She was in town for the first time after having moved away last year.
She had been in town a few days now, and I had seen much of her as she was staying at a friend's house. But on the third day, the friend had soccer practice, and asked if I wanted to spend some time with her. My attempt to dampen the desperate enthusiasm in my response failed.
I had gotten my license and a car since she had last seen me, and I took care to remove all the fast food refuse from the passenger seat leg area safely, moving it safely out of sight into the back seat leg area.
I then searched the mess of my room for 15 minutes trying to find the tiny canister of Freshmint Bianca I had purchased from Pamida three months previous. Three squirts ought to be enough.
I picked her up, and she was lovely. She was undefinably different from the year away, but completely familiar.
I had put a lot of thought into what we should do. Maplewood Mall was clearly the most entertaining destination, and the best to show off the fact that I am legally entitled to operate a motor vehicle. So off we went.
Our first destination was Best Buy, where wandering around looking at electronic goods and media was a chief past-time of my friends and I. However, after entering, she seemed to stand their purposelessly, and not just in a vexing indecision as to what area to peruse first. So I helped her out, walking over to the computer section where we could mess with the installations on the display models.
This seemed to entertain her far less than it did my friends and myself, so I moved us along to the Entertainment Center section, surely even she would be entranced by the tantalizingly large and expensive displays of audio visual equipment.
Again, she seemed to look more at me than the shelves full of technological wonders. This was not going well.
So I skipped past my planned "cool down" activity of wandering through the DVD and CD aisle, and decided to just straight to the main event.
Leaving the store, we waited for a break in traffic to walk over to the mall complex itself. I decided that since the Best Buy odyssey had taken only a few minutes that I'd fill out some of the lost time by walking instead of driving there. During the walk she asked what we doing next, and I refused to tell, counting on the shock of the destination reveal to turn things around.
Our destination was a new store in the mall which offered two virtual reality booths. You donned a full helmet, held a gun and stood upon a sensor pedestal and shot at each other and virtual pterodactyls. I had not yet experienced this, largely due to cost, but was sparing no expense.
I offered that we could both play, and she refused saying she didn't want to play, but I could go ahead.
This was not in the plan, but she was adamant and resisted all my attempts at cajoling her to play.
I briefly considered simply leaving, but didn't want to tip my hand at how important it was that we do this together.
So I bought a ticket, stepped onto the pedestal and donned the requisite garments.
The effect was quite neat, and given any other circumstances I would have been ecstatic with wonder. As it was, I was counting the minutes until it was over. I had meant for this to be a unique interaction between the two of us, but instead she was watching me in the real world twist about like an idiot, seemingly dragged here against her will so that I could fool about with a new game. Luckily for me the helmet hid my look of pained sorrow.
I put on a fake smile before removing the helmet, and suggested we grab something from the food court. We looked and she didn't see anything she wanted to eat, which was fine with me, as I had already chalked up the entire thing as an irrevocable failure. Better over sooner than later.
We started to drive back, and the rest of my memories are just of the intense anger I felt towards myself for having botched up this rare opportunity so completely.
Presumably I was in a non-communicative funk most of the time, having committed most of my brainpower towards punishing myself.
I don't remember dropping her off, I hope I had the good sense to put on a good face, but doubt that I did.
blog post blog post
Here a couple interesting things I read/talked about this week:
Read about the book"The end of Overeating" which includes an analysis of how salt, sugar and fat can alter your brain's chemistry.
I myself have observed this to some degree, I've compared the hunger I feel after fasting for 36 hours to the hunger I feel after eating a single salty chip, and the latter is many times stronger. Which was an interesting revelation for me, and likely describes 99.9% of the hunger I have ever felt...
Finally, on the subject of "why do they hate us?" my wife had an interesting observation. I was asking aloud why American culture is so dominant in the world, to which she pointed out that English is spoken in such a wide variety of places that it has the ability to spread cultural "memes" much farther than, say, Mandarin Chinese, which is spoken by more but has produced far less films starring Chevy Chase.
This interested me, I had always kind of thought that American culture spread because of its inherent quality. But what if our culture spreads simply because we drop the most virulent memes into the vast English speaking brain pool?
At that point we look less like supreme artists and more like the parents of that one kid at day care who gave everyone whooping cough, and this helped me understand why some countries might hate us. They may not have met us, but they've seen the floaters we've left in the pool.
While we're on the subject
So, I was puzzled as to why the current administration moved to block release of detainnee abuse photos citing that it would only serve to "further inflame anti-American opinion".
Which is odd, since it is pretty much saying "these photos are worse than Abu Ghraib", which begs the question "What the heck is worse than Abu Ghraib?"
