I just posted three odd audio pieces I thought you might enjoy ...
The Killer Sandwich (funny flash fiction)
Overshadowed (poem)
Moondust (wild sci-fi story)
Friday, August 25, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
train escape & astro accident
From a two-dream night ...
First we were running through a forest, skipping down overgrown slopes, trying to get away from the wizards who were chasing us. They were wimps, but they could set our clothes on fire from a few hundred feet away, so we didn't want them getting too close. The woods ended at a gorge, crossed only by a narrow railway bridge. We heard the ancient locomotive huffing closer, then leapt out and caught the caboose railing as it rounded a sharp turn. The antique train took us across the gorge and away, and we knew our foes would never pick up the trail.
I don't know what we did to upset them. Apparently just visiting their secretive town was enough to get chased off and set aflame. Anyway, we enjoyed the short train ride, through a tunnel, and dodging the conductor who expected riders to have tickets. Security chased us around the terminal, but we caught another train through some rocky foothills and ended up at a roadside attraction in Arizona. Apparently, we'd parked our cars here about a week ago, got on the little cheezy wild west train ride, and somehow found another dimension ...
===
I was filming a documentary about an astronomer from about 1910, who built an observatory on the roof of his old Victorian house, only to have the roof collapse under the weight and kill his whole family. Only a daughter survived, and the granddaughter still owned the house, now an old lady with the sad story to tell. I found a time capsule beneath a flagstone by the back porch, and it had old photos of obscure scientists, including the great Bernard Apocalypse or Cambridge.
Something about the photos and the man's old notes -- so many nights spent, so many numbers captured, looking for meaning in an infinitely vast universe.
First we were running through a forest, skipping down overgrown slopes, trying to get away from the wizards who were chasing us. They were wimps, but they could set our clothes on fire from a few hundred feet away, so we didn't want them getting too close. The woods ended at a gorge, crossed only by a narrow railway bridge. We heard the ancient locomotive huffing closer, then leapt out and caught the caboose railing as it rounded a sharp turn. The antique train took us across the gorge and away, and we knew our foes would never pick up the trail.
I don't know what we did to upset them. Apparently just visiting their secretive town was enough to get chased off and set aflame. Anyway, we enjoyed the short train ride, through a tunnel, and dodging the conductor who expected riders to have tickets. Security chased us around the terminal, but we caught another train through some rocky foothills and ended up at a roadside attraction in Arizona. Apparently, we'd parked our cars here about a week ago, got on the little cheezy wild west train ride, and somehow found another dimension ...
===
I was filming a documentary about an astronomer from about 1910, who built an observatory on the roof of his old Victorian house, only to have the roof collapse under the weight and kill his whole family. Only a daughter survived, and the granddaughter still owned the house, now an old lady with the sad story to tell. I found a time capsule beneath a flagstone by the back porch, and it had old photos of obscure scientists, including the great Bernard Apocalypse or Cambridge.
Something about the photos and the man's old notes -- so many nights spent, so many numbers captured, looking for meaning in an infinitely vast universe.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
eye on the hill
There's a jewel in the eye of the thing on the hill. It
drips sweat and bleeds sin. It lies in the hole, waiting for
night. It suffers thru midday, but the children didn't know. A
boy and a girl walked up the hill, the pail in his hand clunking
along. He cranked up the bucket from within the hole, but no
wanter came up. Instead came a huge eye which glared at him from
the bucket. Then followed a sticky limb from below which swatted
him away, and something flowed over the lip of the hole and
became a man. This man lashed tentacles about the girl and cast
the boy from the hill. His screams were caught up in the air,
muted, repeated, then digested as his head hit a rock below. The
girl screamed, but the man took her and forced her down. Jill
went tumbling after.
---
a dream found in a journal dated 10/17/1983
drips sweat and bleeds sin. It lies in the hole, waiting for
night. It suffers thru midday, but the children didn't know. A
boy and a girl walked up the hill, the pail in his hand clunking
along. He cranked up the bucket from within the hole, but no
wanter came up. Instead came a huge eye which glared at him from
the bucket. Then followed a sticky limb from below which swatted
him away, and something flowed over the lip of the hole and
became a man. This man lashed tentacles about the girl and cast
the boy from the hill. His screams were caught up in the air,
muted, repeated, then digested as his head hit a rock below. The
girl screamed, but the man took her and forced her down. Jill
went tumbling after.
---
a dream found in a journal dated 10/17/1983
Monday, August 07, 2006
So you want to be a stuporhero?
I never really got into superheroes. Or supervillains. That whole hidden identity thing, and then having to put on the silly spandex costumes before doing battle. What kind of freakish mythology is that anyway?
I have no problem with mutant powers. In fact, they could be a lot of fun, when they're not a complete curse. So the X-Men were a bit more realistic, except that they turn funny colors or dress in cool tailored leather to show the world how different they are, while trying not to be different. Yes, they'd probably be hunted down by the silent majority if they ever got too public.
Right now, Smallville has is doing a fine job of showing life as a young superhero. In fact, it's more effective for me if you don't know who has powers. Well acted, too.
