Jeff's Day Off

Well, actually it was an afternoon, but it was enough. After another 50+ hour week, I knocked off at noon, came home, pilled the cat, and headed out to Cap Hill.

Capitol Hill is one of several counterculture neighborhoods in Seattle (Fremont, Alki,and Green Lake also come to mind). It gets its name from the fact that the State Capital was going to be there. Actually, the Capital ended up being a little further south. In Olympia. But the name stuck, and its Cap Hill and its one of those creative and strange hubs in the Seattle area.

Actually, I ended up at the Frye Museum on First Hill (the hill closer to the downtown) first. The Frye is one of my favorite museums in Seattle, and probably one of the least-known. Here's the story in a nutshell. Charles Frye (and wife Emma) made it big in meat-packing during the Gold Rush Years, and starting collecting art, with an eye towards the more realistic painters of Germany, France, and the US of the end of the last century. When they passed on, the collection was to be left to a museum that would exhibit the works for free. No one took up that offer, and as a result, the Frye Museum itself came about. In addition to a great collection of mid-to-late 18th Century art (You ever heard of the Munich Succession? Me neither, until they had an exhibit on it), they have great curated shows. A show of Mucha prints that ran when I first came out here. Western watercolors. Holocaust dioramas made out of Legos. Its a very small but very rich museum which always surprises me.

Case in point. I look three steps into the lobby and immediately swung left, attracted by a picture of three red "Barrel of Monkeys" monkeys (the ones with the question mark arms) on a plate with a mousetrap next to it. It was a still life, but unlike any I had seen. Most still life art I've seen has been of the late 18th/ early 19th - flowers, bowls with fruit, that sort of thing. Seeing such a mundane and modern presentation just floored me for the moment, and halted me in my tracks, literally slack-jawed.

The artist is named Steve Fraser and he does amazing work that mixes the modern with the traditional and the transient with the truthful. A skull in bubble wrap. Goldfish crackers laid out in patterns. "See no evil/Hear no evil/Speak no evil" worked out with pears. Stuff that has both whimsy and deeper feelings beneath it. I can see why I've always disconnected with Still Life art in the past - those were historic records for me, while this was amazing and contemporary in a way that much modern art fails to be.

So I picked up a book at the Museum shop (The museum, as I noted, is free, but this is the third time I've been there that I've ended up picking up a book connected with the exhibit there, something I'm usually immune to). And the young woman behind the counter was former WotC and recognized me, and we chatted about the state of the company. I mentioned I was doing web design and she recommended a book on Information Architecture.

Then I hit Broadway, the spine that runs down the length of Cap Hill. Its a great people-watching neighborhood -a lot of young people, strangely colored hair, and locals with pets. Hit a couple bookstores (including Twice-Sold Tales, a used bookstore run by the widest cats in Christendom (and a few support-humans to run the register). Got a short story collection that included a nonfiction piece on the real-world events that inspired The African Queen and a book on the supposed Chinese discovery of America in 1421. Sat for an hour at a coffee house and watched humanity swirl by. I tried to locate another former WotCer who has been our administrative assistant, but her goth art shop had since been replaced by a bondage boutique. On the other hand, a new "Museum of the Strange" opened up near the north end of Broadway, which covered Fortean subjects (Bigfoots, UFOs - they were going have a Weird Science meeting this evening and create some ball lightning, but I had other plans).

And then on to a movie with Michael Moore. No, not the one everyone is talking about, but rather The Corporation, which was very good but very long (the seats at the Harvard Exit theater were not made for 2 1/2 hour marathons). Actually, the movie review should get its own entry, so I'll give it one next time, since I am still digesting it all.

And home. And while it was but a mere afternoon, I felt I got more accomplished for myself then I had in a very, very busy week.

More later,

Kinderhooks

It is a tribute to how popular blogs are that even dead American politicians from the mid-19th Century get into it.

Check it out here. Its sort of like "The Daily Show" but without the messy current events.

OK, More later,

My Michael Moore Story

At the outset, I must warn the reader that my Michael Moore story does not feature any appearance by Michael Moore, though I will note that fellow blogger Jason over at Subversive Puppet Show did work for the man. Nor does the story contain any review of Fahrenheit 9/11, though such reviews can be found at Scarlett's , and the Mystical Forest, among others.

Instead, the story is about how books get made. Its a good time to tell the story because of Mr. Moore's current amazing and well-deserved success, and because tomorrow Spider-Man opens and all the film critics who are jittery about an opinionated movie (and who have just calmed down over The Passion of the Christ) have something safer to talk about.