Well, Andrew Sullivan has a terrifying guess, rape. Which, he points out, would *NOT* be considered a illegal technique given the last administration's rejiggering of the term torture, since it presumably doesn't damage a major organ or impair bodily functions.
And with recent revelations that we've done it before, I think we can only assume that there is a large section in Gitmo setup with gloryholes made out of Qurans.
Although I'm keeping my fingers "crossed" that the photos depict full on cruxefiction (which btw would seem to evade their torture definition as well).
I have two reasons for this hope. The first, is that I find cruxefiction slightly less nauseating than rape as an interrogation tool.
The second, is I would be interested to see how Fox News would downplay the brutality and excessiveness of that "stress position" without slaying all their viewers via toxic levels of cognitive dissonance.
comic[5]
Alright, this is the last time I'll use this blog to notify about a new comic, I'll leave that to twitter.
Which will hopefully do a better job reminding me that this blog is for writing, not drawring.
I have created a new comic, which is notable only in that it is the first one I've made that I feel the urge to apologize for, if only for its gratuitiously sexual nature.
If you require context, this or this may quench you.
The Internet has called out to me, and demanded that I create a webcomic.
To which I immediately responded with a very persuasive powerpoint citing my lack of artistic abilities, as well a mathematical formula which could calculate precisely how much time would be forever wasted for each meaningless comic created.
But the Internet insisted that my comic would occupy a vital spot in the internet. A tiny identical cornerstone block of the electric jenga puzzle of the land, yet vital, whose foretold presence alone would keep the entire entity from toppling over into a shed full of lolkittens. (From what I gather it has something to do with an upcoming IPv6 issue.)
I am still very much playing around with the art style. So far the first three comics are hand drawn in pen, hand coded in SVG and then purely photoshopped.
I'm actually pretty happy with them, if only because each has been a surprising amount of work and taught me an equally unexpected amount.
Cliche's Clutches
For a long time now, I've been chasing a sort of uncatchable dragon. Ever since I have been very little, I have wanted to be the archetype "computer hacker". To the point where I'd often think things like "I should really brush up on my C, so that I could contribute to the Linux kernel.". Not because I particularly enjoy writing C, or kernel hacking, but because it is something, in my mind, a "proper computer hacker" does.
Well, there is good and bad news. The good news is that simply by looking around me, I think I can safely announce that I have satisfied the conditions of my long desire. The bad news, is that I seem to have fallen into it's trappings as well.
Long ago I started filtering out the "Nerds walk like this!" type-of internet humorous generalizations. So this morning when I came upon this piece I nearly stopped reading, but decided to stop reading only when I found something that wasn't devastatingly accurate.
I finished the whole thing.
The realization is an uncomfortable one. Both that I've charged headlong and deeply embraced so many negative traits, and that I now have no idea of what to head "toward".
It all reminds me of my favorite Kurt Vonnegut quote: "Be careful what you pretend to be for you are what you pretend to be."
On the bright side of things, that quote is taken from his book "Mother Night", so I guess I can at least be glad that I didn't spend 20 years pretending to be a Nazi.
Money in Politics
I feel left out of politics right now.
So much of our political discourse at the moment seems to be about complex economic situations that even the top economics admit they don't fully understand, what could I really have to contribute?
I think that is why I find myself drawn to simple sounding solutions which also validate my existing worldview.
I am not entirely sure on what the result of imposing an additional tax-bracket on Millionaires, but I certainly like the sound of it.
So much so, that I'd try it myself... I think that the first step on our road to recovery is to outlaw (or maybe just impose a 300% tax on) seasonal animatronic novelty toys. This would include rapping santas, rapping halloween zombie skulls and rapping valentines day flowers. and I glower at them every time I see them in the impulse shelving area at my local grocery store. To me they are the physical representation of our country's collective avarice and emptiness.
So while I doubt outlawing them will actually have any sort of effect on determining the proper market value of mortgage-backed securities, it will, at minimum, stem the ownership of physical toxic assets.
These past years have had so much bad news about Global Warming that I'd nearly become resigned to the fact that the Status Quo is unchangeable even if provably unsustainable. This hasn't been helped by the fact that I have some otherwise very smart friends who have fallen in with the "Global Warming is overstated" apathy crowd...
But this new PowerMeter project from Google has really opened my eyes to the idea that simple changes and smart applications of technology might actually be able to turn the worm.
The gist of the project, is that utility companies are going to start installing "Smart Meters" that will be capable of transmitting real-time usage information back to the utilities. Google wants them to share this info with them so they can display it to customers.
Assuming all the appropriate privacy considerations such as "default opt out" are observed, this really seems like an amazing idea.
