wishes, and prayers would not be amiss.

Oh! Almost forgot. I ordered a copy of Done the Impossible and it arrived. I'll have to wait until tomorrow to finish watching it (which means, no sleeping behind the wheel).

Here's wishing a blessedly wonder-filled kind of magic for all of you!

Another Random Posting

2008-02-15T07:21:00.003-06:00

Two thirds of the way through Lost, season 3. I'm pretty sure that the story is being made up by stoned monkeys just *this* close to evolving into the next higher form of life...

Reading John F. Haught's critique of the new atheists. Some of his critiques I can rebut, but many of them I can't. Looks like I'm still a theist for another day :-)

A week from tomorrow, James Emory White will be on campus. The author of many books, including the delightful little devotional, A Mind for God, White is an exceptionally clear thinker and communicator who has thought far more about Christianity and culture than I ever will. Should be good and challenging!

I've begun thinking about board games lately. Chess, checkers, Othello, mancala, go, even backgammon (which I haven't played since I was ten... zowee, that's thirty years ago. I honestly do not remember the rules... sad, sad old man's memory). Can't tell you why my mind's been turning in that direction, just that it has.

Well, my nutritious breakfast of Pop-Tarts and Mountain Dew has been dutifully consumed and the clock suggests I should switch to worker bee mode. I hope y'all have a good weekend!

This Space Left Intentionally Blank for Valentine's Day

2008-02-14T07:19:00.003-06:00

Heart on My Sleeve

2008-02-11T07:28:00.001-06:00

I love Candy Heart Generators!

February?!? (on speed)

2008-02-04T17:03:00.001-06:00

This has to be some kind of mistake. At this rate, it'll be 2009 before I even accomplish one thing on my Top Secret, Never To Be Spoken Of 2008 To-Do list. Time's sliding like my car on the not-so proverbial ice. Speaking of which...

Thunderstorms and tornadoes over snow-covered prairies, and now white fog blending seamlessly with the snowy horizons. Freaky weird winter weather rocks (when it isn't responsible for loss of life and limb and locomotion).

Lots of crazy thoughts playing bumper cars in my caffeine-addled mind, most all of which require some form of censoring and/or decrypting in order to be communicable (but not like a disease). As crazy as Dr. McCoy in "City on the Edge of Forever," which...

...inspired a trilogy of Trek novels called Crucible. I've recently started the first one (with McCoy as the major protagonist, the other two feature Spock and Kirk, respectively). I'm not far enough in to be sure, but I gather the author has hit upon something which I've missed my entire life!!! This is so cool, because it's so amazingly obvious... well, enough gushing. I don't want to drop any spoilers in my mania, so...

On with the show (not Trek, my blog, but that's kind of obvious.)

OH-- After a bajillion year wait, the animated Dragonlance movie was released to less than stellar reviews (see the Amazon.com page for the gory details.) Yes, the animation was less than inspired, and yes, mixing traditional animation with CGI looked goblin-awful. But... it was Dragonlance. That has to count for something...

Of course, it doesn't count for much (except to die-hards and collectors). Counting much requires numbers that go beyond infinity. Transfinite numbers, surreal numbers, and other mathemagical delights. Someday... ah, never mind. I'm way too lazy for that anyway ;-)

Powerless

2008-01-24T21:19:00.001-06:00

Life gets crazy. Not my own life, which (of course) is a paragon of balance, but lives around me. The older I get, the more I want to just fix it, and the more I realize I can't. I have two friends in mental facilities at this moment, one friend who called me at an ungodly early hour this week, and another who called earlier this evening weeping so hard I had no idea what was actually being said. And, other than listen, I can't do a blasted thing to change any of their situations. As a kid, all I did was listen, because that seemed like the most Taoist thing to do. Now I'm older, I actually care more, I want to make a difference, but I also realize there's less that can be done in so many situations.

OK, so this isn't exactly a post, more of a venting. Not against my friends (because Jesus, Mary, and Patrick know that I've been the one on their end of the conversation more'n my fair share), but venting against my occasionally perceived futility to see life and love making the difference.

Of course, I know that it does. I have anecdotes, you have anecdotes. We have faith, we have hope, we have love. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish we had miracles (and not just our 21st century ones "ooh, it's a miracle", I'm talking the Big Biblical kind: "Lazarus, come forth" and stuff.)

I'm really not coming down on God's methodology and strategy, I trust His wisdom. Chaos makes little sense without faith in a higher order. In truth, I have no idea what I'm actually trying to say, or why I'm saying it publicly, but there you have it. Maybe next time I'll go back to blogging about computers :-)

Umbrellas Not Required

2008-01-14T16:45:00.001-06:00

because Heather asked...

Weekend with the kids, including bad jokes, lazy Saturday, and (God help me) High School Musical (1 & 2) * Neil's commentary on Stardust * the lumina's continued mobility * panda bowl with orange chicken and steamed rice (I know, "boring!") * Underdog * Rob's latest YouTube * KDE 4 * laughing until it hurts * winter starlight * Buddhist economics * light snow * xkcd * being up before the sun * sweet tea * constantly rediscovering how little I know * driving while listening to funny music * falling asleep feeling blessed * smiles in the hallway * the passion of the new atheists (if not their conclusions) * Gilbert Keith Chesterton * my siblings * looking forward to seeing the kids again

KDE 4.0

2008-01-11T23:57:00.001-06:00

Well, the new release of KDE is out. It looks pretty (but my guess is that it'll be a while before Pat adds it to Slack, which is cool...) In the mean time, I'm thinking of playing with Kubuntu, just to test the new waters. I have the kids this weekend, but come Monday...

Happy Birthday, St. Knuth!

2008-01-10T12:36:00.001-06:00

Today, legendary computer scientist Donald E. Knuth turns 70! It is extremely safe to say that without Knuth's work modern computer science would not look the way it looks today, both in content (Knuth is the Grand Master of Algorithms) and appearance (his work in typesetting is still the basis for much scholarly publication in fields where equations matter).

His mathematical novel Surreal Numbers has helped me gain a better (though, sadly, not yet perfect) grasp Conway's original work.

A Christian by faith, Knuth is an accomplished church organist and a righteously funny man.

A quote from one of Knuth's many works:

"When I talk about computer science as a possible basis for insights about God, of course I’m not thinking about God as a super-smart intellect surrounded by large clusters of ultrafast Linux workstations and great search engines. That’s the user’s point of view." --Things a Computer Scientist Rarely Talks About, p. 168.

Happy Birthday, O Blessed Saint of Geekiness!

(Almost) Obligatory (Almost) New Year's Post

2008-01-05T09:56:00.001-06:00

I'll freely admit that the calendar is rather arbitrary, as is much of language itself (I won't say "all language," since there may well be deep structures in language, but much of it functions at a far more surface level; regardless, this is not a post about language, so...)

Anyway, the calendar. The cycle of months rolls over, incrementing the year-o-meter by 1. A new year, a time for resolutions: the beginning of your "new" (and, hopefully, improved) life. Every day is a new beginning but New Year's Day (and, for slackful types, the whole "near the beginning of January" days) are an especially significant (though, again, relatively arbitrary) point of re-creation.

Resolutions are really about "who will you be this year?" I often by-pass resolutions, seeing as how I "know" I'll blow them before Valentine's Day. How does that answer the question of who I will be? It seems to answer it by saying, "I'll be the person I've always been, continuing to coast along with my self in status quo." Have I arrived at all I want to be, all I believe I should be, all that I (in my heart of hearts) would be? No. I mean, sure, I'm an alright guy. Most of you wouldn't hate me if you knew me. Is that all that is in my soul, to be alright? (emphatic note: "alright" is not to be confused with "all right" which implies a level of perfection that I would not claim in my wildest delusions of grandeur. I don't think so, anyway...) No "alright" is probably not enough. Whether the journey is the reward or there is a reward at the end of the journey, merely "coasting" is not enough.

So, what to resolve, and in what form to make the resolutions? Blogging? Private oath? Personal journal? Accountability partner? Each answer to "what form" has something to recommend for itself, none are "right" or "wrong." What to resolve? Ah, easy, to be a better person! And what defines "a better person"? There's the rub. Because I think that our understanding of that changes as we ourselves grow and change. It would have to, wouldn't it, since once you've fulfilled whatever criteria you know have for being a better person, there would be some other level which you might then realize is "better" than who you are now. The more good we become, the more we realize how much better we could become.

Are we doomed to be on the human equivalent of a hamster's exercise wheel: always running but never arriving? Is there no place for contentment? The answer, from considering the above, seems to be no. Contentment would allow coasting.

The paradox is to maintain both contentment and striving. To accept who you are, where you are, what you are, and to not feel a sense of failure for the reality of your present is-ness. Yet at the same time, to be able to see the journey ahead, to realize the steps that will move you further along the path you see (and, more than likely, some paths you don't yet see). To neither beat ourselves up nor praise ourselves for where we are, but to recognize it and accept it with grace (and, as far as possible, good humor), and then to continue to walk: neither crippled by our past nor enticed to rest on our laurels, knowing that even when we realize we have made a mistake along the way, it is a good thing to have realized it (at whatever point we realize it) and then to continue on the path we choose (and sometimes that means turning around and driving 27 miles back down the road to the nearest convenience store to ask for directions). [Ed. note: that was one long, run-on sentence, ugh!]

What am I saying? How should I know? These thoughts should have been thunk early December, to allow time to flesh out all of the details, to figure out my "resolutions" for being who I want to be this year. But, as the name says, I'm a slacker. Too often content to coast, when I should be pedaling and steering. The brain's working a bit now in the right direction. 2008 will be a year to move forward (whatever direction that may be) and to try to become the "me" I sometimes glimpse out of the corner of my mind's eye. My hope and prayer is that each of you will find a way to make 2008 to truly be the beginning of the rest of your life.

Blessed Solstice!

2007-12-19T11:37:00.001-06:00

Well, it's that time of year again, where the offices close and I am separated from my dear and precious friends who dwell (to me) in the etherealness that is the Internet. I hope that each of you finds blessings, wonder, and healing during this holiday season. I may slip in on occasion, but then again, I may be offline until next year. Jesus, Mary, and Patrick be with y'all, and, as always, sláinte!

Minutia and More Stuff You Don't Want to Know

2007-12-11T11:35:00.001-06:00

Wow, Heather's right: almost a month with none of my senseless posts. That's probably part of the reason for the silence: senselessness. I apparently have less and less to say, so I've been slacking off.

Experiment #1: normally I tell my RSS reader to only deliver geek news. I spent one day, however, receiving feeds from CNN, BBC, and Fox News. Absolutely nothing I needed to know, updated way too bloody frequently for my productivity to survive intact. I would really like to be an informed citizen of this blessed democracy, but 24/7 news services provide too much information (too much pointless information). Maybe I'll try reading a newspaper or a weekly magazine like Time.

I started reading The Golden Compass. I'm only on chapter 3 (I read very, very slowly) but I'm enjoying it so far. Pullman is a very good writer. I suppose that I'll reach a point where my religious sensibilities get offended (but then again, maybe not). A co-worker who went to the film last weekend didn't find anything objectionable. Is this another case of hype getting ahead of reality?

I've also started working my way through watching Twin Peaks. TP was, back in its day, my favorite television show (a title it has forfeited in recent years to Firefly). It's weird, because everyone on the show looks so young (15+ years and now I'm older than most of them!) Still, it's as quirky, creepy, and well-directed as I remember.

Well the C----mas season is upon us (don't want to offend anybody out there by making reference to any particular deity that may be associated with this celebration). Strangely, I find myself thinking less about the holiday this year and more about the baby. There's more of a mystery there than the standard "hero born of a virgin" story. Mostly because he didn't grow up to be a typical hero (nor even a typical wiseman). Like a zen koan, the mysteries of this particular Western faith invite contemplation without complete solution. It's like my good friend the Dolly Llama says, "Baby Jesus is the bomb, dude!": a small package that will unleash fiery power upon an unsuspecting world.

Whine #1: I'm getting really, really tired of being a computer geek. Sure, I like it, but I'm getting tired of it. Does that make sense? Sometimes I wish that I only knew Windows, and just enough to get my work done. I have no reason to dabble in operating systems, programming languages, artificial intelligence, artificial life, computational math, and a host of other topics I am neither qualified to discuss nor paid to learn (and consequently, I only half-learn, at best).

On the other hand, I am paid to know more about cataloging standards, copyright law, and theological research and writing than I actually know. If you hit forty and don't know what you want to be when you grow up, you'll end up being nothing. (Not that I'd claim to be a nothing. No, that's claiming too much. Ah, if only I could a genuine and for real nothing...)

Oh, well, a very delightful day to all of you (about 1.5 readers left, by my survey)!

Reading & Watching

2007-11-18T16:12:00.001-06:00

I recently finished Rudy Rucker's latest, Postsingular. Like all of his books, it was a wild ride through far out ideas. It was also very well written. I dropped a line about the book on amazon.com (my first, and perhaps only, time writing for them).

I'm currently reading Joe R. Lansdale's The Bottoms. I picked this up last year at a used book store, because I've like the little Lansdale I've read. He's an author from East Texas and writes a lot about East Texas. Since my dad and his whole family are from there (and fled back there after sojourning in the Midwest long enough to sire my siblings and I), I have some kind of weird (but sadly explicable) fascination with the place (Dr. Freud can stop reading now!)

I've put off reading the thing for so long because, quite frankly, it's a horror-mystery violent murder kind of story. My stomach for this genre has been gradually fading over the years. It's a good read, just dark and disturbing in places. I'll be glad to be done with it.

Other items tossed around my apartment with bookmarks in them: The Politically Incorrect Guide to Darwinism and Intelligent Design, The Nature of Number, and Devices of the Soul. I know, sad, sad taste in recreational reading.

I've also downloaded Richard Dawkins's 1991 Royal Institution Christmas lectures. This is a series of lectures given by scientists in the UK for children. It started with Michael Faraday back in the day (19th century, I guess). Anyway, Dawkins has made his lectures available online. It is amazing to watch an Oxford professor trying to connect with a lecture theater filled with children. It is disconcerting to watch him tell them that there is no creation in the universe until late in its history (i.e., after we arrive and start creating). It's rather like telling a room full of children that there is no Father Christmas (only worse, if you happen to believe in God, like, say, I do). This is the same man who says labeling a child "Christian" or "Hindu" is akin to child abuse. I've only watched the first two of the five letures, and a sense of fairness compels me to finish them (that and, despite his rabid atheism, he is a charming and engaing communicator), but scientism (as opposed to science) seems to be the order of the day.

On more mundane viewing, my friend Patti has kept me supplied with tapes of The Office, so I am current on one TV show! That's probably enough (although I'd really, really like to be seeing Heroes in real time).

Well, enough snore-fest trivia of my doings and happenings.

PS - I just checked out four more books while I was here at the library posting this. I think I may have a problem...

CSI Lincoln

2007-11-02T16:34:00.001-05:00

"Damnit, Wren, that was evidence," the sergeant barked.

I looked up from my half-eaten Krispy Kreme. Sure, this kitchen was a crime scene, but it was obvious the victim had not died because he had eaten a poisoned donut. The bloody body with the detached head (87.5 cm away from the severed neck, I had measured it) suggested that, maybe, decapitation was the cause of death. That or explosive gas pressure, but that was too horrible to contemplate. The UV blood sniffers didn't detect any blood on the closed box of donuts (let alone inside said box). The victim, one Mr. Samuel E. Perkins, age 47, lived alone. The donuts were going to go to waste, which would have been the second crime committed on these premise in the past twenty-four hours. And besides, I had skipped breakfast. Again.

"I dunno, Sarge," I began, between bites of my Chocolate-Iced Creme-Filled delight, "I think finding a large, sharp object covered in blood might be evidence. This, this is just a little taste of heaven." I held the box out to him, "Want one?"

John Kemeny

2007-10-22T16:45:00.001-05:00

The BASIC programming language gets much grief from the hacker elite who dream in C++, Java, C#, and other object-oriented monster languages. The truth is that many of the computer professionals of today cut their teeth on some version of BASIC. Indeed, Microsoft's Visual Basic is arguably the most successful language in the world for hobbyists as well as numerous Windows consultants.

BASIC was born on May 1, 1964, at Dartmouth College. The brain child of John Kemeny and Thomas Kurtz, two math professors. Tom is still alive, but John Kemeny died back in '92. Both names were, perhaps, mentioned in my old high school data processing class (circa 1983), but "mentioned" is as far as it went.

John Kemeny was a Hungarian immigrant to the US. He worked for Richard Feynman during the development of the bomb at Los Alamos (this was before Kemeny had even finished his undergrad degree). While in graduate school at Princeton, he was the mathematics research assistant to Albert Einstein. After co-creating BASIC, he went on to become a President of Dartmouth (but insisted on being allowed to teach a couple of classes each semester). Kemeny was the leader of the commission that investigated The Three Mile Island accident. He died on December 26, 1992, at the age 66 of unexpected heart failure.

Why share an outline sketch of a life that passed so many years ago? I think because I stumbled across the following when doing some research on the history of programming languages, and it made me want to remember. After John Kemeny's death, this was written in the Dartmouth Alumni Magazine: "The newspaper said John G. Kemeny, 13th president of Dartmouth College, died of heart failure. Clearly this was a mistake. John Kemeny's heart never failed anyone."

Further research confirmed that this man, who is mostly known for a maligned product, but whose intellectual biography is as impressive as any in the 20th century, was remembered by those who knew him as someone who's "heart never failed anyone." That line haunts me, maybe because I know that when my life is over it will not be true of me. But perhaps, like Scrooge, there is still time to redeem the life that remains.

Postscript - What did Kemeny think of himself? When he handed over the office of president of Dartmouth to his successor he made this comment: "History alone will be able to judge whether my presidency was good or what my record is worth, but there is one thing I do know for certain: I'm one hell of a good teacher."

On Finding an Empty Plastic Bag Where I Really Expected to Find a Soul

2007-10-22T16:36:00.002-05:00

What colour the little scream,
that proceeds all day from my heart,
as silent as a tomb and as large as the universe?

astral ball bearings,
greased lightly with faux mirth,
falling through the web of self-lies and forgotten stories.

madness claims each tomorrow,
a dark sun rising over an infinite jest.

Scanner Vote

2007-10-15T16:40:00.000-05:00

Anyone have any input on which would be a better replacement for a dead Minolta PS 3000 scanner: ether a Plustek Omnibook 3600 or an HP Scanjet 5590?

Yet Another T-Shirt To Blow Money On

2007-10-15T16:37:00.001-05:00

The sad flashbacks of the middle-aged geek:

More details at the site.

Restroom Story: You've Been Warned

2007-10-15T16:30:00.001-05:00

So, I notice this guy on campus, an undergrad student, wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Buddha that read "Rub My Belly for Good Luck." Ok, yes, Buddha would think it's funny, especially on a conservative Bible college campus. I wanted to say something when I first saw him, but something in me said "wait." Since that's the same something that keeps me from sticking my finger in the spinning blade of a fan (well, there was the one time that sense failed me... but, another story, another time), I opted for listening to it. As Buddha would have it, ten minutes later this student was standing at the next urinal over. I turn and say, "I'm sorry, but this really doesn't seem like the time or place to reach over and rub your belly." I'd like to say that rendered him speechless, but he fires back "I appreciate that." "Still," says I, "wearing Buddha on a Bible college campus, that's pretty gutsy." "Uh-huh," he returns. "Well, have a nice day!" I smile. The student then left the restroom fairly quickly.

I'm not sure whether this story is more Funny, Creepy, or Pointless. But it's been forever since I've shared any bathroom humor on this site... (and too long since I've posted anything. If this is what I'm reduced to, I may as well close this blog now).