I have this friend in New York who is in the publishing industry, with an emphasis on industry. Long-time friends know who I'm talking about, and while he will never likely read this entry (he, like a good chunk of New York publishing, is suspicious about any medium that doesn't rely on carbon paper), I don't think he'll mind my comments. He is involved in books as a medium of trade as opposed to a medium of art, and he is fairly successful in his vocation. He's given a lot of friends of mine good breaks to go in new directions - one ended up doing a King Arthur trilogy that put him on the map in a new area, while another broke out into alternate world thrillers thanks to his guidance. He views books a product, and while that attitude often offends those who see books as art, he has managed to serve both the muses and Mammon more often than not. In a highly competitive market he is always looking for an edge for his product - the new hot trend, a reduced price tag, a character in public domain, whatever. Something to sell the book in. And he's very good at what he does.

And we talk (sorry, in New York terms, we TAWK) every week or so. And occaisionally he suggests an idea (sorry, IDEAR) he's working on. A book that he'd like to see done, one that would be interesting and, more importantly, one he thinks he could sell in at a major house. We kick it around for a while. Sometimes the idea better suited for someone else. Sometimes we disagree on execution. And sometimes its just something I'm not interested in.

Case in point. About six months back, when I was just settling in on the new job, he called with a brainstorm. No one, he noted, has done a book on Michael Moore, linking the man's personal history to his cinematic style and politics. Sure, Moore has written his own books, and there's been a small forest felled for commentary on him, but no real popular biographies. My friend felt he could sell in such a bio of Michael Moore with a major house. I mean, Moore's got a movie coming out soon, right? And if I was interested, I could go to the library, dig up the Moore entry in Modern Biographies and hammer together an outline. Examine his youth. His exposure to cinema. The effects of Canadian Bacon on his career as a documentarian. Nothing too deep, but rather an accessable, quickly researched, straightforward book.

I wasn't sure - I had not read any of Moore's books, nor seen his movies, nor even found myself comfortable with his interviewing style (Though I must admire his Columbo-like approach to the interview - the VIPs he interviews often have that smug sense that they can get the better of him. Of course, he usually has final edit). I like his determination, and, yes, I will admit that he's an angry fat white guy, so there's some identity issues going on here. But the fact of the matter is that I took two weeks and never got over to the public library to check out the Modern Biographies entries, and when I realized my heart wasn't in the project, so I called up my New York Friend and passed on the idea.

And of course the movie came out and rocked the country for a week (mind you, it was up against White Chicks, though the Drudge Report had early reports that the Wayans brothers were going to take the weekend (and how pitiful is THAT for trying to spin)). It set new records for a documentary. Huge turnout, even in So-Called Red America (SCRA?). Very positive feedback. Dale Everett is telling his pit crew to go see it. So it was a missed opportunity. A big missed opportunity.

And so it was, for me. But my friend doesn't give up on a good idea, and there WILL be a popular biography on Michael Moore in the near future, but a film historian who my friend knows will write it (which makes a lot more sense). The only thing is the book was planned for when they thought it would be released, in November, so now there's a bit of rush on the project.

And that's my Michael Moore story. I had to tell it now because Spider-Man opens tomorrow and the world will spin onto its next new hot thing. But I felt it needed to be told. Mr. Moore would have wanted it that way.

More later,

Sunshine and Exhaustion

You know how people complain about how they get depressed in the winter with the short days? I think I've got the opposite of that. Summers here have always been tough on me.

No, seriously, I've been exhausted for the past four days or so. After a long week I crashed hard on Friday and haven't quite gotten back on the beam yet. Part of it is that dawn breaks very, very early up here, and sunset comes very, very late. Its not quite Alaska, but as we round Solstice, we're looking at less that eight hours of darkness. And when we have clear weather (and its been perfect for the past week) it gets worse.

Its very pretty to sit on your back porch and watch the shafts of the westering sun between the trees at, oh, 9:30 at night. And its pleasant to have the sun's morning rays through you window when your house faces north. But the amount of sun makes me more than a little restless, and hence the exhaustion.

The work load has been pretty heavy of late, with a couple major projections rattling home to conclusion. And I have two new projects that I'm trying to get off the ground. And, oh yeah, I'm still playing City of Heroes. But doing everything is just leaving me a bit worn out.

How worn out? I spent the past hour watching election returns. From Canada. That's how worn out.

More later,

More Alliterate News

The Origins Awards for Gaming were given out last night in Columbus, and a few of my writing group walked away with some statuettes.

Steve Sullivan ("Sully") took the Fiction award for Podo and the Magic Shield, which was published on the WizKids Web Site. 'Grats as well to Wizkids Webmaster Kevin Goddard, who fought for fiction on the site.

Matt Forbeck's Redhurst Academy of Magic took both best RPG Supplement and Book Design awards. Both are deserving, the but the latter in particular - the layout and presentation of the book was unlike anything else that year.