I imagine a day when your social networking profile has a link to your aggregate energy usage. Where people compete to be more of a power miser than others for bragging rights. Where you can instantly tell something is wonky with one of your appliances by seeing that your daily energy graph is off the charts.
I can honestly see large scale conservation savings, even from people who don't even believe in global warming, but were just unaware of the power cost of some of their appliances.
Just 10% per participating family would be an amazing accomplishment, and achieved via a method both a "big government" liberal and "no government" anarchist could hug and smile about. Although, now that I've said that, perhaps I've given some AM radio talk show hosts the idea to oppose this concept for fear that it will someday be used to justify "energy usage gestapos"...
In any case, it makes me happy when I see an elegant solution, being proposed out of what looks like good will. Google continues to amaze me.
Elitism
As you may or may not know, my wife and I try to find the time to read books aloud to one another each night. And yes, sometimes woodland creatures *do* gawk at us from outside the window struggling to fully absorb how adorable the whole thing is with their chestnut-sized brains.
We take turns suggesting books, and I hereby accuse my wife of tricking me with her latest choice (although I will be the first to admit that her trickery was sublime). The current book is "The Wordy Shipmates" by Sarah Vowell, whose work on This American Life I've always enjoyed.
The book itself is essentially a chapter from an American history book with jokes and interesting facts.
I now know more about Puritans, the Pequot War and antinomianism than I had ever thought I would.
Now, I don't mean to dis on Ms. Vowel here, the book is pretty entertaining, just not my usual fair, and I admit, my mind might wander at points to topics that don't involve John Winthrop yelling at people.
The other day, my wife was reading to me while I was at the kitchen sink attempting to "Netty Pot" my cold away, when Ms. Vowel made a statement that made me standup, head-cocked, salt water still leaking from my noise, and demand my wife re-read the last paragraph.
The assertion that made me stop, was her argument that the central core of Evangelical Christians, the belief in a personal savior rather than reliance on the papal elite, had morphed over these last 200 years into a general wariness of any and all who claim specific expertise or knowledge.
Which I thought was an interesting turn. Do some American Evangelicals not believe in Global Warming because they see Al Gore as some sort of Eco-Pope? Charles Darwin the fiendish Bio-Pope?
As silly as it sounds, it kind of has the ring of truth to me...
It made me wonder if this same mutating kernel isn't responsible for the recent shift I've observed in our generation (and younger) towards increased support for Libertarian views?
I know most Libertarians don't seem to identify as religious, but I think that might be the point. With the Government stepping in for the Pope as the one attempting to do centrally what they think is purely the realm of the individual.
If so, it does sort of make me giggle that the Puritans might have been the butterfly wing flap beginning of an ideological movement that ultimately strengthens a political platform that involves legalized prostitution and drugs.
Floor(x)
So, I've been trying to think of a happy post since the last couple have been pretty depressing and heavy.
And that is why there hasn't been a post for 2 weeks.
So, I decided to just go the other way with it, and try to come up with the most depressing post possible. So here goes. =)
Before we brought her to the vet for the bright pink shot, we ordered her a pizza (bacon topping if my memory serves).
We then drove to the vet, parked, and sometime between the car and the vet's office, Star broke a toenail. So when we got into the vet, her foot was bleeding quite messily. The vets rush us in, past the admitting desk, to immediately start taking care of it.
They hoist her up on a table, and are trying to stop the bleeding, giving her shots, etc... I start bawling, which confuses them greatly, since they think we brought her in for a toenail injury.
After what seems like forever, I work up the composure to tell them to stop, and sputter out the real reason for our being there.
So they begin readying that, explaining all that is going to happen. Throughout their explanation there is a nonstop cacophony of sad howling coming from a nearby door, presumably from the overnight kennel patients. At the time it seems like an ominous doorway to some sort of Doggie Hell.
They give her the shot. Star relaxes, and I scream.
I eventually need to stop screaming to breath, after which I continue to scream the same note, over and over.
At some point I stop, and I notice Elyssa has settled the bill and signed the paperwork.
We walk back to the car. Against common sense, I insist on driving. Despite the fact that I can barely see the road through my tears.
So that was a pretty bad day. I don't even remember the rest of it.
I do remember that in the following months I'd expect to catch Star's sleek dark presence skirting the periphery of the apartment, and the lack of it was extremely lonely.
As I now watch the pizza video for the first time in 5 years, I was surprised at how bad I had let her get. I thought maybe I had still some guilt leftover about putting down my companion of so long. But when I see her there, her hair white, skin blotchy, all I can think is how selfish I was to have not done it earlier.