Then there's "So You Want to be a Superhero", which I promised I wasn't going to watch one minute of. But it's cute, a bit satirical, and as Fermius said, Stan Lee really is a legend to those people, and they really do appear crushed when they let him down. But I don't want to be a superhero, and those folks are mostly just posers, and I can't believe one of those bums is going to get a saturday night movie of their own.
So we have a media engine that creates celebrities, and a mass audience in a stupor waiting to be told what to think, who spend more time watching other people's lives than living their own -- I think this is the point in history where the only thing that can save us are a bunch of bright blue mutants. But nobody wants to step up and drink the toxic goo, or zap themselves with gamma rays, because 99.999% of the time it kills them.
So Big Brother kicks our asses, and the mythos endures.
I have no problem with mutant powers. In fact, they could be a lot of fun, when they're not a complete curse. So the X-Men were a bit more realistic, except that they turn funny colors or dress in cool tailored leather to show the world how different they are, while trying not to be different. Yes, they'd probably be hunted down by the silent majority if they ever got too public.
Right now, Smallville has is doing a fine job of showing life as a young superhero. In fact, it's more effective for me if you don't know who has powers. Well acted, too.
Then there's "So You Want to be a Superhero", which I promised I wasn't going to watch one minute of. But it's cute, a bit satirical, and as Fermius said, Stan Lee really is a legend to those people, and they really do appear crushed when they let him down. But I don't want to be a superhero, and those folks are mostly just posers, and I can't believe one of those bums is going to get a saturday night movie of their own.
So we have a media engine that creates celebrities, and a mass audience in a stupor waiting to be told what to think, who spend more time watching other people's lives than living their own -- I think this is the point in history where the only thing that can save us are a bunch of bright blue mutants. But nobody wants to step up and drink the toxic goo, or zap themselves with gamma rays, because 99.999% of the time it kills them.
So Big Brother kicks our asses, and the mythos endures.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Crossed on Malta
We were vacationing in Malta, tracking along rugged coasts and through ancient weathered ruins. There were jagged black cliffs dotted with old pottery shards. At one spot there was a melted trickle from a Roman-era lead mine, but the sky grew dark and I was hit with lightning.
We went to a salt pan, where fingers of black primeval stones poked up from an unknown civilization. But the sky grew dark and lightning chased us away.
There were temples from the dawn of time, sandy stones baking in the centuries; traces of artwork, and the heads of bulls looking blankly down over altars that hadn't seen action in ages. Darkness fell and the electrical storm blocked our way.
There was a sign boasting about the oldest known human habitation, but when we got there it was just a crack between two slabs of granite, filled with water and covered with a tarp. The sky grew dark and I was jolted again.
Private planes became whooping cranes. Cars turned to turtles. People became savage things, splitting skulls with heavy rocks. In the end there were only stones, studded with the fossils of things to come.
===
A dream from sometime this week. I've never been to Malta, but it's on my list of things to do. Just enjoy the vision. The lightning storms seemed to be a carryover from a vacation Fermius just took. They became a sort of politically correct guardian -- any time I looked at something that might give insight into history, it chased me off.
We went to a salt pan, where fingers of black primeval stones poked up from an unknown civilization. But the sky grew dark and lightning chased us away.
There were temples from the dawn of time, sandy stones baking in the centuries; traces of artwork, and the heads of bulls looking blankly down over altars that hadn't seen action in ages. Darkness fell and the electrical storm blocked our way.
There was a sign boasting about the oldest known human habitation, but when we got there it was just a crack between two slabs of granite, filled with water and covered with a tarp. The sky grew dark and I was jolted again.
Private planes became whooping cranes. Cars turned to turtles. People became savage things, splitting skulls with heavy rocks. In the end there were only stones, studded with the fossils of things to come.
===
A dream from sometime this week. I've never been to Malta, but it's on my list of things to do. Just enjoy the vision. The lightning storms seemed to be a carryover from a vacation Fermius just took. They became a sort of politically correct guardian -- any time I looked at something that might give insight into history, it chased me off.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Bog Man
Bog Man
by s.c.virtes
---
Maybe this story was never told.
Of how it began and how it developed,
I suspect you know naught.
The ending which might have shocked generations
you cannot reconstruct from the brain tissue
you stole from our bog, from my head.
How you pulled me from my days of rest
and proved that I was one of you,
this story you proudly
but mistakenly tell.
But the true story, the one my father told me,
I told it to my flesh which
delivered it to the earth
from which all stories begin.
But the more you scrape my bones
the more I hesitate and wonder
if I was ever told at all.
---
Written 11/20/86, just found in an old notebook & revised 7/21/06.
A story version of this was written but never published.
by s.c.virtes
---
Maybe this story was never told.
Of how it began and how it developed,
I suspect you know naught.
The ending which might have shocked generations
you cannot reconstruct from the brain tissue
you stole from our bog, from my head.
How you pulled me from my days of rest
and proved that I was one of you,
this story you proudly
but mistakenly tell.
But the true story, the one my father told me,
I told it to my flesh which
delivered it to the earth
from which all stories begin.
But the more you scrape my bones
the more I hesitate and wonder
if I was ever told at all.
---
Written 11/20/86, just found in an old notebook & revised 7/21/06.