And Indy HeroClix took Game of the Year. I had a small co-design on this one, but the lion's share of the work was from Jon Leitheusser of Nothing Good (and I'm not saying nice things about him because he still owes me a Galactus :) )

In non-Alliterate news, co-writer and co-designer Ed Greenwood was admitted into the Gaming Hall of Fame. That reduces by one my list of people I think still need to be recognized (How about some love for Mike Pondsmith, now?). Make that "reduces my list by two", since Larry Bond was also put in. I don't know Larry at all, except that he is the designer of Harpoon Naval Miniatures and was instrumental in Tom Clancy's Hunt for the Red October, but he's been nominated for years and its finally a good thing that he's been in.

Whew. We really need to get the Alliterates Web Site back up.

More later,

Someone Sent Us Up the F-Bomb

One of these things is not like the others:

In an interview in Rolling Stone Magazine
On the floor of the US Senate
In the reporting of The Washinton Post
In front of your mother at Thanksgiving dinner

More later,

Alliterate News: They Call Him MR. President

Fellow Alliterate Don Perrin has been elected President of GAMA - the Games Manufacturer's Association. Congratulations!

(Normally, this type of news would go onto the Alliterates Web Site, but its been balled-up for over a month now, so I'm starting to report Alliterateness here).

More later,

Meanwhile, in another reality . . . .

There's a cool little blog I must recommend you to, Today in Alternate History. It summarizes various important events that happened on this date in other universes, Things like:

in 1999 reclusive scientific genius Jeff Grubb gave his first and only public interview in 15 years, to the on-line scientific journal The Drudge Report. Grubb, the inventor of the Grubb biomass filter and co-developer of the Grubb-Dickos stardrive, credits his success to the positive economic and creative environment of the second Carter and truncated Mondale administrations. "With the strong push for creator rights and a healthy economy," said the iconoclast inventor, "It was only a matter of time before someone, if not myself, would come forward with these developments. Carter and the late Walter Mondale were responsible for unleashing me on the world, but I'm sure they did some good things as well during their terms of office.

Check it out

More later,

Play: Summer Trifle

The Play's The Thing By Ferenc Molnar, Adapted by P. G. Wodehouse, Directed by John Michael Higgins, INTIMAN Theatre though 11 July.

You get into habits - Kate and I do the Seattle Rep, so we are comfortable with Repetory plays, know the drill, know what to expect, and know the placing and where everything is. Now, about twenty feet from the Rep's theatres (The Bagley/Wright and the Leo K.) is the Intiman, which has a different, though equally solid reputation. The Intiman is smaller and more intimate, and tends to have plays that are a little more biting than those that fill the house for the Seattle Repetory. Homebody/Kabul and 21 Dog Years were Intiman plays, Over the Moon more Reppish. So this opulent Wodehouse adaptation of a Hungarian play was a bit of a surprise - more mainstream, but still a delight on a hot Saturday afternoon.

Even the set design, usually minimal in the Intiman plays, was ornate and deep. No framework doors and black abyssal backdrops here, but rather a rich suite at a Italian Castle, tastefully rendered. The small cast of seven dress to the nines, and evoke the Belle Epoch of the time before the world wars (will we view the 90s in similar fashion?). And as dressy as the stage and costume are, the plot is simple. The young lovers are split apart by the intentions of an aging Lothario and it is up to the optimistic half of a pair of playwrites to rescue the relationship (and in doing so the play they all are working on). The optimist comes up with a plan, executes it, and solves the problems. Very, very straightline.

And over this, the actors run riot in their parts. David Cromwell, as the optimistic playwrite Sandor Turai, delivers with David Nivenesque aplomb. Mark Capri as the aged Lothario is suprisingly delightful as the rogue made to pay a public price for his indiscretion. The young lovers, Quinlan Corbett and Heather Guiles, were solid in their parts, but upstaged by the fussy secretary (Larry Paulsen), the laconic butler (Clayton Corzatte) and the playwrite's pessimistic writing partner (Laurence Ballard). Ballard is a Seattle tradition in my playgoing career, having been in two productions a year for as long as I've been out here, and brings his usual zest and excitement to a role that encourages his strengths.

So it is a small play - a problem is discovered and solved, the Wodehousean requirement of making one of the players look very foolish in the process (in this case, Capri, who does a beautiful turn as an actor forced to recite horrible, tongue-mangling lines as pennance for his crime). My only gripe is one that I see in a lot of theater - the writer is a genius. Not the writer of the play, but the character of the writer in the play. Inevitably said writer comes up with the solution, manipulates the other characters, drives the plot, and wraps everything up. And of course, gets the last word. Mind you, I have no strong objection to writers being presented as brilliant, witty, perfectly mannered and sexy beyond belief, but I have encountered enough of them now that I can see them coming a mile off. I need a writerish villain, a literary thug, a dullard of letters, once or twice a decade to balance me out, but that may be nature of modern theater (I also marvel that there are no horror plays of recent vintage, but that's another rant).

In any event, The Play's The Thing a pleasant diversion, light as a buttermilk biscuit and as sunny as the area around the Seattle Center fountain (and is truth in advertising in its title). The dialog zings, the plot hums along, and the inside theater jokes appeal. Its a pleasant afternoon.

More later,

Media

If you've ever wondered about how easily-manipulated the media is, just ask yourself this question - how many articles about dodgeball have you seen in the past week?

Fire

I spent the past half-hour up on my roof.

As I drove up Benson towards home this afternoon, I saw a plume of black smoke rising from the direction of my neighborhood. I was too far to the north to be on my street, so I doglegged, and found a house burning on the next major street north of my house. I drove past it quickly (there was other traffic), but I got a quick look.

It was an abandoned dwelling, little more than a cottage, its windows planked over by plywood. The fire was in the back, which meant I could still see the front, framed against the darkness and the flames. A neighbor dodged across the street in front of my car. His wife was standing on the other side of the road, garden hose in one hand, cell phone in the other. I drove past, and noticed that the fire had already spread - a burning ash had set a secondary fire in the vacant lot next door.

I looped back around to my house, pulling over for the Kent fire vehicles barreling the other direction. I got out and smelled smoke - the smell of insulation and dead dreams. I walked around to the back, and pieces of ash the size of maple leaves drifted down into the backyard. I was downwind of the fire. I looked up at the roof, which has a low slope and is hard to see from the ground. I thought of the smoke rising from the vacant lot.

So I took the morning newspaper, as yet unread, and went up to the roof. I couldn't see the building - too many trees as well as a school and a new development between me and it, and as the sirens got louder the pillar of smoke went away. An emergency chopper, red and white, whirled overhead in long loops.

After about a half hour, I came back down. Checked on Emily (she has another virus, and is moving very slowly again - we have her on antibiotics). And wrote this.

So how was your day?

More later,

Blatant Plug

While I was in Rhode Island this past week, my latest short story was published on the web, as part of a pdf file (a first for me). The story is "Singer for the Dead" and it is set in Monte Cook's Diamond Throne setting. The collection, Children of the Rune, may be purchased and downloaded here. For those preferring dead tree technology for their books (which, admittedly, are durable, portable, and can be read with a flashlight), the print version will be available in August.

What makes this an interesting book for me is that almost all of the writers involved are friends, and we're all in the same general generation of authors. While I have always enjoyed by Dragonlance short stories, I have drifted to the "Elder God" end of the spectrum among other, rising young writers in Krynn, while in the Thieves' World short stories I've worked on, I have been one of the "new kids" (Both series were a lot of fun to work on - Margaret Weis and Lynn Abbey are wonderful editors, and both series are highly recommended). A lot of the group here I have had social dealings with along with working in the same shared world. We've gossipped at parties and hefted beers and traded information on our City of Heroes characters in addition to worked together.

For example, I got to read the stories by Stan! and Wolfgang Baur in early drafts, since they are fellow West Coast Alliterates, which meet every second Monday at an ever-changing location in Seattle. Thomas Reid, in addition to being my former cube-mate at WotC, is another Alliterate, dating back to my Wisconsin days. Will McDermott, Miranda Horner, Bruce Cordell, Keith Strohm are all former WotC alumni and co-workers. Ed Greenwood and I go back to half-past forever on the original Forgotten Realms and worked together most recently on Cormyr: A Novel. And I attended Sue and Monte's wedding years ago in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. I must confess I have no deeply personal gossip about Mike Mearls or Richard Lee Byers, but I did once score a six-pack from Lucien Soulban in exchange for introducing him to some of the editors at WotC.

The end result, for me, is a very comfortable collection of writers. These are all authors with experience in the care and feeding of shared worlds, turned loose on a new territory for the first collected fiction work in the Diamond Throne. The end results are really, really, good, and I recommend you check it out, either now in download or later when the paper version shows up.

End of Blatant Plug (now go buy the book!)

More later,

Shorter Bush Ad, ESPN Version

If you ignore the first three-quarters of the game, we don't suck too bad.

More later,

Scott and Chaz are Married

Yesterday, two friends and former co-workers were married in a beautiful ceremony at Lakewold Gardens, south of Tacoma. Rather than repeat information, Grubb Street wishes the happy couple the best, and refers the curious to The Divine Ms. J for a much more detailed report.

More later,

Template

Yep, its back.

After careful consideration and listening to those that wrote in, I'm going back to the old template (which I wisely saved). While I liked the mature feel of the parchment background, I was irritated that the Profile section had a large zit of a typo in it that could not be removed (I chatted with the creator of the template, and he said it was a result of how they made the profiles). But the piece that made my decision was the fact that a number of readers use this page as a home page for reading other blogs, and the new version lacked a links section and header. So I'm back to the old template, and will be dinking around with it in the next week, taking the stuff that I liked from the new template and incorporating it.

