tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33103536247386327802024-03-13T09:15:08.926-07:00The Armchair Empire's Propaganda MachineFrom the brain and typing fingers of Aaron Simmer (you might remember him from The Armchair Empire).Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger196125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-80355789667103765122022-03-14T20:39:00.001-07:002022-03-14T20:39:03.253-07:00Running Jump<p> It feels like I've been swirling a blog post around in my head <i>forever</i> but like anything swirling it hits an orbit far enough away that I forget about it. Then when the feeling swoops back close enough to my consciousness I start to wonder what I should write about. There's no shortage of historical events -- I have feelings and thoughts on things in the news, especially lately -- but I could write past things, my recent move, working entirely remotely, my <i>trials and tribulations</i> which may too private to share.</p><p>How about the Daylight Saving Time? What a pain! But I was kind of laid up with some kind of weird abdominal bug.</p><p>And I'm out of things to write.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-38944703987635707052020-04-01T02:30:00.000-07:002020-04-01T02:30:06.127-07:00One Last Thing Before the ApocalypseAs the world falls into this really weird rhythm of endless days and nights, where the calendar is merely a hint at the way things used to be, and the last of the food sits rotting in the sun, there's one thing that I desparately scribble out with a nub of a pencil.<br />
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One last bit of knowledge to convey to whatever remnants of humanity might one day stumble upon my barely-legible scrawl. Hopefully whomever finds it speaks in English.<br />
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I write: The Macbook charging cable sucks. Like, really it does. Susceptible to breakage, looks weird, attractive to kittens that like to chew on things. If you find one in the wasteland, just leave it. You're better off.<br />
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I wish to convey additional knowledge to the inheritors of our failure: P.S. Wireless earbuds. Bad idea all-round.<br />
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Staring into the middle distance, I slump forward and hit the ground at an uncomfortable angle then die.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-56594010242951441542020-03-30T20:14:00.001-07:002020-03-30T20:20:40.408-07:00Do Kids Nowadays Care About Graphics?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Short answer with no evidence or even an anecdote: No.<br />
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Longer answer with anecdotal evidence:</div>
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My 11-year old son is currently playing 1997's Dungeon Keeper and 2000's Nox. I picked up both when Electronic Arts' Origin service had "on the house" games and ever since my Alienware's graphics card bit the dust 5 years ago these are the kinds of games that run best. Objectively, put against the current generation of graphics these two games are terrible to look at, Dungeon Keeper's first-person mode is particularly hard to look at. Everything is smeared, blocky, stretched even with the resolution <i>jacked</i> to 640x480:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.mobygames.com/images/shots/l/75219-dungeon-keeper-windows-screenshot-or-you-can-go-into-the-battle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Dungeon Keeper Windows ... or you can go into the battle to fight." border="0" height="200" src="https://www.mobygames.com/images/shots/l/75219-dungeon-keeper-windows-screenshot-or-you-can-go-into-the-battle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Source: Moby Games</i></td></tr>
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Nox fairs slightly better, but the graphics -- if I may drag out an old phrase and utter it once more -- are shit.</div>
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And really, when it comes right down to it, I'm not sure why this is even a question worth spending time on because young and old have been gobbling up Minecraft since it appeared in 2009. Minecraft continues to be (unfairly, probably) my touchstone for that moment in recent times when it became obvious that not only do kids not care about graphics, but most adults don't either.</div>
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<a href="https://www.pcgamesn.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/how-to-use-minecraft-brewing-stand-900x506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
<a href="https://www.pcgamesn.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/how-to-use-minecraft-brewing-stand-900x506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Minecraft brewing guide: how to make potions in Minecraft | PCGamesN" border="0" height="112" src="https://www.pcgamesn.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/how-to-use-minecraft-brewing-stand-900x506.jpg" width="200" /></a>In 2006 Gears of War launched and featured a "Eat shit and die!" level of in-your-face cover-based action that kind of blew my mind when I first saw it. Granted I grew up playing the likes of Donkey Kong and B.C.'s Quest for Tires and Sierra's rogue gallery of adventure games, so it wasn't going to take that much to blow my mind.<br />
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Kids don't care about graphics. They never did and they continue not to care. Even if the game looks terrible, they'll still give it a go. I guess it's childhood optimism that allows them to overlook the clunkiest of graphical fidelity and see past all those eye-popping polygons, voxels, and pixels.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-57527861028918822872020-02-12T21:30:00.001-08:002020-02-12T21:30:13.015-08:00Finishing a BookSince we moved, my commute to/from work boiled down to a 25 minute drive (each way) from a solid 90 minute to/from commute that involved walking and public transit (and long ferry ride on Mondays and Fridays) I havent't finished reading a book. That's more than two years!<div><br></div><div>It wasn't unusual for me to finish multiple books in a week and listen to 10 or more podcast episodes. Like I said, I haven't finished a book in a long time, but also my podcast listening has dramatically dropped off. Not just the number of podcasts I listen to. Worse than that it's a struggle to find time to even listen to a whole episode before the next one is availale.</div><div><br></div><div>All of the above taken into account I'm finally about to finish a book: Bill Bryson's "At Home."</div><div><br></div><div>Now, I will stop writing this to finish it.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-23109985749965024652017-10-01T08:21:00.000-07:002017-10-01T08:21:06.933-07:00Iron Man, Mark III (from Hot Toys and Sideshow Collectibles)<a href="https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/marvelvscapcom/images/4/4f/Proton_cannon.gif/revision/latest?cb=20111115234508" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="File:Proton cannon.gif" border="0" height="193" src="https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/marvelvscapcom/images/4/4f/Proton_cannon.gif/revision/latest?cb=20111115234508" width="320" /></a>In my mind a good indicator of a high-quality collectible -- <b>*ahem*</b> <i>action figure</i><b style="font-style: italic;"> </b>-- is that I start getting ideas how the makers could have added even more layers, more detail to a piece that is already packed with detail. In the case of Iron Man, Mark III (from Hot Toys and Sideshow Collectibles), I wish there was a button to press for catch phrases from Capcom fighting games. It seems a perfect fit, especially given the fact the figure is already wired for lights in four locations. Why not a sound chip to spout, "Proton CANNON!"?<br />
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Makes me wonder if there's an after-market supplier that I could contact to install such a thing. I'd even settle for a sound chip in the large base that ships with the figure.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidI7m_4wJuvj5wDzeO0yotYIfldux1lOTYNnyNWOzBc2oyDus8YUdc__5RHfbYggrFIT_14grUMNGDhnnINu8KUZzvZDET1-5u_4weou-19DdEfCJ8cN-j1TEOwAyM1O8lQG4m4icyzzhR/s1600/iron+man+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidI7m_4wJuvj5wDzeO0yotYIfldux1lOTYNnyNWOzBc2oyDus8YUdc__5RHfbYggrFIT_14grUMNGDhnnINu8KUZzvZDET1-5u_4weou-19DdEfCJ8cN-j1TEOwAyM1O8lQG4m4icyzzhR/s320/iron+man+1.jpg" width="320" /></a>The attention to detail actually starts with the box Iron Man is packed into. And for the price tag of $309.99 USD ($405.00 CAN) that should be expected but as much as I like boxes, the showpiece, of course, is Iron Man.<br />
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No assembly required! Just free the figure from the deftly cut styrofoam liner, remove the copious bits of protective plastic and foam, and enjoy!<br />
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Well, there is some assembly necessary if you want the full effect of the lights. The package includes the necessary "button" batteries to install for the four light-up locations: visor (accessed through the forehead), the hands (batteries installed in the biceps); and the chest (located in the back). Each of these compartments are secured by a screwed-down hatch.<br />
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The included mini screwdriver is, in a word, <i>terrible</i>. This is a deluxe figure so why not include a screwdriver that will actually get the job done? The mini screwdriver slips easily when it use thereby damaging the heads of the screws. In the long run this will mean the battery hatches will become wholly inaccessible.<br />
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The lights are pretty dang cool, it's just unfortunate that they're all operated by separate switches. In the case of the visor switch, hidden behind the face plate, it's not easily accessible. The same goes for the ARC reactor light on the chest. The switch is hidden under a flap on the figure's right shoulder. It's great that the switches are neatly hidden -- the switches on the biceps are only noticeable if you know what to look for -- but it would have been a little more convenient if there was one switch to turn them all on rather than flipping them all on then switching them off once you're done basking in the coolness of such a rad figure.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhA-tc3wXAPAZTsY-sQX3O354PJWkYA5dv50SEYjXE4zfZ5neis2uI45chSx3wGHGJfDFN1JIq2Ri_tR-Hbk8fCYEVd5v3Mu6P0n-SPNEITMrYc71gdOUKRl038UmtV7-1bNR7JWapN8BC/s1600/iron+man+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhA-tc3wXAPAZTsY-sQX3O354PJWkYA5dv50SEYjXE4zfZ5neis2uI45chSx3wGHGJfDFN1JIq2Ri_tR-Hbk8fCYEVd5v3Mu6P0n-SPNEITMrYc71gdOUKRl038UmtV7-1bNR7JWapN8BC/s320/iron+man+2.jpg" width="320" /></a>Useful articulation is all over the place, so much so that one can pretty much recreate Iron Man's most popular poses, including the crouched "I just dropped off a building and thought I would land by punching the ground because it's just cooler that way, though in real life it would liquefy my innards and tear the muscles from my bones!" That particular pose is accomplished through some "quick" surgery to swap out the connection between torso and legs. It's easier said than done though, mostly because there are so many moving parts, so many pieces that could snap off, that it's likely my overabundance of caution hindered the operation somewhat.<br />
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Extra hands, other little accessories, etc. come packed-in with the figure, which help with the poseability of the figure but could be instantly lost. The base could have been made a little thicker to include a ready storage area for these small pieces. As it is, it feels necessary to keep the large box the figure comes in just so there's secure location to house the extra bits.<br />
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Even given the lack of storage capacity, the base is one of the best I've ever come across. At first, it seems little too big given the size of the figure but that's before you consider just how heavy this figure actually is due to its "die cast" nature.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The instructions offer a cautionary tale about the dangers of dropping Iron Man.</i></td></tr>
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The metal pole and adjustable height of the clamp results in the ability to create "flying" poses. Best of all, once posed Iron Man stays that way and because the footprint of the base is so large there's very little chance of the setup toppling over, unless someone walking by snags a piece of clothing on it.<br />