A story version of this was written but never published.
least exciting medical mystery ever
I have to admit, I enjoy watching medical mystery shows. The fictional ones are okay, but the factual ones keep showing that the real world is stranger than we can make up easily. Things like "Mystery Diagnosis" or "Medical Incredible", where people may have all their skin fall off or their eyeballs explode, or get crushed by elephants and survive.
It's partly research -- what are the limits of the human body? And partly fascination or a grim curiosity. But there's a big relief factor. If you think you had a bad day, here's a guy whose lower legs are on backwards, or whatever. It's encouraging to know that these things can be survived and overcome.
Trouble is, in real life, I have a bit of a medical mystery. Dizzy spells, and if I spend too much time around people, I can end up fainting. Seems like it's mostly acid reflux; just enough of it at times to make me nauseous, and then if I don't pay attention to the little symptoms they can turn ugly. But I've given up soda and caffeine and tomatoes and some other things; no snacking 2 hours before bed (it's worst at night and in the morning), allow extra time to get up and chug water in the morning. Other things. Odds are, some diet will keep it under control.
But when I do go to a doctor they just get everything all confused. Diabetes? Sleep disorder? Liver problem? Thyroid? I had some extensive blood work last week, part of a physical. The results came back. Everything normal except that my bad cholesterol is good and my good cholesterol is bad. Yeah, that solves it. I just need to drink one small fish every day ...
Frankly, this is the least exciting medical mystery ever. They write weird shit in our charts and then we have a hard time getting insurance to pay for them to write more weird shit in our charts. It's probably nothing big in the end, although I should be at Comic-Con this week but I'm worried that I'll crash just waiting in line for those three hours to get inside.
It's partly research -- what are the limits of the human body? And partly fascination or a grim curiosity. But there's a big relief factor. If you think you had a bad day, here's a guy whose lower legs are on backwards, or whatever. It's encouraging to know that these things can be survived and overcome.
Trouble is, in real life, I have a bit of a medical mystery. Dizzy spells, and if I spend too much time around people, I can end up fainting. Seems like it's mostly acid reflux; just enough of it at times to make me nauseous, and then if I don't pay attention to the little symptoms they can turn ugly. But I've given up soda and caffeine and tomatoes and some other things; no snacking 2 hours before bed (it's worst at night and in the morning), allow extra time to get up and chug water in the morning. Other things. Odds are, some diet will keep it under control.
But when I do go to a doctor they just get everything all confused. Diabetes? Sleep disorder? Liver problem? Thyroid? I had some extensive blood work last week, part of a physical. The results came back. Everything normal except that my bad cholesterol is good and my good cholesterol is bad. Yeah, that solves it. I just need to drink one small fish every day ...
Frankly, this is the least exciting medical mystery ever. They write weird shit in our charts and then we have a hard time getting insurance to pay for them to write more weird shit in our charts. It's probably nothing big in the end, although I should be at Comic-Con this week but I'm worried that I'll crash just waiting in line for those three hours to get inside.
Monday, July 17, 2006
free world collapsing
I regularly hear wild arguments that all art should be free. It's obviously consumers talking here. Easy for them to say! How's that supposed to work, exactly? Who is going to write books 20 years from now if there's no way to make money doing so?
Aside from being purely selfish, some of this comes from common delusions about how writing (or other arts) actually work, from a business standpoint. Maybe they think all writers are greedy bastards who make millions of dollars by overcharging for their work. Then I'd agree that some things could change. The few successful artists get all the media coverage, painting a completely reversed image of what it's really like. The vast majority of artists are struggling to make ends meet, just hoping to be seen among the glut of products cranked out every day. And if they succeed in getting a book deal or distribution deal, they end up getting just a small percentage, while publishers set the prices and control everything.
If anything, it would be fair to ask that creators get a bigger cut of the money earned by their work, and all the middlemen settle for less ... but I know that's unrealistic, because it's an industry, many roles interlocked into a beast that just barely functions.
If all art was free, then an appalling gloom would set in. We'd never get away from our crap jobs. We'll never be able to do what we love to do full time. We'll always be somebody's slaves. There will be no hope of success anymore.
But I suspect these rabid consumers wouldn't care. There's plenty of stuff already written. Why bother creating any more? You may think that "anyone can do it", but you'd be surprised ... anyone can make a half-assed attempt at creating art. But is that what we should set our sights on?
Artists should be free to do their best, and consumers are free to choose what they will or will not buy. But this arrogant grabby attitude of people wanting work handed to them for free ... no. Maybe they should work a few weeks at their regular jobs without a paycheck and see what that's like. Maybe their jobs are the ones with no value in the end.
Aside from being purely selfish, some of this comes from common delusions about how writing (or other arts) actually work, from a business standpoint. Maybe they think all writers are greedy bastards who make millions of dollars by overcharging for their work. Then I'd agree that some things could change. The few successful artists get all the media coverage, painting a completely reversed image of what it's really like. The vast majority of artists are struggling to make ends meet, just hoping to be seen among the glut of products cranked out every day. And if they succeed in getting a book deal or distribution deal, they end up getting just a small percentage, while publishers set the prices and control everything.
If anything, it would be fair to ask that creators get a bigger cut of the money earned by their work, and all the middlemen settle for less ... but I know that's unrealistic, because it's an industry, many roles interlocked into a beast that just barely functions.
If all art was free, then an appalling gloom would set in. We'd never get away from our crap jobs. We'll never be able to do what we love to do full time. We'll always be somebody's slaves. There will be no hope of success anymore.
But I suspect these rabid consumers wouldn't care. There's plenty of stuff already written. Why bother creating any more? You may think that "anyone can do it", but you'd be surprised ... anyone can make a half-assed attempt at creating art. But is that what we should set our sights on?
Artists should be free to do their best, and consumers are free to choose what they will or will not buy. But this arrogant grabby attitude of people wanting work handed to them for free ... no. Maybe they should work a few weeks at their regular jobs without a paycheck and see what that's like. Maybe their jobs are the ones with no value in the end.
Monday, July 10, 2006
a real telescope eye
I'm an amateur astronomer who has never been able to afford a telescope. I have many other ironic failures to share, but let's stick to this one. Luckily, there's a boom in astronomy right now, with a mind-boggling array of surveys and catalogs and tools available online. In most other ways, the 21st century has been lame so far. According to the sci-fi classics, we oughta be much further along than we are, but the world continues to be 99% dull, and hardly anything seems to change. The internet itself is almost entirely drivel, but there are some astronomical gems if you know where to look.
And don't forget to look away from time to time ...
This weekend I was up at the 60" telescope on Palomar Mountain. An unexpected invitation and twisty road trip into darkness. Okay, if it was dark, the astronomers would have been too busy to see us, but the full moon was out, the deer were lurking, and there we went.
Comically, since the real astronomers never actually look through the scope with their eyes, when there's a tour they only have a really, really old eyepiece to slap on there. Looking through this telescope is like having a volkswagen suspended over your head, but looking through the tailpipe you can see millions of light years away. That, and zero emissions. And those precious moments where you feel you can touch the universe in some way. A vehicle of sorts after all.
Of course, there was a little control room full of computers. Every time they opened the door, this insane blue glow came pouring out. No wonder we can't find all that dark matter -- our eyes have become accustomed to the radiation.
A very interesting trip. Including the discovery that there is more than one road up on that mountain, and the other one doesn't go anywhere. A brief shift in reality, and then we were gone.
Thanks, Mike.
And don't forget to look away from time to time ...
This weekend I was up at the 60" telescope on Palomar Mountain. An unexpected invitation and twisty road trip into darkness. Okay, if it was dark, the astronomers would have been too busy to see us, but the full moon was out, the deer were lurking, and there we went.
Comically, since the real astronomers never actually look through the scope with their eyes, when there's a tour they only have a really, really old eyepiece to slap on there. Looking through this telescope is like having a volkswagen suspended over your head, but looking through the tailpipe you can see millions of light years away. That, and zero emissions. And those precious moments where you feel you can touch the universe in some way. A vehicle of sorts after all.
Of course, there was a little control room full of computers. Every time they opened the door, this insane blue glow came pouring out. No wonder we can't find all that dark matter -- our eyes have become accustomed to the radiation.
A very interesting trip. Including the discovery that there is more than one road up on that mountain, and the other one doesn't go anywhere. A brief shift in reality, and then we were gone.
Thanks, Mike.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Shatner rules & Earth escapes destruction
I have to say, I enjoy watching William Shatner, no matter what he's doing. He could be doing some weird "Worst Songs of the 80's" show on VH-1, or narrating something about comets, or trying to sell me a hotel room. heck, there was even a 2-hour special recently called "How William Shatner Changed the World." He's older now, but seems to enjoy himself so much more. Sometimes he's lampooning his old characters or just hamming it up. I don't care. He's friendly and entertaining.
And then there's Denny Crane, his trigger-happy larger-than-life character on "Boston Legal". He could just walk through a plate glass window at any moment. You never know with him. Brooding, strange, flamboyant, dangerous. We can't take our eyes off him. Like it or not, he can perform.
Just now I had to go outside and look up. It was cloudy (again) but it was sobering to think that an asteroid was zipping past the earth at that very moment -- a near miss this time around. Naturally, the silent event was narrated by Mr. Shatner. "Tumbling through ... the cold depths of space ... an insignificant rock hurtles towards a blue ... planet."
It just wouldn't have been the same without him.
And then there's Denny Crane, his trigger-happy larger-than-life character on "Boston Legal". He could just walk through a plate glass window at any moment. You never know with him. Brooding, strange, flamboyant, dangerous. We can't take our eyes off him. Like it or not, he can perform.
Just now I had to go outside and look up. It was cloudy (again) but it was sobering to think that an asteroid was zipping past the earth at that very moment -- a near miss this time around. Naturally, the silent event was narrated by Mr. Shatner. "Tumbling through ... the cold depths of space ... an insignificant rock hurtles towards a blue ... planet."
It just wouldn't have been the same without him.
Friday, June 30, 2006
stoopid human, clever animals
First, some entertaining animal news ...
A cat chases a bear up a tree?
See photo here
A new snake was discovered in Borneo that can change colors like a chameleon.
Read it here
Thanks to my dad and National Geographic for those items.
Now for the stoopid human ...
It's funny how our brains can be temporarily shut off, or paying no attention to what our hands our doing. I was smashing open a coconut last night. Normally a hammer does the trick and a flat screwdriver it the optimum tool from getting the meat off the husk. Except when you slip and ram the screwdriver between two fingers and leave a little hole that stays open for a few seconds before figuring out, "Oh yeah, I should be bleeding now."
I'm pretty careful about always cutting away from my body with sharp things. It's the blunt ones you gotta watch out for. I had a funny slip last year which left the entire blade of an x-acto knife in the webbing of my thumb -- luckily that was such a perfect cut it went away like nothing had happened. Just felt neat, and I had a recording session right afterwards where I was flipping dials and pushing sliders while trying hard not to move my hand at all.
Make sure you tie up the loose ends at the end of any story.
During lunch we saw an episode of Andromeda where Dylan was playing with a kitten in one scene, then the ship started throwing people around in classic Rodenberry style, and the episode ended 40 minutes later with no hint about where the cat ended up.
And on Ripley's, one of those stories about a guy driving down a country road and ending up with four feet of rebar sticking out of his skull. Except that there were no bridges or trees or anything -- his medical story was great, but I wanna know where the projectile came from!
Now to leave a loose end of my own ...
A cat chases a bear up a tree?
See photo here
A new snake was discovered in Borneo that can change colors like a chameleon.
Read it here
Thanks to my dad and National Geographic for those items.
Now for the stoopid human ...
It's funny how our brains can be temporarily shut off, or paying no attention to what our hands our doing. I was smashing open a coconut last night. Normally a hammer does the trick and a flat screwdriver it the optimum tool from getting the meat off the husk. Except when you slip and ram the screwdriver between two fingers and leave a little hole that stays open for a few seconds before figuring out, "Oh yeah, I should be bleeding now."
I'm pretty careful about always cutting away from my body with sharp things. It's the blunt ones you gotta watch out for. I had a funny slip last year which left the entire blade of an x-acto knife in the webbing of my thumb -- luckily that was such a perfect cut it went away like nothing had happened. Just felt neat, and I had a recording session right afterwards where I was flipping dials and pushing sliders while trying hard not to move my hand at all.
Make sure you tie up the loose ends at the end of any story.
During lunch we saw an episode of Andromeda where Dylan was playing with a kitten in one scene, then the ship started throwing people around in classic Rodenberry style, and the episode ended 40 minutes later with no hint about where the cat ended up.
And on Ripley's, one of those stories about a guy driving down a country road and ending up with four feet of rebar sticking out of his skull. Except that there were no bridges or trees or anything -- his medical story was great, but I wanna know where the projectile came from!
Now to leave a loose end of my own ...
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
around the block
There's a place in town where the propane trucks drive on the wrong side of the road. Witnessed 3 times now. Near a very flammable lumber yard.
Was walking around the block, pretending to be fit, and some neighbors were sitting out front of their house with a barbecue going ... except that it smelled like Band-aids.
Last night just before 9 there was a luminous blob of goo in the sky. Another launch from Vandenberg, about 150 miles north of here. Some kind of spy satellite. Yay, the world needs more spying.
Tonight we found someone's wallet, a big fat shiny thing strangely devoid of cash and credit cards. Found some contact info, called her, she's already making it a pain in the ass to return the thing to her. then she'll probably accuse us of stealing her money. I wonder if it's worth it trying to help folks anymore.
I got $10 for filling out an interminable survey about how biased the news media appears to be. Oddly, people trust the internet more, even though any given page is just as likely to be complete fiction. And now, people trust blogs more than the internet in general (recent blurb in Science magazine). Is it because blogs are more personal, and people never lie or make shit up when they're speaking to you in confidence? Apparently there are about 11 million blogs now, with a new blog created every second. Talk about hopping on the bandwagon. At what point does copying everyone else become the height of lameness? Digital sheep. Baaaa.
Was walking around the block, pretending to be fit, and some neighbors were sitting out front of their house with a barbecue going ... except that it smelled like Band-aids.
Last night just before 9 there was a luminous blob of goo in the sky. Another launch from Vandenberg, about 150 miles north of here. Some kind of spy satellite. Yay, the world needs more spying.
Tonight we found someone's wallet, a big fat shiny thing strangely devoid of cash and credit cards. Found some contact info, called her, she's already making it a pain in the ass to return the thing to her. then she'll probably accuse us of stealing her money. I wonder if it's worth it trying to help folks anymore.
I got $10 for filling out an interminable survey about how biased the news media appears to be. Oddly, people trust the internet more, even though any given page is just as likely to be complete fiction. And now, people trust blogs more than the internet in general (recent blurb in Science magazine). Is it because blogs are more personal, and people never lie or make shit up when they're speaking to you in confidence? Apparently there are about 11 million blogs now, with a new blog created every second. Talk about hopping on the bandwagon. At what point does copying everyone else become the height of lameness? Digital sheep. Baaaa.
Unfuture chronicle?
Well, the blog went and mutated on me. I don't spend as much time pondering the future, since I can barely keep up with the present day. And much of the present day is distractingly weird and unbelievable, so that's where the flow is.
