Speaking of solar

I'm just going to rant here about this stuff. Austrailia has a cool new project using solar power. Wow. Very cool. I admit it seems a bit wasteful, but these kind of experiements need to be done so people know whether or not that line of thought is a good idea. I like that they're doing it. But here's what i really wonder: why isn't the U.S. really gung-ho about projects of this magnitude (maybe smaller in size, but broader in deployment such as home wind/solar or haha home nuclear). Why isn't there a strong push to make American Industry and American homes more resilient to any form of disruption, natural or man made. If I had a few small power plants in my house, say a solar panel or two, and a small WARP wind generator, and I was hooked up to the grid, I would save a bit of money and I would be less vulnerable to problems from either my power plants, or the grid.

And these new areas represent economic/industry sectors in which the U.S. is falling behind. We're stagnating in a vulnerable system designed in the, what, 40s? A power grid is great and all, but just like software design, like natural organism design, components in the system should be as independent as possible. An ant functions all on its own without a queen, or a nest. It can find its own food for energy. Other countries are booming ahead in these areas and I worry that we're losing jobs and advantages because of it.

Enh, anyway. It just tweaks me that we've got the smarts and the capability, but we just don't have the leadership. I guess people just don't like change.

Keep an eye on your neighbor

It seems that some people are taking the solar power thing a bit too far. The mad scientist who's images of the mirror death-ray here lives in Fox Island, Washington, up on Puget Sound. This makes him a threat to all of Seattle, and maybe even Portland. So I advise others to beware of similar neighbors. There may be a network of them out there preparing an attack.

Pop-Nostalgia

Because I can't resist partaking in at least some nostalgia about consumeristic toys from my youth, I give you Andromeda. I had this little philly when I was but 6 or so and I used to dream about getting Baron Karza to make the centaur. But alas, twas never to be. I do remember that I configured Andromeda to use the wheels, and then one broke off leaving the connecting shaft in the horse, which prevented me from ever attaching anything (leg or wheel) to the horse again. Bah.

But Micronauts. Man, those were great.

Honeymoon

Because I like you, I will tell you a bit about the honeymoon plans. At least the first draft. I proposed in Gimmelwald [try zooming out a bit], Switzerland on a 10,000 ft peak [the site is slow] in the alps, so we will go there and hang out and drink coffee and watch the moutains grow. We plan to go to Ljubljana [crazy site...try zooming in], Slovenia [where?] and hit some caves, some food, and some great downtown areas [here here here ]. And we're going to Cinque Terra, Italy.

We're hoping to take the train from Switzerland to Slovenia during the day. It's been a long time since I've seen the Alps and the countryside in daylight. And the prospect of passing through three or four countries in one train trip is just too much to pass up.

All this in ten or eleven days. Don't think we can do it? Just watch.

Humans are freaking loopy

Take a look at this page. That garlic lobe sticking out of the sand is a giant luxury hotel in Dubai. Pay attention to the circular thingy up top that seems to be a sattelite dish pointed at the sky. It's big. It's a helipad. ok. With me? Now click here. The helipad is also a tennis court. A tennis court. And don't tell me this was some archetiect's dream. Whoever thought of this was high as a kite, guaranteed.

took a drive the other morning in the fog. While I was on vacation, of course. Now I am back at work and the fog is in my head. Funny how that works. 

overexposed, but still ok 

Stop, hey what's that sound

Safety tip: if you hear the clang-clang of the warning bell at the train crossing, move your truck. This man didn't (big movie). Here's the story.

Funkytown Goes Mr. Roboto

James Brown has won his immortality. James Brown--The grandmaster funk-a-delic, the Eigth Wonder of the World--has apparently bequeathed some of his spunk into a robot. That is a video of Rosie (a recently developed walking robot) making its way around the internet now. But pay special attention to Rosie's gait and tell me that her little stutter in the middle is not a James Brown "I Feel Good!" dance.

At least we now know that in the future when we're taken over by machines, and we're all carbon slaves, our silicon overlords will be funky. Can you imagine the Matrix with the Architect being James Brown? Wouldn't have been so bad, I bet.

Can I get a Gotchya!

Men Are Disgusting

Apparently men are apes and now one, who can only speak in sign language, is being sued for asking to see women's breasts. One of two women at the incedent was offended when the other woman--who was apparently ok with this whole thing--spoke to the lout saying, "You see my nipples all the time. You are probably bored with my nipples. You need to see new nipples. I will turn my back so Kendra can show you her nipples."

If only we knew where this sort of freakish behavior came from.

Goldberg has Umpteenth Life Epiphany

A book for you to avoid. It's on writing. It's by Natalie Goldberg. So I have to confess that I read her book Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within back in 1992 or something. About the time I was dating someone who unfolded a new aspect of her emotional landscape and her self-direction every ten minutes. "Today I learned that I hate my father." "Last night, while twirling daisies in the meadow, I found out that I want to be Mayor." "I don't want to be Mayor because my father would want to be Mayor, and becoming Mayor would be too him-like. I need my own definition." It got to the point where when she told me she wanted to see other women, I just looked at my watch and said, "Listen. I'm off this rocket. When you decide to land, don't look me up." All this turned out to be very fortunate because soon after, I met my someday-would-be-wife, who had no idea that I was her someday-would-be-second-husband.

Got that?

'Bones' was a book filled with too little writing advice and too much self revelation about Nathalie (see above paragraph). It was very personal for her. She discovered so much about herself--at least four or five epiphanies in the short book. I felt like she was a farmer tilling the soil every few pages. Something new and interesting would pop up and before it got a chance to grow into a nice big shade oak, she'd till it over and up would pop broccoli.

Well, it looks like she's got a new book.The Great Failure: A Bartender, a Monk, and My Unlikely Path to Truth . She's up front about it this time. The title says right away that she'd had *gasp* an epiphany. I will not buy the book, though I may page through while browsing in powells. I expect that she works through some very difficult issues, and that she overcomes some very deeply entrentched obstacles. And in the end she is a shining, spanking clean new version of her. The last and final, totally truthful version. Really. Honestly this time.

Until you close the book at which time her self-image will dim.

Note: her books on writing are far more popular than her fiction or poetry--her writing.

ok. Completely unpublished author will get off his soapbox now. And no, I didn't ask the above girlfriend if I could join her and her new girlfriend. Sheer stupidity, I know.

Bragging Rights

Oh, I think I have the best Valentine’s Day bragging rights, I do. No cards. No candy. No dinner out. No freaking shopping spree. That’s right, my Valentine’s Day was perfect. Why? Lentil soup, a beer, and then my fiancée and I watched Gladiator. Ah, nothing cements a bond like impaled roman slaves, severed Praetorian heads, and sacrifice in the name of the holy Emperor of the Known World (circa 500 b.c.—McNally’s Atlas wasn’t out yet). My gal is the shit. And if you don’t think it from this measly reportage on our gastric and cinematic habits, try this.

I worked on a poem for a month and gave it to her last night. One of maybe two poems I’ve written for her over the years. No, you won’t see it. Poetry is the arena of poets, and a poet I am not. But she liked it. She was tickled.

In exchange, this dove that flits through my life gave me my wedding ring. Haha! Beat that. Gladiator, beer, lentil soup and a wedding ring. The rest of the evening is censored. Go home now. Show’s over.

Captain's Log

Friday on vacation, end of week 1, Stumptown.

It has been long since I last wrote you from paradise. Lo, these long days have been replete with activity, with thought and with the blessings of hard work, and so it is on this final day of the work week that i have returned to the kind souls and sepia liquor that is a Stumptown Triple Latte.

I have to report on the spectacular nocturnal bicycle tour had last night by yours truly and one Tinrocket, a gentleman of superb character and strapping manhood. We pedaled throughout inner Portland well after the last light of the sun had graced the spires and walls of the city's majestic core, whispering next to the river and past the brewpubs only pausing our fluttering feet to snap photos of the light-fantastic over the water. After coffee in the chic neighborhood we headed home under the chill light of the stars. It was a truly refreshing evening...save the malevolent affect the saddle of my trusty metal steed had on my delicate derriere. Oh the blighting pain. Oh the ceaseless prying and probing. The very devil sat beneath me jabbing his bony curses into my hiney.

Being a short-distance bicycle commuter only, it is clear, after this, my longest ride, that some form of heavenly padding needs to be between me and the devil. Perhaps I can get my lovely fiancée to run beside me with her hands on my seat, hmm? Asking too much, I know, but when I look for angelic softness and a loving caress, should I look no further?

I think not. And you could not blame me, I assure you.

Until next time.

The Little Prick..er Prince

Le Petit Prince. I hated that book. I had to read that in french for class. It's basically a story about a man who meets a little twerp who lived on an asteroid and flew to earth. The man learns from the twerp what it is to be a kid again. Or something like that. I hated the book. I hated the whole gestalt of the book. It was soft and sticky and foofy. It lilted. It sighed. Don't get me wrong, I like the message. I like the idea. It was simply the style. It's like someone forcing a hillbilly headbanger to listen to harp music. It just doesn't jive.

And that little prissy punk. Agh! I wanted to smack him. Who lives on an asteroid with a tree? Get a life! Move to a 'hood with some people in it. Get *involved*.

So this entry on the blog is devoted to a warning. A sad day has come. A day of evil for all mankind. Some freaked out germans (why is it always germans?) are translating the book into 100 languages. Can I get a "Sacre bleu" from the audience. We're doomed. Little sheep everywhere.

Now Asterix! There's a proper work of literature.

Maps

Sweet. Google has a really, really bad (as is good) map application up. This thing usues DHTML too. Ah, and I thought those good old days were gone. Maybe I should have taken my ideas that were similar back then and actually done something with them. Har har har.

Read and fear

They're already here.

Slovenia

Honeymoon planning sucks.

Why? Because you have to plan the honeymoon at the same to that you plan the wedding. For me this is like putting a bowl of lima beans across the table and sitting a hot fudge sunday in front of my face. What do you do?

So I am looking at slovenia. Hawaii? Bah. Jamaica, phooey. Mexico: so...American. No, I'd rather go where Boris is not a cartoon character, and ski is a suffix, not a sport. I want to experience total and utter illiteracy. I want to stay in a place that describes itself, say, "With a touch of homeliness and tradition we strive to make our guests, who are visiting us either out of business or private reasons, feel comfortable."

I can just see the freshly wedded couple now:
them: "Ant vy R yoo ztayink vit us?"
us: "I'm sorry. That's private."

I want to stay in a place called Fluxus that not only is a cross between confusion and swearing, but also caters to American Politics: the red room; the blue room. Which says a lot. American politics is a cross between confusion and swearing.

On any honeymoon, it's good to prepare for a future of wedded bliss, so we might want to stay in a prison.

I want pay in SITs.
them: Yoo Kava is 400 SITs.
I sit down. I stand up. I sit down. I stand up. "This could take a while."

I want to visit a Dragon Bridge.

I want to visit a place where trg is a vowelless word meaning public square.

My fiancee is all for it. As a matter of fact, she's gung ho. We're going to switzerland on this trip of course(where I proposed), and I think we're going to Cinque Terra (an Oasi of Nature and Scents--Oasi... plural for Oasis?) in Italy. So we're doing the romantic, normal things. Why not throw in some excitement: some bleak post communist culture, some throat grabbing consants, and a little speleology.

Besides, i can't get her to go to Tunisa. She knows she would never live that down. Tanesha in Tunsia. Oh man. I feel a tear of mockery forming even thinking about it. But think of the bragging rights to be able to say you visited Tatooine. I mean come on. Does this not say ever-lasting love?

Root Beer: part deux

My son and I made another batch of root beer. This time was super easy. The whole process just flowed (yuk yuk). The results are good. I like the strong root beer flavor, but I admit, it's a bit strong. Maybe next time we should not use the whole bottle of flavoring. Er.

We also made some orange soda. Let me be the first to tell you our results are pathetic. It's flat, not very citrusy, and really not even that sweet. Though I will say that the color is excellent: nuclear orange. I just poured a bottle down the drain and look forward to seeing two headed, glow-in-the-dark sewer rats in the next few weeks.

the sweet nectar of vacation

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. No work today. No work tomorrow. No work next week either. Two weeks of bliss.

Not exactly,of course. I have a wedding to plan. I have a house to repair. I have writing to do. But still. Man, it's going to be nice to be able to just devote myself to the other stuff I need to do besides the day job.

The future is now

Wonderful. I wasn't quite ready for virtual sweatshops yet. When I look outside, I don't see the world of Blade Runner. People are forcing others to play online games wherein virtual goods are earned, and then those people sell those goods for profit. One journalist put forth the effort to research this by playing the games and selling the goods. His income for a year would work out (if he maintained his monthly rate) to 47 k a year. Here's a breakdown of his work.

The virtual world is building very, very fast. The Matrix is coming.

Carpe Dodgeball

Dodgeball is a cheesy, unsurprising and pedestrian movie that is really quite funny and an excellent rent, on top of the fact that it's also a fantastic teaching tool. Observe.

Rent the movie (step one).
Watch it with the boy (step two).
Drive home with the radio off and mention Lance Armstrong, who does a cameo (third and final step).

Lance Armstrong is of course the teaching tool in question, not dodgeball, though really, having just seen dodgeball (which is nothing more than a story about not quitting) helps. It helps because dodgeball has a plain, unadulterated scene wherein Lance talks about his own desire to quit when he had cancer.

Cancers. All the cancers, practically.

The man got something like three cancers, and instead of giving in said, fuck this, I am going to go on to become the best bicyclist in the known universe. And that's what he did, though perhaps with greater decorum.

This is, I feel, an important life lesson. And it's in the movie Dodgeball. Oh how times have changed. Once upon a time, life taught you lessons when your tribe died, when your igloo melted and fell into the sea, when you ate that last raw scallop. Now it comes to you in movies made from the leftover cast members of Saturday Night Live. Isn't progress grand? Soon we will come pre-installed with Microsoft Wizdom, Fantasia Edition and Linux Inspiration, Lance Armstrong version 23.4 alpha, build 17 (kernal 82, known bugs include lack of support for Martian firmware and Microsoft Word).

I sat in the car in front of my house with the boy relating everything I knew about Lance (took maybe 10 seconds). I told him that Joe Average (a man in the movie) wins in the end because he decided to win. He decided not to give up. It was a case of WWLAD: What Would Lance Armstrong Do?

The real coup de grace (that's french, which is funny because Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France. So there's a connection there. Get it?), though, came when we walked inside and I was able to look him in the eye and ask him why he was doing so much better in school than last year. He said because his grades are better (the whole cause and effect thing is a little fuzzy still). I said, no. He said it was because of the summer tutor. I said no. I said it's because you, my boy, have decided to do better. Your near straight A grades are because you choose to do the work and you choose to learn the material. You have chosen to succeed like Lance Armstrong.

In my mind he takes this to heart, and goes forward into the next year or so understanding his success is his choice. He goes forward understanding that he is the captain of his soul and that adventure and happiness are ports of call on his journey, if he chooses to trim the forejib and hoist anchor.

In reality he was probably thinking that dodgeball was funny and wondering why I was blabbing. And really, he was probably hoping this would somehow translate into a raise in allowance.

Time will tell. Oh yes, time will tell.