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Iron Man has a wide number of flaps that can be opened along the back of the figure's legs and back, to the point that it reminds me of a porcupine. During any kind of play, I can imagine that these would snap off with very little force. In fact, I was so worried about this that a couple of "wing flaps" on it's back are still enclosed in plastic. The plastic wasn't coming off easily so I just gave up. Better to have the plastic still there than a couple of broken flaps!<br />
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Instead of playing with the figure, I spent some stressful time just slowly repositioning limbs, fingers, flaps, feet, etc. like some kind of mechanical bonsai/Zen garden. It was weirdly calming, which is probably not something anyone was thinking at any time during the production of this figure. It's more stressful to think what would happen to the figure in the hands of a child.<br />
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Since Iron Man is already squarely aimed at a niche audience that is highly interested in a extremely detailed collectible it's easy to say that the figure is worth the high cost of entry for those folks. It's highly functional (in the sense that it's so wildly poseable) and looks awesome, that any shortcomings -- the crummy screwdriver for one -- is easily overlooked.<br />
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- Aaron Simmer<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-41719095428502594122016-01-19T17:04:00.000-08:002016-01-19T17:04:13.085-08:00Non-FictionUp until recently, my forays into non-fiction were almost entirely restricted to university writing assignments.<br />
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Only one example springs to mind. I read a biography of Ludwig II of Bavaria after finishing Gabriel Knight II: The Beast Within.<br />
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Now it's almost all non-fiction. I just finished up "<a href="http://press.princeton.edu/titles/9941.html" target="_blank"><b>Tesla: Inventor of the Electrical Age</b></a>" and prior to that it was "Big Bang: The Origin Of The Universe." Now, I'm reading "L.A. Noir: The Struggle for the Soul of America's Most Seductive City" which has so far been fascinating.<br />
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I've probably recounted here or elsewhere my love of the stories of Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler and their "hard boiled" detective fiction, the multitude of radio dramas that rolled out from the 1930's and 1940's, and Rockstar's "L.A. Noire" game from 2011. No doubt this has affected my enjoyment of "L.A. Noir" -- specifically, I'm probably enjoying it more than most.<br />
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The author, John Buntin, chronicles the parallel rise of gangster Mickey Cohen and (eventual) LA Police Chief, William Parker, but there's so much more going on in the story of life in Los Angeles' earlier years. Through the Great Depression, during the onset of World War II and it's aftermath, Los Angeles, as conjured in my imagination, seems like it was always about 48 hours from outright chaos and societal collapse.<br />
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It's hard for me to think that this is no longer the case.<br />
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Every time I've been in LA -- mostly for E3 -- it always felt like it was on the verge of unraveling. Maybe it's the fact downtown is devoid of people after normal working hours or the dust; a perfume of asphalt, concrete, and car exhaust; those burrito places that open walk-in churches when the sun goes down. There's just something desperate about the place.<br />
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I realize that it's quite possible my brain has just imprinted the "hard boiled" sensibility on the entire place, so maybe that feeling will be inescapable no matter what I do, but "L.A. Noir" isn't helping dissuade my assessment of the place.<br />
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Another thing the book does -- at least for me and it's probably inadvertent -- is draw parallels between the way the Los Angeles police operated in terms of wire tapping and the current operation of the US's National Security Agency. As I wrote previously, it's very good read so far!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-77487618154194075552015-09-23T10:39:00.003-07:002015-09-23T10:39:57.907-07:00Good ol' Edgar A. PoeAfter reading finally Hemmingway's "The Old Man and the Sea" then plowing through Jonathan Harvey's "The Girl Who Just Appeared" I thought it was high time that I finally read some Edgar Allan Poe because I read somewhere that he single-handedly invented the "Detective Fiction" genre, which is one of my favourite genres..<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">C. August Dupin as he</span></b></div>
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<b><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">appeared in 1999's</span></b></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"League of Extraordinary</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Gentlemen."</span></b></div>
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Previously my exposure to Poe went as far as:<br />
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<li>Oh yeah, he's the writer of "The Tell-Tale Heart." (Never read it, but referenced heavily in an early episode of The Simpsons.)</li>
<li>The Simpson's "Treehouse of Horror" (Season 2) segment "The Raven."</li>
<li>(Without realizing it at the time) C. Auguste Dupin's guest spot in 1999's "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" written by Alan Moore.</li>
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And that is the totality of my exposure to Edgar Alan Poe, unless you take into account the numerous authors so obviously inspired/influenced by Poe, most notably Sherlock Holmes creator Arthur Conan Doyle.</div>
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So, I grabbed a copy of The Modern Library's collection of stories that focuses on the exploits of Dupin, "The Murders in the Rue Morgue: The Dupin Tales." The book contains three stories and I've only finished reading "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" but I'd say I'm a fan, even if the opening paragraphs are dense with lots of big words it felt like my brain was out of shape the same way a 40-year old sprints up a couple of flights of stairs then has stop to catch his breath and, possibly, throw-up before walking the rest of the way at a staid pace more in line with his age and physical prowess.</div>
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<a name='more'></a>My brain didn't actually vomit but I had to re-read the first few pages to really drop my brain into a gear that rarely sees any use. That would be the <i>Thinking</i> part of my brain where I have to recollect word definitions on the fly and parse the "rhythm" of the text. People don't write like this anymore on account of the facts that <b>a) </b>Twitter exists and <b>b)</b> it's not 1841. In cases where the density and verbosity of the old-timey text get in the way of comprehension, my brain will sort through a Rolodex -- another reference to an old thing -- of voices I'm familiar with to "play" while I'm reading so I hear the story in that voice.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Skip "Simpson, Homer." Familiar with the voice and most his Poe knowledge comes from The Simpsons, but I'm not up for doing that voice for more than two pages. "Duchovny, David," we'll mark that down as a possibility. Multiple seasons of the X-Files to draw from and those three episodes of Californication he watched by accident... Ah, here we are, "Stewart, Patrick!" Hours of Star Trek: The Next Generation, his reading of the The Last Battle from the Narnia series, his role as Professor X... Perfect!</i></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VXfWRbSzI8jfxtgx3sbbMjAEAch3YJtV5a90LmU5kyxnTcnii-aJCkmBrwPZy6zFXPq_Blofaxhkwr4yYNVYpXilB_Kh89MieFDlGu5yvKcfYhyphenhyphen-TGirUTtRrCpJc7BcVuoU5se8F4Ry/s1600/patrick-stewart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VXfWRbSzI8jfxtgx3sbbMjAEAch3YJtV5a90LmU5kyxnTcnii-aJCkmBrwPZy6zFXPq_Blofaxhkwr4yYNVYpXilB_Kh89MieFDlGu5yvKcfYhyphenhyphen-TGirUTtRrCpJc7BcVuoU5se8F4Ry/s200/patrick-stewart.jpg" width="169" /></a></div>
<div>
Hearing Patrick Stewart in my head while reading "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" automatically slows down my reading because if I read too fast it throws off the cadence of his voice. As a result, I spend more time on each word and notice (and appreciate) the punctuation rather than getting an <i>impression</i> of the punctuation as my eyes rocket from left to right.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Next on my reading list is anything from H.P. Lovecraft, another writer that is often referenced in pop culture -- I have an action of figure of Cthuhlu, for crying out loud! -- and I've never read any of his works outside of a couple of Wikipedia entries. I for one can't wait to see what voice my brain chooses for that reading!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-11393138444607363092015-09-14T23:38:00.002-07:002015-09-15T00:02:16.396-07:00Pretender No More: E3 2014Although I'd felt brief impressions of being a <i>pretender</i> – someone that did not belong, someone that shouldn't be there but had somehow gotten away with a giant con – prior to attending my first production meeting, it wasn't until the introductions and initial briefing were underway that the word "fraud" fully formed in my mind.<br />
<br />
Maybe the best way I can describe it...<br />
<br />
It could be like the feeling you might have if every day you wished you could visit Paris. Years go by and you think the dream of getting to Paris will never be realized. Then one morning you groggily shake off the remnants of last night's Indian food and lager and realize <i>you're standing on the inexplicably-named Avenue Franklin Delano Roosevelt outside Palais de la Decouverte, a stone's throw from La Seine and the Eiffel Tower</i>. To be fair, it would be a hell of a throw to hit the Eiffel Tower from Palais de La Decouverte but that's really beside the point: You're suddenly in Paris!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmt7hU0IceUDAyMUx8kk4qLF_k3GWbdBgQR0XXXDCUHa6hJRsgjxT4hc1AeYqs89gcr6KU5HoAzbew13szEVh-i7t4GqBr1IXhIBSvh8nsDU39G0Lzm-oaMYMtI2F4kDMd2d9NbMFiKspR/s1600/phoenix+wright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="phoenix wright" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmt7hU0IceUDAyMUx8kk4qLF_k3GWbdBgQR0XXXDCUHa6hJRsgjxT4hc1AeYqs89gcr6KU5HoAzbew13szEVh-i7t4GqBr1IXhIBSvh8nsDU39G0Lzm-oaMYMtI2F4kDMd2d9NbMFiKspR/s200/phoenix+wright.jpg" title="phoenix wright" width="145" /></a>Did you earn that trip? Deserve it? Did you pay your dues? Work all those extras at a job that pays just enough so you could sock away a few dollars from every pay stub to make your dream a reality? Did you hunt for the best deals on a flight? Figure out where to stay so you could stretch each dollar (or franc or Euro or whatever) to it's fullest?<br />
<br />
In my brain, all that preparation stuff – those extra hours, that extra work, all that writing over the course of 15 years with The Armchair Empire – zipped out of my head and I was left with the feeling I imagine most murders feel at some point when they're in large crowds. Someone out there, someone close to you, is about to stand up and, with a Phoenix Wright flourish, call attention to the fact that you are, in fact, a killer.<br />
<br />
So, what was this production meeting I'd conned myself into? Where had I arrived that I felt like I didn't deserve to be there?<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>I looked around the room. Andrew Hayward. Eric Neigher. Emanuel Maiberg. Ryan Scott. I recognized more names than faces and all of them had many years of experience writing about video games, creating layouts, running magazines, putting a writing career together from freelancing gigs... and me. Some no-name dude from Canada that barely managed to cross the 49th Parallel to enter the United States for my first fully paid writing gig at an industry event that I'd always wanted to <i>work at</i> rather than push through crowds, play some games, and enjoy the many open bars with my "Media" badge scored through the now-defunct Armchair Empire. It was E3 2014 and the production meeting – at least, that's what I called it in my head – for E3 Show Daily / E3 Insider was underway.<br />
<br />
I felt like midget in a room full of Titans.<br />
<br />