In a way, it's about weird viewpoints. And not the kind of "viewpoint" you see on the news, which is just people stuck with their own opinions of things. I'm talking about "viewpoint" in terms of where you put your mental camera and look at things. Looking down from the ceiling is a fresh viewpoint, especially if there's a ceiling fan.
What is "weird"? All we can really say about it is ... it's a weird word. After all, there's that pesky rule:
"'I' before 'E' except after 'C'."
Anyone remember the second part?
"Unless pronounced like 'A' as in 'neighbor' or 'weigh'."
I don't remember if there's a third part. If not, it should say,
"Except of course for 'weird', which is just plain 'weird'."
And that's how it is. I don't spend all day trying to be weird. I just sit here open to possibilities, and I don't discard them just because they're a little bit odd.
Finally, I've been staying on the light side. Silly bits. Since I'm sick to death of hearing about crime, I've nixed the "Underworld" part of the blog. It's now my personal "Unfuture Chronicle".
"Meet the new boss ... same as the old boss." (love that song!)
In a way, it's about weird viewpoints. And not the kind of "viewpoint" you see on the news, which is just people stuck with their own opinions of things. I'm talking about "viewpoint" in terms of where you put your mental camera and look at things. Looking down from the ceiling is a fresh viewpoint, especially if there's a ceiling fan.
What is "weird"? All we can really say about it is ... it's a weird word. After all, there's that pesky rule:
"'I' before 'E' except after 'C'."
Anyone remember the second part?
"Unless pronounced like 'A' as in 'neighbor' or 'weigh'."
I don't remember if there's a third part. If not, it should say,
"Except of course for 'weird', which is just plain 'weird'."
And that's how it is. I don't spend all day trying to be weird. I just sit here open to possibilities, and I don't discard them just because they're a little bit odd.
Finally, I've been staying on the light side. Silly bits. Since I'm sick to death of hearing about crime, I've nixed the "Underworld" part of the blog. It's now my personal "Unfuture Chronicle".
"Meet the new boss ... same as the old boss." (love that song!)
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Weirds of wisdom
Things overheard or almost said out loud recently ...
You can't do #2 on a golf course.
Did his business card actually say, "Strawberry Orgasm Engineer"?
The problem with burning your trash, if it's full of cat poo, is that the nearest teenagers will complain that it smells like barf.
The castle was old, dark, and backlit in an ominous way, with three kinds of celery growing in a small patch right out front by the plastic gnome.
Meet Pus Bucket, the rather mean ogre.
I wouldn't say his hair is greasy, but the only thing missing are the croutons. (Okay - this was from Kolchak, the Night Stalker. He had some great sarcastic zingers, didn't he?)
Quit staring at those girls, they're nothing but trouble. Here's a paper towel already ... go wash behind your ears.
I think back to a lunchroom at a big company in Iowa ... everyone was complaining that if the corn doesn't grow fast enough, their marijuana plants could be seen from a mile away.
And the freakish PHP error of the year:
Parse error: parse error, unexpected T_PAAMAYIM_NEKUDOTAYIM on line 0 of ...
Yeah, that's what life is like right now.
Gerald Ford.
You can't do #2 on a golf course.
Did his business card actually say, "Strawberry Orgasm Engineer"?
The problem with burning your trash, if it's full of cat poo, is that the nearest teenagers will complain that it smells like barf.
The castle was old, dark, and backlit in an ominous way, with three kinds of celery growing in a small patch right out front by the plastic gnome.
Meet Pus Bucket, the rather mean ogre.
I wouldn't say his hair is greasy, but the only thing missing are the croutons. (Okay - this was from Kolchak, the Night Stalker. He had some great sarcastic zingers, didn't he?)
Quit staring at those girls, they're nothing but trouble. Here's a paper towel already ... go wash behind your ears.
I think back to a lunchroom at a big company in Iowa ... everyone was complaining that if the corn doesn't grow fast enough, their marijuana plants could be seen from a mile away.
And the freakish PHP error of the year:
Parse error: parse error, unexpected T_PAAMAYIM_NEKUDOTAYIM on line 0 of ...
Yeah, that's what life is like right now.
Gerald Ford.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
s'not funny already
We were driving home from somewhere odd. About four hours out of Paducah, we saw a curious sign at the side of the road. "World's Largest Booger - next exit." Now, who could resist that?
It turned out to be a monstrous thing in a glass case at the back of a convenience store. It even showed signs of intelligence -- when the caretaker pulled out a plastic separator, the thing would navigate through a small wooden maze and then the man would reward it with a few sprinkles from a cardboard tin labeled "POLLEN".
There was a donation bucket by the door. The guy asked us each to spit into the bucket as we leave. It was once of those things you probably shouldn't ask about, but I asked anyway. The guy said that once the bucket was filled, he'd tip it over, and the contents would shamble off into the wilderness and later run for Congress.
======
dreams are funny. you just have to let them do their thing.
comically, I was coming down with a cold that night. and the maze thing was a weird anecdote I'd read about years before, showing that slime molds can navigate small wooden mazes looking for food. my brain is apparently a crock pot just waiting for spuds.
