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 |    Not for the faint of art. |
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Complex Numbers A complex number is expressed in the standard form a + bi, where a and b are real numbers and i is defined by i^2 = -1 (that is, i is the square root of -1). For example, 3 + 2i is a complex number. The bi term is often referred to as an imaginary number (though this may be misleading, as it is no more "imaginary" than the symbolic abstractions we know as the "real" numbers). Thus, every complex number has a real part, a, and an imaginary part, bi. Complex numbers are often represented on a graph known as the "complex plane," where the horizontal axis represents the infinity of real numbers, and the vertical axis represents the infinity of imaginary numbers. Thus, each complex number has a unique representation on the complex plane: some closer to real; others, more imaginary. If a = b, the number is equal parts real and imaginary. Very simple transformations applied to numbers in the complex plane can lead to fractal structures of enormous intricacy and astonishing beauty. ![Merit Badge in Quill Award
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Congratulations on winning an honorable mention for Best Blog at the 2018 Quill Awards for [Link To Item #1196512] . *^*Smile*^* This award was sponsored by the blogging consortium including [Link To Item #30dbc] , [Link To Item #blogcity] , [Link To Item #bcof] and [Link To Item #1953629] . For more details, see [Link To Item #quills] .](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Blogging-2180.gif) ![Merit Badge in Highly Recommended
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Tomorrow, I'll resume posting links to discuss, and sometimes entries into "Journalistic Intentions"  [18+] (which I suggest checking out; the prompts are really open-ended and I'd love to see others' takes on some of them). So consider today kind of a break. A holiday, if you will.Interesting word, "holiday." In British English, it means "vacation." Here in the US, it's usually some sort of observance, commemoration, official day off for some people (but obviously not everyone). The word itself is, as one might guess, derived from words meaning "holy day." As I've noted here too many times to count, words change over time, but I find it useful to know their origins sometimes. I urged yesterday, "Tell us about your Memorial Day plans!" So it's only fair, I suppose, that I do the same. Memorial Day is, by most definitions of the word, a holiday, a secular one observed in the US (though of course different religions can interpret it as they see fit) to commemorate primarily those who have died in the service of the Armed Forces of the US. We have other days for honoring those who have served, or will serve. In practice, it's a day for cookouts, going to a beach, setting off fireworks (really, we Yanks don't need much excuse for that), or getting together with friends. It's the unofficial start of the summer season here, so summer, outdoor activities predominate. Some find this disrespectful of the purpose of the holiday, I suppose. I'm not going to take sides either way, but I will point out that such activities fall under the nebulous heading of "freedom," which is what they say service members fought for. Me? I hate crowds even when there's not a pandemic going on (and make no mistake, there still is), so I generally stay home and drink. Coincidentally, that's what I do most days, but when I drink on Memorial Day, I remember my dad and my uncle (not his brother, but my mom's). Neither of them died in battle, but both served in WW2. And I say they didn't die in battle, but with my uncle, that's a technicality. I knew him, growing up, as a big, scary, ominous presence who wasn't entirely sane. Not that he was dangerous. I mean, sure, he had been a soldier, but when we got into that war, it's not like he had much of a choice. He had been a gentle man (that space between those words is entirely intentional), and remained so. He was just... not all there. Unpredictable. My aunt, his sister, had to take care of him while running a business, and she did her duty, too. They called it "shell-shock" then, but I suppose he had what would be called PTSD now. That's what happens when you're a Jewish American soldier marching through Germany, seeing your comrades die in battle, and learning the first-hand truth about what was going on at Dachau. I know from his letters home, which I've read but shan't quote here, that he did, indeed, die in that war, even though his body lasted another 45 years. So that's what I remember on Memorial Day. Take it as you will. I won't shame anyone for grasping what enjoyment they can from the holiday, or for doing the opposite and commemorating it in silent solemnity, or anything in between. Like I said... freedom. It comes at a high price, and it's not only the soldiers who pay it.  Mini-Contest Results Thanks for all the comments! I couldn't be arsed, after all that above, to use the Virtual Dice, so you'll just have to take my word that the choice is random. A LeJenD' at 49   gets the Merit Badge for today. There will be other opportunities, hopefully ones less depressing.Just a couple of quick notes: SandraLynn, Victoria Day is the "first official weekend of non-winter" in Canada? I didn't know there was a "non-winter" in Canada. Okay, I exaggerate. I've been to Toronto and Vancouver (different years) in July, though, and they were complaining about 80F being a heat wave. That's not a heat wave. That's a mild spring day. Don't get me wrong; I love Canada. Beautiful country, when it's not covered by s**w. Happy birthday to Elisa the Bunny Stik! Soldier_Mike, you honor your friend. Everyone else, again, thanks for your comments, and however you observe the day (or not), have a good one. |
   PROMPT May 30th Congratulations on making it to the last day of the competition! What was your favorite prompt from the last month? What was the most rewarding aspect of participating in the competition? I gotta say, I liked almost all of the prompts this month; they were all interesting and open-ended enough that I could spin them however I wanted. I can't claim a favorite, really, though I probably had the most fun with the one from the 25th, about finding something valuable. Of course, it turns out that the most valuable things are the friendships we... okay, no, I can't keep a straight face with that.  Still, I always like reading others' comments and blog entries, and the opportunity to comment on entries I might not normally see. I really do appreciate different opinions and perspectives, even though most of them are demonstrably wrong. Yes, yes, I'm kidding; relax. Thanks for reading, thanks for commenting, and hey, since I haven't done one this month, how about a Merit Badge Mini-Contest! Tell us about your Memorial Day plans! If you're in the US, of course. If not, tell me how you perceive this particular US holiday; I like getting points of view from other countries. No need to make it a competition, though; as long as your comment has something about Memorial Day, it'll count, and I'll pick a MB recipient at random on Monday. The deadline is, as usual, midnight WDC time at the end of today (Sunday). I'm not going anywhere, not yet, so there will be more blog entries, and more MB contests in June. Hope y'all stick around! |
| PROMPT May 29th We need your help filling the Challenge War Chest with new prompts for future rounds of the 30DBC! Write three of your own prompts and then use one of them to finish the rest of your entry. Yeah... I've been dreading this day. As I'm sure I've said before, I only have a limited supply of prompts in my head. I have to use one every week for the Cramp, and with that it's often the case that I can't come up with one until the last minute. When you ask a computer to generate a random number, you don't really get a random number. It's what's called a pseudorandom number, based on a seed value. And that seed value will always generate the same sequence of pseudorandom numbers. This is a good thing for debugging programs. It is not such a good thing when you want an actual random number. To get around this, sometimes the generator will pick some environmental value as the seed. I hear background noise level is a common one; it tends to vary unpredictably. As for the computations it uses once you give it a seed, well, that's above my pay grade, but from what I understand it involves chaos theory and... well... complex numbers. The point is, humans -- even the one writing this -- are horrible at choosing random numbers. Unpredictable numbers, sure, but if you ask a bunch of human to give you a number between 1 and 10, for instance, you will get 1 and 10 relatively rarely. But if you roll a 10-sided die multiple times, or have a computer select the numbers pseudorandomly, you'll get them with approximately the same frequency as the other 8 numbers. What I mean is... we all have our biases, and most of them are unconscious. So, for example, if I just saw my cat sniffing at the mint plant that I've somehow managed to keep alive for months (the average life expectancy of a plant in my care is about 3.4 seconds), I'll come up with a prompt like "Write about how a pet's curiosity gets her in trouble" or something like that. (Because mint is similar to catnip, and I'm quite good at killing the plant on my own, thanks, I don't need your help, kitty.) How does this relate to prompts, you ask? Well, ideally, I'd pick them at random. But that requires something like a predetermined list that you can choose from at random, or at the very least, several sets of ideas that you can blend together. Both of these still require some thought, and thought may be unpredictable to an outsider, but it's not random. So anyway, here are three prompts that were prompted (heh) by things in my current environment. 1) What's your least favorite kind of litter, and how would you eliminate it? (There's a discarded paper plate on my deck because I was using it to feed the cats, and I can't be arsed to pick it up right now because it's wet.) 2) Write about a memorable rainstorm. (The paper plate is wet because there's a soft rainfall going on right now.) 3) How do you avoid being rained on? (I'm able to sit on the deck and type this on my laptop while it's raining because I have a nice patio umbrella that's useless when it's windy, but right now it's not windy.) Now I'll use a random number generator app to pick one. This is how I pick things to talk about when I'm not doing this blog challenge. I could use WDC's Virtual Dice, but my phone is more convenient. 2) Write about a memorable rainstorm. In August of 2017, a solar eclipse streaked across the United States. I'd known about the eclipse for years, because, hello, nerd here. I figured I'd wait until a year or so before the eclipse, and find a brewpub along its path, and make reservations at a nearby hotel. There's a good chance of a brewpub being in the path of such an eclipse, because the path spanned the US, and we have a lot of brewpubs. I figured I'd sit outside to have a beer and watch it. Well, that didn't happen; what with one thing and another, I procrastinated, as is my wont, and it was only like two weeks before when I thought, hey, I really would like to see a total eclipse. I figured, okay, I'll go to Wyoming and find a spot out in the middle of nowhere because there's a lot of nowhere in Wyoming and that state, of all the ones crossed by the eclipse, had the smallest chance of being overcast on an August day. Any more west, and you run into the notoriously cloudy PNW; east coast, and you get hurricanes sometimes in August. But then my friends wanted to go, too, and neither of them could be arsed to go to Wyoming. We settled on Misery. I called it "the Missouri compromise," because at first they were thinking closer states like Kentucky or South Carolina, which, like I said... chance of rain. My friend miraculously found a hotel room available the night before and after in central Misery, so we spent a lot of money reserving that, and off we went. The day of the eclipse came, and... there were clouds. Fortunately, they were the thin, high ones, clouds that only very barely covered the face of the accursed daystar. We saw the eclipse. It was awesome. But that's obviously not relevant to the prompt. What is relevant is that, the next day, we were driving back along I-64, and the skies opened up and poured down rain fit to sink Noah's ark. I couldn't see in front of my hood. The wipers became useless; I could see better without their constant slapping. That kind of rain. Now, when you're driving down an interstate in conditions like that - and I've done it in rainstorms, fog, and at least one blizzard - you're fucked. If you slow down, you risk getting hit from behind. If you speed up, well, don't do that. If you keep going at your pre-deluge speed, you risk slamming into the idiot in front of you who slowed down. If you pull over to the shoulder or under an overpass to wait it out, you risk someone else having the same idea and, again, slamming into you. Normally, such a storm lasts about five minutes, and then you get better, if wet, visibility. Well, this one must have also had the idea to take I-64 east, so we were in that thing for what felt like hours but was probably only half an hour. Long enough to get into many accidents. Spoiler: we didn't. Driving down that interstate, hands clutched on the wheel, peering ahead for the telltale signs of brake lights (which would be the only way I could see a car ahead of me, and then probably too close to safely slow down or stop), all I could think of was: "Gee, I'm glad it wasn't doing this while we were staring at the sun yesterday." There's another eclipse in the US in April of 2024. I'll have to drive to see that one in totality, too. Assuming I'm still alive for it, I'm looking forward to that. Rain or no rain. |
| PROMPT May 28th What would you do if you knew you could not fail? Fly. No, I don't mean go over to the airfield and take piloting lessons. I could have done that before, given enough time and money. I just couldn't be arsed. I'm talking about whooshing through the atmosphere, like Superman or whatever. I mean, if I can't fail, that mans I'd be able to soar under my own power, right? There are levels of failing. Trying to fly and failing could, depending on the circumstances, be fatal. "Oh, I'll just jump off this cliff and trust that I'll miss the ground below entirely." Trying to get a pilot's license, on the other hand, like I said, just takes time and money... along with a visual acuity that I no longer have, so that's right out at the moment. But even absent the vision problems, the thing stopping me has not been fear of failing (or crashing), or lack of funds (it's really not much more of an investment than many other lessons, unless you actually buy an airplane), or even lack of time. No, it's that I have no purpose for it other than being able to say "I can fly an airplane." And that's not enough for me. I need at least two reasons to do something before I do it, preferably more. Funny enough, that doesn't apply to sitting on my ass and doing nothing. I don't need any reason to do that. But I digress. Levels of failing. Something could be fatal, but so what? You could trip in your bathtub. Or you could fail by getting bored and giving up. That happens to me a lot, because squirrel. Or it could turn out that you're just no good at it, as is the case with me and musical instruments. None of these possibilities ever stopped me from trying something, though. One thing that does stop me is the amount of work involved for a certain level of reward. Brewing is like that. I have no interest in brewing my own beer, because a cursory examination of what is required told me that it's 1% enjoying the fruits of your labor, 2% actual brewing, and 98% cleaning. And yes, I'm aware that adds up to more than 100%. Not worth it, not with thousands of breweries operating in the US alone, the products of which I could spend the rest of my life sampling with almost no effort on my part. In other words, I have to believe that I'm going to enjoy the process, not just the end result. Now, if I were assured that I couldn't fail at brewing -- meaning not only producing drinkable beer, but not getting bored with the process or finding out I have no talent for it after all -- I'd do it. It's not flying, but it's close enough.  As I've mentioned before, I'm trying to see at least one movie a week at the cinema. Yesterday was the last chance for me to see Raya and the Last Dragon, so I opted for it over newer releases such as A Quiet Place Part II and Cruella, both of which I hope to see eventually but should be in the theater for the next few weeks. So hopefully I can continue to do brief reviews, because condensing a movie review into one sentence is as much a writing exercise for me as anything. One-sentence movie review: Raya and the Last Dragon This solidly-plotted, excellently-animated, and beautifully-voiced fantasy action movie from Disney succeeds in telling a compelling story; however, I question the appropriateness of the movie's central lesson (which seems to boil down to "trust your enemies;" a hell of a thing to teach a kid), and besides, I couldn't stop thinking that the movie's multi-pastel-colored dragons closely resemble My Little Ponies. Rating: 4/5 |
| PROMPT May 27th Write about your first _______. (You fill in the blank. Ex: first car, first job, first crush, first week at college, etc) It's not like I'd never had a taste of an adult beverage before. My parents operated on the theory that if it's not seen as The Forbidden Fruit, I wouldn't be as tempted to overdo it when it was finally legal to drink it. So they let me have sips here and there, mostly of wine or beer. That worked out well. To be fair, it probably would have been worse if they'd completely forbidden it. Or if my first beer hadn't been such a disastrous experience. Like I said, I knew what beer tasted like, but I count my "first beer" as the one I chose for myself, the first one I didn't get parental permission for, the first one I drank in its entirety as the gods intended. I was 16, and it was a boat party. The other kids there were around my age. Some had their drivers' licenses, like me. Some did not. The boat's owner made it clear that if we drank, we weren't driving, period, end of story, give him your keys. He was still breaking the law, of course, just by having us there, but he wasn't about to be responsible for drunk kids driving on the roads. I respected that. Still do, actually, though I wouldn't have had the kids on my boat to begin with. If I had a boat. If I knew any kids. And just to be clear, it was a big boat. I wouldn't call it a yacht; nothing about it was luxurious, but it was a nice roomy houseboat with plenty of places for drunk teens to sleep it off. More to the point, it was too big to sway much in the dinky little waves of the estuary. This is important, because the only thing worse than someone unused to alcohol getting sick, it's someone unused to alcohol getting seasick. So that's where I had my first beer. Well, I called it beer at the time. I'm embarrassed to admit that the name on the can was: Red White & Blue. Kids these days will never know the glory of the RWB. This is probably a good thing. No, this is definitely a good thing. Objectively, there is little difference between RWB and water. But, at 16, what do you care? It's beer. It's illegal. It's edgy. Nowadays, if that piss were still around, one can of it wouldn't even register to me as alcoholic, assuming you could get me to drink it in the first place, which is a really bad assumption. In any case, they don't make it anymore. But after that one can, there I was, hanging off the side of this giant houseboat, emptying the contents of my stomach into the murky waters of the calm estuary. Yes, I swore off beer after that until I got to college, where peer pressure forced me to drink nearly-as-bad examples of the brewing "art." It wasn't until years later that I discovered the wonders of craft beer. And yet, every once in a while, I remember that first beer. It was great.  Oh, hey, some of you were wondering about one of my goals from yesterday: "Maybe write fiction again?" Well, I got to thinking about it a few hours ago, and decided there's no time like the present. So I wrote a story for "The Writer's Cramp" [13+]. Here it is:
No promises that I'll write more anytime soon. But there it is. |
| Thanks for all the comments and advice yesterday. Navigating the swampland of human interaction can be difficult for me, because I never bothered to buy hip waders, put on insect repellent, or learn which plants will mess me right up. I'd a whole lot rather talk about beer. And even ratherer than that, drink it. Movie news: It looks like next month is Harrison Ford Month at the Alamo. Blade Runner, Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Fugitive, another Raiders movie... no Star Wars, but that's okay; I'm still sore over The Rise of Skywalker (even The Mandalorian didn't cure me of being sore about TRoS). And as for the new Raiders movie that's supposed to come out next year? Well, to quote Han Solo, I have a bad feeling about this. Point being, there's plenty of movie opportunities coming up, and that's not counting any new releases. I'm planning to see Raya and the Last Dragon on Thursday, and and some point I'll have to do A Quiet Place II. Again, I know that many movies don't require going to the theater, especially those classic Harrison Ford movies. I'm going anyway because I like the experience. I can eat at home, too; that doesn't mean I never want to go out to eat. At this theater, I can do both. Hey look, a wild prompt appeared while I was typing this, so without further ado... PROMPT May 26th Make a list of your top five short term goals and a separate list of your top five long term goals. What steps will you take to achieve them? Short-term Goals: Let's see... did I mention five movies above? Raiders, Last Crusade, Fugitive, Blade Runner, and (one of these is not like the others) Raya. Yep. That's five. Okay, that's probably cheating. Let's lump those all under movies. 1) Movies 2) Beer 3) A road trip 4) Fly to Belgium 5) Maybe fly back 1 and 2 are easy to achieve: walk to the drafthouse cinema, spend money. 3 is a little trickier because I need a block of time without commitments here, and that's tough to find in the next few weeks. 4 depends entirely on availability; last I heard, they were planning on letting vaccinated Americans in, but no time frame for that has been set. And if I can't go before the start of September, it'll be next year because -- and I cannot stress this enough -- I utterly despise the cold. Anyway, I'll have a chat with a travel agent who, presumably, knows more of the ins and outs of this sort of thing than the sometimes questionable information found on the internet. 5 is more aspirational. Just saying it'll probably be hard to leave. There's a lot of good beer there. Long-term Goals: At my age? HA! 1. Stay alive 2. ... that's about it, really. 3. Okay, travel to other places 4. Maybe write fiction again? 5. Take over the world and make it more fair and just, especially for me. ...yeah, obviously, these are mostly jokes so they don't get a real "what steps" treatment. The fiction writing thing could just as easily be a short-term goal, but I've been so focused on reading / viewing other peoples' fiction that I just haven't been doing my own lately. That's okay; I'm not all that worried about it. For now, doing daily blog entries and two newsletters a month is enough for me. Really, though -- and you've probably already figured this out about me -- I'm not a very goal-oriented person. This is reflected in my random road trips; there's technically a destination, selected at random, but I give myself as much leeway as possible in getting there. On the road, as in life, for me it's more about the journey than the destination. And sometimes I think that there is no destination; there is only the journey. |
| 30DBC prompt is running late today, so to stick to my schedule I'm just gonna write some shit and edit this later. I think I fucked up yesterday. It has been my custom for nearly a year now to visit a local taphouse every Monday. I didn't do it for a couple of months in the winter, because I didn't want to sit inside and the patio was cold because it was winter. It tends to get cold in winter. I do not like cold. But now that I can sit indoors once more, I find I don't want to because it's warm on the patio. That's what happens in spring. I might change my tune in summer when it's been known to get up to 100F or more in the afternoon, but we'll see. Anyway, one of the employees there is this woman I'll call L. She knows her beer, so sometimes we have brief discussions of various beer styles and breweries, and her tastes are similar to mine. Yesterday, we had a brief chat like that and I casually remarked that at some point I'd like to sit down with her and just talk about beer. Now, this is what I meant by that: "One of these days, I'd like to sit down with her and just talk beer." I just want to be crystal clear about this. I have no ulterior motive, no hidden agenda, no desire to hit on her or charm her with my natural grace and smooth talk. I just want to talk about beer. And she said -- I think she smiled but she was masked -- "Oh yeah, I'd love to do that!" But then I realized I'd screwed up. I have a hard and fast personal rule against hitting on waitresses. It's rude, it's condescending, and it takes advantage of a power imbalance: they exist to serve me, and I exist to pay them, and that's not any kind of basis for an actual relationship, brief or otherwise. Not for me, anyway. (And this should not be construed as me thinking they're somehow lesser; I've dated servers before in my life, but never ones I've picked up at bars.) So, regardless of what I meant by that (which, again, was exactly what I said, no more and no less), there was no way that she could have responded in any way that wasn't positive, not if she wanted to keep me as a good tipping customer. Or at least that might be the case from her point of view, though even if she'd told me to sod right off, I'd still come back for the food and beer. And keep tipping for excellent table service. But how's she supposed to know that? I realized my mistake right away, so I didn't make any actual invitation as to time or place. Worse, I can't even blame being drunk. I was relaxed and in a good mood, but I'd only had one beer at that point. Even so, Drunk Me has made his share of mistakes, but he's never hit on a server. Usually his mistakes are limited to browsing Amazon or sending things he thinks are funny (but Sober Me doesn't) to friends via text. I'm actually a pretty calm drunk. Anyway, I've been kicking myself since then. There's no way to undo this. And I don't want to suddenly stop going there, because like I said, the food is terrific. All I can think of to do is to continue to be polite to her and the other employees, tip appropriately, and try to keep my (lack of) wits about me in the future. Yes, I know I may be overthinking this. And it's even possible that, just as I meant exactly what I said, she did too. If she brings it up in the future, okay, I'll know for sure. Until then, I'm just going to keep kicking myself. Edit: PROMPT May 25th Write about the most exciting, odd, or valuable thing you’ve found on the ground or abandoned on the side of the road. Invent a story about where the object came from and who owned it before you found it. Mostly all I see on the side of the road is litter. Some of it might be valuable to someone, like when a car loses a hubcap from a pothole or something. But it's not valuable to me, unless I happen to have the same make and model of car and it's missing a hubcap, in which case I'd probably figure it was mine to begin with. Every once in a while I'll see a mitten, or a penny or a nickel. These days the roadside is absolutely strewn with face masks. In the ditch, on branches, hanging off of guardrails, in the middle of sidewalks... just yesterday, I saw one carefully preventing a fire hydrant from giving us all Covfefe-19. Y'all... stop it. Just stop. Stuff that thing in your pocket and later, dispose of it properly. Better yet, do what I do and use a cloth mask that you can wash. You're all a bunch of savages and you're the reason we can't have nice things. But one day, long ago, I was walking in an urban area and found... a $20 bill. PAYDAY! (Back then, $20 would get you more than a cup of coffee and a bag of chips.) And, I mean, it wasn't a particularly busy urban area, but it was still a city sidewalk, not far from the infamous statue of Robert E. Lee that subsequently made Charlottesville a household word. And the bill wasn't even hidden, just sitting there. So I must have missed whoever dropped that sucker by mere minutes, or less. Still, looking around, I saw no one nearby, so you're damned right I picked it up and claimed it using the ancient legal principle of Finderus Keeperus Loserus Weeperus. I mean, I try to be an honest guy, and if I'd seen someone walking away, fumbling in their wallet or purse like they're confused about something, I'd have waved it around for them. But thinking that made me wonder: Who loses a $20 bill? And only a $20 bill? Most of us keep those things secure. I didn't give the origin much thought then, and I sure as hell don't remember what I spent it on (probably a couple of slices of pizza and a beer), but now it occurs to me that one plausible scenario would be a marriage that was falling apart. How, you wonder? Okay, imagine a couple walking down the street and they get to arguing about, I dunno, the statue of Robert E. Lee or something. She says it's a disgusting monument to slavery; he claims it's a proud memorial about heritage. She scoffs. He doubles down. They're discussing this in loud voices, stopping every once in a while to flail arms and dodge those passers-by who don't have the wherewithal to cross the street to avoid the escalating fight. Eventually, they get to the "I'm not speaking to you anymore" part of the argument and storm off in different directions: him to the car, her to anywhere that is not in a car with him. But then, suddenly, he stops, realizing that even though she's Completely Wrong, he's still responsible for her (he's an asshole, but not a complete one) and so pulls out a $20 for a cab ride home (remember, this was pre-Uber). "Hey, okay, fine," he says. "Just take this so you can get home safe." "I don't want anything from you," she spits. He shakes the bill (which incidentally features a portrait of one of the worst racist presidents in American history). "Come on, take it!" Realizing it's the only way she can get away from this turd, she snatches the bill from his hand. As soon as his back is turned, she flips the bill onto the sidewalk. Seconds later, oblivious to the politics and family disputes involved, Waltz strolls by and claims the $20 bill, later to put it to good use. Well. Anyway. I do hope she got somewhere safe, and then dumped his sorry ass and took him for more than $20. |
| PROMPT May 24th Write about a movie or television show you watched recently that blew you away. What lessons can you learn from the show and incorporate into your own writing? Hm. Well. I might be too cynical these days to really get "blown away" by movies or TV. I go in to all of them from the point of view of a writer: What works? What doesn't? Why does what works, work? Even bad movies or shows can teach me something, but my time is as limited as anyone's, so I don't often deliberately seek out bad ones. Still, if I happen to come across one, I approach it from a writer's point of view so as to learn what doesn't work. I've mentioned before, in here and in a recent Fantasy newsletter editorial, that I enjoyed Godzilla vs. Kong. While I can't say I was in any way transported by it, the movie was very enjoyable. But what can you learn from it as a writer, besides "have giant monsters fight each other while wrecking an entire city?" Well, I covered another aspect in the newsletter; if you haven't seen it, you can view the editorial here: "Giant Monsters" Besides, city-destroying kaiju battles don't usually translate well to fiction writing. Their impact is solidly visual. My TV show consumption nowadays consists of two main interests: comic book shows, and Star Trek. The latter is mostly new stuff; it's rare that I want to revisit them, because there are so many that I just don't have the time. With Trek, again as I've noted in here before, I'm on a quest to (re)watch every episode (and movie) in that franchise, in chronological order. As I write this, I just wrapped up Season 4 of DS9 and Season 2 of Voyager, both of which I mostly missed when they first came out in the mid-90s. A lot of Trek is objectively silly. But it's popular for good reasons, and I've been trying to, as I mentioned above, figure out what works and what doesn't. To me, it comes down to a few basic ingredients. Characters. Say what you will about Trek, but they have memorable characters. Everyone is aware of Spock, for instance. Or Worf. There's a huge advantage in having characters like them in stories, because they can provide contrast to the absurdity of some human behaviors and customs, by virtue of being outsiders. It's a trick as old as science fiction itself, and it works. But even setting aside the alien characters, the humans in Star Trek generally have well-defined personalities, inner conflicts, likes and dislikes, strengths and flaws. Plot. Unless you're setting up a cliffhanger at the end of a season or something, wrap things up. In life, things rarely resolve themselves in 45 minutes, but we don't watch SF shows for the realism. It's very satisfying to a viewer (or reader) to provide a firm conclusion to whatever conflict has gone on in the episode, be it a plague that only the ship's doctor can cure, an alien attack on a colony that needs to be resolved by a starship captain, or a malfunctioning transporter that requires engineering expertise. Or whatever. Wrap it up. Sometimes Trek shows don't do this very well, and it sticks out when that happens. Subplot. Often there's more than one plot involved, because we can only take so much tech gobbledygook before someone does a miracle and fixes everything, so maybe you have a different character bemoaning her love life, or dealing with a personal crisis. This is fine, and it keeps the actors who may be unnecessary for the main plot busy in accordance with their contracts. But from a viewer's perspective, it can be used to create suspense as the subplot unfolds at critical moments in the main plot, or vice versa. But for Kahless' sake, give the plots some parallelism, if only on a metaphorical level, or we start losing patience with the whole thing. Humor. Okay, maybe I'm biased about this because I consider myself a comedy writer (whether other people consider me a comedy writer is something the jury's still out on). But inserting a bit of comedy into an otherwise tense situation is a very effective technique for keeping the audience engaged. It's basic writing: any emotion can only be sustained for a limited amount of time. That's why they call it "comic relief;" you get relief from the relentless problems the cast are dealing with. The trick is in finding the appropriate level of comedy for the situation. If a bunch of characters are dying all around you, you don't necessarily want a Vaudeville act unless you're going for farce in the first place. But a well-placed one-liner here and there can make the difference between a good plot and a great one, while also illuminating character. And then, once in a while, you get a whole show about tribbles. Above all, though, what I learned from Star Trek is: don't put space hippies in your show. That was cringeworthy enough in the late 60s, and today, it just comes across as silly. |
| PROMPT May 23rd Write about nicknames. What nicknames do you have for people in your life? What nicknames do others use to refer to you? Do any of these names have an interesting story for how they came to be? I'm not real big on nicknames. I mean, if someone's named Edward and wants to be called Ed, then I call him Ed. If someone's named Zachariah and wants be called Wormy, okay, fine, I'll call him Wormy. I've usually resisted the temptation to come up with my own nicknames for people, because I never know how they'll take it. There have been exceptions. One of my best friends started out here with the username dogfreek. She was young at the time, so I called her Puppy. That one stuck. Somehow, we're still friends. Harder to call her Puppy now because she's an old lady at this point. Also she reads this blog so now I'm in big trouble. As for me, I've been called Robert, Rob, and Bob. Somehow never Bobby, at least as far as I can recall. Also some things less flattering. Doesn't bother me, though, because if you show that you're bothered by a nickname, that just makes them want to use it all the more. But really, I don't care; when I refer to myself in the third person here, I use Waltz. As long as I know it's me you're talking about, then whatever. Some of those aren't what I'd normally think of as nicknames, though; just lazy versions of my name. Technically, Bob is a nickname, as is Ed and Liz and other common monikers, but I'm talking about how I perceive it, not the technical definition. A nickname is something like Wormy, above (I've never actually known anyone named Wormy, though I've known a couple of Zacks). Or Stinky, or Hoss (I live in the south), or Red. Nicknames are also distinct from usernames, though it is of course perfectly acceptable to use a nickname as a username or, here, as a handle. I don't consider jackhammer69 to be a nickname, for example (or a particularly clever username). Unlike with usernames, usually you don't get to choose a nickname for yourself, but you can end up owning it if people call you it. Interesting thing about French I've learned: it's fairly common knowledge, I think, that the French word that translates as name is nom. The translation of first name is prenom. But there's also a French word, surnom, that you'd think would mean surname or, as we think of it in English, family name; but no, nom means either surname or full name (I'm still a little unclear on the usage), while surnom translates to nickname. Which is especially weird to me because the French word sur generally means something like on, or on top of, as in sur la table. It may well be a linguistic coincidence, but to remember it I started thinking of surnom, nickname, as meaning above the name. But the really cool thing about nicknames is that, well, they're usually bestowed upon someone once their character is at least somewhat developed, as opposed to one's legal name, which is usually granted before or just after birth, before your parents know what you're really going to be like. While it could be argued that given names can steer one's personality and guide one's career - you think John Wayne would have had the gravitas he did if he'd kept Marion Morrison as a working name? -- the reverse can be true for nicknames. The downside of nicknames is, of course, that kids are assholes and they'll come up with embarrassing ones, like for example calling someone named Amber "Amberger." With all the power names have, you'd think there'd be more people choosing them for themselves. I guess in most cases, you're either used to the one you're stuck with at birth, or you want to respect your parents' choice. Besides, changing it can be a real pain in the tuchis. And that can sometimes lead to ridicule, too, as when Prince changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol. Bottom line is, usually I'll call a person by the name they wish to be called. Anything else is just rude. Unless you're Puppy.  It has come to my attention that y'all voted this Best Blog for the second year running. All I can say is: thank you. I appreciate the votes, the readers, and of course the comments. But definitely read the other nominations, too; they're worth the time. And congratulations to all the other Quills winners! |
| PROMPT May 22nd Write about the biggest challenge you have faced and how you overcame it. Superlatives can be tricky. Most embarrassing moment? Greatest fear overcome? Worst mistake? Biggest challenge? All of these things depend on elapsed time since the incident, current situation, and a memory that's inherently faulty. It's entirely possible that my biggest challenge was learning to walk, a thing that almost all of us have accomplished, but I have only the vaguest memories of that period of my life. Or perhaps it was the opposite: my parents, like I suspect most parents, spent the first three years of my life teaching me to walk and talk, and the next 15 telling me to sit down and shut up. Doing so is a challenge for a kid. Some time after that, though, I went to college. Now, as you know, I'm a supergenius, so you'd think college would have been easy for me. It was not. Intelligence (I might be overstating mine to some degree) isn't correlated with the drive to do the necessary work to develop it. In other words, I was too busy playing video games learning to drink (not simultaneously; I still suck at that combined skill) to concentrate on coursework. I passed. Eventually. Just barely. But I did learn one important thing, which was how to focus on learning stuff so I could pass exams. One might argue that this is a relatively unnecessary skill after college, but this is not the case for engineers. So several years later, I had to take the professional engineering (PE) exam, which is not an easy test. Well, I suppose it is for some people, but given a choice between anything resembling work, and playing a video game, I'll play a video game because I'm inherently lazy. Okay, I didn't "have to" take the exam, but having that certification meant more money which I could then use to buy video games and booze. So when it came time to schedule my PE exam, I buckled down and (mostly) resisted the urge to play video games or drink beer when I should be studying. This gave me skills that the social atmosphere of university never did, which was to find ways to enjoy learning, and to focus on a goal, not my immediate satisfaction. And so I did, and I passed the exam on the first try. To this day, I enjoy learning almost as much as I enjoy those other things. Giving up instant gratification for future rewards, well, I'm still not very good at that. And then, once it was over, but before I found out the results, I spent a week doing nothing but playing video games in my spare time. Not drinking. Like I said, for me the two are mutually exclusive. Right now, I'd call that my biggest challenge thus far. Ask me tomorrow, though, and I'd probably pick "losing weight" or "putting the video game on pause long enough to do my taxes." I don't know; I'm not big on remembering the challenge, only the results. It's also entirely possible that, in the right mood, I would admit that my greatest challenges were ones that I did not end up overcoming. But I'm not in that mood right now. Maybe another time. |
| PROMPT May 21st Write an open letter to a person or group of people you strongly disagree with and explain why. Use reason not emotion. Dear Chicago and environs (aka Chicagoland): That thing you make? With the deep dish and soft bread and thick, gooey toppings? That's not pizza. I don't know how you can call it pizza, unless your definition of "pizza" equates to "casserole with bread on the bottom." It's more like a pot pie without a top crust, a crust which is replaced by extra thickness on the bottom one. Pizza -- real, actual, honest pizza -- involves a particular consistency of crust, and fewer toppings than it takes to choke a bear. Now, don't get me wrong. It can be delicious. I have, indeed, enjoyed the taste of a deep-dish topless pot pie in the past, and probably will again if I can ever make another road trip, or at least find an abomination factory close by. But it is not pizza. I know you try very, very hard to distinguish your city from New York, and you mostly succeed. I mean, New York actually has functioning sportsball teams and slightly less crappy weather. But when it comes to pizza, the Platonic ideal comes from a little oven in Queens, run by actual Italian immigrants who only get heart attacks from hearing about how Chicago has mutilated the entire concept of pizza, not from eating said pie. Oh, well. At least you don't put chili on top of pasta like they do in Cincinnati. But if your entire identity is "at least we're not Cincinnati," you have failed as a city. Signed, Waltz (not an actual Italian) P.S. California, you're next. Avocado is never an acceptable pizza topping, even if you do get the crust mostly right. I warned y'all I would do this, and here it is: A one-sentence movie review of Wrath of Man While you can't go wrong casting Jason Statham, and the movie has an impressive body count and excellent gunfight scenes, there exists in the film a serious lack of car chases and explosions, two things that can elevate a film from merely good to a cinematic masterpiece. Rating: 4/5 |
| PROMPT May 20th What does happiness mean to you? Reflect back on a specific moment when you felt unconditionally happy. What circumstances made you feel that way? So, yeah, I've ranted about happiness as a concept in here before, so some of this might be a rehash. Perhaps because of the infamous meme posted on the internet by noted rapper DJ TJ, "the pursuit of happiness" has become enshrined in the actual (okay, the figurative) DNA of the US, along with discrimination and the benefits of working yourself to death. A couple of notes on that, though: 1) Word meanings change over time. I mentioned here not too long ago that the meaning of "nice," for example, once meant something much closer to the sarcastic version today, as in "well, that's a nice pickle you've gotten yourself into." This is especially true for abstractions such as "liberty," or, indeed, "happiness." We -- well, I, anyway -- tend to think of it as people walking around with big smiles on their faces (assuming they're unmasked), probably without a care in the world, likely not very bright. But in its 18th-century meaning, the connotation was closer to prosperity, thriving, wellbeing 2) The same happy people walking around maskless and smiling without a care in the world tend to forget about the "pursuit of" part. The DoI never claimed happiness as a right, only the pursuit thereof. Consequently, "the pursuit of happiness" can be more precisely interpreted as the right to self-determination, to follow one's own chosen path in life to the extent that a person is mentally and physically able, and not be, say, limited by one's parent's profession or, to extend it into more modern terms, being shackled by traditional gender roles. By the way, I don't want to hear about Jefferson's apparent hypocrisy in penning those words while owning actual slaves with no self-determination. I live in Charlottesville, so I'm fully aware; and we've all seen Hamilton. Or if you haven't, there's a video of it on Disney+; go watch it already. So. Happiness. Modern connotation. I think it's only meaningful in contrast to its opposite, kind of like how it feels so good when you stop banging your head against a brick wall. Thus it is inherently a fleeting state. Some people like to pretend they're happy in order to fit in. Others pretty much have to pretend they're happy, even if they're working a shit retail job and having to deal with ignorant assholes. Quitting such a job, provided one has an alternative means of support, is, incidentally, practically guaranteed to produce feelings of true happiness -- for a few hours, anyway. As for discussing happiness on a personal level, I've already mentioned in here - several times - the sensation I call beerenity Last time, I think I described it as utter calm, but utter calm makes me happy, so it fits here as well. And I'm pretty sure I talked about the time I scored some Pappy van Winkle bourbon. Man, that was a good night. But since I've already told those stories, and because I don't want to describe things of a particularly adult nature, things that used to occasionally induce happiness, in here, how about the time I quit my job (even though it wasn't a shit retail job) and started my own company? Sure, I knew co-running a company would be a massive source of a different kind of stress, but in that moment, I felt freedom because my destiny wasn't tied to a boss. It's like I said above with self-determination. That only lasted a couple of hours, though. Then I had to fill out forms and meet with an accountant, both of which inevitably give me a headache. And headaches are anathema to happiness. In any case, I don't see happiness -- modern connotation -- as a goal. No, it can be the result of achieving a goal, but in my experience, chasing happiness for its own sake is counterproductive. It only comes as a result of something else. And even then, trying to hold onto it beyond its natural life often leads to despair. But without the despair, how do you know you were actually happy? |
| You know what else it's wonderful to get back to doing? I'm sure you know what I'm about to say. Yep, you've got me completely figured out. But I'm going to say it anyway. Brewery visits. Yesterday a friend and I visited two local breweries that, somehow, neither of us had ever set foot in before, and they were around in the Before Time so I have no excuse. As is my usual procedure in such cases, I got a tasting flight of a variety of different beers. And with one exception, they were all really damn excellent beers (the one exception was just a really excellent beer). Now, I don't want to give anyone the impression that I like all beer. I do not. For example, and I'm sure I mentioned this in here before but what the hell, I was presented with a lime-salt lager a few weeks ago that was utterly foul. But all that does is make me appreciate the good stuff that much more. Still, not only did I like the beer, but now I'm going to have to go traveling again just so I can find more new-to-me breweries to try. I'm out of local options. Though that doesn't preclude me going back to those. Edit: PROMPT May 19th Write about the most historic world events of your lifetime. How are they (or will they be) remembered? What will the history books focus on? I know I've written about it before, but during my lifetime, the one historic even that stands out as the "most" is the first moon landing in 1969. Certainly there have been other important events, and will be in the future, but in my view, the landing of humans and their technology on a separate world for the first time is not only the most significant thing we've ever accomplished, but possibly the most significant thing we can ever accomplish. Oh, sure, maybe we'll plant feet on Mars or soar through interstellar space, but there can only have been one "first time." Of course, the way history books are trending, they won't see it that way. Possibly they already don't. No, instead of acknowledging this amazing feat of science, technology, teamwork, courage, curiosity, and sheer human determination, they'll probably spin it as: - It wasted resources that could have better been used for other pursuits (it didn't). - The effort wasn't inclusive/diverse enough (fair, but irrelevant). - It was a vast international dick-measuring competition (also fair but irrelevant, as the competition produced results). Worst of all, though, are the ignorant cockwads who deny that it ever happened at all, that it was a huge hoax. I'm not even going to bother to try to go into the reasons why they're wrong, and I fully admit that at this point some of them are just trolling for attention, same as many flat-Earthers. But I will mention why it's utterly maddening: because to deny that we managed to put a human on the moon not only denies the significance and importance of the accomplishment, but also denies human achievement itself. Denying it is also tantamount to saying: "we are human and thus incapable of great things," so it also denies something basic about our nature and what we are capable of. Well, I've banged on enough. I will say, though, that a close second to the moon landing in terms of historical events of great significance was the day in 1978 when Jimmy Carter signed legislation permitting home brewing, which eventually led to a proliferation of commercial craft breweries. But I fully admit that this one may just be my personal opinion. |
| 30DBC prompt is running late, will edit later, etc. So yesterday, I got to perusing my local drafthouse cinema's movie offerings. As I've mentioned before, I've been back to regular visits to the movie theater. I saw Godzilla vs. Kong twice, the second time as a celebration of my friend's vaccine freedom (I'd achieved freedom two weeks earlier). In between, I saw Nobody, which was a great fun movie, in whatever genre John Wick is. Middle-aged white guy revenge fantasy, I guess. Like I said, a lot of fun. And on Thursday I'm going to go see Wrath of Man, which, well, all I need to know about it is it's a Guy Ritchie movie with Jason Statham. Anyway, my questionable taste in film aside, like I said, I was looking at their upcoming calendar and I noticed something cool. Now, Alamo only posts a week in advance for new releases and blockbusters, but usually like two weeks out for older movies. So their weekend lineup for Memorial Day isn't complete yet. But just about every single showing currently listed for that weekend is already sold out. This doesn't affect me much, because I prefer to do my theater-going on weekdays. It's quieter and the people are more interested in the movies and less in just being anywhere that's not home. So I have no real desire to visit the cinema on any weekend, especially a holiday weekend in the US. (This does not mean that I never will.) But as far as I can tell, what this means is: Movies are back, baby. Now, look, I get it, some people prefer to watch movies at home. I'm not dissing that. I do it myself. And if this were just a standard theater with an overpriced popcorn and Coke concession, I'd avoid it too. But like I said, the theater is also a drafthouse with 32 beers on tap, numerous other drink options, and a varied food menu including full dinner (or lunch) options. And seat table service. Most importantly, any assholes who play with their stupid phones during the movies are thrown out on their ears. Sure, I could stay at home, drink the booze I have here, fire up the internet, and whip up some tacos or something, but I like the movie-theater experience, with the big screen and the Dolby surround sound -- things that I could approximate here, but never duplicate. Yeah, it gets expensive sometimes. I'm okay with that. There are few things I'd rather spend my money on. I could say I'm just glad to do it after a year of enforced separation, but if you've been following along, you know I wasn't entirely absent from the cinema during that time. Closings and health-related restrictions interrupted my goal of seeing at least one movie a week there, though, and all I'm doing is getting back into that schedule. Hell, I might even start doing quickie reviews of movies, here. I think I could make them entertaining, especially since I tend to see them drunk. I mean, why not? The theater's well within stumbling distance. Edit: PROMPT May 18th What is the most ridiculous or one-of-a-kind thing you’ve ever bought? Tell us the story! Yeah, I dunno... Drunk Me sometimes buys me presents, but so far they haven't been too ridiculous, and certainly not unique, being from Amazon. Even Drunk Me knows better than to go on eBay or Craigslist. And they're not as disgusting as the presents my cats bring me. But I suppose my first car qualifies. I mean, technically it wasn't my first vehicle, but remember: country kid here. I drove a pickup truck. When it died, though, it was at about the worst possible time for me financially. Now, look, I'm not a huge motorhead. But there's something I enjoyed about vehicles made before, I dunno, about 1995 or so, ones that you could mostly fix yourself with a few tools and not have to deal with computer diagnostics or warranty-voiding. And like I said, I was close to broke, and the truck was beyond fixing by anything short of replacing everything under the hood -- at which point you might as well get a new ride. So I went to a used car auction and bought a complete POS that had a working engine and inflated tires, and that's all I knew about it. It cost me $300 plus the auction fee, or what would be the equivalent of about $600 now. It was a 1982 Corolla that had lots of issues, but passed state inspection -- barely. Best of all, being built in the early 80s, I could do a lot of the fixin' myself. A lot of it, but not all of it. The biggest non-cosmetic problem with that car was that it was only firing on 3 out of 4 cylinders - much like my brain when it decided to buy the car. Honestly, though, this didn't affect it much, a testament to the engineering at Toyota at the time. I mean, it wouldn't go past 60 (that's 100 for y'all furriners) without screaming in terror, but I mostly needed it for city driving anyway. And the acceleration was predictably shit, but whatever; it ran, the brakes worked, and it didn't guzzle gas. But that's not the most ridiculous thing about it. No, the Ridiculous Award goes to me back then for what I did right after I bought it using the last of my cash and a few bucks I'd borrowed from a friend. I puttered that thing from the auction block across the street to Crutchfield, where I had them install a $900 sound system, complete with subwoofer, on credit. That's right. I put a $900 sound system into a $300 auction beater. At least I had my priorities straight, right? |
| PROMPT May 17th “Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known.” — Chuck Palahniuk Read this article and share your thoughts about how the people in your life have had an impact on you.“They’ve all helped me grow, become more resilient, and many supporting me when I most needed it. I’ve learned, matured, and became wiser thanks to my interactions with them.” https://medium.com/change-your-mind/we-are-a-mosaic-of-everyone-weve-ever-loved-... Okay, well, that Palahniuk quote is trivially true. I'm usually quick to side with "nurture" in the "nature vs. nurture" debate -- meaning that our lived experience is far more important than genetics in determining who we are. That's probably because my "lived experience" comes from having been adopted as an infant, so take that for what it's worth. The article, however, quickly delves into territory that would make it great blog fodder, had I found it first during a time when I'm not doing a blog challenge. I generally have two main categories of blog fodder: articles I like because they explain things better than I ever could, and articles that I like because I get to snark on them. This is one of the latter, so buckle up. Indeed, nothing is original. For various definitions of original, okay. We’ve inherited everything that defines us as individuals. Our genetic makeup determines a great deal of who we are; the rest deriving from our interactions with others and our environment. Yet the combination of these traits is what makes each person unique. I'd turn that around (though probably genetics has a greater impact on appearance). But I see what the author's doing: making a distinction between "original" and "unique." This is, in my view, a distinction without a difference. Each of us is unique. Each of us is original. But each of us is also part of a continuum; a process that started with the Big Bang, proceeded through the formation of the solar system and the first life, and continues in an unbroken chain. This, too, is profound but trivial. Your parents (or primary caregivers) had the largest and most significant impact on the person you are today. Typically, they’re our first encounter with the opposite sex, heavily influencing the romantic partners we unconsciously seek later on. And? By the time I encountered females other than my mother, I still hadn't internalized what sex differences really were. I suspect most people are the same in that regard. Incidentally, I just saw an article about a monk who died, at a ripe old age, supposedly having never encountered a female person. He was abandoned at the monastery at an early age, and they (officially) didn't let women in. Somehow, this is presented so as to show how holy he was. A myriad of mental illnesses and personality disorders can also be traced down to how we related to our caregivers during our first years of life. That sounds Freudian. Almost everything Freud said or believed has been shown to be, at best, misguided. Today I’m doing the inner work; embracing the positive, cherishing the memories, forgiving what hurt me, and releasing what no longer serves my highest good. After reading that sentence, my inner work involves swallowing some Pepto-Bismol to counteract the gorge that's starting to rise. This, I think, is one thing that Elisa the Bunny Stik  refers to as "toxic positivity."Siblings Siblings play a huge role in our lives. Raised within the same household, they can comprehend our trials and tribulations far more profoundly than others. And I am eternally grateful that I never had any. Extended Family As my genetic background is, by my choice, almost entirely unknown (I mean, it's pretty obvious my genes come from northern Europe, but other than that, who knows), I consider the world my extended family. My Friends “Friends are the family we chose for ourselves” — Edna Buchanan Friends are the family that we're socially allowed to distance ourselves from when they become assholes. Romantic Partners and Interests Intimate partners usually mirror plenty of aspects buried deep within us, causing unresolved issues to surface and pushing us to evolve. Thus, romantic relationships are immense learning experiences. As all of these have ended badly, I no longer pursue such things. However, we cannot solely blame the other person for how things turned out. It takes two to tango, and we must assume responsibility for our own shortcomings. I do. That's why I stopped. Neighbors, Coworkers, Roommates Believe it or not, for the better or the worse, many of them have somehow marked my life. Um... DUH. Often these are people we don't choose (with the possible exception of roommates). Some of them become friends. Either way, they're going to have an effect on your life. There's no "believe it or not" involved; they're people we interact with. Strangers “No one is sent by accident to anyone” — A Course in Miracles Oh, man, I wish she'd led with that quote. It would have saved me a lot of time and effort, 45 minutes that I could have spent watching Star Trek, playing a video game, masturbating, or sending internet memes to friends -- all of which are FAR more productive uses of time than even contemplating that stupid fucking book. But since I'm here anyway, allow me to deconstruct. "No one is sent..." Passive voice. Sent by whom? Knowing what I know about ACIM, it's "the Universe," or the New Age conception of God. This goes against every fiber of my belief. No one "is sent," period. End of sentence. We may not truly have free will, but nor does some Uber-consciousness direct our actions. More importantly, you are not the purpose of the Universe. Neither am I. I realize other people disagree with this, but it is a big part of why ACIM is anathema to me. (Though I have to admit that one of my great epiphanies in life was triggered by ACIM -- but not in a way the book intended.) "...by accident..." This is a philosophical distinction, but to me, pretty much everything is an accident at base. "...to anyone." In a backwards-looking sense, everything that has ever happened to you leads up to the present moment. People have gazed upon this simple truth in wide-eyed wonder. "If I hadn't turned right instead of left, I never would have run over your dog, and we would have never met, and we wouldn't be getting married right now." Big whoop. You'd meet someone else, or learn to live in comfort with yourself, and then you'd contemplate all the accidents that led you to that moment in wide-eyed wonder. This does not mean we're fated. This means we're adaptable to many different situations. Anyway, once I encounter a quote from ACIM (or "The Secret,") I Stop Reading Right There. (Exception: when someone is ragging on it, like I'm doing right now.) So instead I'll expand on the "one of my great epiphanies in life" comment above. It's my understanding that ACIM boils all human emotion down to two categories: love and fear. Well, I think that's reductionist and oversimplistic, but far be it from me to reject something without at least considering its worth. So I got to thinking: If all emotions are "really" either love or fear, what is fear but an emotional reaction to a real or imagined threat to something that you love? So if you go with the flow, here, you have to follow it to its logical conclusion, which is that the only emotion is love. But believing so denies us our complexity, thus throwing the entire new-age positivity movement into shadow. To sum up, yes, I agree with the main premise: that everyone, everything, is interconnected. Again, this is trivial. There's nothing mystical about it. No person is an island, to paraphrase a famous quote. And even if we were, we'd be defined by the ocean around us. “A certain man once lost a diamond cuff-link in the wide blue sea, and twenty years later, on the exact day, a Friday apparently, he was eating a large fish - but there was no diamond inside. That’s what I like about coincidence.” ― Vladimir Nabokov Edit: You know, I was too busy being disgusted by the relentless positivity and New Age gooeyness (and subsequently drinking copious amounts of alcohol to counteract it) that I completely overlooked that the author made a really big, huge, glaring omission in the piece. I don't see a single word about teachers, who are, after one's parents, the people who... well... teach us the most. Yeah, this was an oversight on my part, but like I said, it's an enormous gaping void in the article. Obviously, we have good teachers and bad teachers, but in the end, they all help to make us what we are. |
| PROMPT May 16th What do you do to make the world a better place? What, my mere existence isn't enough? Seriously, though, I'm no judge of that. "Better" is a subjective quality. Sometimes what's good for one person or group is worse for another. We can't always know the full ramifications of our words or actions. As with the classic butterfly effect in chaos theory, sometimes something small and insignificant can have huge consequences down the line.Most times, though, the effects tend to dampen out and the end result is indistinguishable from random noise. So, I don't know. I mean, I don't actively try to make the world a worse place. But when I think of anything I do to proactively improve things, I find my brain skittering away from the mere possibility of mentioning them. I would prefer not to shout virtue to the world. In fact, I take great pains to project an image of a selfish drunk who's only in it for himself. Not that I haven't touted my own good deeds in the past, sometimes even in here. But I just never feel right about it afterward. I guess I just feel like I'm often annoyed by the people who are like "Look at me! I give money to poor people! I help old ladies across the street! I only eat hyperlocal, organic, cruelty-free food! I'm so virtuous I make demons gnash their teeth in frustration and angels weep in jealousy!" And I don't ever want to be one of those people. Everyone has vices and virtues, and to proclaim one's virtues can make other people think you're hiding something horrid. There are none so evil as those who claim to be virtuous. There's another thing, too. Like, a lot of people, when they need to reference someone who is a Good Person™, they invoke the name of Mother Teresa. Mother Teresa was objectively a horrible person who promoted the idea that Suffering Is A Good Thing, and the more you suffer, the closer you are to God. I have a word for people who promote suffering, and that word is: evil. No, she was a villain with a vast, powerful PR team. And yet a lot of people still think she made the world a better place.So I prefer to keep such things to myself. People will spin anything I say or do the way they want to, anyway, and I'm not going to sit here and justify myself to others. |
| PROMPT May 15th Many fairy tales are often based in truth. Research the true story behind your favorite fairy tale and share it with your readers. What lesson or warning was the tale trying to impart? I don't really have a favorite fairy tale. All the ones I can think of have stupid moral messages, like "don't be curious" or "wives should be submissive" or "never try to rise above your station in life." And the line between fairy tale, myth, and religious text is, as far as I'm concerned, so faint as to be nonexistent, but I'm not interested in offending anyone. I wrote about fairy tales in general in here about a month ago: "Wagging Tales" . That entry was more about how these stories might have truly ancient origins, some possibly dating back to a time before writing. So I would expect that, in many cases, the kernel of truth that might have originally spawned the tale is lost in the mists of time.As for lessons or warnings, I have a habit of finding the "wrong" meaning in a lot of stories. It's kind of a hobby of mine. Why, just yesterday, Annette  wrote a newsfeed post about finding a decent translation of Oedipus. The note is here if you want to see it: "Note: I just read Oedipus Rex and Antigone. The 1982 tra...". Now, the story of Oedipus isn't what most people would call a fairy tale, but it's a story with a moral that presumably appealed to its original Greek audience. It occurred to me, however, that the bad things that happen in that story would never have happened had the Greek roads been wide enough to let Oedipus pass his (he didn't know it was his) father without them getting into a fight and Oedipus committing inadvertent patricide. The Greeks probably saw something about hubris, or the futility of avoiding prophecy, or the need to take responsibility for one's actions however inadvertent they might be, or whatever they saw in the story. Me? I said that the real problem was if you don't invest in infrastructure, there will be tragedy.So, okay, actual fairy tales. I suppose Little Red Riding Hood qualifies. There are a bunch of different versions, though. In some of them, Red has agency; in others, not so much. This likely reflects different cultures' ideas about how passive little girls should be. The one I generally remember has a woodsman (aka a Mighty Male Hero) coming to her rescue. Thing is, though, I could never find any allusion to that tale having its roots in a true story. Likely, it's more allegorical - which is fine, because often, allegories illuminate deeper truths. My favored interpretation is that, as with the one about the frog-kissing princess, it's about the transition from the innocence of childhood to the realities of adulthood. There's also some talk about it being a repurposed Norse myth, which of course involved Loki pulling one of his usual trickster god tricks. Myths, of course, often also come from true stories, but again, those stories tend to get lost in time. If I were rebooting the LRRH story today, though, I'd change the ending. No woodsman, or if there is one, he's the actual bad guy, and the Wolf would turn the tables on him and maybe wear his skin as a trophy. Turns out the Wolf only killed Grandma because Grandma was plotting to drink Red's blood in an attempt to gain immortality, and the whole façade of Wolf scaring the hell out of Red is a lesson for Red in not trusting people simply because they look like sweet, innocent old ladies. And then Red and the Wolf trot off into the woods together to live happily ever after. The better to eat you with, my dear. |