So I wasn't just feeling like a pretender and a fraud, I felt out of place.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK373aSuMYo1MJZqodp2SCoEHF8z4insZnvzOq8syrs2JxDntS4pjMedqnWxLw5tZkaS4JV8O4Fa_feP2jf3QWmtHa9Bf0gWEfLZCLXhGVg1kkN7PsT-gbRf0QUotEdsXwg6UkleORSFQV/s1600/e3+2014+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="e3 2014" border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK373aSuMYo1MJZqodp2SCoEHF8z4insZnvzOq8syrs2JxDntS4pjMedqnWxLw5tZkaS4JV8O4Fa_feP2jf3QWmtHa9Bf0gWEfLZCLXhGVg1kkN7PsT-gbRf0QUotEdsXwg6UkleORSFQV/s320/e3+2014+desk.jpg" title="e3 2014" width="320" /></a></div>
This feeling generally ebbed as the long working hours rolled out but there were a handful of minutes nearly every day that it felt like my skin was coated in flop sweat.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Someone found the body and they suspect me</i>.<br />
<br />
As part of the E3 Insider team, it was up to me, <a href="https://twitter.com/emanuelmaiberg" target="_blank">Emanuel "Manny" Maiberg</a>, and <a href="https://twitter.com/LeifJohnson" target="_blank">Leif "Pronounced like safe" Johnson</a>, to keep the content flowing to the official E3 website (with invaluable technical assistance from Tobias Meyer-Grunow and Christopher Lee). Prior to even arriving in Los Angeles, we'd spent weeks writing content, preparing screenshots, and packing meat onto the bones of the website. As the show gained a head of steam and game announcements were made, we had to ensure the website stayed up-to-date, readable, and accurate.<br />
<br />
We also had our individual assignments to carry out. One of my tasks, which I happily accepted, was collecting press material (thumb drives, DVD's, business cards with FTP login information, etc.) from the show floor on the first day. I mapped out the route I would run a couple of weeks ahead of time; revising as needed, taking into account shortcuts and bottlenecks. The planning paid off and I was in and out of most booths within minutes and only had to knock over a half-dozen people. Only two things out of the ordinary happened.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0TISpjx1JBl7mxAbwzPUKx4YPUx1ks6pNHTPB0hGA5rlbgBG6FH6bBBnwVMAJ_u4LtNl9gkpvTr2T9g08qpgrDePiA4KGUCWKtX2PWUKQNKkQFADK8byepkzylb7bUPdZioCKk0PH1aD/s1600/e3+2014+ryan+scott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ryan scott e3 2014" border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0TISpjx1JBl7mxAbwzPUKx4YPUx1ks6pNHTPB0hGA5rlbgBG6FH6bBBnwVMAJ_u4LtNl9gkpvTr2T9g08qpgrDePiA4KGUCWKtX2PWUKQNKkQFADK8byepkzylb7bUPdZioCKk0PH1aD/s320/e3+2014+ryan+scott.jpg" title="ryan scott e3 2014" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ryan Scott. Yes, I described this man as "a Titan."<br />And for the record, we look nothing alike.</b></td></tr>
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At TellTale's booth I was mistaken for Ryan Scott. When I said I was with "E3 Insider," they just assumed I was Ryan. It's probably the first and last time I will ever be mistaken for Ryan, so I briefly toyed with the idea of knocking something over or yelling offensive epithets then leaving. I was still considering my option when I remembered my very visible and eye-level badge (to everyone in the booth) with my name on it. Not worth the risk of bringing my family dishonour, I nevertheless got a quick thrill from the mistaken identity. And besides, I hadn't acquired the press material yet.<br />
<br />
The other jag from my comfort zone during my route was to shake hands and say, "Hi!" to Jeff Green.<br />
<br />
While no stranger to Jeff – I'd interviewed him a dozen times through The Armchair Empire and had finagled two GFW Radio Reunion shows for PAX Prime – what made it a departure for me was that he was talking to someone and I butted in, walked slow enough to interject, "Hi Jeff! Have a great show!" while shaking his hand and melting into the crowd as only my 6'4" frame allows. (That is, like Gargamel knee deep in Smurfs. Max Scoville knows what I'm talking about.)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9BJio43DOfTO5ROTGejFsHyVfcawX6UgpPMuL_qeiT-rxZ0mP0lHn47voMtT81A15lMJMhze1-I0LixqznPiAh9PM0-TDfqgfr_wSft53qklKJ4sKx3UouT3G477XOUYyES_qVl2IfZB/s1600/e3+2014+war+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="e3 2014 e3 insider" border="0" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9BJio43DOfTO5ROTGejFsHyVfcawX6UgpPMuL_qeiT-rxZ0mP0lHn47voMtT81A15lMJMhze1-I0LixqznPiAh9PM0-TDfqgfr_wSft53qklKJ4sKx3UouT3G477XOUYyES_qVl2IfZB/s200/e3+2014+war+room.jpg" title="e3 2014 e3 insider" width="200" /></a></div>
It was probably at that moment that I started to feel like I did actually belong here. Doing this. <i>Writing</i> and getting paid to do it. It wasn't superlative discourse or philosophy (unless you count my Captain Toad: Treasurer Tracker blurb), but I was getting paid for it and it was super interesting to see how the sausage was made.<br />
<br />
I listened to Ryan and E3 Show Daily Executive Editor Patti Tobias Renouard thrash out the copy, layouts, and captions for the three issues of the E3 Show Daily. I talked with Ryan and Art Director Caroline King about stuff that went on behind the scenes at Ziff Davis, 1UP, and personality conflicts – stories I'd never heard and a few that were only ever hinted on various 1UP podcasts (and never in the confines of the Ziff magazines).<br />
<br />
I'm not going to dish dirt or anything like that or suggest that Ryan or Caroline had some kind of axe to grind with specific people, but it was really cool to ask questions and get answers. I imagine it might be similar to the way initiates to the Freemasons feel when suddenly all these world-dominating secrets are revealed. Maybe I'm thinking about it too much – I've been guilty of worse – but it did feel a little like I was being allowed a peek into the inner workings of <i>gaming journalism</i> because I was gaining acceptance as one of <i>them:</i> People that write and are creative for a living.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit0fcUp5oyHWkYj3o9V-y9SvjicOuabl5os2sJDmCtaNDAqapTicWYvDs1eNd1a9BArf5Lit4IO81qg-VwBOcOntcQCXGcrL9rtrN3MK9Tf6ckQEKVKBggm0p5W5Il6anFQI25yhIBTILz/s1600/e3+2014+dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="e3 2014 e3 insider" border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit0fcUp5oyHWkYj3o9V-y9SvjicOuabl5os2sJDmCtaNDAqapTicWYvDs1eNd1a9BArf5Lit4IO81qg-VwBOcOntcQCXGcrL9rtrN3MK9Tf6ckQEKVKBggm0p5W5Il6anFQI25yhIBTILz/s320/e3+2014+dinner.jpg" title="e3 2014 e3 insider" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I think it was after the second issue of E3 Show Daily was off to the printers that we all went to dinner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAoHguvrog9baOpfY5yBiwbAo2JbxGNlCgl6D4OEbGc0aLj5UUiWjB1sHt9aTv2gw0u7moIWcA3KB_BxYDUY7WzbAVmqON6CmULXPugu1a4omwUmJIxBphhMENnEg18EwLTFwKjpyYcovF/s1600/e3+2014+staff+masthead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="e3 show daily 2014" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAoHguvrog9baOpfY5yBiwbAo2JbxGNlCgl6D4OEbGc0aLj5UUiWjB1sHt9aTv2gw0u7moIWcA3KB_BxYDUY7WzbAVmqON6CmULXPugu1a4omwUmJIxBphhMENnEg18EwLTFwKjpyYcovF/s320/e3+2014+staff+masthead.jpg" title="e3 show daily 2014" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Amoung <i>Titans</i>, I tell you!</b></td></tr>
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As I wrote above, throughout my time being part of the E3 Insider/E3 Show Daily team, there were definitely these weird peaks and valleys where I'd oscillate from feeling like a fraud to feeling like I was experiencing some kind of lucid dream, where all the sharp edges and details were brilliantly coloured and had layers of texture heaped on them that I'd never noticed before. The dinner was like that. This sudden<i> pop</i> of the world around me... things I'd missed before. The height of the chairs, the thumping music, half-heard conversations, the beginning of beads of sweat on the bartender's forehead, the doppleganger of cosplayer <a href="https://twitter.com/OJessicaNigri?lang=en" target="_blank">Jessica Nigri</a> just outside my field of vision to my left, this weird of sensation of looking through my eyes <i>and seeing things from an overhead view.</i> Without traveling toward the light or dropping acid, it's probably the closest I'll ever get to an out of body experience.<br />
<br />
And no one around had an inkling of this. At least, I doubt they did or maybe they just assumed I was under the spell of American beer. (Yeah, like that would ever happen!)<br />
<br />
And at the same time, it felt like I was finally where I belonged and that I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. It was an all too rare feeling of clarity. There was a reason for all this -- all of it (the feeling of being undeserving, an outsider), something so deeply part of me I hadn't recognized it before -- but that didn't come until months later. What that was (correction: <i>is)</i>, well, that's another blog post entirely.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWia93QUDRv1wzKsez3dKChIQC0bmOlRdkWTmWAhVX1k7pv2QA9WmnDjKDgU0MVofA5Rto3hyphenhyphen1ja-2WnafQDsjBqzQhO-TFmqRhVeE-AycN_W7qQTpsZNeAs2_0pLyIiVf4eGOKfGNYJP/s1600/e3+2014+the+geekbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ryan scott andrew fitch adam fitch, justin haywald" border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWia93QUDRv1wzKsez3dKChIQC0bmOlRdkWTmWAhVX1k7pv2QA9WmnDjKDgU0MVofA5Rto3hyphenhyphen1ja-2WnafQDsjBqzQhO-TFmqRhVeE-AycN_W7qQTpsZNeAs2_0pLyIiVf4eGOKfGNYJP/s400/e3+2014+the+geekbox.jpg" title="ryan scott andrew fitch adam fitch, justin haywald" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>(L to R) Ryan Scott, Adam Fitch (currently of Natsume), Andrew Fitch (currently of EGM),<br />Justin Haywald (currently of GameSpot).</b></td></tr>
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<br />
The night after that I was guest on Ryan's podcast – <b><a href="http://www.geekbox.net/" target="_blank">The Geekbox</a></b> – and got a chance to gab with Justin Haywald, and Adam and Andrew Fitch about E3 and crossing the border into the good ol' US of A. Afterward, Justin offered to split a cab to my hotel. Otherwise I would have walked the mile to the hotel I was staying at: The Millennium. The place oozes a high level of Hollywood history and the level of detail in some areas of the hotel creates a palpable push against my eyeballs, but traveling through the deserted downtown core on my own probably wouldn't have been healthy for me. (Though to be honest, I'd attended many E3's previously and never had a problem being caught in the crossfire or been accosted by deranged homeless people.)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJPT6lve-x8VYg_FvSuxkByxkPFvE0O_2VpLZh65VHN3MhEuZiqLktVxir6s8X8QFy93U0WaZEJ7p3d0vMu2_IYrfH9Tl3N4U001ZzmiM9G4mhRGJfOZMvI_tiVab7WMVWuTzIvUn7PK4/s1600/e3+2014+millennium+lobby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="the millennium los angeles" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJPT6lve-x8VYg_FvSuxkByxkPFvE0O_2VpLZh65VHN3MhEuZiqLktVxir6s8X8QFy93U0WaZEJ7p3d0vMu2_IYrfH9Tl3N4U001ZzmiM9G4mhRGJfOZMvI_tiVab7WMVWuTzIvUn7PK4/s200/e3+2014+millennium+lobby.jpg" title="the millennium los angeles" width="111" /></a></div>
Ah, the Millennium! When I found out I was lodging there I was excited! In a bygone era (1930's and '40s), this is where I imagined that all action went down. It wouldn't out of place to see a Séamus sitting in the lobby, newspaper obscuring everything but his eyes and unironic fedora, waiting for a contact to walk in... Of course, then I found out that I wouldn't be lodging by myself. I was to share a room with Leif – a complete stranger to me before the show – and almost wound up sharing a bed due to the hotel's room allocation. I'm sure Leif is a wonderful person to share a bed with – I'm making an assumption about this – but fortunately, there was a room across the hall that had a couple of beds so we were spared the wacky shenanigans of <i>Trains, Planes & Automobiles</i>. I think I would have been Steve Martin in this scenario because Leif has a beard, though I could have easily assumed the John Candy role due to our shared heritage. I digress, but I will say it was cool sharing a room with a complete stranger, getting to know him a little, then parting on good terms. I mean, we aren't best buds, but he didn't point at me when it was all over and tell me to, "Stay the Hell out of Texas!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglVrZX3cDQTIxHR29MgfYUCTiu41a9LQyDdzp-qcRw1Q-MBLi-dbDm2CFt9F7uFfpiOxVcx9iQAN35k9KxI3qfpniRUtV-Naw2BvBAT77GRQspdbowHhzjOv-SiTytyrrFsHml_WKZbA0c/s1600/e3+2014+millennium+staircase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="the millennium los angeles" border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglVrZX3cDQTIxHR29MgfYUCTiu41a9LQyDdzp-qcRw1Q-MBLi-dbDm2CFt9F7uFfpiOxVcx9iQAN35k9KxI3qfpniRUtV-Naw2BvBAT77GRQspdbowHhzjOv-SiTytyrrFsHml_WKZbA0c/s320/e3+2014+millennium+staircase.jpg" title="the millennium los angeles" width="320" /></a></div>
As the show closed and the onsite staff drifted away – Manny back to parts unknown (well, San Francisco), Leif to Chicago then Texas to run his family's ranch – I was left with this feeling of immense pressure being lifted off my back. I'd finally grabbed and held onto something that I'd always wanted to do and I finally had to admit to myself that I wasn't a pretender, that I deserved to be present; to walk amoung these Titans. I'd earned that stone's throw shot at the Eiffel Tower and I didn't blow it.<br />
<br />
<b>ADDENDUM: </b>Because of the long hours required of E3 Insider, the one game demo that I managed to get myself into during the show was for Skylanders: Trap Team. Having a couple of kids at home who practically go into convulsions when they lay their eyes on some new Skylander character they haven't seen before this was my only "mandatory" stop. I was about 30 seconds late getting into the demo room, which was already dark save for the large screen at the front of the small room. My eyes couldn't adjust to the light change fast enough and I tripped as I stepped through the door, rolled my right ankle, crunched against Andrew Fitch, who I'd met the night before but hopefully it was too dark for him to recognize me, then sprawled neatly across two empty seats.<br />
<br />
The developers didn't even pause as they rolled through their spiel/demo as this large man smashed his was across the back of the room and assumed a pose that he hoped looked somewhat dignified <i>and deeply interested</i>. It was worth it though, if only for the reaction I got from my youngest kids when I produced a Skylanders t-shirt and an exclusive Trap.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9yTwGOy8aZZr8GuYb_V-MEnYrvxQZ3Ye8CluLn2wpfEN4AtC9KbFx6k9-itqegkeFAb_KNTgfEFnO5WxCphDg6iXYK5rtJlI9b7GsIm8EM2bAdbhR2K7OMpXwQ1QQJP67PG6nofJIKVg/s1600/e3+2014+skylanders+trap+team.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="skylandesr trap team" border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9yTwGOy8aZZr8GuYb_V-MEnYrvxQZ3Ye8CluLn2wpfEN4AtC9KbFx6k9-itqegkeFAb_KNTgfEFnO5WxCphDg6iXYK5rtJlI9b7GsIm8EM2bAdbhR2K7OMpXwQ1QQJP67PG6nofJIKVg/s400/e3+2014+skylanders+trap+team.jpg" title="skylanders trap team" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>After crashing a demo, the least one can do is take a picture or two.</b></td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-90173700057757629952015-08-21T15:48:00.002-07:002015-08-21T15:48:28.662-07:00Computer Troubles with a Capital "Troub"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4PTwUG6w0u-8-jBG_3WNK7Xi6nsWOVheroUPOSlntR1DLwBVRloUv-VFk8cnmaXbveMgXBnGN43q3IwvqDjebSgW_qR3RXsqnqq8LNLIscAA-4iC23DucrYaXaX_FTitT5ZGsGNjnv88/s1600/WP_20150817_21_48_12_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4PTwUG6w0u-8-jBG_3WNK7Xi6nsWOVheroUPOSlntR1DLwBVRloUv-VFk8cnmaXbveMgXBnGN43q3IwvqDjebSgW_qR3RXsqnqq8LNLIscAA-4iC23DucrYaXaX_FTitT5ZGsGNjnv88/s200/WP_20150817_21_48_12_Pro.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I spent a good chunk of time this week trying to troubleshoot a problem with my laptop. Starting last week, a BSOD -- Blue Screen of Death -- began popping up with precise regularity. If it didn't boot in Safe Mode, it wouldn't boot at all. As a result I had to dig into the "guts" of software, the bios, and all those things that I've largely detached myself from.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not since the "good ol' days" of DOS on our family's trusty XT and later our 486 (which sported a "Turbo" button), have I been forced to understand the operation of my computer any deeper than pressing the button to turn it on or possibly downloading a specific hardware driver. This was full-on poking around in stuff that I didn't fully understand but kinda, sorta thought that changing settings here, there and everywhere, might goad the computer to boot up properly. It was a voyage of discovery as I came across settings and options that I often thought I should tweak, but never had the gumption to sit down and just figure it all out. (Of course, if everything was working fine, why would I start tweaking things?) There were completely unexplored areas and diagnostic options that I had no clue were present.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
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And only moments ago -- after backing-up my files then setting the laptop to its <i>2011</i> factory settings, getting the needed drivers installed, hours of rebooting, and "turning off" the graphics card, which turned out to be source of all these troubles -- I managed to get the wifi/network adapter working. It means that my laptop is functional again. I have not tried to play a game with the integrated graphics processor but at least I can type things and the PC boots like it's supposed to.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What it brought into sharp focus for me is that I've had it easy for a long time when it comes to fiddling with computers to get them to work. Most everything actually does live up to the now-ancient promise of "plug 'n' play." The software and hardware function together to sort themselves out after diagnosing a problem. That wasn't the case with my problem util a built-in diagnostic tool shone a spotlight on the problem. It was just finding the right option from the correct menu to kick that off that pointed things in the right direction.<br />
<br />
The only thing left to do now is figure out the best replacement for the video card... Feels a little like I'm starting from scratch on this point. Wish my luck!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-60203472145274804422015-08-11T23:31:00.001-07:002015-08-12T22:43:55.701-07:00And We're Floating... Inside a Tent<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8fxg7SfvqHkanxtiy207TcrhtWEt8sDFdD2nWOQvUnWbT6bH8V0HMDnOIXLlPPDxQ7yjsaNdaZLZ9deYc78EaEu0mzOtnSBdkRAjSusqwL4E_5t8edBvLRjvpRbdXz959u7OgRJ0xqI2/s1600/homestead.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8fxg7SfvqHkanxtiy207TcrhtWEt8sDFdD2nWOQvUnWbT6bH8V0HMDnOIXLlPPDxQ7yjsaNdaZLZ9deYc78EaEu0mzOtnSBdkRAjSusqwL4E_5t8edBvLRjvpRbdXz959u7OgRJ0xqI2/s200/homestead.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The homestead. February 2008.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It sounds weird when the words tumble out of my mouth.<br />
<br />
<i>"We packed up our camping gear, drove down to Seattle from Vancouver, put all that camping stuff on a plane then camped at Walt Disney World. Yeah, Orlando in Florida. That one."</i><br />
<br />
It might have been easier to have those words come out had it just been me and my wife since it reduces the gear factor to a large backpack. Two people camping after a long plane ride doesn't seem weird. (Mercifully we left all the cooking equipment in Vancouver -- we made use of the Walt Disney World "Dining Plan.") But at the time of the trip we had three kids along for the ride, which exponentially increased the amount of <i>stuff</i> to bring. Extra clothes, shoes, a <i>big</i> tent, sleeping bags, air mattresses... And none of them were really at age where they could handle more than a wheeled suitcase and a "fun size" backpack, which meant Jennifer and I were left to lug everything from place to place.<br />
<br />
So, you might be able to imagine us arriving at Fort Wilderness <i>Resort</i>. Haggard from an early departure in Seattle and a 6 hour flight, arriving at our campsite <i>in the dark</i>, hungry, irritable. I'm pretty sure my shirt was torn but at least the cut above my right eye had finally stopped bleeding.<br />
<br />
Comparing Fort Wilderness Resort to "real" camping is a bit of a stretch. Camping to me is marked with pit toilets, sharing the lake with sucking leeches, and hour upon hour of driving to finally reach a spot we can start to <i>relax</i>. (The wind-up to get "back to nature" and start "relaxing" seems counter-intuitive because it takes so much frantic energy to get there in the first place.)<br />
<br />
The Fort Wilderness Resort is <i>high end</i> camping. (Hell, the word "resort" is right there in the name.) There are nearby laundry facilities, two large pools, hammocks, relatively flat campsites, small lizards, a couple of shops. Very nice! But arriving in the dark after so much travelling, there was really only one thought in my mind: <i>My God, I hate camping</i>.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>I dug out a flash light from a bag and the kids sat at the picnic table, watching my wife and I try to find the tent. That was the easy part. Within about 10 minutes we almost had the tent fully assembled. The only missing piece was the fly, the layer of the tent that keeps off the rain, provides some privacy, and cuts the wind.<br />
<br />
The fly was in my hands when the first drop of rain landed on my head.<br />
<br />
"Dear, could you throw the tarp on the bags," I said absent-mindedly. "I just felt a raindrop."<br />
<br />
I'm convinced that Mother Nature is constantly trying to kill us but she also has a bit of a twisted sense of humour because the word "raindrop" was barely out of my mouth when the sky l<i>iterally</i> opened up and started dropping torrential rain on us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDf1ig6VJAGhTFX3zIR1kUj11-aVz2qkWbJRXiGjttME6sVOuI6p9T1-PIwcdnz5q3tUyR2r5wv-cWSgMgOVspO4a4BP4WnkFYkUAkyXc-GcuRPhNEMnbWMObfezkkosNfl3L0ELJT9Oul/s1600/lizard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDf1ig6VJAGhTFX3zIR1kUj11-aVz2qkWbJRXiGjttME6sVOuI6p9T1-PIwcdnz5q3tUyR2r5wv-cWSgMgOVspO4a4BP4WnkFYkUAkyXc-GcuRPhNEMnbWMObfezkkosNfl3L0ELJT9Oul/s200/lizard.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
"Rain" is underselling what happened. It was like suddenly having a million Olympic-sized swimming pools dumped on us. And it didn't stop! It kept coming!<br />
<br />
Known for my "Women and children first" responses to most emergencies, I started jabbering, "Run, run! Find shelter! Kids go with Mom! She'll make sure you're safe! Just DON'T LOOK BACK! THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO HELP! Dad loves you!"<br />
<br />
Admittedly, it may have sounded like a slurry of guttural profanity to the untrained observer.<br />
<br />
Jennifer and the three kids scrambled off in a tumble of arms and legs to the closest set of bathroom/laundry rooms to get out of the rain.<br />
<br />
And I stood there trying to remain calm and not lose my temper. But the rain was reconstituting my rage.<br />
<br />
Like a really angry tapioca.<br />
<br />
I struggled to get the fly on the tent thanks to the wind that kicked up. Half blind with fury and the sheets of water taking care of the other half of my sight, I flailed around for what seemed an eternity but managed to get the fly on the tent. My shoes full of water and my cell phone fried in my pocket, I slopped my way to the Safe House. I took the opportunity to curse Florida.<br />
<br />
We were all soaked to the bone. A child whimpered.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglquDx2-sjikd47QTddkXx9NN7v5YZpoqH68Fk3PXJ16df1A1JLH35d2cVk3p4SoiAejZixxN8eE9rsA5WwDpBzqFfQGp0cJleUPvExaezuBPl1xv_hOio_02rtnJ40DcvS_fo_qMDNlYx/s1600/fort+wilderness+no+campfires.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglquDx2-sjikd47QTddkXx9NN7v5YZpoqH68Fk3PXJ16df1A1JLH35d2cVk3p4SoiAejZixxN8eE9rsA5WwDpBzqFfQGp0cJleUPvExaezuBPl1xv_hOio_02rtnJ40DcvS_fo_qMDNlYx/s320/fort+wilderness+no+campfires.JPG" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I'm pretty sure some Disney Cast Member put<br />this notice up as part of an elaborate psychological<br />test to see how far they could push me.</b></td></tr>
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<br />
<b>
</b>
No one else was in the large laundry room. We were to discover soon after that most of the campers at Fort Wilderness were locals with RV's and trailers that bailed the moment the weather turned to shit.<br />
<br />
"Bail" is an interesting description because a mere handful of minutes later, the rain let up and I squished out to our campsite.<br />
<br />
I pulled back the fly and shone the flashlight into the tent to reveal about 3" of water inside. <i>Oh, this is just perfect</i>. My shoes literally squirted water as I walked back to the laundry room.<br />
<br />
"It looks like the suitcases and other bags are okay, the tarp did what it was supposed to," I took a breath, leaned against a dryer with the look of a man that just outran a pack of zombies. "But the tent... it's full of water."<br />
<br />
Now, at this point in the story I should remind you that I was desperate. I needed to sleep. We all needed some sleep. How would we enjoy our <i>relaxing</i> vacation otherwise? I started trying the under-counter cupboards to see if there might be anything useful inside, like a bucket. All of the cupboards sported locks, but one of them swung open to reveal a heavy roll of paper towel with about 8 miles of towels. I casually glanced around the room to see if there were any security cameras. None. I walked out of the laundry room. Casually. In the dark, with my shoes now making a distinct slurping noise. And, of course, a massive roll of paper towel under one arm.<br />
<br />
After some indeterminate amount of time passed, I managed to dry out the tent floor enough to "move in" and get the tarp installed over the tent for added protection from the elements. Exhausted, everything a little bit damp, we fell asleep.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjajzGn0E5u-63gyyyRwsxhQClFclOD1pnXOpkzzIxZD9WgsCgZdGUZa6HBoR9OGDHPC28y1eZIYp_3aiOmzM9IwWWNzY8R0nDhMrxx4zYDuOz6FrAIgpYg4VZDsugkROsa75QxwN_aI08O/s1600/deer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjajzGn0E5u-63gyyyRwsxhQClFclOD1pnXOpkzzIxZD9WgsCgZdGUZa6HBoR9OGDHPC28y1eZIYp_3aiOmzM9IwWWNzY8R0nDhMrxx4zYDuOz6FrAIgpYg4VZDsugkROsa75QxwN_aI08O/s200/deer.JPG" width="175" /></a>That wasn't to be the end of our experience with Fort Wilderness though. On another night during the fourth or fifth wave of rain, my oldest daughter said, "I think I'm floating."<br />
<br />
And she was. The rain was angled in such a way as to allow water to collect in one corner of the tent which then lifted her air mattress.<br />
<br />
One entire night was dedicated to a plague of mating frogs. I wish I kidding about any part of that last sentence -- even ear plugs didn't help. And on another night the wind was blowing so strongly that I was certain we'd wake up in another state. I laid awake staring into the blackness and cursed the outdoors, cursed Florida, and swore that we'd never do this again. If someone so much as suggested camping or getting back to nature, they'd get a punch in the throat.<br />
<br />
So, yeah, it was pretty much like camping anywhere else.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFCXMARX_7kafFkcrCwr32B6bE1aC7oiGUUEygYCj-VVzV7Uc4mA_eoRxpOSYXj9Sa_6X_Yft-b4gdpIQ96UcyS0VcHvr05VMLxg8kXRVb_-101gkrmPYi0rtEun3C_aDLXC-_KAKr0YCI/s1600/hammock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFCXMARX_7kafFkcrCwr32B6bE1aC7oiGUUEygYCj-VVzV7Uc4mA_eoRxpOSYXj9Sa_6X_Yft-b4gdpIQ96UcyS0VcHvr05VMLxg8kXRVb_-101gkrmPYi0rtEun3C_aDLXC-_KAKr0YCI/s320/hammock.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>I found a hammock!</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And just to offer some balance to this horror story, Disney World was actually a lot of fun!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-24024922375888537792015-07-23T00:30:00.000-07:002015-07-23T00:30:03.211-07:00Project NL: Millennium Falcon<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjBMpbVWmY3eYQcYWHCIsR6hvDGJ0EY-MdEscFy2oIE1phG458pmAhyarrSRkY9-rM7wygHQo5B-8XMpCPS6gqnKJxGW-5SH8gmdteq6f9IyTtvUUaah9ECHCIUJRfVBxbR-J1oefCNeW/s1600/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="millennium falcon night light" border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjBMpbVWmY3eYQcYWHCIsR6hvDGJ0EY-MdEscFy2oIE1phG458pmAhyarrSRkY9-rM7wygHQo5B-8XMpCPS6gqnKJxGW-5SH8gmdteq6f9IyTtvUUaah9ECHCIUJRfVBxbR-J1oefCNeW/s320/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-1.jpg" title="millennium falcon night light" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #666666;">Joey, have you ever wanted split open the Millennium Falcon?</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Over the years I somehow came into possession of two 1979 Kenner Millennium Falcon toys. I know one of them was given to me by my younger brother, but the other one I don't really have any recollection of acquiring. After kicking around in boxes and surviving a couple of moves, they were both in danger of being offloaded at a thrift store. Rather than see them disappear I started on a project to turn one of them into a night light because what else does one do with multiple Falcons?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I performed a once-over of each Falcon trying to decided which one would be the successful candidate. Neither one was in the best condition to start with but one was definitely in better shape.</div>
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<a name='more'></a>I spent some time cleaning up one of them. Washing it, removing a few mynocks, some very light sanding, etc. The other one I would (tearfully) cannibalize for parts when needed.<br />
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6mThRDSkmGWVRAp2H5xMGyPLWT87-i1PqZCCnwQN7bU2nSvrgys2deKfbxUUErpx6gahn3pBkR0EN1yvwEJ70oQF0ffDny1MxetK4JBMCKQHNC1zHjq9CBLjDDp39JYW81u79JpXF4TS/s1600/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="millennium falcon night light" border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6mThRDSkmGWVRAp2H5xMGyPLWT87-i1PqZCCnwQN7bU2nSvrgys2deKfbxUUErpx6gahn3pBkR0EN1yvwEJ70oQF0ffDny1MxetK4JBMCKQHNC1zHjq9CBLjDDp39JYW81u79JpXF4TS/s400/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-2.jpg" title="millennium falcon night light" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #666666;">Two coats of paint were needed, mostly for all the nooks and crannies.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div>
Step 1 already taken care of I used the remnants of a can of "Gloss White, Fusion for Plastics" Krylon spray paint to cover the yellowing plastic with a bright white finish. I had to buy a fresh can to coat everything and wound up applying two layers (three in some places) to the exterior of the craft since there are a lot of nooks and crannies on the Falcon. (Holding the spray can at the right distance and angle can make all the difference!)</div>
<div>
<br />
Once finished, it was a brilliant white and I started fantasizing about what it would look like completed. I took the opportunity to run around the garage swooping the Falcon around obstacles, blasting imaginary asteroids and shouting, "When the hell are we going to get home, Chewie?"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAd6k91jgKlFaPK75ZD93qs3ECPO55R-343KaM5SZ0Tpg7qE4mLYEv9VcOuHqWYAJQqhqYWhRfvapxIc2Z8XoUOm8uYFsvmAJZVK1Z4Gzn6zpptWQLshJVzCreZOxtDdp2hIMK1IWn0j_u/s1600/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="millennium falcon night light" border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAd6k91jgKlFaPK75ZD93qs3ECPO55R-343KaM5SZ0Tpg7qE4mLYEv9VcOuHqWYAJQqhqYWhRfvapxIc2Z8XoUOm8uYFsvmAJZVK1Z4Gzn6zpptWQLshJVzCreZOxtDdp2hIMK1IWn0j_u/s400/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-3.jpg" title="millennium falcon night light" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #666666;">The plastic collar to keep the gun in place needed to be improvised.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I had to figure out how to mount the gun on top of the Falcon. Sometime in the past the clear plastic fitting that kept the gun in place had been lost and/or destroyed. Using a pair of garden shears I cut away some of the back panel of the "spare" Falcon to create a fitting and glued the gun into place with Liquid Nails. Since I had the Falcon split in two at this time I spent some time filling small holes in the chassis of the Falcon prevent light from spilling out unnecessarily because I had some specific exit points for the light in mind.<br />
<br />
Also in my mind's eye, I pictured the Falcon mounted on some kind of wooded slab or some other artistic backdrop. I found a large circular piece of clear plastic that I thought would do the trick, but it was about a 1/2" thick with a diameter of about 24" plus it weighed quite a bit. I eventually nixed the plastic mounting board because the last thing I wanted to create was a night light capable of rendering little kids unconscious should it somehow be knocked off the wall. I settled on a light piece of lumber (which I sanded down) that could accommodate the landing gear, which I planned to leave extended.<br />
<br />
Then I came to the problem of how to actually <i>mount</i> the Falcon's landing gear to the board. Carefully drill some holes and bolt each leg to the board? In my mind this was too difficult to actually accommodate because of the configuration of the landing gear. Liquid Nails?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuh03ax6_x-OrGXAsOVWy4Jx-MN0n0HMQJn1YYvoFhMfakMZvnqUs1EnIY1HB5PZk63-9jOZYkwwUodqU4058fRWrfDdEANq6w-sSkDpYM9XFnwStPRTL5oy7O3w7zwCXEM1I2Z2NNtAV/s1600/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="millennium falcon night light" border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuh03ax6_x-OrGXAsOVWy4Jx-MN0n0HMQJn1YYvoFhMfakMZvnqUs1EnIY1HB5PZk63-9jOZYkwwUodqU4058fRWrfDdEANq6w-sSkDpYM9XFnwStPRTL5oy7O3w7zwCXEM1I2Z2NNtAV/s200/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-6.jpg" title="millennium falcon night light" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #666666;">Strong adhesive? Bolts?</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I turned to Internet at this point to see if anyone else had taken on a similar project and to see what other options might exist. A couple of projects I read about involved major detail work and remounting the landing gear and trimming body work to lower the profile of the Falcon. (By my figuring the Falcon would stand out from the wall about 9".) All that sounded great, you know, for people with a high level of Patience and/or Artistic Skill. My stats in both those areas are somewhat capped by my natural ability to look at something and say, "Well, that's close enough."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I decided on going the Liquid Nails route to secure the Falcon. Taking no chances, I roughened the mounting surface and the feet of the landing gear, applied the liquid nails and clamped the feet overnight to ensure that the glue dried properly.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSzH7RaiwKTCChAl0dgb53TofXu37LoAGDutn-V5C4tY84hWAgMSZrZmmZDdDdnPLxpZoGw8U-PR9yndtl0yVNiGQoTc7eJYbvCQjd_RoM0DImcRYXUjzOStR2av3HnYNG0xjbUGn5WPfU/s1600/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="millennium falcon night light" border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSzH7RaiwKTCChAl0dgb53TofXu37LoAGDutn-V5C4tY84hWAgMSZrZmmZDdDdnPLxpZoGw8U-PR9yndtl0yVNiGQoTc7eJYbvCQjd_RoM0DImcRYXUjzOStR2av3HnYNG0xjbUGn5WPfU/s400/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-5.jpg" title="millennium falcon night light" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="color: #666666;">While the Falcon was clamped in place, I sawed out sections of the engines so the light could get out.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><b><span style="color: #666666;">Some of the rougher edges were filed down to appear less jagged.</span></b></b></span></div>
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Now I had the "shell" for the light -- or lights as it turned out.<br />
<br />
I knew I wanted to make use of flexible LEDs capable of multiple colours and the ability to dim via remote control. I jumped online and there are lots of options available but all of them seemed like overkill. I didn't need <i>5 meters</i> (16 feet) of LED's; at most I need 3 feet so I could comfortably wind the strip through the Falcon -- looping around the back, up through the middle and the cockpit. I eventually visited a local shop (<a href="http://www.onstatetech.com/" target="_blank">Onstate LED Lighting</a>) who was able to supply the controller ($14) and a power supply ($12). For the actual strip of lights I cannibalized a piece from a 5 meter strip my oldest son couldn't use due to a fried power supply. In the end I needed just over 2 1/2 feet of LED lights.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rjMqm-DWVuoDgUG4t3-2sucdDLOZF7j5qKv8gZS5lcqVTpqBE2VFpY4MC3OX5PFI4aQ-xN01gSmZOY9XNtEo6nR2x4lhH9o5aO2ELz5-LWOD95DoKkLfaWnccK_qL0OcLitDogpSntAM/s1600/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="millennium falcon night light" border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3rjMqm-DWVuoDgUG4t3-2sucdDLOZF7j5qKv8gZS5lcqVTpqBE2VFpY4MC3OX5PFI4aQ-xN01gSmZOY9XNtEo6nR2x4lhH9o5aO2ELz5-LWOD95DoKkLfaWnccK_qL0OcLitDogpSntAM/s400/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-9.jpg" title="millennium falcon night light" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #666666;">The lights start at the tail section and move clockwise into the front of the ship and the cockpit. I left the cardboard partition in place. Note that I also that I also cut out a section of the "valley" between the front forks to allow more light to be projected upward. The controller is hidden inside the hold and the receiver pokes out slightly through the engines so the remote will work.</span></b></td></tr>