In other news, I have gotten over the mild headaches from City of Heroes (I've gotten brain calluses), and have been playing way too much of it as a result.

More later,

Correction

In an earlier entry on the recent passing of former President Reagan this journal noted: "He brought down the Berlin Wall". Actually the Berlin Wall was brought down in 1989, a year after Reagan's successor was elected. A month after that, President Bush and Mikhail Gorbachev signalled the end of the cold war, and the following year the Warsaw Pact was officially dissolved. Also sited as instrumental in the destruction of the Wall were Gorbachev himself (who in early May of that year signalled the end of the "Brezchnev Doctrine" that kept the Warsaw pact nations from democratizing), and "Baywatch" star David Hasslehoff, who sang "Looking for Freedom" at the Brandenburg gate before attacking the wall with a hammer.

The Mgt. regrets the error, and claims that it was caught up in the heat of the mourning.

More later,

The Boy In the Bubble

Grubb Street has been silent for the past few days, primarily because I have been out of town on business. Now, I have had (erratic) Internet access during this time, but I have had precious little to report or comment on other than work.

My trip has been to Rhode Island, to Hasbro, WotC’s corporate parent and our largest client. The nature of the trip involved an upcoming game product I was working on, and served primarily as a last-minute checkup on the project. Playtests were played, discussions were held, general decisions were reached and specific bugs were squashed. It was pretty successful, as business trips go.

The frustrating part, as far as I was concerned, was the meetings could be held in Nebraska or Ohio or the moon as easily as Rhode Island, for all the effect it had on me. There was no point where I stopped to think "Hey, I'm on the other side of the country". The life of the business traveler is that of moving through a bubble, passing through the surrounding world without really touching it.

Part of this is the fact that we have made it easier to travel. The pattern changes according to our state of national emergency, but in general, business travel has been smoothed out to am almost-frictionless plane. You give the employee a good hard push in Renton, Washington, and he slides out to Pawtucket though the gates of Boston and Providence with precious little impediment from the support mechanism. There is nothing to catch the hem of his garb as he moves between airport and rental car and hotel to remind him that he has moved thousands of miles from his starting point.

Similarly, the work load is such that there is precious little to see. This is my fourth trip to Providence, Lovecraft’s birthplace, but I have yet to see the city except for brief glimpses on US 95 heading north to Pawtucket. These were 11 and 12-hour days, well-spent, but leaving precious little time to encounter the world beyond the service workers and the hotel rooms. I made a major stride forward by finding the local restaurants within walking distance of the hotel, but it is hardly a victory to find the local mall.

So it was for the first three days of the trip. Thursday evening, after finally shaking loose (there was talk of wrapping by early afternoon, but actually I was one of the last to leave the building), I took the long trek up to Boston for a flight early Friday. My company had me booked into the Airport Hyatt, a deluxe building right on the harbor. The rental car place (slick, smooth, frictionless) was right up the road, so as opposed to shuttling I chose to walk along the harbor walkway back to the hotel.

It was a cool summer evening, the sun westering beyond the Boston skyline, its buildings unrecognized monuments to me. Water taxis danced over the harbor, and in the center a collection of sailboats circled like gulls. The evening light caught the glasswork of the monuments and splashed it out towards me. I ran into joggers, dogwalkers, and elderly couples. Not a businessman in sight. And even when I had gotten to the hotel, I ordered a nine-dollar margarita and sat on the back porch twenty feet from the water, watching the last of the sunset die and feeling the cool air descend. And for the first time in three days, I felt like I was in a place unlike any I had been in for months before, that I was on the other side of the country, and that I was really and truly traveling.

More later, after I take a long, long sleep.

Sound as a Dollar

Former President Reagan passed on this weekend after a long bout with Alzhiemers, and I wish his family and friends the best while realizing that we all must shake our fleshy shackles and pass on as does all flesh. To some degree I owe the course of my career to Mr. Reagan. Were it not for crummy economy of the first two years of his administration, and the gutting of environmental regulations, I might have remained an employed civil engineer specializing in air pollution equipment, and the world would be spared my literary work (but Reagan did some good things, too, so don't be too harsh on him for unleashing me on an unsuspecting world).

The media has been fun to watch all through this, trying to report relatively truthfully about Grenada and Iran-Contra without ticking off the hardcore believers who place RWWR next to FDR in the presidential pantheon. Indeed, there seems to be that sort of over-sensitivity normally ascribed to liberals in the right's protection of the man and his legacy - just waiting for someone to step out of line. The Murdoch press is even going so far to cast aspersions on the Kerry Camp for their blatantly political decision to cede the field for the week and not campaign. So from media there has been a head-nod to truth and pleasant rounding-up of the facts, which I think all of us hope to enjoy once we've passed on. The Berlin Wall fell on his watch, people, give him a break!

And there's a sharp intake of breath that, now that he has left the mortal coil, there will be the onslaught of memorial suggestions for the Gipper. While living, Reagan saw Washington's National Airport named after him - a irony, given that he replaced striking air traffic controllers and Reagan National has one of the nastiest flight approaches in the nation. There are folk who talk seriously about renovating Mt Rushmore for one more face. And there are those driving for putting him on money.

And the last one I whole-heartedly endorse. I can't find a lot of source about who makes the decision of who goes on our coins and currency, but the end results have not been promising.

In coins, there is no argument about Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln, the most-popular and lowest-denominations. The FDR dime has been a bit weird (I like the Mercury myself), but Roosevelt was just as charismatic and just as polarizing as Reagan (back in my father's day, Republicans and Democrats celebrated Thanksgiving on different dates, so deep was the national division). The Kennedy half-dollar was a bit overlarge, but spawned in good intentions out a national mourning. The Eisenhower dollar was a manhole cover of a coin, the Suzy B was mistaken for a quarter, and the Saquajawea was pretty and golden, but tarnished quickly. A Reagan dollar coin would be a good thing, and if anyone can make the dollar coin work, it would be Ron Reagan.

In the paper money, again, Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln have places held for them. Hamilton was not a president, but he was the first treasury secretary, and the only one most folk will remember, and has the support of most surviving Federalists. Grant was another Republican with a scandal-ridden administration, so we can't say that either fact keeps you out of the running. And Franklin on the hundred - yeah, I'm good with that. Even though he's not a dead president.

[Everything over a 100 is not really in circulation, though they supposedly exist. Larger denominations were moved out of circulation during WWII to keep counterfeiting at bay, and the practice continues to reduce use of untraceable large denomination bills. Besides, we have a lot of (sorry guys) second-tier stars and trivia-question answers at the upper levels, which makes me wonder how they got there - McKinley, Cleveland, Madison (OK, so he's due), Salmon P Chase (no, I'm not making that up) and briefly, Woodrow Wilson. I think we can safely say Reagan rises above this group.]

My personal candidate for a Reagan bill would be the twenty, currently occupied by Andrew Jackson. One of our more "colorful" presidents, he is most famous for the "Trail of Tears" which led to Oklahoma. After that, you're into his destruction of the Bank of the United States for memorable events, and then on to folksy anecdote. And admit it, who would be better for folksy anecdotes than the Gipper?

One killer argument is that twenties are already called "Yuppie Food Stamps", since they are the most common bill in the upper-class wallet (and will usually cover a meal for two). The Yuppies were also a spawn of eighties, and connect strongly with the former president's era. Its a match made in heaven.

So I'm going to put my recommendation forward - put the Gipper on Twenty. He'd be an improvement, and it wouldn't be on some bill that we wouldn't use. Let's give the man a real memorial!

More later,

Nightmare

Weird, because I had such a PLEASANT Friday.

I've set up for a trip to RI to meet with the big client. I found out that the control of another project is passing into the hands of people I think can do it real well. I spent two and half hours in the dark yesterday afternoon watching the new Harry Potter movie (quick review - sweet and spooky and wonderful - if you are aware of how story unspools, it is a nice, coherent bunch of plots). And Poker Night at Phil's, and though the pots were running pricier than I am used to, I ended up in a long and polite discussion on religion and rationalism with a magician named Master Payne.

And then a harrowing nightmare that evening. No idea where it came from, or what repressed oogie-boogies of the subconscious are at work.

In the dream we were at a mall, shooting off guns - I'm not a gun-fancier, but the pieces were heavy and comfortable in my hands. Also present were some friends, as well as Indiana Jones, GIJoes, and Marvel Super Heroes in their civilian identities (a collection of boy-toys, I got that part). In the middle of the shooting a group of them drifted off while I was putting holes in golden coins held up at arm's length by Indy. I go looking for the rest, and they are in one of the stores, looking somber. I taunt them for not being happy and shooting things, and one points to the painted sign that had just been hung up. New Orleans had been hit by atomic device.

And I wake up sweating and breathing hard. Got the licensing tie-in angle, but why New Orleans? Its one of the few cities in the country that I've never been to, and I don't think I have any friends there right now? The idea of the frippery of what I do for a living in the face of darker matters is not lost on me, but that's hardly my subconcious at work. Is there something else working here? Maybe.

More later,

The Shorter Campaigns So Far

Bush: Still Not My Fault!
Kerry: Still Not Bush!

(Actually, the ad-wars seem to have shifted away from here for a while as Washington has gone from a swing state to +8% for the challenger).

More later

City of Headaches

Before I begin, I want everyone to know that this past weekend I hit the art museum and library (as previously noted), played Dos Rios, a European board game, and met with my semi-regular Call of Cthulhu group for a game that ran past midnight, visited the Mima Mounds with Shelly and the Monkey King (yes, I'll fix the Links sometime in the next week) cooked some, and mowed the lawn (long overdue) The only thing from the previous weekend I had thought of doing and did not do was make it out to Folklife at the Seattle Center, so I missed the monorail fire. And on top of that I've put in two long days at work dealing with minor crisis and just got back from Tai Chi.

I say all this because I want everyone to know that I have a real life when I say this: I also started playing City of Heroes seriously. Maybe a little too seriously.

Those who have followed the story so far know that I missed on a job opportunity because of lack of direct experience with MMORPGs (Massively- Multiplayer- Online - Role- Playing- Games, a phrase just made for Zippy the Pinhead to wander around saying). For that reason (among others), I got Groucho the wheezy laptop PC, with state of the art graphics card. This was followed by a two-month period where Groucho was in the shop because the screen died immediately. But I got it back, and picked up City of Heroes as my first big experiment in MMORPGS.

And then spent a week trying to update all the internal software so I could run the danged thing. There was a brief period where a friend-of-a-friend suggested a hack to make my laptop think it was a desktop, but that resulted only in the old graphics driver being balled up and shrinking my screen to half its side. Bringing in another friend (who does IT and plays in Kate's Star Wars campaign (Thanks Chuck!)), I found out that I could get it working.

Now, City of Heroes is a super-hero RPG - you are a hero in the overly-metagened metropolis of Paragon City. Your job is defeat the forces of evil, ranging from gangbangers like Hellions and Blood Brothers up to the minions of mechanical Clockwork King and the nasty Nazi 5th Column and beyond. You do this by finding them on the street (usually robbing little old ladies) and by taking missions that involve indoor encounters. The outside world has a huge horde of other heroes, but the indoor missions are for you (and any members of your superteam you bring along).

So I've been playing for little more than a week. I have a 6th level Tank named Celtron 2000, a 5th level Blaster named Pyrotic, and a 1st level Scrapper named The Crimson Moonbat. I've never done MMORPGs before for any length of time, so I've been growing used to the interface - I've gotten the movement and most of the attacks down, though I use the keyboard for determining what superattacks I use instead of mouse-clicks (it works faster for me). I've mastered the art of jumping, discovered that you can take fire escapes up to the top of local buildings to get a great view and find bigger bad guys, and know that while the Clockwork attack in mass, the 5th Column are poor losers, and will dispatch a hit team if you foil their plans. I've made a few mistakes (and spent an amount of time in the local hospitals) but the learning curve has been enough to keep me engaged.

Maybe a little too engaged. I've been having "architecture dreams" about Paragon City (those dreams where you know the layout of your dreamscape almost exactly). And I work up this morning with a dull, localized headache right between my eyes, a bit of disorientation at the edge of my periferal vision, and sluggish feeling. Its either the flu or perhaps a bit too too much City of Heroes. I'm betting on the latter.

This shouldn't suprise me too much. When the early first-person shooters came out, I made myself motion sick pacing the activity of Doom and Quake. So now need I break from City for a day or three. Now, I am very impressed both by the game's eye-candy (your hero is almost custom-built - I have seen very few other strongman midgets in yellow and brown with celtic designs) and the gameplay. The game designer in me has made more than a few guesses about how the game plays out based on how I would pull it off, and I've been right about half the time (One place I was wrong - I never thought of running around on telephone lines, which you can do in the game).

Its very enjoyable, and despite my activity in the real world, is a major time-suck. Now I have to back away from it and see if the ache in my brows ebbs. So I have to activate my Rest power and regain my Health and Enduance, but not too close to where the Clockwork spawn. . .

More la - I'm sorry, I should say -"CRIMMMMMSONNNNN MOOOOOOOOONBAAAAAAT!"

Notes from the War

In updating my personal emails, I got two bits of war news:

First, my friend's daughter Allison is still in Qatar, and has been joined by more of her unit. According to her father, Qatar is the "New Caledonia" of the Gulf Theater (people who remember "McHale's Navy" will understand that comment).

Second, another friend and former D&D player from college, now a doctor and Lt. Colonel in the Air Force, has been chosen to be a Flight Surgeon at Johnson Space Center. This means he's going to be connected with NASA, working with the astronauts, riding the Vomit Comet and other cool stuff. That's the good news. The bad news is that before he gets to Houston he gets a three-month tour in Bagdhad, starting this week or so. Our thoughts are with him and his family.

