Mountains of Kaf

Busy busy busy

2006-06-14T08:41:00.000-04:00

So, haven't posted in awhile (clearly), in part because things have been a bit crazy. My lease ends June 29th, I don't have an apartment in the city I'm going to move to (although I have applied for one and will hopefully hear back today), and I'm in my last two weeks of work (a bitter sweet parting it shall be). I don't dislike my job, but as I've posted before, there is at least one person at work I will not miss a damn bit. I'll miss pretty much everyone else. A friend and coworker interviewed for my job yesterday, so hopefully all will go well on that front. She'd do an excellent job, assuming they'll pay her enough to do it. For two years I've been a "temporary" employee, so they'd at least better pay her more than me. If I can't stick it to them, might as well encourage someone else to do so. :-)

Anyways, the next few weeks are going to be a blur of packing, lease signing (hopefully), and moving frantically. It is quite possible there will be a few days in which I'll be somewhat transient between the end of one lease and the start of another. I'd say I was going to live out of a van, but I have a 4-door Mitsubishi, so I don't even have that going for me. The Mitsubishi will be cramped with me and two cats in it, tho.....

Changes afoot.

2006-05-03T17:57:00.000-04:00

So I have begun to set foot in the world of the Internet on my own two feet. Empty Signifiers, my blog at http://www.emptysignifiers.com, is now live. Powered by Movable Type, no less.

As of now, there's a short welcome entry, the "Untitled #8" article originally posted here, and the article I wrote titled "Modes of Authenticity" that's also posted here. Sue me, I recycled to add some heft to a homepage. There'll be new stuff there soon.

This has been a long time coming for me, and now that there are some freelance commissions afoot, I might also have to start up a website for a corporate identity I've been considering.

Also, as I'm only known as "Djinn" on this blog and seemingly nowhere else on the internet, I'm considering changing my display name from Djinn to the moniker I use everywhere else (blame Flickr for it if you must), the Brightside. If the latter appears at the bottom of this entry, now you know why. If it doesn't, well, I'll edit this entry so it looks like you're the doofus.

Anyhow, just letting you know... things are changing around here.

Just to have a post in May

2006-05-02T09:12:00.000-04:00

Yeah, that's about the only reason I'm posting right now. Just to be sure we have a post for the month of May. My lease ends June 29th, and yesterday morning, the panic started to set in, because I have to move by the end of June. Two months away. I don't know where I'm moving exactly, or how I'm going to pay for an apartment without a job. Technicalities, I'm sure. It will work out.

Also, next week, I'm going on vacation with my family. It will include a 12+ hour car drive north. I'm not sure we'll survive being in a car together that long......

Modes of authenticity

2006-04-15T03:11:00.000-04:00

I have missed the bandwagon, but there was quite a dust-up a ways back over whether "bad design was truly good," that is, sites with poor or unprofessional design had stumbled on a key ingredient to success. Microsoft's resident PR blogger Robert Scoble landed in this camp, suggesting that such "anti-marketing" was inherently more attractive to individuals who live in a world constantly bespattered with messages and carefully considered brand experiences.

On the other hand were the designers, and, though I don't want to politicize the debate, the pragmatists. It's a natural extension of Occam's Razor to say instead of the above, not that Craigslist, Scobleizer, plentyoffish.com worked because of poor design, but in spite of it. That is, the sites with poor designs nevertheless offered some functionality that surpassed their competitors, such that their success was inevitable, a foregone conclusion of a mechanistic marketplace.

Whether either path is true, we'll never particularly know, but the general history of mankind seems to lend credence to the pragmatist stance. If "authenticity" is your yardstick, you honestly can't be any more authentic than the cave paintings and stark survival of early hominids. Yet our social interactions and technological advances grew ever more complex. Design serves a purpose, else it would have been excised much, much earlier than the Internet.

(This is merely an aside, but I wish to reiterate how tiring it is to witness social phenomena on the Internet hailed as revolutionary. You gather masses of people in one area, and, strangely enough, they act like masses of people. These communities are not truly new, merely accelerated, but it's easy to confuse velocity with novelty. There's an E. coli joke to be made there, but I'll be damned if I can think of it tonight.)

The heart of this post is akin to the discussion on stylegala about "thornament." Is there really any mode of communication any more authentic than any other? I suggest that there is not. Modalities are narratives. Religion, government, these are narrative constructions of our social experience. They gather and give meaning to passing time, they construct reasons for us to act and be acted upon. Is any one narrative any more "authentic" than any other? Is any one style of graphic communication more "authentic"? No. It's a culturally relative property. What constitutes real or genuine to a fisherman on the banks of the Yalu River in China will not translate as similarly genuine to a teenager in London or a stockbroker in New York.

What creates the illusion of "authenticity" is the degree to which the viewer is already steeped in that mode of transmission. Sculpted by the methods of communication you see every day, you lose sight of the narrative framework that constructs your existence. It seems real to you because it is real. It is the expression you find most consistent with your historical experience and with your current communication. Take any self-identified group--to temporarily indulge in crass pop taxonomy--Goths, skatepunks, jocks, nerds, geeks--and their internal modes of expression will not seem constructed to those in the group. How can it be? It is the mode they have chosen to construct themselves with, and insofar as self-construction is largely an opaque or subconscious process, the methods by which one self-constructs are also opaque.

The methods of self-construction are not those that lead children to view their peers and desire something as cool. It is the means by which you even begin to understand the notion of "cool." It is a term as oddly pervasive as to be near wholly linguistic. You know what cool is. Can you explain to someone what cool is?

Would they already know?

Especially in group identities that are defined in opposition to others, the methods of constructing your own mode of expression, your own authenticity, is often described as "the right way" or "the truth," clouded amongst the deceptions offered by a hostile Other. The neo-Nazi groups that incorporate angry young men into their fold preach just such an ideology; groups of disconcerted, unpopular intellectuals in high school do, as well. (How quaint a trope is it, that the "nerds" talk to themselves of how the popular kids just don't get things? How universal a turn of phrase it is that others "don't get" our work, our hobby, us, anything.) The bourgeouis argued similarly against the upperclass, the federalists against the royalists; it is an inherent facility of the mind to categorize things as Us and Them.

You can easily dissect and differentiate the ideology of Them, see how Them is built. You have built Them so you can build Us against it, but you cannot see how you have constructed Us. In fact the opposite is generally considered to be true. "Traditional" American values are just that--"traditional." To deviate from tradition is wrong, has always been wrong, because tradition is "how it's always been done." It's "what we were always taught." Yet one never considers the authenticity of one's own modes of expression, because one is not conscious of those modes. They simply are the ways in which you address yourself through language, so there is no real way to view the narrative framework in which you have yourself been suspended.

Is that to suggest knowing the self, knowing the narrative of one's self-construction is necessarily impossible? No. (Though it is a common misconception that deconstruction suggests all things are indefinable, this is, nevertheless, a misconception.) One must first learn the ways in which symbols create meaning, in which meaning creates narrative, and then one can study the ways in which others construct themselves. An awareness of narrative is a prerequisite to reading the creation of authenticity, and I'd venture that anyone who has slogged through this post with me is more than ready to contemplate the narratives of their own self-construction.

You stand in front of your own self-identification, a perfectly clear pane of glass. With no other frame of reference than your own position, you would never bother to question if the glass existed. But once you glimpse someone else, standing in front of a pane, you wonder if you might look similar.

I don't have the energy to consider it, but a parting thought is this: the anthropologist, in cataloguing the relationships and existence of cultures, could be seen to be grasping at the definition of his own self. I will never define myself fully, he says, for I am myself, and I am always redefining; but if I define all others, I will know who I am not, and finally learn who I am.

grad school remix: update

2006-04-13T12:32:00.000-04:00

Well, the applications were sent, the letters are in, and I now know where I will be moving at the end of June, which is much better than the situation a week ago, since I only knew when I would be moving, and not where. I have been accepted to graduate school for an MA in Anthropology (at a school which, for the sake of a pseudonymous web presence, shall not be named). Yay!! Life has a purpose again! My mind shall no longer be going stagnant! I'm going to be a graduate student!

oh god

I'm going to be a graduate student...........

oh god

Ok, moment of panic over. Back to being happy! Don't think about paying for school.... an apartment.... leaving my job..... oh, my job that I used to enjoy.....

Though, added bonus, no more listening to the Wicked Witch of the Monumental Mouth (she who shall not be named and shall never shut up) at work.

World of Warcraft Wedding Vows

2006-03-02T16:23:00.000-05:00

Also referred to as the "WoW Vow," we've decided to write wedding vows for the dedicated WoW player who is also taking that next big step in life to join their gaming habits with those of another. The following wedding vows were written by our friend the Skank, with some input from myself and Djinn. Ahem.

Bride:
I vow to be your faithful priest, understanding that WoW requires a difficult balance of damage and healing. Character classes can not be chosen lightly, they should be chosen for the purpose of mutual fellowhip, pvp night, and general crafting. I hear by pledge to play my account with thee and only thee. Your name will be the one I call out in the night, unless you are playing your alt. This is my sacred vow before God.

Groom:
In the name of Blizzard I (blank) take you (blank) to be my wife,
to dance and to gank with from this day forward,
through good instance runs and bad,
through low mana and low health,
through the Touch of Zanzil and Greater Heals,
until we are parted by subscription cancellation.

Enjoy.

A Valentine's Tale of Righteous Fury

2006-03-02T12:39:00.000-05:00

Allow me to share post-Valentine's Day a saga of wrath and vindictive glory. As February 14th was approaching, I began to feel the pressure associated with the holiday. For the second time in two and a half years, I am separated from Djinn on Valentine's Day, which isn't really as hard a thing to cope with as being apart at Christmas, birthdays, or our anniversary (which we have so far always managed to be together during).

However, Djinn hasn't been feeling well, and I thought I would send him a gift to lift his spirits. Something small, something furry and inanimate. For about a week, I try to think of what to send him, and on February 13th, I realized that I could no longer procrastinate.

So I go online, and immediately think of 1-800-FLOWERS. I go to the website, and I search out something plush that also has chocolate involved, and I find Sad Sam, an adorable puppy dog with droopy ears and eyes, in a little tuxedo with fake flowers behind his back and a box of chocolates at his side. Not too girly on V-day, and not too flashy, and entirely appropriate in my mind when apart from your significant other on such a hyped up holiday filled with social pressure to be in love and to express that love monetarily.

I order Sad Sam with next day delivery, ask that it be sent to Djinn's office at work, and fill out the appropriate information. Yes, I'll pay the $15.00 delivery fee. I reach a screen telling me that what with the holiday and all, I'll have to accept "flexible delivery" and I should choose an alternate date below. My options for delivery are: February 14th. Convenient enough, as that's when I wanted it delivered anyways.

Click submit, make payment, check out, and sit back, satisfied that my gift will reach Djinn at work and bring a smile to his face.

Valentine's Day: The day arrives, Djinn gets to work, and goes through his day. I call him at lunch to see if he's gotten his gift. Not yet. He tells me what others in the office have received. We wait. He knows he's getting something at work, but he doesn't know what. The work day ends, and still no gift. I start to worry.

I e-mail the company (let's not forget who it was--1-800-FLOWERS) to ask about my order. Moments later, a reply, an automated answer stating that they received my e-mail and I'll be hearing from them soon.

Next day: Djinn goes to work, the day passes. No gift. No Sad Sam. At this point, I have sent Djinn a link to the picture of what he should be getting, since it's late and he should at least see it.

Next day: Djinn goes to work, checks for packages, nothing. I receive an e-mail (on February 16th, mind you) that is a delivery confirmation that my order was delivered on February 14th. Enter the RIGHTEOUS FURY. I fire off a reply e-mail that contains the following phrases:

"Perhaps this is an automated e-mail generated by your system, but if my order was delivered on that date, it was delivered to the wrong place and I would really like to know why I paid to potentially have a random stranger receive my order. I am not that charitable. Please respond immediately to resolve this matter."

The response? An automated reply, informing me that my e-mail is important to them (just the like the last one, huh?) and that I should be hearing from them soon. I also submit another e-mail via an online form on their website, and receive the same answer--an automated reply.

Later that same day, after lunch, Djinn does indeed receive his gift. However, instead of Sad Sam the puppy dog, he gets Tucker the teddy bear. Still fluffy, still cute, but in no damn way is it what I paid for him to receive.

I attempt to call the company. On the other line, an automated voice: Thank you for calling 1-800-FLOWERS. If you would like to place an order, press 1. If you would like to....blah blah If you would like to speak to a customer service representative about an order, please press 4. If you have a corporate account, and would like to speak to a customer service representative about a corporate order, please press 5.

I press 4.

I wait. I listen to a static-filled recording that repeats every 15 seconds or so and tells me that I can check the status of an order online by registering, and that my call is important. I wait. I wait. I make dinner. I wait.

I hang up.

Redial.

Press 5 for a corporate account. I have just enough time to listen to the opening strains of hold music with no static before the call is transferred again automatically and I am speaking to a live human being. I was beginning to think those didn't exist at 1-800-FLOWERS. Apparently they only exist for the corporate customer. Just call us Genie & Djinn, Inc.

After explaining the situation, and the blatant lie in the delivery confirmation e-mail, I say very simply, "I would like to know how we can resolve this matter." My options are to either return the gift for a "100 % credit" (chocolates intact and all) or I can keep the gift and get a "50 % credit." My final question before choosing door number two is whether the "credit" is to my "credit" card, or to 1-800-FLOWERS the company, because HELL WILL FREEZE OVER before I order from them again. The money has been promptly credited to my credit card.

The moral of the story: Had someone immediately responded to my initial e-mail, or had the delivery confirmation not contained an out and out lie, I wouldn't have been nearly as pissed off as I became. As it was, I patiently wait for the fires of hell to cool in order to have my next business transaction with this company (which is, for the record, 1-800-FLOWERS, in case you forgot).

"Untitled #8"

2006-02-27T00:59:00.000-05:00

I write this in the ringing silence between my ears, the memory of rising house lights still flush in my mind, satisfied and yet not sated. When you have experienced something so rousing, so beautiful that no matter how it ends, it will never have been enough, that is the space inside me at this moment.

I have just seen Sigur Ros.

The brilliant alien music comes from some shining otherworld, and the pealing distortion is the only echo of some unknown geometry. Their first album, Agaetis Byrjun, was the first foray into the ethereal. Their otherwise untitled album, ( ), could only have come from Iceland--the furor and the glacial movements, the minimalist sweeping vistas and the cataclysmic eruptions are wholly a product of their homeland. Takk... occurred as if the band had discovered these things called "songs," and what conventional song structures became was reflective of the curvature of their individuality, recognizable and yet novel.

Their stage presence is magnetic, towering and fragile, as opaque and internal as their music. It begins with a curtain lowered over the stage, and the silhouettes of the backlit band projected onto it, warring for primacy with fragments of video and harshly stylized photographs shown onto it. It is a screen and a projection, and its nonnarrative display allows for a moving interpretation of the visuals (much as they welcome the singular response to their music). At the halfway point the curtain lifts, and the band members are carved out of the darkness with spotlights. Pulsing strobes play when each instrument hits its peak and pushes beyond, into feedback and squeals. The final song of the set, the evocatively-named "Heysatan" (haystacks in English), finds the boys contracting into one single spot, playing their instruments, all other help dismissed, existing in their own world, and the song ends quietly, serenely, with a wave and a thank-you murmured in chirping Icelandic.

The crowd erupts in applause, cheering and waving; people stand at their seats to stretch tired legs. I sit still. I refuse to believe it is over. I want to hear one song, I need it, its propulsive rhythms and its explosive climax. It is the closest to religion I have ever come. I will not leave without hearing it. It is "Untitled #8," a song that begins with a haunted yawning guitar and a glance across the icefields. It ebbs and it flows, the tide rises, and that guitar bobs on the current of a wavering bassline and a steady drumbeat. A beat that gets faster. A beat that heralds the coming apocalypse. A beat that explodes into static and feedback.

It is the beat that I need, it is the explosion I crave. The emptiness that has dogged me these past four months has been beaten back but not defeated. I need this song. I need to feel something inside me, need to feel the building emotion, need the rush, I need the release that forces me to move. I will not leave this seat until I hear this song.

The house lights come up. The stage is empty, with instruments strewn on it half-forgotten. People shift around me. I am clearly in the way.

The lights set at the back of the stage bleed a sudden, vivid red, and they skew toward us. The house lights black out and the screen comes down. The crowd--momentarily accepting of their half-finished spectacle--hushes with an apprehensive breath.

We all hold that one breath, stretched tight in the air around us. To break the silence will break the spell and we all need this last moment. The screen flashes redly and behind it appear the shadows of the band. Picking up the guitar and his bow, Jonsi plucks the winding notes that signal the beginning of the end.

It is "Untitled #8."

The crowd releases its singular breath to scream with one mouth and the tension floods the emptiness. I am a string stretched taut, I am the drumhead pounding, I am the voice driven hard to strain at the edges of the note. We are swept into the wavering song and the drumbeat starts to sound faster.

This is what I need--

--the beat, so primal, rushes headlong, and the tension reaches its breaking point--

--and we are pushed farther, pushed into oblivion, the crowd does not exist and my body cannot take this, I must move--

--and the explosion arrives, the storm breaks, I stand and fling my arms to the sky and call the lightning upon myself. The song is stretching me and I am letting it; the song is breathing me and I empty myself for it. I gather it up inside me and let the sweeping grandeur of this beautiful destruction fill my frailties with static crashing cymbals and the pealing oh the pealing of his guitar. They play as hard as they can their bodies bent and as the song collapses into one sputtering breath the last air in his lungs slipping out at the end of a wail Jonsi falls to his knees and the guitar drops. The screen has flashed static and video clips and fragments of oil lantern flames, and now all that stands large is Jonsi's shadow, his slight form bent.

The lights on stage disappear and we are left with the echoes of the feedback and the whistling distortion. The house lights come up and I stand; I walk; I leave.

Battered, bruised, hollow, I recede into the moonless night and let the headlights lead me home, the whispers of the song dying behind me, like the embers of the lit cigarette flickering on the sidewalk.

It was beautifully fragile; it was thunderingly strong; it was the beginning of the end.

It was "Untitled #8."

Can't choose...

2006-02-16T15:45:00.000-05:00

Two possible quotes of the day, and I just can't pick between them. So I give you both:

"It's difficult to give your business card to a woman that's being spanked, but I managed in the end!"

"Homoerotic is to Morimura as...."
"...pony is to horse!"

That's all for now.

Judge me!

2006-02-14T11:48:00.000-05:00

Found a link to this site to create your own Johari Window for mapping your personality over at Ghani's site. I find myself intrigued enough to follow suit:

Positive Traits

On the other hand, one can also create a Nohari Window, mapping negative traits:

Negative Traits

Grad school visit

2006-01-31T14:43:00.000-05:00

So, last week I visited one of the graduate schools I'm applying to for next fall. Overall, I think the meeting went well. I spoke with two difference faculty members, one of whom is the graduate studies director and the other I think I would like to work with. My conversations with one of the faculty members were interesting but brief. We talked about the interest or lack thereof that most people show in history and in archaeology. Those who are interested in archaeology are often interested on an "Indiana Jones/Tomb Raider" level, because archaeology seems exciting, dangerous, exotic.

The thing is, most people aren't interested in what happens in their own community or in archaeology that relates to their own history. Why are people so distanced from the past? Why is archaeology in "exotic" locales what interests people in it?

Since I'm interested in cultural resource management and public archaeology, these are vital questions. How can one encourage and stimulate not just interest in history and archaeology, but a sense of personal involvement and investment in the past? In cultural resources and preservation? I think the key lies with the fact that traditionally historians and archaeologists are the mediators of the past. The average person feels disconnected from the past because traditionally, she is disconnected from it! There is no personal sense of responsibility for historical, archaeological, or cultural resources. And without that sense of personal investment in preserving or studying the past, without that support.... studying it and preserving it become very challenging.

Potential

2006-01-24T13:43:00.000-05:00

Despite the fact that Genie's knowledge of anthropology and archaeology grossly overwhelms my own, I cannot help but be intrigued by the nature of political discourse in this country (the United States). It is probably my academic experience with postmodernism and semiotics that drives me to relentlessly catalogue the real meanings behind throwaway words and off-the-cuff remarks, but it seems those things we say carelessly are those that betray our actual thoughts. Freud thought so, too, but it is quite unpopular in modern circles to mention (or indeed grant a shred of validity to) Freud's psychoanalytic work.

That is, though, a different post.

Reading the back-and-forth of the Republicans' approval of Alito over Democratic objections by the House Judiciary Committee displays a view of the nature of truth that is wholly alien to most of us, but is becoming more familiar--that veracity is simply a matter of striking while the iron is hot. The art of "spin" or image-manipulation is fodder for high concept movies like Wag the Dog, but has yet to really be fabricated into a thoughtful, appropriately experimental work like other films about the broader nature of identity. (I speak now of the inimitable Charlie Kaufman, whose next film I await with breathless abandon.)

I honestly cannot remember who it was that postulated the importance of the truth in a nonliterate society, but I have a feeling it was around the era of Levi-Strauss or, more likely the Scottish philosopher David Hume. The idea is that the notion of the lie prior to the written word was just unheard-of; for societies whose communication relied solely on the verbal, to introduce the unreliability of the word into these societies would engender a massive breakdown. It is a similar thread to the solipsistic paranoia experienced by first-year philosophy majors when they start wondering if Descartes' "brain in a jar" theorem might just have some weight to it, but in this case I feel it is valid.

Well, the majority of the world has been literate for quite some time, and it is the suggestion of some linguistic theorists that the lie only came into effect with the written word. Here you had some account that held locked inside it an air of greater authority and permanence than the spoken account; suddenly, reliance on the verbal alone became unnecessary. If I believed I rightly had more cows than my neighbor, I could reference my tallied lists of cows I made as I led them back from pasture. I now have a record that, in some small manner, appears to prove I am honest.

Of course the problem with vesting the written with authority is the same as assuming the verbal has authority. Seeking to place authority in circumstances we have not empirically witnessed is necessarily an act of faith, but a necessary act of faith that provides the underpinnings of greater society. We have to believe in the relative honesty and authority of some source, or else we become constrained to believe only those things we have sensed directly.

But prior to the written word, can we really suggest there was no such thing as dishonesty? I think the supposition is less that no one ever thought to lie, but simply that lying was so strongly discouraged that people just did not do it. After all, to be dishonest in one regard, and to assert that you are in fact right when you know you are not, is to participate in creating an atmosphere where someone else--with their best interests above yours--will reciprocate. To be honest, even when one does not directly gain from the interaction, is actually a furtherance of self-interest (insofar as it prevents others from lying about you more authoritatively than you can defend yourself).

Which brings me to the more-apropos discussion I initially brought up. The root of the word "politics" is in a Greek branch of philosophy that studied the relationship of the one to the many (specifically one member of society to the rest of society). Defining it suchly carries with it connotations of oligarchy, which are not entirely inappropriate as that's how Athens governed itself, with privileged citizens making decisions based on majority votes that had binding power over noncitizens. This is the background chatter I have in my head when reading the political discourse.

It strikes me that politicians and their political parties would do well to remember their self-interest is not just in immediate gratification, but also in long-term survival (and perhaps that long-term survival serves a greater self-interest). Though harder to see, the current nature of the discussion in this country--which is to "spin" and "counterspin" until one is blue in the face--serves no purpose but to disengage voters from the system. The Democrats call Republicans liars, and vice versa; the Republicans position themselves as morally superior, and vice versa; the Democrats condemn Republicans, and vice versa. By engaging in a game of one-upmanship over who knows the most vitriolic language to term the other dishonest, they create an atmosphere of hopelessness. Why should an otherwise neutral voter even bother with this system, when neither party is better than the other?

(Nevermind the abominable fixation on the two-party system in this country.)

And again, it is striking that both Republicans and Democrats continue to recreate the debate as ad hominem attacks and bitter rivalry without really focusing on the issues. It might be simply that both parties' efforts to court the majority of moderate America has resulted in two parties with only nominal differences from each other, and by violently skirmishing over extreme language they distract voters from their growing irrelevance as political engines. If there is no meaningful division between Republican and Democrat there is no real purpose to support either, and one would think the machina would rust away.

The low voter turnouts, the widespread distrust of the government, these things might be the cause of the polarization (and polemicization) of political discourse. Without a reason to believe in these parties, without meaningful differences to separate voters along reasonable issues, the only people left to support these parties are the extremists and the ideologues. It is hard to read, one way or the other, how this situation has arisen.

My, this long and probably confused post was merely the result of seeing the parties attempt to shape the truth in ways most conducive to their own interests. I wonder if those preliterate societies knew, better than we did, how fluid that "truth" really is.

My long post.

2006-01-23T14:54:00.000-05:00

Having told my boss that I will be leaving my job at the end of the year, I feel the need to share something written months ago that I feel sums up my feelings about what I want to do with my life:

I have wanted to be an archaeologist for most of my life. I've never thought about it, questioned it, or analyzed it. I also never thought it was something I could actually do. Now, that I'm on the threshold of reaching for this goal, I find it's necessary that I examine my reasons and desires. I have to ask why.

Ancient history has always held my fascination. First, it was dinosaurs, of course. There are few children who don't love dinosaurs at some point in their lives. Those giant, almost mythical creatures that could have been conjured from a child's own fertile imagination. Dinosaurs are like a storybook made real, a fantasy given life. They're the next best thing to dragons, honestly, except the dinosaurs were real.

Then, Egyptology took hold--again, another stock fascination for many children. Egypt's pharaohs and mummies, their gold and lapis lazuli, their animal-headed gods, exotic rituals, and hieroglyphics represented a world both similar to my own and yet fabulously different. For a child who loved cats and wrote notes in code to her best friend, a love of ancient Egypt made perfect sense.

After becoming engrossed with Egyptian history, I developed a desire to know how Egyptologists and archaeologists learned what they knew about ancient civilizations. Everything I read or learned I looked at and asked, "But how you can you be sure?"

In the 1970's, my elementary school caught fire and parts of it were destroyed. By my time in the late 80's and early 90's, the building had been rebuilt, damages repaired. However, in certain parts of the playground, pieces of painted cinderblocks could be found buried, one side a light brownish tan, the other painted a sea foam green. There was a drainage ditch that ran through part of the playground, and this was the best hunting ground for pieces of the old school building. Areas where rain water had washed away the topsoil were the richest finds. The pieces I found... were they from the bathrooms? The main hallway, a classroom? Was this sea foam green the colors other children passed as they went to their classrooms? Or had this color been a part of a larger pattern of paint? The only bricks I found were this color--were they all originally this color? What else was their to find in the dirt in that drainage ditch? Were the blocks definitively from the old school building? From the fire? Subsequent demolition and rebuilding?

I always wondered. I never found out.

In high school, it was ancient Greece and Rome that held my attention. I took Latin, and I loved reading through the Latin texts and deciphering the language. I never quite memorized all those ablative uses, but I always looked forward to the class. Archaeology was always something I wanted to do. However, in my search for a college, I never thought about whether or not there was an archaeology or anthropology program at the schools I considered. I was gifted in literature classes--I assumed I'd be an English major. I didn't want to be one, but I sort of assumed. For some reason, I'm not sure why, I never thought archaeology was real. It was the realm of dragons and dinosaurs.... a child's dream, but not an adult's life.

Why? Why did I think that? My friends encouraged me, my family supported my interests. My grandparents gave me old National Geographic magazines and my father shared documentaries he would see on television with me. So why wasn't it real to me? My grandmother shared with me old civil war bullets she'd found on the mountain near her house growing up and arrowheads found right alongside the bullets. I grew up surrounded by history and archaeology, and never thought it was real.

Social pressure. Children grow up to become doctors, nurses, lawyers, teachers, firefighters, police officers, engineers, veterinarians, husbands/wives/fathers/mothers. Not archaeologists.

Television. Indiana Jones, while exciting and adventurous, is not a real archaeologist. He says to a classroom at the start of The Last Crusade that most of archaeology is done in the library in the form of research. Then he goes on an exciting adventure to exotic locales seeking a mythical and supernatural artifact. He lives a double life, one real and the other fantasy. This is the stereotype of an archaeologist.

Lara Croft, sexy yet anatomically impossible, is not a real archaeologist. She's a self-proclaimed tomb robber, and the bane of real archaeologists. She also fights monsters that guard the treasures she seeks to steal and sell. She's a gun-toting ass-kicking bitch and no one had better get in her way. She's Indiana Jones with breasts and a smaller waistline.

Being out in the field, whether you're male or female, is not sexy to anyone who isn't an archaeologist, and it's not sexy because of the company. It's sexy because you love your work. Who torments themselves if they don't really love it? Indiana Jones got one thing right--most archaeology doesn't happen in the field. It's not in a library, these days, though--it's a lab. Analysis is most of the job.

I learned this in college. And I'm okay with that. The job doesn't seem tedious to me. My first anthropology class, World Prehistory, taught me a lot about anthropology, archaeology, and my own interests. Ancient eastern civilizations still fascinated me. Give me Sumerians, Egyptians, Hittites, Assyrians, Phoenecians, Minoans. The civilizations surrounding the Mediterranean have always drawn my eye. I learned about archaeological methods in that class, and found that those fascinated me.

In a school that has no anthropology department and two anthropologists on campus, I decide to be an anthropology major. Why not transfer? The university I attended is a liberal arts institution, and that liberal arts approach to education melds well with anthropology and archaeology. Both disciplines segue perfectly into any number of other fields, which in return, can be applied within anthropology or archaeology. Biology, political science, economics, geology, sociology, gender studies, history, classics.... After one anthropology class, I saw connections everywhere. I could take what I wanted or needed out of other classes I took and apply it within the field of anthropology, of which archaeology is most often found as a sub-field. Archaeology is both scientific and interpretive--there are facts, there is evidence, there is procedure, and there are unknowns that must be accounted for through theories, hypotheses, and testing observations.

And sometimes, there's almost a storytelling element to archaeology. A story based on facts as well as educated guesses and inferences. It's the story of human history, as much as that sounds like a cliche. People like having a connection to their past. Maybe it's a southern thing, growing up as I did in the South. However, I doubt it. Identity is often based on the past, especially group identity. Archaeology has certainly been used to justify many different group identities, often at a national level.

My independent study my senior year was a study of ethnicity. I didn't really choose this topic. My advisor, in a laid back sort of way, guided me toward ethnicity. I also couldn't think of any other topic I was interested in to which I could then match an advisor on campus available to guide an independent study. So it was ethnicity. At first, I was uninterested. My first paper, in my eyes, was an utter failure. My advisor didn't seem terribly impressed, either. After that humbling experience, of turning in and discussing a paper I had written with no interest and certainly had no interest in discussing, I forced myself to approach the topic in a more mature and academic manner. Interested or not, this was the topic I had agreed on and I would get whatever benefit I could out of investigating it.

I gradually became more engrossed with the subject. How do we define ethnicity? In some cases, there are concrete markers that delineate the boundary between one group and another. In many cases, the markers are less clear. I couldn't find a definition that anthropologists seemed to all agree on--everyone had their own definition, and applied it to their own research areas.

Now, in seeking to begin a career in cultural resource management, I also wonder at the role that archaeology plays in creating or maintaining ethnic identities (or, potentially, in changing or even destroying ethnic identities). Research has been done on the role of archaeology in the rise of nationalism, but nationalism and ethnicity aren't the same concept. Ethnicity seems more fluid. What defines one group may not define another.

Mostly, I wonder if I'll end up doing what I want to do with my life. I wrote the preceding paragraphs as I was attempting to come up with a statement of purpose for a graduate school application. I am not using that particular piece of writing, but it helped me get a few things clear in my head.

An excerpt.

2006-01-19T01:07:00.000-05:00

Aura walks into the room as Gabriel pulls the shirt from his shoulders. He casts black eyes hooded over his scarred shoulder and the eye says what the mouth does not. Need something?

Nice tattoo. The corner of her mouth twitches as if on strings. What’s it mean?

“The end of the lullaby.”

That’s queer.

His head turns around and the growling purring voice is quiet for a moment. His whole body revolves a tanned planet and she recognizes the weight around him the weight of the air heavy and wavering across his body. It is not heat she has never felt warm around him and as he faces her a short breath from her lips blows out frosty and the icicles clatter to the ground to shatter in twinkles.

Something you needed? the well of a mouth asks.

I need money.

It is Gabriel’s turn to smile.

Look just give me twenty dollars and I’m gone. Let’s not get into this again.

Get into what?

She raises her left hand middle finger extended. She looks a moment and her flesh is taut white and cold. You going to give me the money or what?

The smile drops from his face and the air wavers madly around him. Roiling and flickering like the wash from a candle wick but heavy and not hot. So heavy. Aura feels the weight settle on her and the floorboards creak while her sneakers sag. So heavy.

Go ask Michael for it he says in a whispering snarl.

Fuck you Gabriel.

His eyes are black pools receding into the echoes of dying eternity.

Get out he says and the voice is the gravel of a hundred thousand years crushed to dust under the weight of the snow.

She drags her limping feet to the doorway and the heaviness leaves her in a pulsing rush of pinpricks and heat scalding her fingertips and the edges of her toes. She looks behind her to call one last curse and leaps the tenement stairs with the emptiness of his eyes drawing her in.

He picks up the icicles of her frozen breath and holds the end against his wrist. His boiling blood leaks out and over the sharp corners of the icy t in his hand. It hisses into steam and the noise rattles around his ears.

The spiderwebs at the windowsill sing out to him shrilly Does it really say that Does the ink really say that.

He smiles sadly.

Of course not.

Little by little

2006-01-18T13:45:00.000-05:00

Some days, you can feel your soul, your very essence, dying a little more inside you. You can feel you internal being slipping into the depths of despair. You sense hope fading.

Then the day ends, you go home, and see a ray of sunlight. And realize that you have to return to work the next day and face the same angst as the day before.

No, I don't like my job anymore. I feel my creativity being stifled, my love of my work shrivelling up and drying out. I sense the end.

Need some refreshing water?

2006-01-17T16:24:00.000-05:00

Some things you come across in the course of your day you just have to blog about the moment you see it. This picture is one of those things. I saw this picture when checking out a webpage for a water delivery company, because Pseudo Boss Lady wants me to look into getting a water cooler for our department. Now, what does this picture say to you?

A) Order water from our company!
B) Doublemint, doublemint gum!
C) "Oh, Buffy, you dropped some water on your itty bitty white shirt... let me help you take it off..."

It's a tough question to answer. It's ok. I'll wait.

Because no project is ever finished without some idiot's unqualified opinion.

2006-01-16T23:14:00.000-05:00

So I'm working on the cover of a trifold brochure I'm working on for my company. I feel hesitantly confident in saying that, since the CEO, CFO, and HR director like it, I'm basically in the clear company-wise. Artistically I feel damn good about it given I've never learned how to draw. This is the background to the scenario I will describe below.

So the HR director told me to get a third party opinion of it, just to see what the other people around me think. So I head to the only cube monkey who's still here. A stereotypical redneck, one who thought Judaism was "all earth mother-y." I show her the Example of What Not To Do, a brochure of one of our competitors that the CEO gave me because it made her want to vomit.

Let me tell you what it looks like. Lavender background, dark purple type at the bottom, medical stock photography at the top, a person I am now fondly referring to as Generic Goateed Medical Professional #37. Then this quote, with various words highlighted in blue, otherwise white text on black: "I became a doctor so I could practice medicine." It's cringe-inducing.

So with the prohibition against stock photography, and with our corporate line being something like "raising the bar," or whatever, I go African-abstract or German Expressionist Art Deco or something and up pops my brochure cover. I like it.

I'm not really interested in someone else's opinion, least of all Cube Monkey's. So I show her the Example of What Not to Do. She likes it.

I shudder, because inside, I'm dying a little. I can feel it. It's my gall bladder. I no longer have a gall bladder anymore--it died because of Cube Monkey. I might need a transplant, and if I can't digest my food anymore and have to spend the next fifty-some-odd years in a constant battle with thunderous flatulence and Biblical stomach upset I'm sending her to jail for killing my gall bladder.

So I show her my brochure and steel myself for something else--maybe my left testicle. It might die. And I'm worried. I need them both. Dudes can back me up on this. It's not like God gives us two for an emergency plan. We freakin' need it, because all of fifth and sixth grade is a cosmic test to see if your nuts can survive this Comic Gravity the Almighty endows on them. Anything vaguely pain-shaped will immediately, because of the curvature of spacetime, fly straight at your nuts. This gets rarer as you get older, but it still happens, generally with footballs, and mostly when your family is videotaping you.

(The secret Djinn Corollary to special relativity: that the curvature of spacetime is warped by a Scrotal Attractive Force solely to allow for America's Funniest Home Videos. I postulate the existence of the Bob Sageton, a new particle that creates the Scrotal Attractive Force. God may not play dice, Mr. Einstein, but he goddamn needs that #1 video.)

Anyway, Cube Monkey looks at my cover. "It's nice," she says. "But it doesn't say what we do."

I point to the text that says, pretty clearly, in even Cube Monkey-legible English, MEDICAL PRACTICE MANAGEMENT.

"Yeah, but, the other one had a picture of a doctor on it."

There. I feel it. Like a needle right into the scroat. I'll have one less stepchild by sundown, I know it. And all those injuries with soccer balls and what-have-you means I'm getting a two-headed kid in a couple years. Shit.

"You mean Generic Goateed Medical Professional #33?" I ask Cube Monkey, trying to erect a sarcasm forcefield to keep her nut-killing idiocy away from me.

"You know what you could do?" she asks, clearly wanting to be helpful.

At this point I get a nosebleed. It's really hot and coppery and it starts dribbling down my lip. "What?" I ask, and the blood bubbles a little. The needle in my scroat has temporarily receded. Whether this is because the hemorrhage in my brain is reducing my ability to feel pain, or some other, more ridiculous reason, I don't know, but I'm glad. I'll willingly sacrifice my frontal lobe to keep Lefty the Wonder-Nut. (Shut up. So I named my left testicle. I don't have to f-cking impress you.)

"You could put blue dollar bills going up and down the bars," Cube Monkey mentions, eyebrows up, totally ignorant she's just driven the last nail straight through the coffin and right into my forehead.

The sheer horror of the situation made me black out. I woke up after dark. The cleaning crew had helpfully moved me slightly to the side of Cube Monkey's space so they could get at the trashcan. I dabbed at the crusted blood under my nose and limped to the door, the pain in the left side of my scrotum nauseatingly hot.

This is who I have to work with.

Testicle-stabbing Cube Monkeys.

God help my children.

hee hee

2006-01-12T13:13:00.000-05:00

Now this is pretty funny. I can't help that I'm immediately enticed by anything that can be described as both "sadistic and practical."

Too long

2006-01-12T12:06:00.000-05:00

It's been far too long since I last posted, but at leaset Djinn has taken up the slack now that he's settled in Austin, TX, at his new job and in his new apartment. I am still in my same job. However, I am looking to change that, as I'm again applying to grad schools. I'll hopefully be visiting one early next week to meet with some professors in the department and see how well I'd fit in. I promise that the fact that New Pseudo Boss Lady is now officially at work in the department has nothing to do with my new zest for going to graduate school. (wink wink) I really do just want to be back in school. I miss the intellectual stimulation, and I find myself getting mentally stagnant, and I'm not fond of that feeling.

For some strange reason, over Christmas and New Year's, I went on an unanticipated boycott of all things computer and technology related. I brought my laptop home with me and didn't touch it the whole week. I didn't even take it with me to visit Djinn in Austin over New Year's (we had an awesome visit, by the way, if anyone's curious). We ate downtown on New Year's Eve at Sullivan's Steakhouse, and then walked around downtown Austin for a bit. Overall, I vote it was the best New Year's Eve ever.

I have been a bit busy at work, and stressed, but nothing too out of the ordinary. I wish I had a bit more to share right now, but my brain just decided to stop because it's lunch time.

Coincidence... or Intelligent Design?

2005-12-22T14:16:00.000-05:00

So if you're following the Kitzmiller decision, and by "following" I mean "reading the PDF with glee at the ass-whupping the fundamentalists received," then you've no doubt come across the name Bertha Spahr. She's the senior biology teacher of the school district where ID was recently instituted. (She was pro-science, which makes her anti-ID, which also makes her anti-stupid.)

Intriguingly, one of the characters of Donnie Darko is a former science teacher who became a nun (after experiencing travel between dimensions, blah blah blah). Her name is Roberta Sparrow.

Bertha Spahr is very, very close to Roberta Sparrow.

Bertha Spahr avoids God in the classroom, Roberta Sparrow found God in the classroom.

This is so obviously proof that Jesus is the Christ, and also our Lord, and that everyone who isn't a white man (heretofore referenced as "Good Person") with a submissive wife who only has sex in the missionary position with four layers of clothing and still doesn't enjoy it and who also doesn't actively deride everyone who is gay or different or black or jewish is going to rot in the Fires That Burn But Do Not Consume.

Also Roberta Sparrow got hit by a car, and Bertha Spahr's opponents got butt-raped in court.

Just saying.

A few quotes from the conversation I had with myself.

2005-12-19T22:54:00.000-05:00

"Whoa, that red M&M is totally Billy West." (Billy West was the voice of Fry, Zoidberg, the Professor, and others on Futurama, both Ren and Stimpy on, you guessed it, Ren and Stimpy, and a shitload of others.)

"This is the best band name ever." (Upon finding a band named "I Will Kill You Fucker.")

"No, fuck that--this is the best band name ever." (Upon finding a band named "Well Hungarians.")

"Hee. That joke was funny when I heard it in the Big Lebowski six years ago."

"Fuck you, Cybil Shepherd lookalike baking-soda selling bitch! Fuck you!"

"I should totally write down the crazy shit I say to myself and put it on the blog."

"I know it. My neighbors must think I'm the psycho loner who spends all his time by himself muttering. Shit. None of those fuckers better get murdered anytime soon."

Slashdot and the Internet Fallacy

2005-12-14T18:43:00.000-05:00

It never fails to amaze how often a post about something vaguely international is a siren-song for the insane to start coming out of the woodwork in favor of their ideology of choice. Take, for example, this article on Slashdot about Chinese military-sponsored cyberattacks. Now, some of the comments are valid. Some even bring up good points to contradict the article in question. Most of these comments are modded Insightful, and most are easily viewed when scanning said comments.

My particular example of a good comment that got modded as such is the person who writes, "What's the first rule of hacking? It's 'never hack from from home.' I know I'd make sure I was bouncing off three computers all over the world before I even took a look at a .gov or a .mil, and I bet the Chinese would do the same." My other example of a good comment outlines the causal fallacy of the original article--stating that the original author's rationale is inherently false: "The author says that just because these attacks were disciplined, they had to be military? Does this rhyme with 'Space exploration is both demanding and dangerous. No other nations could do this if they did not have a space shuttle'?"

As for the rest of the articles, and dare I say the majority of Slashdot itself, conversation devolves into the similar battle of mantras. There are those who decry the United States, those who decry communism, those who decry liberalism, and those who argue that it is in our interest of self-preservation to ensure the U.S. is the most powerful, even if it does become corrupt.

Is there something about the anonymizing function of the screen name that creates such a dysfunctional distance in humanity? Or is it merely the fallacy of self-selecting samples? There are obviously biases that would encourage posting on Slashdot, namely, that a prospective member who shares the same elitist attitudes and self-righteous technophilia as actual Slashdot posters would find his or herself welcome. The propensity for any discussion of Apple, Microsoft, or Linux to lapse into arguments over which posters are which companies' "fanboys" is a fantastic example of the inability of humans to rationally discuss anything.

Much like our friend Ghani (link only to her blog, can't be bothered to look up the actual Weeblog post) once commented about the IMDB's discussion boards for Kingdom of Heaven creating a festering cesspool of anti-Islamic sentiment, it seems Internet discussion boards are just as legitimate as they were at the turn of the decade--that is, not.

I would surmise that anyone reading this post in conjunction with my earlier post about Wikipedia has evaluated my stance on the Internet as a communication tool. Odds are, that opinion is correct. I wholeheartedly reject the idea that the Internet has revolutionized communication. Don't get me wrong, it has definitively revolutionized the methods of communication, and likely that impact will grow ever farther-reaching the more time progresses. But the things we say to each other, the tropes and structures we engage in as behaviors and as groups of human beings, are exactly the same as they have always been. Even if we use emails, VoIP, instant-messaging, or videoconferencing technologies, we are still the same apes arguing over the same ground.

I wonder how long it will take people to recognize that it is not the means that needs improvement.

The Inherent Flaw of Wikipedia

2005-12-14T12:59:00.000-05:00

Let me give a little background about Wikipedia before I launch into, essentially, an extended metaphor comparing the website to a system following the rules of chemistry and thermodynamics.

A few weeks ago, John Seigenthaler, Sr., a respected journalist (and partial founder of The Tennessean newspaper, which I used to read as I’m originally from Tennessee), found a biographical page on Wikipedia dedicated to him. One of the points argued was that Mr. Seigenthaler might have been responsible for the assassination of Robert Kennedy (whom Sirhan Sirhan assassinated in ’69). This made Mr. Seigenthaler upset, not just for the implication that he was a primary mover in a tinfoil-hat conspiracy, but also because he had been a very close friend of Mr. Kennedy, and, in fact, one of his pallbearers. He challenged the open-source “encyclopedia” publicly, denouncing its self-positioning as a reference tool, and argued for contributors’ accountability.