So you're probably wondering what this post accomplishes. Well I'm glad you asked. You see, now, next time I post something, it will be provably more happy than this post, since I really can't name a darker memory than the above.
So if you're into things that are NOT a graphic account of me dealing with the loss of a pet, you will definitely enjoy my next post, regardless of what it ends up actually being about.
Dont' Panic
So I've had a bad week.
Now, I am torn on the issue of sharing this. On one hand it seems a largely private medical issue that I'd rather people not know about it. On the other hand, not being able to discuss it is stressing me out, making it worse.
So with my pre-apologies, here we go.
To cut to the chase, I've basically been stressing out with the worry that my heart (like my cousin's) was going to give out without warning, to the point where last Sunday night I was up all night, unable to sleep.
Funny thing about stress, is that it can cause both heart palpation and light headedness, which, not as funny, were the same symptoms that my cousin reported before she died.
Add to this a stressful week at work, travel, not getting to go exercise for two weeks and the fact that last week was when I officially became the same age as my cousin was when she died, kind of formed a perfect storm of stress.
Now I've gone to the hospital and have all the proper battery of tests, and they've found nothing wrong with my actual heart, so I'm confident most of this is just manifestations of aforementioned stress and not a life threatening issue.
I believe the technical term for what I've been experiencing is "panic attacks", which seems an odd description for what actually happens.
When I picture "panic attack", I picture a dude running around screaming, until finally collapsing into a corner with shallow breathing.
For me, these "panic attacks" involve me sitting on a couch, mentally relaxed, watching TV, suddenly wondering why I can hear my heart beat in my ears and also why I have been imbued with strength of three men.
Really the best way I can describe it is like you have to go to the bathroom really bad. Except instead of voiding, you have the urge to either flee or fight, using the adrenaline you've just been given. Thanks body!
It kind of reminds me of the obnoxious Word anthropomorphic office supply helper. "I see you are try to freaking out, would you like adrenaline to deal with the immediate threat?", and you click 'Cancel' over and over, after which it administers it anyway.
Also fun, is I've been playing the "5 minute" game wherever I go. "5 minutes" is basically how long your brain can go without receiving some sort of professional CPR or resuscitation following a sudden cessation of heart beat.
So I'll play it walking the dog, wondering if I keeled over into a snow bank whether anyone would notice in time. Maybe the dog would bark a bunch?
Play it in the grocery store, wondering if anyone with CPR training will be shopping for legumes in the next 5 minutes before walking down that aisle, etc.
But really, for me, the hardest part about this is the concept that all of this is my own brain "attacking" me.
For example, I will be fine all day long, and notice this, and be like "man, I sure did a good job not thinking about it!" and then I will, and I'll get one.
Which is a maddening exercise.
So that's that. To be honest, I also feel guilty about having these. Nearly everyone of my friends and relatives that I can think of has equal or greater reasons to be stressed out than me, which they seem to handle without medical intervention.
On the other hand, in K-12 I really did a lot to try to cultivate a sort of "crazy Kyle" image. Maybe this is just my body's way of saying that I should really reinvest that archetype back into my social persona...
Having been the sort of person who often endured, rather than enjoyed English class, I was skeptical. I expected a dry list of do's and don'ts from some college professor from the 60s.
What I got instead was an author who was passionate about me writing who seemed positively resolute that I had something useful to say, if not to everyone else, at least to myself. All this coming from a gentlewoman living in a house on Lake Calhoun at the turn of the last century.
To condense the book down to the barest of cliffnotes, here are her following points:
A fervent belief that humans are creative by definition.
Expressing this creativity is core to being a human (writing being only one possible method)
The best creative thoughts are borne out of a distracted peacefulness (never forced or willed).
The best method to improve a story is to put it away, write two different stories, and then look at it.
Your assumed expectations of your audience muddy your writing.
But best of all, the entire voice of the book is of someone who seems to have absolute faith in me and that it is important that I write. It has been 3 days, and I still have this image in my head, of a Victorian dressed lady with gloves and frilly dress giving me stern but positive lectures on how I really should find more time to write.
In any case, if writing interests you at all, or if you simply enjoy blinding following the suggestions of The Voltron Princess of the Internet, I recommend it.
Super Cousin
So my cousin Sunny didn't make it.
She was a month older than me.
It is still unclear exactly what happened. She was found in her office not breathing, and by the opinion of one doctor, was probably "gone" by the time she arrived at the hospital a week ago.
I was going to tell a story about her here, but then I read her husband's journal post here.
You should read that instead.
And at her husband's suggestion, I chose this song, which always reminded me of my MN cousin, living it up out in California:
