March 31, 2004
Wow. Neil Gaiman links to Ghost Town, a photo journey through modern Chernobyl. To quote Gaiman, “Without the photographs it would be like reading a piece of
All my regular journals haven’t seen an update today (except for Lileks, of course, but even his update is a shockingly brief two pages), so I spent a few minutes browsing Lileks’ photo archives. Jasper is just too cute.
As usual, I’m feeling better today. Mondays and Tuesdays are bad, as I have to deal with the
But last night I relaxed with another MST3k flick (The Girl in Gold Boots), and primed another book case, and wrote. More of that on my writing journal.
Now, more of the VR story (I’m going to save this, type up the story, and post it).
They slipped through dark alleys and along empty streets to a cheap little motel tucked away from the main roads. Doodlehopper took charge and checked in as Mrs. Alice Konaka and her husband. The mummy of a man behind the counter didn’t even bat an eyelash at them, despite their age difference; he just wanted the room fee
Doodlehopper plopped herself down on the worn comforter of the first bed in the room, threw her arms up, and arched her back. Her vest hung loose from her shoulders and her curves seemed ready to burst through her black pullover. Thomas pointedly looked away and walked past her towards the only chair in the room, a thin, rickety thing of rusty aluminum.
He didn’t bother to sit; he let himself fall into the chair,
“You aren’t gonna try to jump me, are you?” she asked suddenly.
“Err…what?”
“You know. You’re not gonna try anything, are you?” she persisted.
He arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you break my arm if I tried?”
Her mouth curved into an impish grin, and she relaxed slightly. “I would, actually. But I didn’t know if you knew that.”
His pride made him smile now. “I’m a detective,” he said. “Only in VR, but I’m still a detective. And I can tell that you not only have the muscles of a screeching kung fu star, you move like one.”
His smile faded. “But seriously,” he said, “you said you’d talk. What’s going on?”
She gave him a perfect nonchalant Gallic shrug. “Can’t say much, really. Somebdoy big wants you to die. I’ve been hired to make sure you don’t.”
He arched an eyebrow again. “Hired?”
She nodded “You’re a VR detective, right?” she asked. He nodded, and she grinned. “I’m the
Writing Thoughts
Wai wai!
I had a goal for this month’s writing: to beat my past record of words written per month. I’ve only been keeping such records since December, and the most I’d written in one month was 6,800 words.
I am proud to report that, as of yesterday, I wrote 7,300 words in the month of March. And that’s with ten days unable to write after eye surgery.
March 30, 2004
The Exorcist in 30 seconds,
3:08 p.m.
Just updated my links page with links to various weblogs and
2:39 p.m.
Hmm. Telltale Weekly is sort of an audiobook version of Project Gutenberg . Recordings are available in MP3 and Ogg Vorbis formats, with
Wait…what? You want actual updateage? Oh, all right, if you insist. One moment while I set down the Proust and finish the glass of whiskey and soda….
See, that’s funny, ha ha, because I’ve just had a pretty darn rough weekend. Saturday was a remarkable day full of activity; I’d filled up my
This was good, but Sunday was busy as well with
Monday morning, I made another mistake: I worked through breakfast, then had a big, greasy lunch. I could barely focus on the computer screen all afternoon. Then I had to run to the grocery store to get supplies for Monday Group, then took the subway in to D.C. We had a good time, both relaxing and
So. Today. I’m not doing badly, really; I don’t feel like chewed gum like I often do on Tuesdays. But I do feel battered, like an old ship that’s creaking and groaning from overuse and in need of a rest and a refitting.
So, even though I’m low on hours this week, I think I’m going to go home early today and rest up. I need it far more than I need the money at work.
Monday, March 29, 2004
March 26, 2004
Good luck on Wednesday, Chris!
It’s a beautiful day. It’s the sort of day you expect for the benevolent return of Christ — the first day of the year when pants are just too hot, really.
I’m only working half of today, since I put in quite a few hours earlier in the week. And, no, I won’t exult that it was worth it; those times stuck in the office, blearily banging on the keyboard, sucked. Was four hours of drudgery worth four hours of time off? I honestly can’t say.
Besides, I’ll be spending this afternoon running errands. I’m buying toys for my AWANA kids to reward them for finishing their workbooks, and I need to stop by the bank, and I really need to stop by a net cafe so I can take care of some online business through my laptop.
All that work will be worth it if I can finish all my errands today, so that I can stay home all day Saturday and just enjoy the day. I treasure my free Saturdays now.
…Erm. And I’ve just run dry, so I’ll stop here.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
OK, lots to talk about today.
First up, The Passion. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m amazed at its ability to create soapboxes. Every review and article I’ve read about The Passion is a commentary about some aspect of the movie; I have yet to find a straight review of the film as a film, comparing it to Mel Gibson’s intentions. People seem intent on seeing it exclusively through one particular lens.
Case in point: an article in The Wall Street Journal in which several scholars complain about various aspects of The Passion. In the scene in which Jesus is being questioned by the high priest, Diane Wudel (New Testament scholar at Wake Forest University Divinity School) says that the viewer gets “an altered question, an answer from Mark, a trial from Luke and a dialogue from John.”
Well, um, which one of those books is the authority on that trial, Prof. Wudel? Do you read only the Luke account and reject the others? Or do you acknowledge that each is a perspective on events, and that the exact wording and exact order of events are not as important as the truths underlying the story?
Bill Leonard, dean of Wake Forest, an ordained Baptist minister and Baptist historian, complains, “When you limit the gospel story only to the crucifixion—when you don’t have the story of the prodigal son, the words of the Sermon on the Mount, it doesn’t tell the story that Jesus shows us waht God is like. The love of God is not simply revealed in the brutality of the cross.”
He’s absolutely right. But that’s not the point of the film.
It’s not called The Life of the Christ. It’s not called The Resurrection of the Christ. It’s about the Passion, the days leading up to and including the crucifixion. Maybe some of these folks have forgotten their ecumenical terminology and assume that the word “passion” is just a neat word and not a specific term.
How does the film work as a film about the passion? From what I hear, it works pretty darn well.
Meanwhile, the magicians are in a huff (surprisingly, the full Wall Street Journal article is available here, thanks to MLive.com).
Essentially, a small Houdini museum in Houdini’s home town of Appleton, Wisconsin is putting up an interactive exhibit of Houdini’s “Metamorphosis” trick. This is the illusion in which the magician is wrapped in a sack, then placed in a large padlocked box which is checked by volunteers, and then after a few moments behind a curtain, swaps places with the assistant outside. The box is then unlocked and the assistant is found inside, wrapped inside the sack.
The illusion is, like most illusions, quite straightforward once you realize where the illusion really is. The illusion lies in believing that the person in the box is still wrapped in the sack the whole time. As soon as Houdini was locked in the box, he got out of the sack, ready to get out of the box. Of course, the box had a cleverly concealed trap door. When the curtain concealed them, Houdini would slip out the trap door and the assistant would slip in. Houdini whipped the curtain aside while the assistant was still wriggling into the sack, and she had plenty of time to do so as the padlocks were removed from the box.
But the magicians have rabbits coming out of their ears in horror at the idea of a secret of magic being revealed to any old
Like any good magic trick, there’s more to this story than meets the eye. Over the decades, “Metamorphosis” has become a rite of passage for magicians. Once a magician has successfully staged his or her own version of ”Metamorphosis,” s/he is generally considered to be a pro. Thus, as everyone sees how “Metamorphosis” is done, a significant bit of the magicians’ internal culture is wiped away. The audiences will yawn at this one; they know how it’s done.
The real problem here is that the magic community has stagnated. There was a day when magicians invented dozens of tricks by themselves, and were constantly wowing audiences with novelty. In fact, one of the reasons why the great magicians like Robert Houdin were so popular for so long is the fact that they’d keep introducing new illusions into their acts, so patrons could return the next year and find new delights to amaze them.
But the magic community has lost its edge. Now, magicians learn a bag of existing tricks, and make little (if any) effort to invent anything new. When was the last time you saw a magician who wasn’t dressed in something like a tuxedo?
I spent a good amount of my childhood reading up on magic. I have a few books of magic tricks at home. The last time I saw a magician, I recognized
every
single
one
of his tricks.
This is like a band that only plays other bands’ music. It’s pathetic.
Light. I feel like a grunge band. All anger and frustration. Sorry about that.
So I’ll end with a light item, followed by a link. First up: India and Pakistan.
No, really. There’s a big cricket match going on right now between India and Pakistan, and it’s being held in Pakistan. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, what with their nuclear bickering being only the largest of many looming points of contention.
But it’s going great. The Pakistani crowds have applauded the Indian team when it’s doing well, and the entire situation has thus far been an entirely civil affair. To quote The Wall Street Journal:
Thousands of Indian fans, armed with special
…the Pakistani public has extended such a warm embrace to fans from across the border that many Indians—according to reports in the Delhi newspapers—are finiding it difficult to encounter restaurateurs and taxi drivers who will accept their money. “You are our guests,” they’ve been told, again and again. “We cannot charge you.”
And finally, ever wished that somebody who understood poetry, really understood it, could sit down with you and explain how it works, as best anyone can tell, and maybe even inspire you to write some? He did, and it’s on the web.
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
I’ve surprised myself by being rather alert today. Considering that I’ve spent a grand total of maybe four waking hours in my apartment over the past three days, I’m impressed with myself. I should be one of the walking dead right now.
Work continues to go well, now that I’m not starting it off with more fun personal pursuits. Brief though they might be each day, they set a tone. Now, working all day isn’t a Herculean effort.