Depending on your particular information resource on the Internet, this was met with a number of responses. From staunch Wikipedia contributors or supporters, there was a blame the victim approach—“If Mr. Seigenthaler wanted his entry to be accurate, he should have maintained the page himself.” From the mainstream public, there was one of confusion—“What’s a ‘Wikipedia’?” From the Wikipedia founder, Jimmy Wales, there was one of grudging but essentially unhelpful response—“We no longer allow anonymous individuals to create new pages. They can still edit them anonymously, though.” And from the mass of glib nerd-elitists at Slashdot, there was mostly one of smug superiority—“Well, of course Wikipedia’s inaccurate. Why wasn’t Seigenthaler using a real reference?”

Then, in the week of 12 December 2005, we learn that the man who changed Mr. Seiganthaler’s entry did so as a joke. He claimed ignorance of Wikipedia’s solemnity, and denied that he knew anyone would ever use the site as a serious reference tool. Wikipedia is now changing their user policy to mitigate the PR damage done by this debacle.

I started doing some thinking.

Why is it that Wikipedia’s current content model is inadequate? Can the hacks who rely on aphorisms and stupid sayings be correct? I declare that the nature of Wikipedia is dynamic equilibrium, and it is in this mode that the open-source “encyclopedia” presents a startling opportunity as well as a staggering miscalculation.

Dynamic equilibrium is a term used in the physical sciences to describe a system in motion, so long as that motion produces no net change in the contents of the system. For example, aqueous ammonia. If you place ammonia in water, there is a constant reaction occurring (powered simply by the energy of the molecules themselves) that converts ammonia (NH4) to (H30 + NH3). As just mentioned, the reaction is not particularly energetic, and so the energy of collision is enough to create the H30 + NH3, and the unstable nature of H30 allows for decay into H20 and H+ (and because of the nature of negatively-charged NH3, the positively-charged free hydrogen ion is immediately snapped up). We are then left with NH4 and H20 again. So the cycle repeats.

This is useful for us because we are using the entirety of the aqueous ammonia solution to perform our purposes—that is, we are utilizing the ammonia on the macro level instead of on the molecular level. Thus, a dynamic equilibrium of solution is perfectly capable of meeting our needs.

With Wikipedia, there is a similar regard toward dynamic equilibrium, given an article’s popularity and an invested user base. If there are enough people who care about an article, and who have it tracked in the software, then when someone vandalizes or makes an article unintentionally inaccurate, then it will be corrected. Given a long enough timeframe, the article will be a finely-honed resource of accurate information protected from further defacement.

The only problem is that no single human being on the face of the earth interacts with anything on the Internet at the macro level. It’s simply not useful. Instead, all our interactions with Wikipedia are granular, molecular, transactional. Thus we reap no benefit from the dynamic equilibrium model of content protection, because we are not involved in the process over a long timeframe. Instead, we need reliable results at any random moment for any given transaction. Dynamic equilibrium simply cannot do this, because the particles involved still behave randomly (and to remove random behavior is to kill the dynamism). When you access a page, you are essentially taking a shot in the dark as to whether or not those materials are accurate. You cannot guarantee, and neither can Jimmy Wales, the founder of Wikipedia, what state that page will be in. To return to chemistry, it is like attempting to track any single NH4 molecule through solution and expecting it to remain NH4 at every point along the way.

This is the problem with Wikipedia. Its accuracy can only be guaranteed in the eventuality of several transaction cycles. And since any single page view is the product of only one transaction, this means that unless the open-source website makes radical revisions to its content model, it should simply stop calling itself an “encyclopedia.”

What’s the big deal? you may ask. Why should we be concerned about its content model or its name? Isn’t it just a website? Besides, they put up disclaimers about accuracy and reliability.

That is exactly my point. The problem is, you can’t have it both ways. Either Wikipedia is an encyclopedia, with all the requirements and strictures about accuracy and liability, or it’s simply a community-driven series of webpages. Of course, the latter sounds much less impressive than claiming one is “an open-source encyclopedia.” But Jimmy Wales and the rest of them cannot trade on the semiotics of encyclopedias and reference materials while obsequiously and self-righteously denying the very attributes that make encyclopedias and references worthwhile.

It is a situation very similar to that of licensing medical professionals. There is a certain cachet associated with a medical degree, with being a doctor. There are also matters of responsibility that attach to those positions. So society licenses doctors to prevent abuse of the term by those who would redirect our goodwill and the social necessity of doctors for personal gain. Can you be medically knowledgeable without having a medical license? Yes. Are you allowed to call yourself a doctor? No.

Wikipedia should either drastically reformulate its content model to ensure transactional integrity and accuracy, or it should stop calling itself an encyclopedia. The buzzword is “Web 2.0,” not “Have Your Cake and Eat It 2.0.”

Slashdot vs. Creationism

2005-12-10T04:20:00.000-05:00

Mind you, I'm on Slashdot's side here. I was reading through the comments in the article about the University of Kansas religion professor and stumbled upon a commentor that was pulling the old "it's just a theory" trick. He asked all other posters to post "what science was so you idiots could see what a theory is supposed to be, like I(ntelligent) D(esign)."

Also, I'm paraphrasing, stuff it.

In response to which I saw this rather brilliant post:

"Evolution is a theory.
Gravity is a theory.

God isn't even a theory."

Oh, inverted world.

2005-12-10T03:51:00.000-05:00

I'm actually not referring to the album of the same name by the Shins, since I don't listen to the Shins, but found their phrasing apropos, regardless. Instead, I want to talk about Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex.

(As a sidenote, I've just watched the End of Evangelion for the fourth time, and also I've just written something rather... exhausting... in my latest fiction project. So bear with me if I'm not the pinnacle of lucidity.)

Shirow Masamune is the creator of Ghost in the Shell. It's cyberpunk, almost, that's the closest word to what I want. Cybernetics and computer technologies are realistically advanced, and this brings to bear questions of the human soul--namely, what is it, can machines have it, and can you ever lose it? One of the primary taglines of the show is that the difference between man and machine is now academic.

Anyhow, Mamoru Oshii turned Ghost in the Shell into a full-blown theatrical feature. It's one of the major factors in the anime explosion in the U.S., Akira notwithstanding. (The feature dates to a U.S. release in 1995, a year before Neon Genesis Evangelion, what I consider to be the greatest visual work I've ever seen.)

So to a particular episode of the series, Stand Alone Complex. Many people misinterpret this as suggesting that the series "stands alone" from the movie, and while this is true, it's not the referent. Instead, the characters discuss a theoretical sociopsychological construct, the "stand alone complex," wherein any object or creation might spawn copies--and whether there is any way to tell if there ever was an original. Copies without originals is the thrust of what I'm getting at, the "main bullet" in my PowerPoint, if you get what I'm saying...

...anyhow, the episode "Eraser" was on the other night. It begins with the soldiers of Public Security Section 9 (Our Heroes) collectively viewing the recorded memories of their comrade Togusa, who at the end of the prior episode had been shot. The "raging id" of the group is a soldier named Batou. Upon viewing these memories, his first inclination is to utterly annihilate the perpetrators. (That the perpetrators are the DEA, and that they shot a police officer in furtherance of a government coverup, no matter to Batou.) He gets left behind to cool off because of his somewhat less than objective take on the issue.

The protagonist of all things Ghost in the Shell is Major Motoko Kusanagi. She is the polished height of confident control; everything about her is a reflection of her capability to handle any scenario effectively. She has a full prosthetic body because of a debilitating neurological disease that left her crippled at the age of nine (when she was cyberized). Now, to compensate for that lack of control and its fundamental impact on her existence, she resonates Control. She wears outfits that some might consider little more than blatant sexism, but without going too far into defending the choices of animators grabbing for the hormone vote, it does fit her character. That she knows she's more than capable of defending herself, and that she feels no need to portray her body as anything other than a highly-tuned machine, is in line with what we know about her as viewers. To her, the body is more a tool than is a source of self-definition. After all, just pop the braincase and she can be in a new body in half an hour, at most.

What happens in this episode is a primary example of a dramatic inversion. When Batou and the Major are attacked at the end of the episode, it is Batou--the military-trained fighter--who is sent out of battle to protect a hostage. The less-well-armored Major stays behind to fight an armored battle suit (whose sole purpose is to destroy prostethic soldiers). Batou's "raging id" and uncontrollable anger are forced to divest themselves as a protective role.

The Major draws the mobile suit's fire, and in so doing, her entire left arm is shredded to pulp by machine gun fire. The mobile suit grasps her by her skull and slams her into the ground--mouth and eyes frozen open--as the DEA agent in the mobile suit attempts to crush her metal braincase. For a moment we hear creaking, expecting to see the Major's face explode into gore, but the pavement around her head craters into dust. (Another inversion of expectation.)

There is the loud blast of gunfire and the mobile suit reels; the Major has been saved by her subordinates. Raising herself from the ground, face no longer frozen, we wonder if she was playing dead or truly incapable of defending herself a moment ago. She rears up, her left arm dripping ichor (not real blood; prosthetics have white vitae), and screams, "Fork over that weapon now!" There are cracks in her iron self-control. Armed with a sniper rifle, she points its barrel at the mobile suit's entry panel. The soldier inside screams to be let out, please God, just let me out.

The major fires. The panel caves in. She brings the weapon up and shoots the bolt with one hand (her other in tatters). Lowers the weapon and blasts another dent in the entry panel. Over and over again, her mouth a rictus of anger. All the shattered self-control comes boiling to the surface. A woman, her steel inside, temporarily defeated by a man wearing a steel skeleton on the outside; where before she was all capability and icy confidence, now she blasts dents into this entry panel until the soldier inside wheezes, "Oh God, please, I can't--can't breathe."

And she lets him suffocate in his exoskeleton.

Heady stuff. I suggest the next time you're able, watch Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex. It's rather unlike anything you'll find on the air of American origin.

A thought about design metaphors

2005-12-05T11:58:00.000-05:00

While cruising through a very thorough discussion of 180solutions' spyware and ripoff tactics by Ben Edelman, I realized something that's not necessarily unusual nor necessarily original.

It's about the design metaphor of Microsoft Windows, and how extraordinarily apropos that metaphor is with regard to new paradigms of computer security. The metaphor is, obviously, that of a window--panels open on your computer screen that let you examine data, interact, et cetera. However, upon reading Edelman's examination of 180solutions' popup tactics, I recognized that we need to extend the "window" metaphor further than just what we see onscreen. That is, the extension needs to necessarily involve the screen itself as a window.

(N.B. I thought about calling this post "Semiotics of Software Security," but the alliteration and pretensiousness convinced me otherwise.)

Part of how 180solutions' popup spyware application, Zango, gets you is by "cookie-stuffing," overwriting tracking cookies from other sites with 180solutions' cookies. This gives the appearance that you've always been referred by 180solutions to the merchant websites, when this is often not the case. It does this by opening a browser window from the 180 server offscreen.

This is what made me think of the screen-itself-as-window. No longer can you consider your screen the portal to the workings of your computer; it does not represent the entirety of the interaction. Instead, the screen is simply another window, a hole in an otherwise impermeable surface, that allows you to glimpse at only what the builder of the window (and necessarily the builder of the wall, as well) wants you to see. Think about that next time you're surfing the Internet. What's happening in your window, and what might be happening just out of sight?

Glowsoul

2005-12-01T00:55:00.000-05:00

On Sigur Ros's most recent album, Takk, the second track (but first real "song") is "Glosoli," which in English roughly translates to "glowsoul." It is a shattering work, of potential and explosive power and transcendent crescendo and the brilliance of noise.

I have never watched a music video from the band, because the music is so evocative as to be fragile--anything learned outside the music itself will, I'm afraid, destroy its crystalline hold on me. You have to hold still so the hummingbird won't fly away, startled, because the moment will never return and all you will have to carry with you is the knowledge that you scared it away.

Having said that, I fully recommend you watch the video for Glosoli, and that link is high-quality Quicktime.

The best music video I've seen since the beautiful and haunting video for modest mouse's "Ocean Breathes Salty."

Just a note.

2005-12-01T00:07:00.000-05:00

If you aren't reading Questionable Content, the webcomic by Jeph Jacques, then you should. Start at the archives and work your way forward. What's been happening this week is the kind of Major Event you don't often get in any kind of continuous work.

As Faye (one of the main characters) herself said, "I know this is like interrupting an intricate waltz with a sledgehammer to the knee."

Seriously. Go read it.

Black humor

2005-11-30T13:23:00.000-05:00

It strikes me again as supremely funny that my stomach medication (without which life would be a hellstorm of constant agony), Aciphex, is phonetically "ass effects."

This is utterly appropriate.

The stone stopped rolling

2005-11-27T23:45:00.000-05:00

So the greatest reason to ignore anything that Rolling Stone says, from now until the Apocalypse, is here. Witness Peter Travers' 25 Greatest DVDs of 2005 and weep with agony!

That's right, the stupid fucker put Revenge of the Sith as No. 1. He also claims that James Cameron's movie Titanic is the greatest love story since Gone With the Wind, and brags that "Everyone with a DVD player will have this box set."

Wrong on two counts, asshole. I won't have it, and that's mostly because Titanic was a ridiculous exploitation flick masquerading as cinema. Forget the Discovery Channel's endless pimping of that grotesque September 11th "documentary," Titanic is the prime example of "disaster porn."

What a waste.

Dichotomy of Fantasticness

2005-11-25T10:49:00.000-05:00

So I'm weak on the title, sue me. But if you venture over to Penny Arcade!, you'll notice something extraordinary. The selfsame Dichotomy of Fantasticness mentioned above--that this site can put a newspost like today's with a comic like today's is amazing to me, and that both just work even more so.

Okay. Return to post-Thanksgiving basking while I return to work.

Nepotism and art

2005-11-23T15:18:00.000-05:00

So I was telling the HR director about the brilliance of a band known as modest mouse, maybe you've heard of them? Anyhow, I was discussing the merits of their most recent album, 2004's Good News For People Who Love Bad News, and a woman who works in coding and credentialing heard me talk about it. She decided that since I was a music buff, I'd appreciate the music made by her son's band.

At first I was skeptical, I admit. She said, "Maybe you'd like to listen to my son's band," without context, which made me think, Crap, her kid's music is going to blow and I'll have to find some way of suggesting it "just isn't me," or something equally facile. Also I guess I'm a bit of a music snob / pretentious ass / jerk.

So she tells me the name of the band, Voxtrot, and hands me a copy of an article printed about them in Spin! magazine. I don't respect media outlets, but it at least gives me an indicator of their scope, i.e., it's not her eighth grader's band playing in their garage.

So I find their MySpace site and I realize, while I don't like all of their songs, "Missing Pieces" gives me a chill when it hits the bridge that I don't normally get from music unless it's something I like.

So I've found the first new local band worth something! Sweet.

Luddism.

2005-11-23T12:03:00.000-05:00

By all accounts, an article in Wired magazine with a title of "The Luddite" is probably going to be a contrarian attempt at self-righteous iconoclasm, with a good dose of blind nostalgia and venting about the soulless nature of today. That's pretty much what it is.

I'm glad the copy chief of Wired has time to indulge in tired cliches and worthless retreading of columns written pre-2000, as the emergence of the cellphone, Internet, and widespread adoption of email was what spawned concerns about the dehumanizing face of modern communication technology. So that we get another dose of the same crap in 2005 is surprising, if not new, inventive, singular, or in any way relevant.

His crazy at-least-it's-better-than-sailing-ship-mail argument notwithstanding, I would argue that his delineation of face-to-face contact as the only "meaningful" human interaction is specious. It's the means of interacting with the longest history, but that doesn't automatically rule out the possibility that you are interacting with others meaningfully through other media. He only mentions IM, email, chat rooms, and other Internet-specific phenomena as meaningless communication tools; the telephone, television, and hell, the letter itself doesn't get mentioned in the course of his diatribe.

"So you rot in a cubicle trying to get the money to get the stuff, when you should be out walking in a meadow or wooing a lover or writing a song.... Look around. Our collective humanity is dying a little more every day. Technology is killing life on the street -- the public commons, if you please. Chat rooms, text messaging, IM are all, technically, forms of communication. But when they replace yakking over the back fence, or sitting huggermugger at the bar or simply walking with a friend -- as they have for an increasing number of people in "advanced" societies -- then meaningful human contact is lost. Ease of use is small compensation."

Here's how he's weaseled his way out of easy derailment--suddenly his argument becomes less "tech bad, jibberjabber good" and more "don't let it replace what you're used to." This isn't much more than an eleventh-hour attempt at bolstering his argument with something a little more akin to reason, but it doesn't validate his prior assertions. Technology is killing art? Not really. Technology is creating new opportunities for artists to express themselves, providing new inspiration, and allowing exploration of media that never even existed (interactive Flash experiences as art, anyone?).

The other major fallacy is that everything he cites as good is technology--it's just older technology. Writing a letter is not face-to-face interaction, but because it's been around longer, it gets the okay. Similarly, his assertion that you shouldn't be in the cubicle, you should be writing a song is ridiculous. The people interested in writing songs are doing just that, and I doubt they need your stupid gesticulations to help them out. Further, the increase in availability of powerful technology and the ease of transmission has allowed more people the opportunity to become artists and to find audiences. Garage Band, the MP3, bittorrent. All these things allow budding artists to find new influences, scout new media, and produce new works they wouldn't have, otherwise.

The reaction of the Luddite is to hate the new, because historically, the Luddites were a specific group of individuals who rioted against the industrialization of the factory they worked at. They were afraid not of technology as a whole, but of becoming obsolete in comparison. Did the lower class die because of machines? No, it's actually bigger than ever, but that's a different argument. Nowadays the only ones who are railing against the corporate-consumerist nature of enabling technology are the fools and bloggers who have the time to do so because they aren't busy working on something else. Maybe that's his point. Maybe he's an idiot, because he works for Wired, and if he really held to his convictions he wouldn't.

It's just surprising to me that an outlet like Wired would print an article so half-assed, unoriginal, and ridiculous in the first place.

A second chance for Websnark

2005-11-21T13:17:00.000-05:00

I thought, upon hindsight, perhaps I was too harsh in my condemnation of Websnark. I thought, Let's give it another chance, right, governor?

So I did.

It's still narcissistic trash masquerading as theory and art.

God, I hope Eliot Spitzer is on top of this one...

2005-11-21T13:08:00.000-05:00

So the State of Texas has done something I finally agree with, namely, suing SONY BMG for their rootkits. In case you haven't been listening, the rootkit is a series of files and registry hacks used to hide certain files (namely, the copy-protection files on the CD) from appearing to the user. However, the rootkit was written incompetently, and any hacker using the same prefix, $sys$, can hide their files on your computer, too. Further, SONY's official cloaking-removal tool doesn't uninstall their software, and it opens up further holes by compromising your registry and your internet security. Unofficial attempts to remove the rootkit, unless you know what you're doing, will disable your CD drivers, rendering the entire drive inoperable. Or, if you're really lucky, Windows will just break.

Hopefully, the AG of New York--the guy who went after Big Tobacco, the major investment scandals, etc.--is cruising Slashdot...

A thought about Websnark

2005-11-20T17:24:00.000-05:00

(Note that I'm providing the link not for endorsement purposes but really just for posterity. Read me first before clicking!)

There is a website ostensibly for the purpose of webcomic criticism named Websnark, but primarily it devolves into weepy self-pity and indulgent back-scratching between the commentors and the authors. Why this bothers me, I don't know. Part of it is probably because there is no other real resource for criticism focusing on an ephemeral medium that might not last all that long, nor will gain any artistic credibility among the mainstream in a hundred years or so. But that's not entirely the point.

One of the things Websnark did originally that attracted my notice was a feature called "You Had Me and You Lost Me," in which Eric Burns (principal author) would catalogue the features of a webcomic that caused him to generally lose interest. One of those webcomics was Megatokyo, which I was in the middle of losing myself (it started all right but became an exercise in glacial patience).

I'm all for people writing about what they want to write about, and perhaps my criticisms of Websnark are insincere or hypocritical (feel free to point this out if you so desire). The first step toward Websnark's losing me was its own loss of focus. The aims of the blog changed more from analyzing the webcomic as an artform and more for allowing Burns to write about the traumas, real and imagined, that had dominated his on/offline life. Which is fine, as well, if this is what you've advertised, but to switch horses midstream is somewhat disingenuous and not entirely psychologically healthy. What he seems to have created is an atmosphere where he maintains a facade of hiding these traumas, only to let them out in preordained intervals and preordained manner, so that when one of these massive expository dumps does occur, his audience feels not only privileged to have listened, but encouraged to admire his own skill with words and personal conviction.

Note also, in the recent (and by "recent" I mean several months ago) occurrence of Internet Drama between the artists of Penny Arcade! and a good majority of the indie comic world. There was a documentary made about webcomics, Penny Arcade! didn't agree with it, and they called the makers of the documentary on their pretensions. Eric Burns seized on this satire and immediately charged Tycho and Gabriel of incredible insensitivity toward Cat Garza (a man portrayed in both the documentary and the parody), even going so far as to demean Penny Arcade! as nothing more than video game jokes and the color purple. The end of the article was, and I'm not paraphasing, "Fuck you, Penny Arcade. Fuck you guys."

What bothers me about this is not that Burns is missing the point of Penny Arcade!, nor that he's a hypocritical douchebag. It's mostly that he's manufacturing some kind of insult to himself as a way of generating pathos. In the thrust of his argument against PA, he mentions how much he's been ridiculed his entire life by "the cool kids." He positions himself as the underdog to PA's Goliath. Somehow, he even dredged Aaron Sorkin's show Sports Night into the matter. There was much bluster, much self-righteousness, much indignation.

And it was all shit. By all means, stand up for what you believe in. But if someone parodies another person, and if the target of that parody does not mind (nor even by all accounts notice), don't attempt to create a crusade for your own embittered past. No one made fun of you, Burns. No one even mentioned you. Cat Garza does not need you or your help. And your attempt at laying PA in their place is, in fact, doing what you believe PA to have done in the first place. Tycho and Gabe made fun of Cat Garza only superficially; namely they were leveling criticisms at pretensions to the revolutionary in a new medium. Especially pretensions toward being revolutionary when you're only repeating the footsteps of the genuine forefathers you're unaware of. To say that PA's seven-year presence on the web means nothing, to sneer at them for playing video games, to mention that they're not even really artists (when Burns until only recently did not have a webcomic), is sneering self-righteousness of the worst sort. "Fuck you, Penny Arcade"?

Shut up, Eric Burns.

That isn't even the original point of my post... one of the points of this post was to argue that Burns has created a pathology among his commentors and frequent audience that generates this odd ego cult. The recent inclusion of Wednesday White, Burns's romantic interest and now co-author, is indicative of the strange me fixation present in Websnark. Perhaps it's odd to call someone's vanity on a project that deserves little more than vanity, and perhaps it's doubly hypocritical to do so on this blog, but at least here, we've acknowledged that the primary focus of this is Us (Genie and Djinn) and not some other subject matter. To force someone looking for other material to wade through the detritus of your shipwreck life is self-absorbed. To initially position your material as the documentation of your own life is fine. To masquerade it is not.

Take his posting about November 19th, which is up right now. What he would like for you to believe is that these posts are about his friend Richard, who is deceased. This is not the case. What he has really done is manipulated the telling of his friend's death into a cause celebre for his own steadfastness as the "good friend." It's not a post about how Richard was a good person. It's a story about how Burns has remembered all these years, and my God, shouldn't we be glad Burns is gracing us with these notes from his exemplary life? Oh, look at the poor dear, he can write so well. Richard's death is nothing but the springboard from which you should leap to the conclusion that Burns is a great writer and a sensitive person. This, at least, is what he wants you to believe.

It's disgusting not only that he's coopting his friend's life for his own self-satisfaction, but more that everyone at Websnark is buying it. Stop patting him on the back. That his commentors are as blind to his presentation is not much of a surprise. To return to Websnark requires delusion of the grandest sort, and to participate requires swallowing the Kool-Aid with a smile on your dying face.

"Fuck you, Penny Arcade"? No. Not quite.

Fuck you, Eric Burns.

Whee! Two posts about race/ism in one day.

2005-11-19T02:52:00.000-05:00

So I was reading on CNET's "Blogma" feature, which I guess is a pun on the word "dogma" but kind of hope it isn't, insofar as it's not entirely clever and puns should be retired, and I ran across a section dedicated to the XBox 360's lackluster reviews. Not delving into the truth of the matter, there is something interesting to be found in the comments section (and by "interesting" I mean "infuriating and stupid").

One poster makes a fairly blanket statement that the 360 will be the greatest thing ever. The next poster argues that the incremental improvement strategy usually favored by Microsoft in their OS development will bite them in the ass, because if you drop four hundred dollars you want a hell of a lot more improvement than another notch on the belt. The remark is also made that "The controller is huge, and I'm not a nine-year-old Asian kid."

This isn't, actually, what I take exception to. More on why I don't in a minute.

What I take exception to is the next post, cleverly titled "What are you talking about" but with no question mark, says, "Why does the kid have to be Asian to have small hands? Racist."

I swear to God, that's what this person wrote. Here's why he bugs me more than the poster initially discussing the trend toward delicate digits in those of an Oriental geographic persuasion: The original XBox was a god-awful disaster in Japan. It bombed. All over the place. Didn't make a dent in the PS2's sales, and hell, even the Gamecube sold better than the Xbox. The reason for that is twofold: first-generation games were horrible, and second, the original controller was a giant piece of plastic that even I, with my Nosferatu-like fingers, found difficult to get used to.

Penny Arcade! famously had a comic where Tycho replaced Gabe's controller with an adult grizzly bear. Gabriel says, "Did you get a new controller? This one feels smaller."

Anyway, the allegation of racism is 1) baiting the initial poster to discredit the allegation that Microsoft and the Xbox might not be the Second Coming of Jesus and 2) utterly missing the point. You're right, the child doesn't have to be Asian to have small hands. That's also not the assertion. One reason for the Xbox's failure in Japan was its lack of consideration for the specifics of Japanese society, namely, the extraordinary limitations on living space. Building a gargantuan console with a gargantuan controller reeks of American imperialistic arrogance (plus you can't handle the damn thing).

That's what the poster meant. Christ, I'm all for calling people out on their stupid biases and assumptions, but make sure you're right before you start throwing invectives and loaded signifiers. This is why you keep the Irish off computers.

Derivatives, "found art," and the public domain.

2005-11-18T15:43:00.000-05:00

On the mailbox at work:

WE ARE NOT A NATION
OF MASS IMMIGRATION

Proposed:

THE ONLY PEOPLE IN THE NATION
NOT HERE THROUGH IMMIGRATION
ARE STUCK ON THE RESERVATION
YOU PROBABLY ARGUED AGAINST INTEGRATION
SO QUIT YOUR PROTESTATIONS,
YOU GODDAMN IDIOT.

Inevitable disappointment.

2005-11-16T20:15:00.000-05:00

Look here, people. We need to talk. In particular we need to talk about World of Warcraft. More precisely, we need to talk about gender.

Let's say you decide to play WoW. Say your girlfriend got you a subscription as your anniversary present. You log in, enroll, and love the game. Now say you make an alt that's, oh, I don't know, a human female warrior. Are you a) exercising your right to roleplay, b) enjoying the character creation capabilities that your account lets you exercise, c) harmlessly role-playing, or d) unwittingly inviting every creep with thumbs to hit on your fake person?

Big surprise, it's d.

To set the record straight, internet: I'm a dude. I've checked. Doctors have checked (my god, they've checked, and let's not have any more of that checking, ok?). The innocent Belgians across the road in Rome have accidentally checked. They all agree. I don't "have a nice rack," I'm not "a sweet piece," nor would I appreciate your illiterate attempts at bringing off "cybr plz????!?1??"

Recap: 1) No boobs. 2) I don't want you staring at them even if they aren't real. 3) Totally a dude.

Thanks for your time. Go back to your, your Etch-a-Sketch, and your Tinker Toys, and, and your Moby Grape, you horny bastards.

Bias in the media at work

2005-11-14T15:17:00.000-05:00

Maybe it's because the subject matter is ancient history (literally), but these two articles I read today demonstrate the ways in which a particular news source colors the news you get.

For instance, take Article #1, from Nature. Let's start with the headline and brief description of the article.

Short-snouted snapper surprises fossil hunters: This unusual looking crocodile would have had a hard time catching fish.

Now, we look at Article #2, from my favorite comedic website, CNN. Again, we'll start with the headline and short description of the article.

Scientists reveal prehistoric terror: (CNN) -- Scientists say they have discovered the intact fossilized skull of a marine crocodile with a dinosaur-like head and a fish-like tail that likely terrorized the Pacific Ocean 135 million years ago.

Honestly, I think we need look no further. "Terror?" "Terrorized?" The creature was "probably 12 feet long," and honestly, in the scheme of 135 million years ago, that wasn't that big. I know that Nature and CNN have two distinct functions in reporting different types of news. However, CNN has unnecessarily sensationalized this particular story. The article at Nature isn't even overly scientific. It's clear and interesting, even to laymen, especially if you have an interest in dinosaurs (and let's face it, who as a child didn't go through a dinosaur loving phase?). You don't have to be a scientist to understand and enjoy it. On the other hand, CNN assumes that you'd have to be an idiot to understand or enjoy their take on the story.

"Welcome to No-Choice America" (link to Mischief to Data)

2005-11-10T00:27:00.000-05:00

It's like Dan Savage (of the Onion AV Club's Savage Love says every now and then--it isn't just gay people they want to control (and by "they" I mean the people supporting the "culture of life" movement as Dan Savage defines and refers to it), it's everyone. Why we think that they'll just stop at telling gay people what to do, I don't know. We heterosexuals are just slightly out of their sights, and with shots like this, even that's in doubt.

As for where I live, which is now Texas, we just passed a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage. If I could have voted, I would have voted against it hardcore. (The rest of my county voted against it, but we're the only county in the state that did so.) I wanted to put out my own fliers--I got one on my car that said the gays were bussing people in to vote, which I thought was darkly funny--that mentioned the Ku Klux Klan's antihomosexual rally that happened in downtown Austin on Saturday.

Like South Park: "Oh no, we've got gays wantin' to marry! What'll scare them off?"
"Ghosts?"
"Right, everyone's scared of ghosts! Let's dress up in these sheets and pretend to be ghosts."

Don't like gays? Don't like abortion? Turn your ballot from a sheet of sinful choices into a sheet of life! Vote Klan, 2005.

Strange things are afoot at the Circle-K.

2005-11-07T23:38:00.000-05:00

So now I've finally got my own job, my own place, my own everything. And today was the first day of Real Work, which was also cool. Until I realized that the project I'm working on--managing a database of exported stuff from another billing firm--is so huge, like 200,000 transactions huge, that if I don't get it done soon, there's a chance the firm I work for is screwed.

Bigtime screwed.

For our anniversary, however, Genie got me World of Warcraft. It's awesome. I leveled to 14 in three days, because it consumes the waking hours I don't spend on Adult Swim (also My Name is Earl and Boston Legal).

You want to look me up, I'm the 14 Night Elf Druid named Theramide (or the 3 Night Elf Rogue named Ramiel).

Also? Watch the Boondocks. Seriously. It's excellent. In a way that hasn't been seen on TV since All in the Family.

Halloween

2005-10-31T16:32:00.000-05:00

I've posted some Halloween costume pictures. They can be found over at my Flickr account. Also, for your viewing pleasure, here is my costume as River from Serenity:

and here is Djinn's costume as John Constantine:

Testing Flock

2005-10-27T10:32:00.000-04:00

Like Ghani at Mischief to Data, I've decided to test out a new a web browser, called Flock. This is my first post from within Flock's blogging feature. Let's see what happens.

What I learned today

2005-10-24T15:41:00.000-04:00

A friend, while reading a book on the environment for a class, came across the use of the word "pizzle" as regards the use of said "pizzle" by a opossum during "coition." A quick search on the etymology of "pizzle":

pizzle
"penis of a bull used as a flogging instrument," 1523, from L.Ger. pesel or Flem. pezel, dim. of root of Du. pees "sinew," from O.L.G. root *pisa.
(courtesy of Online Etymology Dictionary)

And yes, "coition" means exactly what you think it means.

Western Sahara Project

2005-10-19T12:09:00.000-04:00

While browsing on Flickr, I came across some photos for the Western Sahara Project, an archaeological project that aims to fill in the gaps about the prehistory of the Western Sahara in Africa. I thought it was pretty cool that they used Flickr to share photos of their project. I haven't had a chance to do much more than bookmark their website, but the photos in Flickr are pretty awesome.

Why I haven't posted recently

2005-10-17T11:47:00.000-04:00

Honestly, things at work have been hectic. And not in a good way. A new department is being created to help "align resources," and my department is now a part of this new department, which no one can really seem to make decisions regarding. There is a director for the new department, who doesn't officially start until January, but who will be making periodic visits before then. Our relationship with her is unclear. Not to mention the fact that several of the people I work with have decided (and I can't blame them, really) that they don't like her. I think this will lead to our department having access to better resources, but hopefully it won't do too much damage to how well we do our jobs. We've got a good thing, and it's in danger of being changed beyond recognition and ruined. What's that they say about things that aren't broken and how to fix them? There is already loud, noisy construction in the back half of our department (after recent renovations to our building finally resulted in a physical space designed just for us).

Sorry to be necessarily vague about all of this, but no reason to get myself in trouble with the new boss (if she is indeed my boss, because it's all very unclear) before she officially starts by blogging negatively and publicly about her and where I work by name. Anyone who knows me will have already heard about some of this, though, and those who haven't can put the pieces together more than likely.

To sum up, the reason I haven't posted lately has been: stress. I have had to stay late at work too often, and am stressed when I get there, stressed when I leave, and so I haven't wanted to do much more than watch TV, eat, and sleep when I get home.

Update on Djinn

2005-10-17T11:44:00.000-04:00

Since Djinn is back at his parents' house with the painful dial-up internet connection, I'll make a brief post to fill in the curious about his future plans. A formal job offer came from the company he worked with during his visit in Austin, TX. He will be in back in Austin tomorrow to go apartment hunting, and will be moving there probably in November. What does this mean for you, our (3) readers? It means he'll have a high-speed internet connection from which to post to the blog! I think everyone can be happy about that.

Weekend Wedding

2005-10-17T11:39:00.000-04:00

As the title implies, Djinn and I attended the wedding of a friend of mine from home this past weekend. The wedding was beautiful and upon our arrival at the reception, we were greeted by the dulcet tones of first Kenny G, then some Michael Bolton, and eventually, a bit of Celine Dion. This wasn't as bad as it sounds, though--shortly after we discovered that the music wasn't getting any better, we also discovered the open bar. I was trashed by 3:00 pm and hungover by 6:00 pm. It was great.

the Highlands Ability battery

2005-09-26T22:45:00.000-04:00

Well, I just finished a test known as the Highlands Ability battery. It's an inventory that measures abilities and configures how those abilities would best perform in various environments. It's like the Myers-Briggs, but not with that weak IPNJ shit. No sir, the report this bitch generates is all of 37 pages long.

And, although I haven't gotten debriefed yet, let me say that it is pretty obvious that I'm amazing. <(^^<) (>^^)> <(^^<) (>^^)> Happy marshmallow dance! Or Kirby, I guess, from the old Nintendo game. But I like to think it's a marshmallow. (Plus, I never played any of the Kirby games.)

Anyhow, pretty soon I'm going to write a review of Sigur Ros's new album, Takk..., because a piece of music like this deserves widespread attention. It's almost impossible to condense into words the experience of listening to a record so shattering that it makes you reevaluate your entire music collection. You should buy it. And then send us pictures of yourselves listening to it.

P.S. I totally took this personality test/ability inventory/life-deciding thing while drinking beer.

Not dead!

2005-09-19T20:50:00.000-04:00

Hello, folks! Your favorite fire-eye here. I'm surprisingly not dead, I just had to move back home and thus contend with 1) crazy parents and 2) 26.6k dialup, seriously and 3) crazy parents. But right now I'm crashing at a cousin's house in Austin, TX, working on an information design project for a major medical billing company.

I feel like an adult!

Shit. I feel like an adult.

Anyway, I'll probably post more often, now that it doesn't take 3 minutes to load the freakin' blog. I hate to break up Genie's winning streak of "longest time for single poster in a dual-posting blog to post alone," but it was going to happen sooner or later.

Also: it's 100 degrees here, all week. No kidding.

Huh

2005-09-12T17:08:00.000-04:00

Well, the tags and categories thing is going to take a little work, I think. Eh, well, I'll get it working.

Tags and Categories

2005-09-12T16:58:00.000-04:00

I'm excited--I just found a blog that shows three ways to use del.icio.us and technorati tags with Blogger. Awesome. Since this is the first post I''m going to try it on, we'll see how well this works out.

Frustrated (metaphorical) orgasm

2005-08-29T13:23:00.000-04:00

I feel like I'm on the edge of writing a really good first draft of a really good statement of purpose for grad school apps, and two things keep happening: either I get tripped up on the ideas in my head and can't quite get them on paper coherently, or I run out of time to devote to the process once I'm on a roll. It's like it's almost there, almost, aaaalllmmooossstt... and it's gone. I'm actually excited in writing this draft, and that alone is a good thing. I'm not hating every second of it nor am I dreading letting someone else read it. If only I had more time on my lunch break...

Two things...

2005-08-24T21:40:00.000-04:00

First: Why haven't I bought this already?

Second: One of the universities I want to apply to for graduate school says on their application that the personal statement should discuss qualifications, educational objectives, career goals (all of which I understand) and for me to report any awards, memberships in academic, professional, or honorary societies, publications, independent studies... things that would be on my curriculum vita (which I intend to send with my application). I'm thinking about writing to someone in the department (probably the graduate advisor, since in this case that professor's research interests also coincide with my own) to ask, among other things, what information the department would like to know about me in a personal statement. What questions the department wants me to address, rather than just what the graduate school as a whole wants to know.

Is that a good idea? A good question? Does it make me seem thoughtful or unfocused? Or am I just thinking too much about this?

Distracted

2005-08-12T21:54:00.000-04:00

I just bought American McGee's Alice for my iBook, and thus, my attention is directed at Wonderland. While I may be a few years behind in video game circles, that's ok. I'm not good at video games. I like games like the Simpson's Hit and Run. And now, I like Alice. It's delightfully twisted and I love it. Methinks I have a Halloween costume in mind... and Djinn would make a good Cheshire Cat, we've decided. Also, apparently they're making a movie of the game.

What's also great is that the game came with Clive Barker's Undying and Bloodrayne. I'm told (by Djinn) that very realistic physics went into the making of Bloodrayne's breasts. I look forward to playing the game soon and judging her jiggle for myself.

Two down, seven to go

2005-08-08T20:39:00.000-04:00

Sunday night, my kitten unsuspectingly and narrowly avoided death twice. First, she chewed through my iBook power cord. The Grim Reaper looks the other way and she doesn't get electrocuted. She's a damned lucky cat, too. Second, I discover that she has chewed through my power cord which will cost me $80.00 to replace. Again, the Grim Reaper is feeling generous, and I manage to not strangle the beastly demonic little creature. She's down two of those nine lives, that's for sure.

Thus it begins...

2005-08-04T11:15:00.000-04:00

..the unending litany of curses upon Microsoft Windows! Now that my computer has been brainwashed and lobotomized, it's all spiffy and spyware-free. It's also missing a shit-ton (yes, a shit-ton, it's heavier than a normal ton) of software that is specific to my department. And all the settings I've so laboriously changed over the past year to make this machine mine are back to the Windows default settings. And changing things back is KILLING ME.

Why does it have to be so hard to set an icon for a certain file type? And when I set a certain program to be the default to open a certain file type, where the hell does the "Apply" button go? Why is it gray? Why can't Windows conceive of the fact that I might want a program not created by Microsoft to be the default program for something?

My kingdom for an Apple!!

Isn't it Wednesday?

2005-08-03T11:34:00.000-04:00

What I really want to know is this: did it suddenly become Monday when I wasn't looking today? First thing at work I realize that there's an icon in the taskbar of my PC that shouldn't be there. Huh. Kinda cute--a little teddy bear. Is it related to DeepFreeze, our security software, the icon for which is a polar bear? I hover my mouse over it. Nope. Not DeepFreeze. Something called "radmin." I right click, choose "about"--there's no "exit" option. After a few more investigations, including a google search or two, I realize that this is a remote administration tool. The Spyware guide I consult online rates it at a 7 out of 10 danger level to my system security.

FUCK.

I unplug the network cord and call the computer help desk at work. Oh, yeah, it's a nasty bit of spyware, all right, and the only way they know how to remove it is to wipe the machine and start over.

FUCK.

At least I:

brought my Apple iBook to work today so I do have another machine.

backed up my personal files before I called the help desk.

FUCK.

Isn't it Wednesday?

Back on the war path

2005-08-01T16:42:00.000-04:00

The only other thing going on lately is that I'm still hunting around for graduate schools. I'm still determined to go into cultural resource management and public archaeology (i.e., not teaching). Currently, my mind is on a master's degree. A Ph.D. might be down the line, but it's not on the table at the moment.

I feel more confident than last time around. I'm being thorough. I know what I want, and I'm going to have everything in line well before the day of the application deadline. I'm going to talk to grad schools and talk to the people writing my recommendation letters.

I'm not sure where I'll go, but there are around six or seven places I'm probably going to apply. This is good, since last time, I just couldn't find places, for some reason, for the kind of program I want. I think part of that was my own indecision about what I want to do. But I have a better idea now. Hopefully, things will go better this time around. Why let a little thing like rejection affect me?

Pissing around

2005-08-01T16:23:00.000-04:00

In the search for something random and interesting to blog about, I came across this article from Wired. Since I recently watched an episode of Modern Marvels on the History Channel about the history of the bathroom, including the bathtub, toilet, and brushing one's teeth, the article from Wired held a special resonance for me. The toilet designed by NASA was merely one topic of the show.

I do wonder, however, if the technology for recycling urine into drinking water would be accepted by many cultures, particularly those in which religion and purity are strong influencing factors in life.

Wish I had more

2005-07-28T19:28:00.000-04:00

Sadly, there's not a whole lot for me to post about lately. One roomie is on vacation on the other side of the country, Djinn is living at home in a city six and a half hours from me (with dial-up, hence, his lack of posts), my kitten spends her time stealing straws from cups, and it's summer, so there aren't nearly as many people (amusing or annoying) coming in at work. My recent interest has been fountain pens--my boss at work bought me one, knowing that I'd be hooked, and I am. I'm tempted to buy a color of ink called "Ottoman Azure," if only because it's blue and the bottle's label has a picture of the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. The color is pretty, too, though.

Yeah, that's all I have to say, really. Bleh on nothing interesting going on.

Anything is possible

2005-07-20T22:19:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, when driving home from work, I found myself sitting at a red light behind a car with one of those annoying, proselytizing bumper stickers--in this case, "Anything is possible through Jesus." Naturally, my first thought was, "oh, bite me." I'm like that.

Then my eyes wander away from the bumper, and I can't help but notice the two horny, exhibitionist teenagers groping each other and making out in the backseat. And I feel blessed to get stuck behind them at three more stop lights. They know I can see them, because they keep looking up from what they're doing and giggling as they look around and see who all can see them.

Anything is possible through Jesus.

Zen Kitten

2005-07-06T11:03:00.000-04:00

My kitten feels that in order to understand, she must consume. Consumption is the key to comprehension. Once she has consumed and taken into herself, she will fully understand the world's secrets.

Once she has understood, she can expel what she has consumed and share her knowledge with me. On the carpet.

Huh.

2005-07-01T09:31:00.000-04:00

What random ass things can I post about just to have a post dated in July?

At work, what with the end of the fiscal year, we've been trying to spend any extra budget money we've got. Ahh, bureaucracy... if you don't spend all your money for a year, there are two things that will happen:

The money does not roll over into next year's budget.
Since you didn't spend the money this year, it's assumed that clearly that means you didn't need it, and hence, won't be needing it for the next year, so your budget is cut.

What's great about this (and stressful) is that it means I get to spend spend spend on things we want and need at work, but haven't been able to justify placing ahead of just normal operating expenses. We now have:

a MIDI keyboard
a shotgun mic for one of the video cameras
two more video cameras for people to check out from us
two external hard drives
a new cart for the projector to sit on
CD-R's, DVD-R's, CD-RW's, DVD-RW's

What with all the boxes to open, I feel as if it's Christmas in July.

Yeah, we know....

2005-06-28T11:08:00.000-04:00

...we're total slackers here with the whole blogging thing. On a random note, Batman Begins was a kick ass, awesome movie. The plot was so character-driven and the movie took itself seriously. Some critics have said too seriously, but what did we expect? Critics always complain whenever a comic book based movie takes itself seriously. Of course, some comic book movies take themselves seriously and end up being hysterically funny. Others take themselves seriously and get minimal credit for it. That's the way it goes.

Regardless, Batman Begins was a fun movie, with some great visuals and predominantly interesting characters. Only one character wasn't terribly interesting or useful at all, but I'll forgive it.

Did I mention that Christian Bale is about as hot a Batman as you'll ever find?? Oh. Well, he is.

Update from the workshop

2005-06-06T22:46:00.000-04:00

First things first... tomorrow, I must steal a mouse from a computer next to the one I've been using. The scroll wheel doesn't work on the computer I've been at, and it's been my own private hell. Time to fix that post haste.

Second... while learning Macromedia Flash MX 2004 is wonderful, and I don't doubt the instructor's proficiency, it would be nice if:

we could learn to use Flash to make something that isn't ass-ugly (I may put up a screen shot eventually... and I may forget... either way, just trust me--it's bad).

the instructor wouldn't spend excessive amounts of time on the basics only to gloss over the interesting if slightly more complicated aspects (we've been making movie clips and motion tweens ad nauseum, and inserting an mp3 into a Flash movie gets covered in all of 30 seconds).

we could have more than one measly hour in which to apply our new found knowledge (yes, I've learned a little that I didn't already know, some of it very interesting) to projects we brought from our respective institutions to work on while here.

the machines had the appropriate software installed and set up on them for us to use.

It's not all bad, though. I mean, sure, they asked on the initial application if I had a platform preference (Mac) even though the lab we're working in contains only PC's. I have gotten some valuable information out of everything so far, and the chance to pick the brains of those more knowledgable than myself. However, once we start Dreamweaver, if we spend more than 30 seconds on the properties panel, especially after becoming intimately familiar with the one in Flash, I will probably scream. However, the locale is quite nice and I've enjoyed where we're staying (except for the sheets that have suspicious looking stains and my sudden onset of allergies).

Workshop = Vacation

2005-05-30T11:57:00.000-04:00

My summer vacation plans happen to consist of a workshop in Texas on using Macromedia Flash, Macromedia Dreamweaver, Adobe Photoshop, and probably some Macromedia Fireworks, too. The workshop lasts for about five days, but involves hands on building projects using these various softwares. Sadly, this workshop that is job related has me excited in part because I'm viewing it as a vacation--I don't have to help people while I'm there. I get to ask for help learning cool technology. Since I already have a basic knowledge of almost everything the workshop will cover, I'm hoping to sharpen my skills through actually using the programs intensively, and I'm also glad for the opportunity to have some dedicated people who are there to help me learn to use the programs better. The only better vacation for me is last summer's archaeological field school I attended in Mexico. My idea of vacation inevitably involves work of some kind--there's very little division between self and work for me. I imagine that will cause trouble in the future, but for now, it works for me.

Return from absentia

2005-05-24T03:58:00.000-04:00

So while surfing Flickr I happened to find the one tag that only applies to two pictures--"schizophrenic." And one of the pics is a sketch drawn of the Flickr member by a schizophrenic, and in the commentary he mentions that he's blogged it. Since today has been marked by a distinct lack of katharsis I click on it, thinking he will mention something of the tragic poetry of this mentally ill man sketching to survive in a Starbucks. This is what I think of. A broken throwaway person sitting in a coffee shop just like every other corporate cutout, his mind cracked like old pavement. A lot of people think schizophrenia is multiple-personality disorder, a misconception almost totally Hollywood's fault, but the truth is that MPD involves several people in your skull and schizophrenia is an attempt for one very shattered mind to survive. Often schizophrenia is hereditary, but sometimes it's a regression mechanism to protect whatever implements are left from massive trauma.

Speaking to the human being in me, the idea of a schizophrenic artist sketching people in a Starbucks is horribly sad. It makes me wonder why it is that he's in thi position. Why his brain split open, and if he was a better sketch artist beforehand. Then there's the very idea that he is drawing strangers. Regular people. A desire.

Or his own eulogy. Think about it. When he's dead and gone (probably a suicide), what kind of mark will he have left on the world? Will there be anyone left to speak for him? Could they do justice to his last few days, drawing strangers on throwaway scraps of his throwaway life?

This is what I'm thinking about when I read this guy's blog entry. Is that what he's thinking about?

No, he's a self-important asshole pseudohipster that, I swear to God, lists his occupation as "provocateur."

It's a shame you can't fax an ass-whupping.

Tutankhamun

2005-05-12T09:27:00.000-04:00

CT scans of the mummy of King Tutankhamun not only reavealed that he wasn't murdered, but also allowed for the creation of a detailed facial reconstruction.

Conversations I'm not ready to have yet

2005-05-10T09:38:00.000-04:00

Speaking to USF about why I didn't get accepted to their graduate program.

Speaking to USC about why I didn't get accepted to their graduate program (at least I already know that they only accepted 3 archaeologists into their program... so long as there weren't only 4 archaeology students applying, I feel pretty good about that one).

Speaking to my undergraduate advisor about why I didn't get accepted to any programs. Well, I think that's what he wants to talk about. I've only spoken with him briefly, and he wants to talk later about... grad school or something? The subject line of the e-mail said "Confused," which may or may not bode well for the conversation.

Is it so wrong to be terrified and intimidated by speaking to someone in the field you want to enter yourself? About entering that field? I feel so inadequate to begin with, I'd rather not have more reasons to feel inadequate. I give myself plenty. I was kind of hoping writing an anonymous post about this would help me get the courage to hit the reply button on that e-mail and set up a time to talk.

Coffee. Coffee will help. I'll get a cup of coffee.

Unitarian Jihad, take two.

2005-05-05T15:07:00.000-04:00

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: The Atom Bomb of Warm Humanitarianism.

Get yours.

Unitarian Jihad

2005-05-04T20:54:00.000-04:00

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: The Neutron Bomb of Moderation.

Get yours.

I found a link to that over at Odette's blog, Vulan's Peak. I find myself duly amused.

Something old, something new

2005-05-03T11:01:00.000-04:00

Turns out, as I've thought before, a blog would probably be a good format for online publishing of an epistolary novel. I would like to write my own, and I am in fact in the process of doing so, although "novel" might be a bit of an overstatement of my own project. However, in the mean time, I am fascinated by this particular project, where someone has decided to publish Bram Stoker's Dracula via a blog, posting installments on the same dates as the entries in Jonathon Harker's journal in the novel. There will also be posts that are a commentary on the novel, the project, and the process right there with the novel itself. Is it just me, or does this sound like an exciting idea? I love it.

Long time

2005-04-29T02:44:00.000-04:00

So it's been forever since I last posted, either here or on Spirits of Leonard, but I haven't really been doing much except job hunting. Tomorrow's a big interview, one that would keep me here in town with Genie, and that's a good thing. If I can land this job, I can land an apartment, and so Skanky Kyra (Skankyra?)'s boyfriend Bryan would move out of his place, currently the Lair of Drama, and we'd be roommates. The Lair of Drama would then become the Lair of Cool, and James Dean would wish he hadn't perished so early, because otherwise he'd have hung out with the two of us.

In much sadder news, my mom and brother had to have one of our two cats, Mildred, put down on Wednesday afternoon. She was thirteen years old, and had a large tumor in her lung, but she fought for six months longer than the veterinarian ever thought she might. The last several months have been spent in our sunroom, on the heated floor, eating people food--like garlic chicken, barbecue, whip cream--so we did all that we could do, and that was ease her passing. But knowing the inevitable truly is inevitable is never much comfort. It's had me sick since I read the email, last night at two-thirty in the morning. I didn't sleep for another three hours after that, I was so upset.

Well, there's the usual reticent promise of future regularity to be made. I swear I'll post more often! Then again, my life has consisted of little else except sleeping, Final Fantasy X, and the beautiful, chaotic excellence of Neon Genesis Evangelion. Which, I might add, everyone should watch at least once. It's definitely the best dramatic anime series I've ever seen. (Though as fantastically amazing as it is, FLCL still holds a place of primacy in my heart because it was the first. It's also something you should check out.)

Well, wish me luck on the interview tomorrow, and you'll be seeing me around. Not until Sunday, though, because Genie and I are off to see her twin brother's graduation, and we'll be coming back to several people's tapes of the brand new Family Guy.

You know, now I feel like I can finally go to sleep tonight.

Kitten Pictures

2005-04-20T09:17:00.000-04:00

Ghani may have the cool x-ray of Nabiki's kittens prior to their birth, but we at Mountains of Kaf have pictures of the actual born kittens. Mischief to Data may have won with blogging first about the x-ray, but this round goes to Mountains of Kaf!!

....can't...blog...now...

2005-04-19T21:08:00.000-04:00

Sorry. Would blog, but I'm too busy playing with the kittens that Kyra's cat, Nabiki, had last night and on into this morning.

Inappropriately timed biological functions

2005-04-14T13:42:00.000-04:00

This is no where near as interesting as the title makes it seem, but anyways, here's the story--

This morning, my friend, Skank Kyra, was giving a presentation about an upgrade of the e-mail system for where I work. The upgrade came with a lot of new features, and Skank Kyra was giving a demo of these features. The whole presentation was being recorded for future editing and replay on a campus television channel--save everyone the time and hassle of giving or attending multiple training sessions. Fortunately for me, none of the cameras were facing the group of people to whom the presentation was being given. Regardless, I still sat in the back of the room.

So, near the end of Skank Kyra's presentation, as everything is winding down (but the cameras are still rolling), I feel it. I have to sneeze. Kyra's still talking. I have mere seconds to decide what to do. Leave the room? Try to hold it in? Attempt to thwart the sneeze? I've never done such a thing. Whenever I've tried, it usually just becomes a loud, painful sneeze. No time. Too late. Sneezing. Must... not.... make.... noise.......

(inhale softly) aaahhhh (exhale and sneeze) UUUGGGHHH!!!

Every. Person. In. The. Room. Turns. To. Look.

What the hell just happened?? Where was the sneeze?? Instead, a gutteral grunt!?! What the hell?!?! That's certainly never happened before.

To my left, I hear a friend say, "Bless you," snicker snicker.

Someone else, another friend, laughs as well.

Points to Kyra, though--she kept going. She didn't look at me, because if she had, neither of us would have ever stopped laughing. It took us awhile to calm down once the cameras were off. Some of us decided that instead of edit that out of the film, it should stay. Then we can circulate rumors that I was stabbed by the guy sitting next to me during the filming.

Grad School

2005-04-13T19:36:00.000-04:00

So... no grad school accaptances for me. I did get an e-mail response from the graduate director of one program, in response to a message I sent prior to learning that I wasn't accepted, in which I was told that the program only accepted three archaeology students into their anthropology program. I guess that makes me feel a little better. The director did invite me to visit the department and learn more about the program, if I'd still be interested for next year. I might take them up on that and visit, at least.

I might be starting another blog, too, in addition to this one. I'd like to try blogging about a specific subject--in this case, the use of technology, specifically the kind related to digital data management within archaeology and/or anthropology. Since this is an idea I just came up with, we'll see what happens. If I start a new blog, and if it's interesting, I'll be sure to keep the three people who read this blog updated.

Welcome to the Twilight Zone...

2005-04-06T13:31:00.000-04:00

The Computers

Yesterday was a day of ups and downs. My bad day at work started the night before with a couple of e-mails (there are good reasons not to check work mail from home, but some of us are just too obsessive to leave it be). I won't get into details about that--suffice it to say, the night lead into the day and I was not a pleasant person, as Djinn, patient saint that he is, found out.

There is one thing that happened at work that I will talk about, though. First, a little background:

The computers at work all have a security software on them called DeepFreeze.
DeepFreeze, while helpful in preventing viruses, spyware, and general clutter on the machines, basically locks down the computer so that any changes are forgotten on a reboot, and DeepFreeze restores the computer to a default image or restore point.

So, tell me then, what do you think will happen when a virus attaches itself to the DeepFreeze executable file? This was what I came to work to discover--eleven computers with the same virus or "malicious code," as our virus scan software calls it, in the DeepFreeze start up file. Our virus scan software oh-so-helpfully renamed the file. This incidentally has caused the DeepFreeze icon, which usually shows up in the taskbar and is the key to opening DF for any changes you want to make on a workstation, to disappear. However, the computers are still "frozen," so I can't uninstall and then reinstall DeepFreeze. You have to unlock the machine to do that.

While I do have a remote admin program on my machine for DeepFreeze, it isn't set up for me to be able to remotely connect to any of our workstations. However, I can probably connect to some workstations in another building, but oddly enough, that's not very fucking helpful.

Aside from just knowing there's a virus on the machines, there don't seem to be any other ill effects from the "malicious code." Still, eleven out of fourteen machines have this problem. Not a pleasant morning.

PowerPoint

Then, that night (6:00 pm, precisely), I have to teach a class about using PowerPoint effectively. Forget the fact that I'm not even sure that's possible with PowerPoint. I still have to teach it. But, after a hell of a down, I get a hell of an up--the class, while lasting until 7:30, goes very well. The students are attentive, asking great questions, and interested in what I'm saying. We have some interesting discussion, and everyone comes away excited.

Mountain Road and the Dog

And, naturally, after an up, here's a down (cue Twilight Zone music)--I'm cat sitting for an out of town friend, and after I left work, I forgot that I would have to go check on her cats. So I get across town, remember, and head back after grabbing some dinner. While driving up an incredibly windy road in the dark with a mountain on one side and a drop on the other, I see an animal dart into the road in front of me. I hit the breaks, and don't hit the animal, which at first I think is a fox. But no--it's someone's pet dog, a little yellow-orange terrier, complete with collar and leash dragging behind him running up the mountain road in front of me, terrified. What can I do but continue driving behind this sprinting dog?? I lean out the window a couple of times to call to the dog to no avail, hoping he'll slow down, stop maybe, let me help him. However, I see lights in the oncoming lane of traffic, coming from around a bend in the road. I honk frantically, the dog is in the other lane of traffic, and the dog moves as the car slows to come around the bend. Twice, I honk at oncoming traffic so they will know there is something to watch out for and not hit this little, frightened dog.

The dog keeps sprinting up this curving mountain road, running as fast as his little legs will move, and then he turns left... into the same neighborhood I'm going to. Odd. And so, naturally, I follow him. And then he turns onto another road to the left, which leads into a construction zone for a new house in the neighborhood. And the dog disappears. He's gone off into the woods, and I'm stuck on a narrow dirt road with piles of construction materials, dirt, and machinery for heavy lifting. Briefly, I consider getting out to look for the little guy, and then I remember that I'm not a complete idiot. So I follow the road to the new house they're building, get my car turned around in the driveway, and head back out, continuing on my way to my friend's house.

The Cats

Once inside, I turn on a light or two and call for the cats. One of the cats isn't my biggest fan, so I don't expect to see her. But the other, a 2o+ pound black behemoth of a cat, is extremely friendly and usually greets me at the door. He's nowhere to be found.

I walk upstairs, and one halfway up the stairs, I hear a faint meowing. Searching around, calling the cat's name, I find him--locked in a closet. The other cat is under the bed--not unusual for when I visit--but how did the other one get locked in the closet?? I presume it was my friend's housekeeper--but I don't really know for sure. Anyways, slightly baffled, I head downstairs and go to feed the cat his treat. He gets wet food as a special treat while both cats always have access to dry food. After I feed him, I notice that two windows are open. I freeze. The screens are still on the windows, they are only open about five inches each, and the blinds are pulled up, too. Nothing looks damaged or missing to my eyes. Electronics are in place. I've checked on the cats, the house seems fine too. I leave.

You think I'm done? Oh, no. Not yet.

The Car

While driving down the mountain, I hear weird noises from my car. A fluttering or flapping sound. I eventually attribute this to the air conditioner, which I turn off, and keep going. This is just too much at this point. I go home. Exit the Twilight Zone.

Flickr

2005-03-25T19:59:00.000-05:00

Slowly, I'm starting to put a few more photos up at Flickr. I'm attempting to put up highlights from my foreign study in Turkey, Greece, and Italy, as well as photos from when I was in Mexico over the past summer. My photos can be found here, for anyone who's curious.

Good news, everyone! And bad news. Mostly bad.

2005-03-24T13:47:00.000-05:00

So if you check out this surprisingly well-informed and well-written article in Rolling Stone about the world's oil production and the coming crisis, you'll be extremely depressed. This is the bad news.

The good news is, when I took an ice cream break in the UC, a little piece of the chocolate shell fell onto the floor as I was walking up the stairs. Looking down I mumbled, mouth full, "Oh dammit." But that's not how it came out. Shovel ice cream into your face and say "Oh dammit" for the only accurate representation I can think of. I can't write one, that's for sure. Anyhow this girl was walking down the stairs beside me. When I stopped, mumbled, and looked at my feet, she gave me this look full of sympathy and pity. Well, I just looked up at her and smiled, probably in a goofy manner, because I had ice cream. She shook her head and kept walking.

I think she believes I'm retarded.

The Return....

2005-03-23T12:31:00.000-05:00

...of CUP GUY, as he's being called at work by my colleagues, who have all heard just how much he pissed me off. If you haven't read the previous post from February 14th, then take a look right now. Then come right back.

All right, introductions done, now onward with the story. The Cup Guy showed up at work today, signed in (we have all our clients sign in). Here's the transcript.

Genie: Can I help you with anything?
Cup Guy(formerly, "Asshole"): I was just going to sign in, then get a cup of coffee. And stay in here. (hesitation) If that's all right (slight sarcasm in the voice, perhaps--it's hard to tell).
Genie: Sure, so long as the coffee stays here.

He walks to the back of the office to get a cup of coffee. I head back to my desk. A few minutes later, he leaves.

Oops. I guess I forgot to make coffee today.

What is a word close to the meaning of "serendipitous," except, a random coincidence that you don't really care about?

2005-03-18T19:28:00.000-05:00

Djinn offers this response: "Serendipitous like a John Cusack movie... a strange coincidence, but still pretty boring."

6:40 AM The alarm goes off. Snooze.

7:30 AM Having snoozed for almost an hour, it's now or never. Wake up and rush to get ready for work, or sleep in and be half an hour late. It's Friday. I usually get in at 8:30 AM. We don't open until 9:00 AM. Snooze.

8:30 AM Leave for work, having accepted that I'll be late.

Once at work, I decide to stay after work for half an hour as a way to make up for being half an hour late. We close early on Fridays anyways at 2:00 PM. On a normal Friday, I'd be gone at two.

2:20 PM I hear the door to the department I work in jiggle. Someone's trying to get in. Not too odd, I'm leaving early and there are still people who have offices here who come in and out. I look up, and see through the glass around the door.... my ex-boyfriend.

Note: I'll say it before Ghani can say it--my gay ex-boyfriend. Although to my knowledge, he's never come out, the evidence has piled up. We wonder.

As I walk to the door, I contemplate what I should say in greeting. I don't really want to see him, but too late now. What should I say?

"Holy shit."

Have a glimpse into the situation here: we dated almost two years ago, and we were completely incompatible. He was a senior and graduating, and I was a junior who still had a year. We ignored how incompatible we were, and hung out anyways. He's conservative, Republican, concerned with appearances and what other people think. I could generally give a shit. Oh, and my friends all hated him. That's always a hint, one I didn't take, but I was aware of it. Hated him.

After he leaves, a co-worker of mine, who had walked past while he was there and knows the history, pops his head inside the door. "Did you ask if he has a boyfriend yet?" Damn. No, I didn't.

Had I woken up thirty minutes earlier... I'd probably be blogging about Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. Or Tetris. That's a good game. I'm gonna go play Tetris.

And so I've found a victim for my previously unfocused wrath about this day

2005-03-17T14:06:00.000-05:00

I sent an e-mail at work today that went a little something like this (*names have been changed to protect the stupid):

Subject: student direct deposit

To: Idiot of the Day*

Idiot,

A couple of our student workers signed up for direct deposit, and have never had a check directly deposited into their accounts. Instead they continue to receive physical checks in their mailboxes. If you could let me know who to contact to get this taken care of, I'd appreciate it. They'd both prefer to have the convenience of direct deposit.

Thanks,
Genie

The response I received looked like this:

Subject: Re: student direct deposit

To: Genie

Hi, Genie!

The student need to come to Our Office to fill out the direct deposit form. They will need to bring with the a blank check from their checking accounts. Please have them write the word "VOID" across the front of the check. Thanks.

Idiot
Our Office
Place Where Genie Works
555.555.5555

Now, tell me something, and just take your best guess here.... did the idiot even read my initial e-mail??

The great thing about the rejection letter...

2005-03-17T12:11:00.001-05:00

...is that, while you know you're inadequate simply because of the letter's existence, its presence in your hands, the fact that you can see it before your disbelieving eyes, you don't know just how inadequate or why. Just that you are.

But, I'm glad someone got an acceptance letter somewhere. Hopefully, Palila's applications will go better than mine. Fifty percent of the places I've applied have rejected me (so I've only sent in two applications--not the point). That third application, though... let's just say, my eagerness to apply is not exactly on a high right now.

Bad things happen around holidays. Valentine's Day was a bad day at work, and Saint Patrick's Day just isn't shaping up to be any better.

Luck o' the Irish, my larger-than-I-wish-it-were ass.

Hmmm....

2005-03-15T14:00:00.000-05:00

Well, there seem to be a few bugs in the new design. Looks a little weird in Safari on a Mac. Strange how that got past me, since I use an iBook and Safari is my primary browser. I also use Firefox, and I think that's how it got past me--I checked in Firefox and not Safari, I guess. Anyhoo, I'll just have to work on that later. The text is a little harsh in IE. Is it bad that I just now checked it in IE for the first time since I started redesigning??

Good news, everyone...

2005-03-14T16:16:00.000-05:00

...especially for Ghani, because I'm scanning more pictures from Photo I to post into Spirits of Leonard. Plus I'll post here about some stuff, and you know, maybe tell you about the new blog I'm working on. Maybe. You never know.

The Producers

2005-03-13T16:46:00.000-05:00

Last Friday, Djinn and I went to see The Producers (warning--the link there takes you to a Flash webpage with much sound and singing--I couldn't find a link to an HTML version of the page), the musical by Mel Brooks based on his own movie from 1968 named, oddly enough, The Producers.

Our thoughts--it was incredible. So funny. If you like any of Mel Brooks' films and don't mind musicals, you'll love this show. What's also exciting is that a new movie based on the musical which is based on the movie is in the works--again, titled, oddly enough, The Producers. I can't wait.

Oh, yeah, by the way, I changed the design of the blog a bit. Comments and criticism are welcome.

Redesign

2005-03-03T15:15:00.000-05:00

Now that the photo hosting thing is working out for me (it was all actually quite painless, really), I'm ready to reveal what the new Mountains of Kaf is looking like thus far. My question is--do we need a listing of "Previous Posts" such as we have now? I don't really see the point of it, but maybe someone can enlighten me. Navigation and all, but it still seems redundant. Anyways, here it is:

Mountains of Kaf explained (sort of)

2005-03-03T13:17:00.000-05:00

Ever wondered what the mountains of Kaf are?

Want to know where jinn live?

Testing something out

2005-03-03T13:01:00.000-05:00

I just recently started using Flickr, and I want to see if it will be easy or difficult to use Flickr's services for placing an image in the new design as the title and description, instead of using Blogger's tags. So that's what this post is about--trying something out. Should work, I would think.

Iznik Tiles

2005-03-03T12:54:00.000-05:00

Iznik Tiles,
originally uploaded by WildGingerCat.

This is the image I described previously upon which I am basing the new design for Mountains of Kaf. The tile on the right, with a light blue tint to what would otherwise be a white background, is the authentic Iznik tile from the Ottoman empire in Turkey. The tile on the left is a modern reconstruction of an Iznik tile.

Item three--the last

2005-03-01T16:07:00.000-05:00

Moutnains of Kaf hopefully will be undergoing a redesign soon--I've been working on the design, but it's not quite ready for implementation yet. The idea for the colors are based on those of Iznik tiles from Turkey, where I spent a month on foreign study as an undergrad. The particular picture of tiles I am using for the design is one that I took while visiting Topkapi Palace in Istanbul. The picture, which I'll post as soon as I get a chance to, shows an authenitc historic tile next (with a slight bluish tint to the porcelain) next to a modern imitation (which lacks the blue tint, but otherwise, is equally as beautiful). Once I get a change to post the pics, you'll understand. Also, I'll explain the name "Mountains of Kaf" around the time I make the changes, probably. Maybe. You'll just have to wait and see.

Item two--observation

2005-03-01T16:01:00.000-05:00

My alma mater has recently added emergency phones around campus for security--a good idea, for sure, even if there aren't that many incidents on this particular campus. However, for the past two weeks or so, the phones have been lit up, but disconnected because they weren't hooked up properly yet.

Nothing like a bright blue light in the near distance, a shining cerulean beacon of false hope to the hopeless.

First things first--the orange juice

2005-03-01T15:38:00.000-05:00

I have a few things of random amusement to mention, each in their own post just for the sake of keeping things organized, the first of which regards orange juice. You know, the kind you get out of the vending machine for a dollar. The kind that says, "Shake well before drinking." I, personally, happen to be in a slightly neurotic habit of shaking my juice before taking a sip. I don't do this with water or any other drink. Just orange juice.

So, the other day, I'm at work and I'm sitting in the staff lounge eating lunch (thankfully) alone. I'm reading a book (about the Byzantine Empire--don't judge me, it's a riveting book), eating, and drinking my OJ. And I think to myself, "I should put the lid on my juice.... nah, I'll just be taking a sip in another minute anyways." Well, next time I went to take that fateful sip..... let's just say that with the first splash of orange juice right in my face I knew something had gone horribly wrong. And of course, since shaking something is just the right kind of relfexive, repetitive action, I had shaken the bottle twice before the message of "STOP! went from brain to hand. By that time, I was covered in orange juice on my face, the hair, some had gone over my head to the back of my hair, down my left breast, and onto the crotch of my pants.

Ahh, then...the Walk of Shame back to my office. And since I had to go back to the staff room for something I forgot, at that point, there were 10 people in there and no, I hadn't changed out of the OJ covered shirt into a sweatshirt I happened to have with me in case I got cold.

That was Monday afternoon.

Best Movie Review Ever

2005-02-25T13:42:00.000-05:00

My favorite thing about this review is the fact that it doesn't actually review the movie Constantine so much as assert the truthfulness of the existence of demons and the need for exorcism. Interested in the subject of exorcism, you say? Funny you should mention that. Check out Ghani's post on a similar subject matter of real world relevance.

As for the review, I'd say don't worry about spoilers in that particular one--it's not really about the movie itself, anyways. The closest to a spoiler in that review is the mention of actors and the characters they portray.

Nodie & Nabiki

2005-02-22T14:52:00.000-05:00

As may or may not have been mentioned here before, Djinn is moving into a new apartment with our mutual friend, Skank Kyra. While Djinn is moving today, Kyra moved in over the weekend, taking with her two adorable cats, as referenced in the title of this post. Node, or Nodie, is a beautiful little Siamese who is about 4 years old. She's about as slutty and affectionate as a cat can get. Nabiki, who is 11 months old, is every bit as affectionate. Her markings are also as unique as I've ever seen--she's white and cream colored, except on the points like a Siamese, where she has markings like a muted tortoise-shell cat (the colors are all subtle--gray, light yellow, cream, light orange). Her little paws have markings except on the toes, which are white, so she looks like she's wearing little hobo gloves.

Now, Nodie and Nabiki have only interacted a few times before moving. They don't really know each other. When they met at the new apartment, there was a cat fight. Nodie won, hands down. They met up a second time the other night, after being locked away from each other, and Nodie won again. Here is where our story really begins....

7:15 pm, Sunday night. My cell phone rings. It's Kyra. "Genie, I'm having a cat crisis, can you come over, I need moral support."

"Sure. What's wrong?"

"Nodie beat up Nabiki and she's stuck in the fridge. I can't get her out she's stuck in the fridge she won't come out she's stuck."

Being the good friend I am, I didn't ask questions, I just went over. Turns out that Nabiki was both under and inside the fridge. She had run away from Node, and wedged herself between the wall and the fridge. Then she got herself behind the fridge, and up under it, and on top of a bunch of coils between the bottom of the fridge and the floor which exist perhaps only to provide a place for cats to hide. Our solution took about 45 minutes and involved unscrewing parts on the back of the fridge, lowering the coils as much as we could while they were still connected near the front of the fridge, and Kyra's boyfriend Zollman tilting the whole thing backwards while I pulled the cat out from underneath it in the front.

Y'know, just in case you were wondering what I'd been doing since my last post.

Random excerpt from a random day

2005-02-14T14:35:00.000-05:00

So, we serve coffee where I work. Some guy, who I've seen around before, comes in to get just a cup. No coffee. Just the cup. Drinks without lids aren't allowed outside of the offices where I work. As he walks out, the conversation is as follows:

Genie: Can I ask why you want just the cup?
Asshole: (hesitates) No.
Genie: No? Why not?
Asshole: Because if I tell you, I'm afraid you'll tell me I can't have it.

Honestly, I was too surprised by the whole interlude to really form a sarcastic response. I really wanted to say one of two things. Either, "Then put the cup back and get out" or "Are you going to piss in it for a drug test?"

Next came:
Genie: You know that cups without lids with any liquid in them aren't allowed outside of this room, right?
Asshole: I think that I've patronized this place long enough that they can allow me a little bit of rule-bending.

Yeah, asshole, everyone thinks that after 4+ years of tuition. But let's face it, those 4 years of tuition only buy you exactly what it buys everyone else, and there's no "special treatment" for you just because you're one of thousands of students to pay the exact same amount for your education as everyone else at this school.

Jesus Christ, people, all I ask for is a little normalcy once in awhile.

I also got a parking ticket at Djinn's apartment this morning. Happy Valentine's Day.

The aesthetics of this oilslick lifetime.

2005-02-12T15:18:00.000-05:00

So in the middle of showing my photo professor, Terri, my proofs for this next critique, she comes across I shot I took of an oily puddle in a rainstorm at night. She says, "This is--beautiful, surprisingly so." Then she looks at me and with one eyebrow up asks, "Why do you like taking pictures of stains?"

This photo is merely part of a trend I hadn't noticed, I guess further proof of the work of the subconscious in the formation of art. (If I can call my photos art.) Anyhow, it made me start thinking about it. A lot. And very hard. I knew there was a reason, but it was subliminal--I had to find the right way to think about it, and then I could articulate it.

One of the projects I've always wanted to do in the writing world was to craft a beautiful story about someone ordinary. Utterly ordinary. Not like the aestheticized ordinary of American Beauty or anything like that--an actual ordinary person, someone who lives the unsung life that 90% of us share. The people we forget about. Those we think aren't worth the effort. I've always wanted to write that story, but I've never been able to. (Though a lot of my stories do involve basically normal people in basically normal situations, I'd like to think.)

I can create just that project with photography. One of my current crop of exhibition-quality prints is a chalk mark on a brick wall. I don't know who did it, or why they marked on the wall; it just looks like a scribble. But that photograph encapsulates something. These stains--oilslicks, chalk marks, refuse--are the discarded eulogies of forgotten people. They are all that remain of the everyday human, of the person who moves through our world without notice or import, and even this reminder that they move we throw away. The chalk marks are washed away. Who even thinks of oilslicks anymore? But every rainbow shine in the parking lot is the epitaph of someone just like you, in that same parking spot, in that same place, only no one even cares.

I feel like, if I don't call attention to these things--these discarded people and these discarded markings--then no one will ever care. It would be as if everyday was your funeral, and everyday no one showed up.