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I wound the lights into place, with the controller inside the Falcon and the receiver poking out discreetly from the rear of the ship. After a bit of filing, the power supply cable was easily slipped through a hole on the underside of the ship.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgr2e0fLBEiibi0NJsImFBgcysCkxPZM2oVNgaM91qcXnVRMwc2u3z4E2a3mNbKPxb7Hhfv1HKNeII6sBFohvb1dct0mBzyIumA7VjYw_rNfIwQNWYaAbF6-HUEmhrYm_JI819SzstCrdl/s1600/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="millennium falcon night light" border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgr2e0fLBEiibi0NJsImFBgcysCkxPZM2oVNgaM91qcXnVRMwc2u3z4E2a3mNbKPxb7Hhfv1HKNeII6sBFohvb1dct0mBzyIumA7VjYw_rNfIwQNWYaAbF6-HUEmhrYm_JI819SzstCrdl/s320/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-7.jpg" title="millennium falcon night light" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: #666666;">Light test in the dark. The exit/entrance ramp is long gone. I may fill in that gap with pieces taken from the other Falcon, but for now I like the extra light coverage; plus it does a good job lighting the Falcon from underneath.</span></b></div>
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<br />
Once I turned on the LED lights I realized that I needed to cut away sections of the engines and the "valley" between the front "forks" of the Falcon so more light would shine through. I used a hacksaw to complete this task. (In retrospect, I'd do this cutting before spray painting everything to keep down the dust.)<br />
<br />
I wasn't quite done though because once we tested it in dark, the thinness of the removable back panel became apparent. It made the whole thing look funny because it glowed aggressively while the rest of the plastic was thick enough to prevent this issue. I thought about the possibility of layering black paint on the inside but since I have a relatively high Cheap stat I turned to the magic of tinfoil. I cut out a piece of foil and taped it to the inside of the panel. Problem solved -- no more glow!<br />
<br />
And after a quick hole drilled in the mounting board and short nail hammered into a stud, it was ready to go on the wall! Overall Dad stats increased by +3.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCeYroUz9O-SK4boReyaekowdb4ZI80utj0CiastUELCJRyMYbU6S4DqThWaxEpLXhhvxEEEzYkGLn5-Da_tOvv5AUqQ7OfIpU3Q2JuQ25N0xZjCUNW1BkB4pWVpoRc8VXFUq7Yj3YyMxJ/s1600/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="millennium falcon night light" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCeYroUz9O-SK4boReyaekowdb4ZI80utj0CiastUELCJRyMYbU6S4DqThWaxEpLXhhvxEEEzYkGLn5-Da_tOvv5AUqQ7OfIpU3Q2JuQ25N0xZjCUNW1BkB4pWVpoRc8VXFUq7Yj3YyMxJ/s400/Millennium+Falcon+-+NL+-8.jpg" title="millennium falcon night light" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: #666666;">The finished product! Maybe a few minor tweaks remain to be completed, but otherwise, I'm very happy with the result.</span></b></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-83352984274394612422015-07-07T21:25:00.003-07:002015-07-07T21:25:54.074-07:00Excerpt from Chapter 13: Roy Arrives in Less Dramatic Fashion<span style="color: red;"><i>The text below is from a novel in progress. First draft so there's still plenty of editing that will need to be done before it's "ready."
</i></span><br />
<br />
“It was marked on the wall outside.”<br />
<br />
“Show me,” Tex moved from behind the counter toward the door.<br />
<br />
Outside, Roy pointed at the graffiti. Tex considered the markings for only a moment before heading back inside.<br />
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“I don't suppose, Canuck, that you carry a sidearm?” Tex was rooting behind the counter. “I've got one here if you don't.”<br />
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“A gun? For what?”<br />
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“La Madre is one of the local gangs. Involved in drugs, illegal hooch, drug smuggling. People sometimes,” Tex stood up holding what Roy knew was a shotgun, but didn't recognize the type. “Rile up all kinds of trouble in town. When they feel like it; when someone ain't paid up protection money or wronged them some way. Not happened in a spell, quiet lately. We've been marked for target practice, I expect.”<br />
<br />
Tex banged a side of the counter top and a small spring-loaded drawer opened on the customer side of the counter.<br />
<br />
Roy's wide eyes stared down at some kind of handgun. Growing up in the wilds of Canada, Roy knew about rifles – a tool that his family used on a regular basis to hunt game – but handguns? What use was there for a handgun? Using a rifle was all about keeping a safe distance from dangerous game. The effective range of a handgun made it impractical unless you wanted to make a lot of noise without getting much done. He reached for the gun.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>“You've got eleven bullets,” Tex said as he took a position near the window facing the street. He didn't see anything stirring besides the weeds. “They'll probably just drive up, unload a few shots, then move on. They never seem to take umbrage with getting shot at, like it's all part of their job. Cletus potted one – dropped him dead in the street – and they just picked up the body and left. No revenge, no lawyers, no law. Canuck, take a knee or something! Standing up in middle of the room like that, you might as well paint a target on yourself!”<br />
<br />
Roy suddenly felt the urge to knock over a table and hide behind it. He'd seen it in Western movies, though he'd always doubted that a half-inch of rum-soaked pine would offer much in the way of stopping power. And besides the only available table barely offered 4 square feet of formica and walnut veneer as cover. Roy settled on taking position at the opposite side of the window from Tex.<br />
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“Ever fired a gun before?” Tex said.<br />
<br />
“Rifles, never a hand gun,” Roy looked at his camera sitting on the small table. He looked again out into the dusty half-paved street. “Do they usually come at a specific time?”<br />
<br />
“Got somewhere to be?”<br />
<br />
Roy considered the question. “Well, no, bu–”<br />
<br />
A grinding, dusty, and muted noise kicked up outside. A growling engine was getting closer.<br />
<br />
“Just stay in cover, we should be fine.”<br />
<br />
A boat-like Lincoln car spun to a stop in a cloud of choking dust, it's hood mere feet from the front of the building. It was barely stopped before five dust-caked and gun-wielding wild men leaped from the vehicle.<br />
<br />
Roy would see things later that seemed to happen in slow motion, but the most jarring time was this first time. The window glass expanded out in sheet of diamonds, the sun striking the glass and bathing the inside of the waiting room with a split-second of rainbows. Anything made of wood seemed to be splintering and expanding the same way a flower opens itself when seen at high speed. Tex seemed to stand still, shotgun stock against his shoulder, an expanding torrent of exploding gases and rounded projectiles at the end of the barrel.<br />
<br />
He wanted to dwell in that slow time. There was seemingly no movement, but somehow he was taking it all in, thinking and feeling in real time but unable to move.<br />
<br />
Then everything was moving at regular speed and Roy dropped to the floor, firing his gun blindly over the sill of the glass-less window. At this range, surely he would hit something. He did but nothing critical to actually defending himself. The “open” sign in the window of the abandoned ice cream shop across the street, might have deserved a bullet, but now wasn't the time. Another ricocheted off a sideview mirror and finally blasted through an empty beer can left on a rock across the street. While it was an interesting trick shot, it wasn't useful.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-11412382813023157962015-04-15T11:38:00.003-07:002015-04-15T11:38:49.736-07:00Daredevil<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYAgH6UJ1ia9Ytxq_NQhIhsuMWRjSpjMZfSaIOVwCPH97SwuOVPdtwXTKEw7-hojhAHOMGfvxDtIsctMbMQcYU4yEm6G-YruNtQv3OTvt9OF0sB2WYYcpbRBylQtaQqTwJtujfi3E2W7v/s1600/daredevil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYAgH6UJ1ia9Ytxq_NQhIhsuMWRjSpjMZfSaIOVwCPH97SwuOVPdtwXTKEw7-hojhAHOMGfvxDtIsctMbMQcYU4yEm6G-YruNtQv3OTvt9OF0sB2WYYcpbRBylQtaQqTwJtujfi3E2W7v/s1600/daredevil.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
After a couple of episodes of Marvel's Daredevil -- obligatory, "Now available on Netflix!" -- one thing that really stands out to me is just how hellish life is when you're not on SHIELD's helicarrier. Throughout the Avengers/Marvel Universe movies, we get a sanitized version of the results of the kind of violence that meta-humans and gods can unleash (not to mention the aliens) on a city. Those gargantuan Chitari flying whale-things in Avengers easily topple buildings and the Hulk is smashing everything that is and isn't moving but you never get a sense of the human cost behind all that destruction. Thousands must have died in the "Battle for New York." Never mind that "The Council" was going to nuke Manhattan, there must have been massive causualties on the ground.<br />
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Daredevil doesn't really get into that aspect of the Battle for New York, but it has featured the aftermath as a boon for organized crime to rebuild sections of the city and swindle huge amounts of cash into their bank accounts. What Daredevil has done is bring the Marvel Universe right down to the streets, grime and garbage included. (And at the end of the second episode, we go under the streets in one intense round of combat.)<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Daredevil's version of Hell's Kitchen is brutal. The level of violence isn't something that's prevalent in the Marvel films but in Daredevil, it's par for the course. Even when the action shifts away from Matt Murdock (aka Daredevil) beating on criminals, there's this sense that something terrible is about to happen to characters not actually involved in the fighting.<br />
<br />
The results of a suicide (by pistol) and a murder (multiple stab wounds), seem out of place for something in the Marvel Universe, but Daredevil is the other side of that same coin. At least so far, everyone involved is human. Aside from Daredevil's blindness and heightened senses, the combatants are all on equal footing (i.e. human). The fighting is choreographed and interesting to watch but as fights wear on, there's this noticeable toll on the participants. The fighting gets sloppier, combatants are slow to get on their feet, they make mistakes.<br />
<br />
After a couple of episodes, this dark corner of the Marvel Universe is working for Daredevil. It does make me wonder if Frank Castle will make some kind of cameo even if it's in passing. I mean, what's Thomas Jane up to these days anyway?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-2274248983321221952015-04-01T13:42:00.001-07:002015-04-01T13:42:54.622-07:00Fat-Man & Burger<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I think I was 7 or 8 -- somewhere around that age -- when I got hold of a mechanical pencil for the first time in my life. I loved the fact that the tip never blunted, which is still a problem with modern pencils, so I spent and afternoon/evening drawing "Fat-Man & Burger."</div>
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The ending lacks a punch, but I'm fond of some of the illustrations, particularly the panel where Fat-Man is sweating profusely.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhff-Wx9yeWl3GTTp99nv5aScUGlb-EYod2XgRAdxzjhErtaz7cbv0X_yhm9_CiLOc4Q3DZo5YJ3QluzvTBjBr5VhyphenhyphenvpUzwMu2_MkKy-yzykdln2YdEERZ7fKg0fyMVviGJeTDKQYnNEC-p/s1600/%5BUntitled%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhff-Wx9yeWl3GTTp99nv5aScUGlb-EYod2XgRAdxzjhErtaz7cbv0X_yhm9_CiLOc4Q3DZo5YJ3QluzvTBjBr5VhyphenhyphenvpUzwMu2_MkKy-yzykdln2YdEERZ7fKg0fyMVviGJeTDKQYnNEC-p/s1600/%5BUntitled%5D.jpg" height="400" width="317" /></a></div>
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There was never a second issue of Fat-Man & Burger and I didn't leave enough wiggle room at the end of the comic -- The End not To Be Continued... -- to really carrying it beyond Issue #1.</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-51687663513443922802015-03-19T15:05:00.001-07:002015-03-19T15:05:25.017-07:00TV Theme SongsSomething about TV theme songs really appeal to me. It might be because they're short, usually have memorable lyrics, and conjure up whatever good feelings I might have associated with the show. Bojack Horseman (on Netflix) features an instrumental opening that is currently buzzing through my brain. Here's an extended version:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="283" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ikpc1BN4nN8" width="504"></iframe></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-63888647258598586832015-03-07T00:37:00.000-08:002015-03-09T15:33:04.832-07:00This Headline<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja_EEg_zs91dk_3mKfZTU_8dCWhyXnppRLCzOTcvnaXkxI7TfVkCGc4OC-BTnGOPzzqF8KMUWMxEoApJgzbRUuLpvKlfl-2XBpVsxNj17rZvJmf45vrEAc9SKKNUV-iUfN6kMuoc3rLcBM/s1600/newspaper-headline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja_EEg_zs91dk_3mKfZTU_8dCWhyXnppRLCzOTcvnaXkxI7TfVkCGc4OC-BTnGOPzzqF8KMUWMxEoApJgzbRUuLpvKlfl-2XBpVsxNj17rZvJmf45vrEAc9SKKNUV-iUfN6kMuoc3rLcBM/s1600/newspaper-headline.jpg" height="275" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
A number of days ago, this headline had me laughing every time I thought about it. Even without any context or knowing what the rest of the story is about, it just sums up what a couple of 12-year-old boys would come up with on a hot summer afternoon and it somehow becomes news.<br />
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Intentionally or not, it also has the cadence of a headline from The Onion.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-56592957044631615782015-03-06T01:39:00.000-08:002015-03-06T11:24:13.219-08:00Excerpt from Chapter 12 – Why Couldn't It Have Been Tequila?<i><span style="color: red;">The text below is from a novel in progress. First draft so there's still plenty of editing that will need to be done before it's "ready."</span></i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“This leak, Roy, you gotta do something with it,” his mechanic had told him. “I know you keep topping it up but that ain't gonna keep you going for much longer. I'll give you a break on the labour. Or how about you pay me in instalments?”</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Roy cocked his head, winked at the mechanic. “I'll be just fine, mon amis. Not to worry.”</i></blockquote>
As he leaped out of the car to snap the hood open and restart the car with force of will and a wave of profanity, Aloysious muttered, “I knew we should have stopped at that last gas station to get some water.”<br />
<br />
A large semi-trailer zoomed passed them and the pair were left in an eerie wake of silence.<br />
<br />
Well, silence as allowed by Roy's incredible barrage of profanity.<br />
<br />
It was close enough to noon for the sun to be almost directly overhead. And it was hot. Not the kind of swimming humidity of Toronto, but hot. Baking hot. Humidity or not, suddenly stranded in a desert wasn't how Aloysious thought this trip was going to end. Maybe something spectacular, like a blood-red mushroom cloud and a shockwave of energy blasting out nearby windows, but not this.<br />
<br />
“Mechanic told you to get that leak fixed,” Aloysious reminded him, unnecessarily.<br />
<br />
Roy paused. “You want to try doin' something useful, boy?” He shouted. “Get up on the road and get us a ride to the next gas station. Tow truck or something, maybe.” He trailed off, popped the hood, and strode out to bellow at the engine block.<br />
<br />
Aloysious stowed the camera in the trunk, next to a stack of Reds. His eyes narrowed just slightly.<br />
<br />
He peeled off some of the plastic wrap and pulled out a six pack.<br />
<br />
There was a muffled, “What the hell, boy?” from the front seat of the car as Aloysious snapped open a can.<br />
<br />
“Maybe this'll help,” Aloysious said. “Get the camera ready, I guess. Maybe I can get us outta this with some Red power.”<br />
<br />
Roy stood beside the car now, looking at Aloysious. “Leave the naming and catchphrases to me. Red power? What the hell. That's almost as lame as Shazam.”<br />
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<a name='more'></a>The empty can was tossed into the trunk as Roy picked up the camera.<br />
<br />
Aloysious hated warm beer, and these cans of Red were nearly hot. Cold. That was the way to do it. Even room temperature in a pinch, but warm? It was like a slaking his thirst with warm tar, though possibly less painful.<br />
<br />
As the third can was snapped open, Roy echoed it with a click of the camera shutter.<br />
<br />
Roy's mostly indecipherable notes on this particular event are hard to read. There's definitely words like “pow” and “shit” and “rutabaga” but beyond that most of what we can learn about that event is the feeling behind the scribbling rather than any actual information. It's urgent writing, as if Roy couldn't write as fast as his thoughts. Words overlap, weird diagrams emerge if you look at the paper in the correct light. Fortunately, this limitation in the written record doesn't prevent me from telling you about it because... well, I'll get to that.<br />
<br />
Nothing happened.<br />
<br />
Aloysious stood, swaying against the hot breeze, and nothing amazing happened. After the fourth picture of “nothing happening” Roy lowered the camera. “Try lifting the car.”<br />
<br />
His general dehydration allowed the alcohol to be absorbed very fast and shotgunning three cans of Red had a tendency to flatten all but those deepest into their alcoholism so Aloysious was “feeling it.” And suddenly, he blacked out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-87340674908371647882015-03-04T22:10:00.002-08:002015-03-04T22:12:28.401-08:00A Little from Chapter 9: Things Begin Horribly Wrong<i><span style="color: red;">The text below is from a novel in progress. First draft so there's still plenty of editing that will need to be done before it's "ready."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></i>
It was like some kind of spilled gold that coated his mouth, his throat; he could feel his skin begin to unfurl. The basement lit up and Aloysious could see the skeletons of Sal and the Raspy Man; he could see beyond the walls and floor and saw more bones tangled together. Amid the sudden cool power of being three cans in, there were voices twisted together. Cries of pain, anguish. Sobbing.<br />
<br />
Aloysious dropped the empty can.<br />
<br />
The walls started crumbling and something cracked along the floor. The bones started vibrating.<br />
<br />
Through a veil of mist Aloysious missed the finer points of what happened next, especially every fax machine, cell phone, television, and computer within a twenty kilometer radius spewing out an address. Even car radios were affected. A reassuring feminine voice intoned the address over and over, no matter what station was playing. He also missed the skeletons reassembling themselves and pushing aside poured concrete like a shower curtain and climbing from the earth like voles. The past victims of Raspy Man and Sal grabbed hold of the stunned pair and dragged them to the main yard.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>If anyone had been around to see it, they would have seen a ghostly blue form of Aloysius smash through the roof and wait for the ghastly parade to join him. As the skeletons entered the yard, many of them laid down in neat, orderly rows seeking rest that had been so far away when they'd moved on to something astral. But the skeletons clutching Sal and the Raspy Man moved on toward where Aloysious' massive form hovered a few feet above the ground.<br />
<br />
The fear roiled off the pair, but Aloysious paid no attention. He could see their bones and without so much as a word, he begin shattering and splintering the bones of the pair. (Later, doctors would look at the x-rays and describe some of the bones as, “dust.”) He began with the toes. No matter what piggie went to market, it was never coming home. Thigh bone connected to the hip bone – if you looked at the right angle it did. Some of the more important bones Aloysious left untouched – another fact that confounded doctors later; was it a concentrated sound beam? – such as the ribcage and especially the jaw bone and most of the throat. These two pieces of flotsam needed to be able to tell their story.<br />
<br />
The skeletons lowered their charges to the ground, then settled in themselves, finally peaceful. Sal and the Raspy Man screamed.<br />
<br />
<br />
Aloysious floated over the macabre field of bone and as names revealed themselves, he etched them into the ground in front of the resting skeletons. The sirens were getting closer as he pulsed and shimmered, vanishing like fog.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-29375139478644170012015-02-24T11:17:00.001-08:002015-03-04T23:04:33.823-08:00Dad Tip #31<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKLgJbtDAXJQ-Nyspo0XdxeGbL6XXuEzIKdrynReiPzthz_rNW2tMpXakLAv0k5d0nMSO9NqAw2ZLiOaM3SfDg26j7fHsDlTaYWU5RcekdlhuDbqlFmqat3sKoqHGfv_i4p23ncJgiWD6/s1600/embarrassed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOKLgJbtDAXJQ-Nyspo0XdxeGbL6XXuEzIKdrynReiPzthz_rNW2tMpXakLAv0k5d0nMSO9NqAw2ZLiOaM3SfDg26j7fHsDlTaYWU5RcekdlhuDbqlFmqat3sKoqHGfv_i4p23ncJgiWD6/s1600/embarrassed.jpg" height="111" width="200" /></a>The best way to embarrass your teenage daughter will take some planning and possibly aerobic exercise.<br />
<br />
The first step is to learn what music she listens to and memorize the lyrics, especially the refrain because those are the moments you'll want to sing loudest.<br />
<br />
It's especially relevant to note that <b>volume</b> is of higher priority that being able to carry a tune or knowing every single word to the song. In fact, it might be best to intentionally make up some phrases that are close enough to the words to sound correct but are completely wrong. Or random insertions of "LA, La!" and clapping.<br />
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This should bring about an embarrassment level of a 6 out of 10. You know, for those times when you're driving your daughter and a group of her friends to a movie or soccer game or wherever. Whatever song comes on the radio you must be ready!<br />
<br />
For true mastery, you'll need some space to execute specific dance moves that more or less (go for "less") ape the dance moves from the video as you sing loudly to a song that you only know 3/4 of lyrics to. This is where the aerobic exercise comes into play.<br />
<br />
If you've ever wanted to see your daughter actually phase-shift to another dimension -- dimension 22 where there is no Time and only Embarrassment exists -- a properly executed (i.e. fumbled) dance routine in time to the latest Miley Cyrus tune (or whatever tunes your daughter enjoys) will allow that kind of inter-dimensional travel.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-15727562179452377822015-01-27T23:31:00.001-08:002015-01-27T23:31:16.801-08:00CompostAfter Esi Edugyan's "Half-Blood Blues" I've started reading a book about composting.<br />
<br />
Really, it's a logical leap. After the experiences of a group of black musicians trying to wade through Nazi Germany, why not read up on a composting method seemingly popularized in Japan that uses fermentation to create compost rather than piling the organics in an aerobic mix that may or may not result in compost months later?<br />
<br />
"Bokashi" composting... well, it actually has my interest piqued. And it sounds so simple. At least on the face of it. Plus, we may actually be able to use some of the massive 50lb bag of bran that we inexplicably wound up with over the weekend.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-71707797525811590532015-01-22T16:06:00.002-08:002015-01-22T16:06:22.627-08:00R-E-S-P-E-C-T<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB6aIbb97ZrLOzJSkrtytXiHT6xlfxCXJJ6b3fdF0PUyRUrKzNCYJ7jLVcecVgYcHLyHL3ZLDT9n4h9PlEzrQp8w2wLmgeNAHi0mTgznKoNCaesZu4VDhnyQhT2asZIg7NL5GZ0aXcpH0H/s1600/RESPECT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB6aIbb97ZrLOzJSkrtytXiHT6xlfxCXJJ6b3fdF0PUyRUrKzNCYJ7jLVcecVgYcHLyHL3ZLDT9n4h9PlEzrQp8w2wLmgeNAHi0mTgznKoNCaesZu4VDhnyQhT2asZIg7NL5GZ0aXcpH0H/s1600/RESPECT.jpg" height="320" width="45" /></a></div>
Before we call the meeting to order, I'd like to bring your attention to the whiteboard. I hope that by following these basic principles we'll have a civil meeting. I won't pretend that I don't feel the animosity in this room but there are many items on our agenda that need to be reviewed and we only have two hours. Squabbling and pettiness, have no place in this acronym as you see.<br />
<br />
First "R." The "R" is for <i>Respect</i>. In part, respect is defined as "the condition of being esteemed or honoured." And there's been some amount of ink spilled about respect being earned rather than given but this meeting will go much smoother if we <i>give</i> each other some respect. We don't have time to earn it this time, but you will have my respect if you provide some for your fellow Council members.<br />
<br />
The first "E" stands for "Energy." We need to exude positive <i>energy.</i> Without some positivity, our judgement may be clouded by personal grudges. With that positive energy we have to make sure the rest of the owners are being served in the best way possible.<br />
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Now the letter "S" which our comic book friend from Krypton wore so proudly, stands for "Spaghetti" because I couldn't think of anything that fit with this acronym or whatever this thing is called. A mnemonic, perhaps?<br />
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"P" is for "Pleasure," pure and simple. That's what we will all gain from this meeting should we stick to these principles. I mean aside, from "spaghetti" because spaghetti isn't so much a principle as it is a delicious pasta dish.<br />