I’ve spent a few hours over the last two days working on a clone of the flagship product made by my last company. I never did understand why it took them so long to develop it. Actually, I think I do: they
Anyvay, my clone is now
Pretty cool.
He hit the ground floor with both feet, then stepped forward to give her room. She landed like a cat, light and graceful, then zagged past him and yanked open the heavy steel door that led outside.
They crept out into the brisk air of early autumn and the chorus of
Doodlehopper was by his side in an instant, her face clouded with concern as she peered down at him. “You okay?” she asked. “Went too fast on the stairs, huh?”
He shook his head, but couldn’t catch enough breath to answer just yet. She stayed motionless, waiting patiently. A small part of his mind wondered why she wasn’t impatient to keep moving.
After a few moments he had enough breath to say, “Can’t…take it all…in.” He looked up at her, his expression like that of a child who’s just realized he can’t find his parents. Openly scared and confused. “What’s going on?” he asked.
The girl’s face broke into a compassionate smile. “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s find somewhere to hole up, and I’ll talk.”
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
I’ve been going through quite a lot in the past couple of days. After an intense weekend, I had an immeasurably more intense Monday Group. Two of the folks in the group are having a really rough time right now. We ended up just talking about what we want and need from each other, as a small community, to support each other and build each other up. It was good, but powerful and spiritually exhausting.
I’ve also been making some changes at work. I used to check my personal
So now, I wait until lunch to do my
That’s all for now.
Monday, March 22, 2004
I literally cannot write a long entry today; I had a wonderful but
Briefly: I had my 10,000th Day Party on Saturday, celebrating ten thousand days alive. I had a great time with about twenty friends, who all chatted and ate. We had glistening ham, a variety of good hearty breads, a lovely smattering of cheeses from Colby to Brie to some sort of odd paté, dozens of cookies, and good strong wines and ales and liquers and even several bottles of mead.
I crashed at my parents (which is where the party was held; my apartment wasn’t nearly large enough) for the night, then zipped by my apartment with barely enough time to breathe before driving to church, then to lunch with a friend, then to my writing group, then to AWANA. I got back home and, after eating a late dinner and writing a paltry few hundred words, collapsed into bed.
As a result I overslept this morning, and worse, I had an appointment with my eye doctor in the middle of the afternoon. So I’ve only spent half a day here at work. Blah. Tuesday through Thursday are going to be looong days, since I have another eye doctor checkup appointment this Friday. At least my eyes are doing better; they’re just healing at the pace of 33-degree blackstrap molasses.
Friday, March 19, 2004
Instead of a real update today, I’ll summarize a few things that happened to me yesterday. Which, now that I think about it, is a real update.
Yesterday I had a
My eyes are fine; I just have “the
I had to work late to make up for the long doctor visit, plus getting in an extra hour so I could take off early on Friday, so when I got home I was exhausted. I ended up popping DVDs into my DVD player and watching ‘em all night.
I finished watching the first five episodes of Tenchi GXP, the new
I then popped in a DVD of Snake and Eagle’s Shadow, one of Jackie Chan’s first starring films. And discovered that I’d been boondoggled. While the packaging suggested that this was Jackie’s film, it’s actually a sequel that contains a few scenes of Jackie Chan fighting from the previous film. No Jackie Chan to be found anywhere in the main film. I was irate.
So I popped in Jackie Chan’s Gorgeous, which immediately soothed my rage. It starts out like a Studio Ghibli film; a young dreamy girl finds a romantic message in a bottle and on impulse follows it to Hong Kong. After discovering that the message was intended for a guy instead of a girl, she rescues a dashing businessman (Chan), and begins to pursue him. It’s a much less zany film than most of Chan’s adventures, partly because his character is suave and sophisticated, so there’s very little bumbling tomfoolery. Also, Chan’s primary antagonist is an incredibly
And that’s all for today. Toodles!
March 18, 2004
And just to show you what happens when anyone can
1:36 p.m.
I thought of a great subject for a journal entry yesterday. And today, of course, it’s gone.
Had something to do with Gundam, though, I think. And yes, I remember that I wrote a pitifully short review of it yesterday.
Hmm. Umm.
I wrote some yesterday. That’s not news, except for the fact that I wrote 800 words in the past two days. I can normally only eke out 200 a day or so.
What’s led to the increase in writing productivity? An outline. Years ago, before the Great College Writing Drought, I used to write everything according to an outline of some sort. I didn’t finish anything, but I think that was due more to procrastination than a fault with the outlines.
In the past few months, I’ve been able to write, but I’ve had trouble finishing anything, I think primarily because I haven’t known where I was going in any of my stories. Now I’ve brought the outline back, and it seems to be improving my productivity drastically.
Now to see if it will continue.
Lileks is the only blogger I know who could turn a castoff 60′s pen into an idea for a novel (except maybe Neil Gaiman).