It turned out to be a monstrous thing in a glass case at the back of a convenience store. It even showed signs of intelligence -- when the caretaker pulled out a plastic separator, the thing would navigate through a small wooden maze and then the man would reward it with a few sprinkles from a cardboard tin labeled "POLLEN".
There was a donation bucket by the door. The guy asked us each to spit into the bucket as we leave. It was once of those things you probably shouldn't ask about, but I asked anyway. The guy said that once the bucket was filled, he'd tip it over, and the contents would shamble off into the wilderness and later run for Congress.
======
dreams are funny. you just have to let them do their thing.
comically, I was coming down with a cold that night. and the maze thing was a weird anecdote I'd read about years before, showing that slime molds can navigate small wooden mazes looking for food. my brain is apparently a crock pot just waiting for spuds.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
gaming strangeness
Some comic moments from a game session with Fermius ...
Beware of the vorpal doberman.
Any time a bad guy starts to lecture, just hit 'em with the nearest table.
A sorceror optimist: "I keep dying and coming back -- life is good."
Jeff's vampiric goat of doom.
New spell: Transmute rock to puppies.
And ...
According to U.S. postal regulations, the only way to ship an eldritch horror is in a stone tube with magical seals.
(who says these games aren't creative?)
Beware of the vorpal doberman.
Any time a bad guy starts to lecture, just hit 'em with the nearest table.
A sorceror optimist: "I keep dying and coming back -- life is good."
Jeff's vampiric goat of doom.
New spell: Transmute rock to puppies.
And ...
According to U.S. postal regulations, the only way to ship an eldritch horror is in a stone tube with magical seals.
(who says these games aren't creative?)
Monday, May 22, 2006
tumblewhats?
If you've ever driven through the Mojave or Arizona Desert at night, you know there are some windy places. Sand blows across the road, cars drive in crooked lines, things fly by that you can't focus on. And there are usually piles of tumbleweeds at the side of the highway. Every now and then the tumblers all leap out as a group -- yaaaaaaaah!
In fact, the tumbleweeds hunt in packs and pick off the weakest cars in the herd, those which are running on empty. You can see the cars at the side of the road, their windows bashed in and no clues to where the drivers went.
But it doesn't stop there. Cactus roots slowly drag the empty cars further and further from the road. And though there's never any rain, the carcasses rust quickly and sand creatures strip their paint away with digestive acids. Eventually the dead vehicles sink into the sand completely, and nothing is left but a mound of earth with a ring of agaves raising their spectacular stalks up to the heavens.
It's best to just drive on. Even if the little blue signs say there is food and gas at the next exit. Some of those towns are just rusty skeletons, picked clean by even larger monsters.
In fact, the tumbleweeds hunt in packs and pick off the weakest cars in the herd, those which are running on empty. You can see the cars at the side of the road, their windows bashed in and no clues to where the drivers went.
But it doesn't stop there. Cactus roots slowly drag the empty cars further and further from the road. And though there's never any rain, the carcasses rust quickly and sand creatures strip their paint away with digestive acids. Eventually the dead vehicles sink into the sand completely, and nothing is left but a mound of earth with a ring of agaves raising their spectacular stalks up to the heavens.
It's best to just drive on. Even if the little blue signs say there is food and gas at the next exit. Some of those towns are just rusty skeletons, picked clean by even larger monsters.
Leprecon
Hi - eek, ugh. What happened?
Well, I was out in Phoenix at Leprecon on May 5-7, drinking warm Morgans with fake pirates and I meant to login and post some stuff, but forgot the password.
Then I left my brain in a suitcase for a while.
Then I worked a few long days down at Stu Segall Productions as a production assistant on what turned out to be a soap opera drama thing. Still, I'm oddly at home on a film set, too bad most of the work pays scrap.
Then I turned 40. Dammit.
Well, I was out in Phoenix at Leprecon on May 5-7, drinking warm Morgans with fake pirates and I meant to login and post some stuff, but forgot the password.
Then I left my brain in a suitcase for a while.
Then I worked a few long days down at Stu Segall Productions as a production assistant on what turned out to be a soap opera drama thing. Still, I'm oddly at home on a film set, too bad most of the work pays scrap.
Then I turned 40. Dammit.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
fishy frogs
Frogs are nature's meter for water contamination. At the first sign of heavy metals or invading germs, they start sprouting extra legs. First a spare to help them get away, then another spare to trip them up, finally legs and nubs from the middle of their heads. Yet people will say that mutations don't happen, nothing can evolve into something else without going through some kind of silly phase that has never been observed in the "real world" ...
I love those old reports of when it used to rain fish on villages miles from the nearest sea. Maybe a waterspout was playing tricks, or an updraft of freakish proportions. Maybe they were just swimming upstream to spawn, decided to turn UP and got lost in the atmosphere. The reports used to point out that what made them most unbelievable was that it would only rain one species at a time. So ... there's some kind of angelic cannery at work, stuffing sardine tins but throwing out the baby mackerel. Or maybe some kid chucked a barrel full of kippers out into the field when nobody was looking, only to laugh at the adults as they crawled around with their Sherlock Holmes' magnifiers having what they could only describe as spiritual experiences.
Are you allowed to eat fish in heaven? Maybe the cows will give you a ticket, then go back to munching their cloud grass ... which, if you listen reeeeeeallly close, can be heard screaming.