| Late 30DBC prompt, so I'll edit this later. Earlier this week was like: Me: You know... I'm fully vaccinated, more things are open... I could take a road trip, visit some breweries! And maybe some friends! But mostly breweries! The Universe: *shuts off gas pipeline to most of the eastern US* Idiots: *hoard gas in plastic bags, further reducing availability* Me: ...Oh well. Maybe in a couple of weeks. The Universe: *plots next move against me* Idiots: *continue to be idiots* Yes, yes, I know, it's not all about me, and it wasn't the Universe but some cackling Russian hackers. Still, I reserve the right to take it personally. Edit: PROMPT May 14th If animals could talk, which animal would you want to have a conversation with? What would you ask? Well, certainly not my cats. They talk to me enough as it is, and I don't think I can learn anything new from them being able to say "Feed me, human!" in English instead of Meowese. Definitely not dogs, either. You know how there are some people who talk a lot, mean well, are very friendly, likeable, and charismatic -- and yet, somehow, never have a single thing of consequence to say? That's dogs. Absolutely not pigs or cows, either. What am I going to ask them? "So, how do you feel about the wholesale breeding and slaughter of your species for the purpose of delivering unto us delicious [burgers/bacon]?" I mean, I'd rather just go on believing that they're fine with it. So I'm gonna go with raccoons. You know those little bastards would be great conversationalists, even if you wouldn't be able to believe a single word they said. It'd be like: Me: So, how was your day? Trash Panda: Oh, you know, the usual. Watching the birds. Raiding trash cans. You would not believe the food some of you humans waste. Or maybe you would. I mean, I still gotta wash it, but it's definitely edible. Me: Sounds like you've been busy. Trash Panda: You have no idea. By the way, while I was rinsing off a particularly ripe apple, I saw a bear coming to eat you, so I chased it away. Me: A bear? Trash Panda: Yep. You know. Huge, black fur, sharp teeth, big paws? You're welcome. Me: ...Thanks? Trash Panda: So, you know, maybe if I could get your gratitude in the form of a pastrami sandwich? Jewish rye, toasted. Easy on the mustard. Still, I'm just as glad that animals don't talk. I have enough problems sustaining a conversation with humans. |
| PROMPT May 13th What does it mean to be a “grown up”? What do you do regularly as an adult that you dreaded having to do when you were a child? Have you found ways to maintain a sense of childhood wonder or curiosity? If so, how? People think that I must be a very strange person. This is not correct. I have the heart of a small boy. It is in a glass jar on my desk. --Stephen King What does it mean to be a “grown up”? Having to pay taxes. I mean, really, there's probably more, but it all has to do with other boring shit like "taking responsibility" and "being considerate of others." What do you do regularly as an adult that you dreaded having to do when you were a child? Pay taxes. And take pills. Sometimes I even clean my room without being threatened or bribed. Have you found ways to maintain a sense of childhood wonder or curiosity? Have you read my blog? If so, how? The defining feature of childhood, for me, was going from knowing basically nothing to knowing a few things. Some of those things turned out to be wrong, so I learned new things. Some of those will probably turn out to be wrong, too, so I keep an open mind and look for new evidence, whether it supports or contradicts what I already think I know. Certainly, the things I learn about now are different, but it's all in the same vein. One of my earliest memories was my dad wrapping me up in a blanket and taking me out of the warm house on a cold, clear winter's night. The atmosphere is denser when it's cold, you know, with less haze, so you can see so many stars if you have the eyesight of a child. I have never stopped being fascinated by astronomy. See, although the stars in the sky seem limitless, when it comes to viewing with "the naked eye" (a source of great amusement to Kid Me), we can "only" see about 5,000 points of light. "And," that linked article points out, "because the Earth itself gets in the way, you can only see about a half of those from where you stand."2,500 is, of course, a tiny, tiny fraction of the total number of stars in the universe. Not even a rounding error. Going back to the article I just linked, there are probably about one septillion stars in the observable universe, the vast majority of them residing in other galaxies. That number is just mind-bendingly huge, way too big for our simple minds to comprehend, let alone be able to catalog them all. And so it is, to delve into analogy, with knowledge itself. We know some stuff. The amount left to learn is huge. I object to a term I've seen bandied about, "near-infinite." There's no such thing as near-infinite. But there are things that might as well be infinite, for all that we will ever be able to list them all. So that's how I stay curious, and how I maintain my sense of wonder: by periodically reminding myself that neither I personally, nor humanity in general, have done more than just put a tiny scratch into the surface of possible knowledge, and that there's always going to be more to learn because the other immutable law of the universe -- besides taxes -- is that it's going to keep changing, even as we study it. Part of me regrets that I won't be around to watch us learn more of it. But another part rejoices, knowing that there will always be another star for someone to gaze at in wonder. Well. Until entropy stops and the universe itself dies. But that's a really long ways away. |
| PROMPT May 12th What TV show character would it be the most fun to change places with for a week? Why? Well, the obvious choice is The Doctor (from Doctor Who). As a friend said, "Lives forever, controls his [or her] own destiny, has legions of fans." Obvious downside, though: that week is inevitably the one that the Daleks would choose to invade Earth, and I'd be too busy finding out if he has two livers as well as the famous two hearts to do anything about them, as Daleks don't drink. Plus the little matter of having "all of time and space" to choose from, and I'd be not only drinking, but suffering from decision paralysis. So then I thought of Picard, from Star Trek. Commands the Federation's flagship, and women find him irresistible. But no, not only would I have to deal with the Borg and spotty writing, but I don't know if I could pull off being bald. Besides, if I'm changing places, that means that either one of them would have to be me for a week, and then they'd have to hunt me down and destroy me. Some superheroes come to mind, too, but see above about retaliation. This would be compounded if I picked, say, Raymond Reddington from The Blacklist. He's rich and cultured and has a private jet, so it would be fun for me -- until the week is over and he tracks me down and puts a bullet in my brain. So, since I'm on the "Deep Space 9 / Voyager" phase of my long slog of a chronological Star Trek binge, I got to thinking about which of those characters I'd want to be, and I hit on the perfect solution. Morn. It's excusable if, even as a Trek fan, you don't know who that is, so I'll help out. He's a recurring character on DS9, a guy in full alien makeup that has a cameo in most, if not all, DS9 episodes. One of the most fun things about (re)watching DS9, which I haven't done since it came out and even then I missed a bunch of episodes because that was before streaming and partially after broadcast TV and I refused to get cable, was looking for Morn sightings. They created this character, and did the whole alien suit thing, for (almost) every single episode as an in-joke. Dude doesn't even have one solitary line of dialogue. Morn spends all of his free time at Quark's Bar. I'm not even sure what his in-universe purpose is; probably something like moving cargo around in the station's many copious cargo bays, and the bar is where most of his cameos take place. As a barfly in a busy space station, he gets to try every possible drink in the Federation - and beyond. The only downside would be having to deal with Quark, which is a character I find highly amusing on the show but who would be a real pain to actually interact with. Best of all, from Morn's perspective, he wouldn't even have to change his lifestyle much while he's me. After all, I don't talk much, and I hang out at bars. He might even get over not having access to Romulan Ale or Klingon Bloodwine for a week, in exchange for trying many and varied craft beers. And I dunno, maybe I'd have time to leave my secret recipe for Romulan Ale in plain sight before the switch, along with all of the necessary ingredients. Well, actually, I already have those and I'm just waiting for the next Trek series to come out on Paramount+ so I have an excuse to mix up a batch. Still, if I didn't have to concern myself with retaliation or alien invasion, I'd go with The Doctor. But Morn's still very high on the list. |
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