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The second "E" is <i>excitement</i>. The moment we leave this meeting, we should all be excited for the possibilities of the future, the potential opportunities your decisions will lead to. A better tomorrow? Well beyond that! It will be a better month, a better year.<br />
<br />
Join with me in C<i>lapping</i> for the letter "C." If someone makes a good point, offers respect to another council member or just feels happy show your approval with a round of applause. Let's bring Tinkerbell back to life with our affirming and polite clapping!<br />
<br />
Lastly but maybe most importantly, we should all keep in mind, "T." Without this letter we will be here all night trying to move through this agenda. I want to keep things <i>Tight</i>. Like comedy, timing is everything and without a tight and wary eye on the clock, this meeting has all the potential to descend into tragedy, particularly if we do not heed this acronym: <b>RESPECT!</b><br />
<br />
Now, the time is 7:05, the meeting is called to order.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-53001740217286767002014-10-03T08:28:00.001-07:002014-10-03T08:29:20.060-07:00"Mental State"I think I'll call this doodle, Mental State:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqG0_EVNHWjFmfoD3VJa9evXmpdsZ55iTBsNsBpC1QhnxTXMkHX1Nqy_qO4-Es3PrxLUeovOJh7VnCfPWVwmndLGkBsbBiBbnFbYKYYVr1VARpWVuXksI2BMaNR9rRGLJEpNyDXYyh8aqa/s1600/mental-state.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqG0_EVNHWjFmfoD3VJa9evXmpdsZ55iTBsNsBpC1QhnxTXMkHX1Nqy_qO4-Es3PrxLUeovOJh7VnCfPWVwmndLGkBsbBiBbnFbYKYYVr1VARpWVuXksI2BMaNR9rRGLJEpNyDXYyh8aqa/s1600/mental-state.jpg" height="292" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-23621738361661069412014-08-28T22:40:00.002-07:002014-08-28T22:41:59.458-07:00Chapter 11: All Things Embraced<i style="background-color: #fefdfa; color: red; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">The text below is from a novel in progress. First draft so there's still plenty of editing that will need to be done before it's "ready."</i><br />
<br />
Phineas read the story again.<br />
<br />
It started on the front page, accompanied by the most incomprehensible picture he'd ever seen, and he'd seen many, many pictures, the story lacked some detail but even the generalities and the statement from the first responders to the scene – “I've been a paramedic for 20 years and I have never, ever seen anything like this.” – were enough for Phineas to realize that he needed to find out what was going on there. One other strange detail – and there were no officials that even commented on how it could have happened – was the blanket media broadcast that occurred alerting everyone within a bubble of 20 kilometers to the address of the biggest crime scene that part of the country had ever seen. The fringe corners of the Internet and late night radio were inundated with various recordings of the soothing female voice repeating the address over and over. This was something Phineas found out later. He also found that several other details were being purposely omitted by the mainstream media.<br />
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There was no hiding the details though. The fact that media, curious people, and first responders arrived on the scene almost at the same time, meant that amid the chaos of the scene there was no control, no one to put up police tape and push people out.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>
The front page that Phineas looked at had neat smudges where the names of the victims/skeletons had been etched into the ground. Why the newspaper had obscured the name was not something that Phineas could understand but there in the background... He removed a large magnifying glass from his desk, from the drawer directly above the large locked cabinet section of his desk. He peered through the lens. More clearly but still somewhat hidden was the beginning of a name, “Char” then smudge. Phineas supposed it could have been an “m” or an “n” where the text was obscured.<br />
<br />
The official story was that an explosion, presumably caused by some kind of new drug lab, had caused major loss of life and that two suspects were being questioned.<br />
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Needless to say, it would be a long arduous task to unravel the mystery behind what really happened.<br />
<br />
Or it would have been had Phineas not picked up his phone and dialed – he'd resisted switching to a keypad phone – an old friend and private detective. More importantly, an old friend that would believe enough of what he said to actually follow through on an investigation.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-71834115824983405622014-08-27T17:57:00.001-07:002014-08-27T17:57:12.922-07:00Difference of OpinionWhat did you do that last time you had a difference of opinion between you and someone else?<br />
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Did you reach for your worst insults and psychopathic ramblings, step menacingly forward and crunch a meaty paw into the face of the one that dared to voice a difference opinion? Did you just shrug your shoulders and carry on with a, "Hey, we don't agree on this but let's grab a beer?" Did you banter back and forth, ironing out the wrinkles between you? Grope for understanding or staunchly dig your heels in, not <i>wanting</i> to understand?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWUAaBj85ygSBelbAUkUpsqYQVlzjdlJafQ115jKu6hatrHR3Ka5BUGq_GqAmzkXzgAz-IqCZ18b9gK1wb-THOkBQ-CYV4oIYq4BIqrcNv0lIh0ueaVYclw17yp8nJyrt5DusgXN-4JG0n/s1600/shouting-birds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWUAaBj85ygSBelbAUkUpsqYQVlzjdlJafQ115jKu6hatrHR3Ka5BUGq_GqAmzkXzgAz-IqCZ18b9gK1wb-THOkBQ-CYV4oIYq4BIqrcNv0lIh0ueaVYclw17yp8nJyrt5DusgXN-4JG0n/s1600/shouting-birds.jpg" height="120" width="200" /></a>A difference of opinion, is that really licence to threaten the other?<br />
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From my corner of the Internet -- or least the <i>view</i> from my corner of the Internet -- is that one. If someone dares to offer an opinion different than your own that's a blanket licence to threaten not just the person that holds a different opinion but also threaten friends and family of that person. And if the individual with a differing opinion comes from a woman and involves video games... oh dear God.<br />
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Suddenly it's "okay" to assume the persona of the Zodiac Killer and tweet epically vile hate in an effort to elicit terror and fear. What the hell is wrong with people?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310353624738632780.post-1181245316542802022014-08-19T16:16:00.003-07:002014-08-19T16:26:20.262-07:00"Listicle"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnLLJjMMJuJfaHuab8fkOL2WBgea8yK6I2iLuAUGD4OZ4eLgH_RZ3GufXbzjcQN-DybLgc6s44U7dVHDNTQxAUB1aF0bD-Zw-XU43HkDHxoG4qXneNWjvDH8XGJLcPuihCTxCoNfZywuJb/s1600/heart_8.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnLLJjMMJuJfaHuab8fkOL2WBgea8yK6I2iLuAUGD4OZ4eLgH_RZ3GufXbzjcQN-DybLgc6s44U7dVHDNTQxAUB1aF0bD-Zw-XU43HkDHxoG4qXneNWjvDH8XGJLcPuihCTxCoNfZywuJb/s1600/heart_8.png" height="200" width="137" /></a></div>
It's amazing to me that until recently I had never heard the word "listicle." Out of context, it could describe either a popsicle gone wrong or the way a man walks after having a testicle removed (i.e. listing to the side, like a boat taking on water). For the uniformed (and a reminder to myself), a "listicle" is an ar<i>ticle</i> on the Internet which is a <i>list.</i> (They used to call "Top 10's" but for some reason that fell out of favour -- and besides coming up with 10 of anything is <i>hard</i>. The 5-8 range is much easier to hit.)<br />
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Topics of these lists oscillate between dumb to<i> incredibly stupid</i>. You've seen them before and you probably haven't seen the last of them.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
One that caught my eye recently was posted on Inc.com, "8 Things You Should Never Do in a Job Interview." The list included such common sense items as don't eat during the interview, don't slouch, and don't answer any calls or texts during the meeting but in practicality there's no end to a list like this one, so I present to you "8 Other Things You Should Never Do in a Job Interview."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Don't Shit Your Pants</span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Take care of any bowel movements prior to the interview. Nothing sinks your chances of a getting a job faster than filling your pants as you say, "It's nice to meet you, too, Gerry."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Additionally, try to empty your bowels at home because you don't want to be known as that would-be employee who fogged the bathroom with an unspeakable and nose-exploding odour. And if you landed the job... It's the kind of thing a person has a hard time living down.</span></div>
<div>
<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></u></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><b><u><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Don't Make Sly References to Your Sexual Prowess</span></u></b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">While double-entendres and sly references of a sexual nature worked well for James Bond (especially during the reign of Connery and Moore), it's nearly impossible to slip one in and get anything but a flaccid response.</span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Don't Wear a Monocle</span></u></b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Unless you're applying for a position as the Spy from the board game </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Stratego</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> or a 19th Century </span>railroad<span style="font-family: inherit;"> tycoon, leave the monocle at home. At worse it makes you look pretentious; at best it makes it look like you misplaced your top hat.</span></div>
<div>
<b><u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></u></b></div>
<div>
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Don't Plead the 5th to Every Question</span></u></b></div>
<div>
Don't "plead the 5th" to interview questions. Rather, answer questions that you think aren't fair or you didn't hear because you were looking out the window with, "I refuse to answer that on the basis of my dietary requirements."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hmmm... maybe don't do the "dietary requirements" thing. It might just confuse the interviewer. Answer honestly and enthusiastically and you'll be good.</div>
<div>
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div>
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Don't Stab the Interviewer with a Pencil</span></u></b></div>
<div>
Physical violence never solved anything, except maybe World War II, so don't stab an interviewer with a pencil or with any pencil-shaped objects including letter openers or pens no matter how much the interviewer's tie or scarf may offend your sensibilities. Really, you should just let the interviewer know that his tie or scarf offends you and really <i>anyone</i> with a smidgen of good taste would realize that the accessory is in bad taste...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Actually, just keep that thought to yourself.</div>
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<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div>
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Don't Come to an Interview Drunk</span></u></b></div>
<div>
This seems like a no-brainer piece of advice. Unless you're auditioning for the role Otis Campbell, Mayberry's town drunk, in the stage production of "The Andy Griffith Show" leave the hard drinking for the moments <i>after</i> the interview. (Be clear of the reception area as well.)</div>
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<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div>
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Don't Speak in Movie Quotes</span></u></b><br />
The "You Can't Handle The Truth!" exchange works for <i>A Few Good Men</i> but it rarely conveys one's ability to be a team player, consensus builder, and trusted employee. Also, steer clear of dialogue from <i>Scarface, Goodfellas, Taxi Driver, Forrest Gump, Jerry Maguire </i>or <i>UHF</i>.</div>
<div>
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div>
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Don't Role-Play During an Interview</span></u></b><br />
At many interviews, the interaction will end with, "And do you have any questions for us?" Do <u style="font-weight: bold;">not</u> answer with any variation of, "I do have some questions but I'll ask them as my D&D character, Ezra McPuffin!"</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0