I love those old reports of when it used to rain fish on villages miles from the nearest sea. Maybe a waterspout was playing tricks, or an updraft of freakish proportions. Maybe they were just swimming upstream to spawn, decided to turn UP and got lost in the atmosphere. The reports used to point out that what made them most unbelievable was that it would only rain one species at a time. So ... there's some kind of angelic cannery at work, stuffing sardine tins but throwing out the baby mackerel. Or maybe some kid chucked a barrel full of kippers out into the field when nobody was looking, only to laugh at the adults as they crawled around with their Sherlock Holmes' magnifiers having what they could only describe as spiritual experiences.
Are you allowed to eat fish in heaven? Maybe the cows will give you a ticket, then go back to munching their cloud grass ... which, if you listen reeeeeeallly close, can be heard screaming.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
earth day weird
Today was Earth Day, and there was a big festival down at Balboa Park. Naturally, it attracted thousands of gas-burning stink machines (cars) that had to fight for parking. There were lots of little booths everywhere, mostly with overpriced food. A few outdoor stages with music; some good sounds, some international sounds, and a few crooning husband and wife hippie duos (of course).
I don't understand why the environmental movement got all tangled up in dumb New Age baloney. There were booths where you could pay people to teach you how to meditate. The Scientologists were there with a one-stop massage and brainwashing booth. There were some local temples recruiting tomorrow's Hindus and Krishnas. All kinds of delusions out there, few of them helpful. I'd say about 30% of the booths were actual environmental stuff, and those were good.
There were some super hybrid cars on display, even a hydrogen-burning truck developed by folks at Camp Pendleton. Trouble is, we couldn't afford any of these vehicles if we wanted to, and even if we could, only the dealers know how to service the things. Gone are the days of being able to fix your own cars. Yet it's impossible that they need to be so damned complicated. A power source turns wheels, and there are flashy bits. But no, they all have to be computer-controlled megatech monsters. And I guess we could take on a massive debt for this luxury, but that's really not a good idea.
There was a lot of info on local parks and conservation projects. Thanks. And a fun area for kids, even a table where they could make their own paper (a.k.a. the world's messiest hobby). There was an area where kids could arrange old book covers of all different colors on the grass to make pictures - or throw them at each other. Nearby were the stinky generators that were producing much of the electricity for the event. One could hope that by the time all the gasses reached the stratosphere, the diesel had been subdued by all the yummy kettle corn and funnel cake fumes.
There was plenty of info on recycling, but with a clear demonstration that people won't walk an extra 20 feet to recycle their crap if there's an overflowing trashcan right at hand. They had big recycling station set up, yet all the regular trashcans were overflowing with paper plates and plastic bottles ...
Some solar and wind power companies were there, trying to make a mark. New ways to heat your water. Low-power desk lamps. And the Kashi people are always nice, with tasty cereal and crackers. Though I have to say soy milk still tastes like regular milk that had someone's sock in it overnight.
But my favorite bit was the Japanese man whose two kids (about 5 and 6) were chuggin Rockstar energy drinks. After much pondering, I could come up with only one explanation ... he must have a giant hamster wheel at home to harvest their energy.
I don't understand why the environmental movement got all tangled up in dumb New Age baloney. There were booths where you could pay people to teach you how to meditate. The Scientologists were there with a one-stop massage and brainwashing booth. There were some local temples recruiting tomorrow's Hindus and Krishnas. All kinds of delusions out there, few of them helpful. I'd say about 30% of the booths were actual environmental stuff, and those were good.
There were some super hybrid cars on display, even a hydrogen-burning truck developed by folks at Camp Pendleton. Trouble is, we couldn't afford any of these vehicles if we wanted to, and even if we could, only the dealers know how to service the things. Gone are the days of being able to fix your own cars. Yet it's impossible that they need to be so damned complicated. A power source turns wheels, and there are flashy bits. But no, they all have to be computer-controlled megatech monsters. And I guess we could take on a massive debt for this luxury, but that's really not a good idea.
There was a lot of info on local parks and conservation projects. Thanks. And a fun area for kids, even a table where they could make their own paper (a.k.a. the world's messiest hobby). There was an area where kids could arrange old book covers of all different colors on the grass to make pictures - or throw them at each other. Nearby were the stinky generators that were producing much of the electricity for the event. One could hope that by the time all the gasses reached the stratosphere, the diesel had been subdued by all the yummy kettle corn and funnel cake fumes.
There was plenty of info on recycling, but with a clear demonstration that people won't walk an extra 20 feet to recycle their crap if there's an overflowing trashcan right at hand. They had big recycling station set up, yet all the regular trashcans were overflowing with paper plates and plastic bottles ...
Some solar and wind power companies were there, trying to make a mark. New ways to heat your water. Low-power desk lamps. And the Kashi people are always nice, with tasty cereal and crackers. Though I have to say soy milk still tastes like regular milk that had someone's sock in it overnight.
But my favorite bit was the Japanese man whose two kids (about 5 and 6) were chuggin Rockstar energy drinks. After much pondering, I could come up with only one explanation ... he must have a giant hamster wheel at home to harvest their energy.
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