More later,

I Get Mail

One of the experiments of this new web page layout is a mailing address for Grubb Street (presented here and in the "About Me" section above). So far I have been resistant to the idea of comments sections and other feedback, since I'm comfortable with one-way communications (alternate views are cheerfully recognized and encouraged to get their own blog). Those who know me and have a definite opinion can always get to me on my personal email. But I'm willing to experiment, and as a result created the grubbstreet@comcast.net address as part of the new layout. To be honest, I didn't expect much - maybe a comment or two on the new template, but nothing major.

Imagine my surprise when the first email I received was from Pat Sullivan, candidate for Position 2 State Representative from 47th District, running against incumbant Jack Cairnes. I had mentioned Pat in my write-up on 2 May regarding the caucuses - I referred to him at the time as seeming "very, very young". And for those keeping score, I had an earlier entry about Jack Cairnes and his strangely themed mailing back on 23 March.

Anyway, Pat Sullivan contacted me and pointed out that he is not as quite as young as he appears - he is 41 (which still makes him a spring chicken compared to my venerable age of 46), and has three daughters (which more than makes up the difference in our ages and puts him ahead). He has been a senior legislative assistant in the State House and Senate for 15 years, and served on Covington City Council for 7 years (and was Mayor of Covington for five of those years). And right now he's a legislative assistant for King County Councilbeing Dow Constantine. Not a bad record for such a youthful-looking politician - he has a great deal of experience both locally and in Olympia.

But don't take my word for it - his website is here. Go take a look. Check out his record, his stands on issues, and, of course, youthful good looks. Do this particularly if you're in the Fighting 47th District, since this will be more important as we move towards November.

And for the rest of you lot, the least you can do is drop a line about the new format. Does this scan better on your machines, or worse? More or less readable? Does the picture make me look fat(ter)? The jury is still out for me, so I'll solicit opinions (Yes, regardless of the choice, I'll keep the email address on the page).

More later,

Day Off

So I had clocked in 40 hours already this week and swore that I would take Friday off for a long-deserved long weekend. Kate and I are supporters of the SAM (Seattle Art Museum) and they are about to launch their big summer show tomorrow - Van Gogh to Mondrian - Modern Art from the Kroller-Muller Museum and we got a member-advanced look.

Kate and I are spoiled with art museums, in part because of our proximity to the Art Institute of Chicago for many, many years. SAM is much smaller, tucked into the top three floors of a narrow endcap of a city block (its slender frame is more pronounced since they have leveled the buildings uphill of it for a new skyscraper). Yet despite its size, I am always exhausted after a museum walk in the SAM - the exhibits are well-thought-out and challenging, the presentation is solid, and it hosts a mix of cultural styles and historical periods as well as modern art and installations. (OK, they go overboard on their text descriptions - let me tell you about their "Monumental Dynamic Peaches" some time, but its a good museum).

Anyway, Kroller-Muller (yeah, there are umlats in the name which I am doing without) was the daughter of an industrialist that started collecting art, in particularly current art in the early 20th Cent. She felt that the new styles of art allowed presentation of the unseen - motions, emotion, and symbolism, and ranged from the impressionists forward to the postmodernists, with stops at pontilism, cubism, neoplasticism and several other -isms as well.

The press pushes this as the Van Gogh show, and that's the center and heart of it, though it has a lot more. I was struck most by Van Gogh's sketch-work, which was detailed and very, very different from his painting style. You can see the animation of his painted works in his linework, but I was amazed by the underpinning his pen-and-ink work provided for his paintings.

And painting themselves were rich and wonderful. Van Gogh is one of the artists that does not transfer well to the printed page. There is a topographic nature to his work, the thick layering of bright pigments to produce a solid coherency. His works feel like they are in motion, and they are full of life. Even his still lifes and landscapes, absent of human forms, have a lived-in look that makes them look populated.

(I mention this because the exhibit kicks off with a group of pointilists, whose dot-based form to create color and shape produces wonderful work (all presented here seemed to be influenced by Seurat and A Sunday on the Grand Jette), yet they all seemed unihabited - even those pieces with human figures have them turned-away or indifferent, and the pictures themselves empty as a result.

There is a section on architecture and furnishings which appealed to the engineer in me (though I noted many patrons, after getting their Van Gogh jones, moving to the exits) and the exhibit finishes with the shapes and colors of Mondrian and his brethren, where modern art unmoors entirely from representation and drifts off into the darkest wilderness, into lands where you need both a translator and native guide to follow. All in all, its a very good exhibition.

Also there for the next two weeks is Only Skin Deep, an exhibit on photgraphy and race. Taking up one-half of a floor, this is photographs, videos, and other media showing presentation how racial groups look at each other. This exhibit I found both intriguing and troubling, as it underscored for me how easy it is to cull out one group from the herd of humanity for persecution, and how easily the medium bends to accommodate. It left me disturbed, but I recommend it - If you're a local and you haven't done the SAM, this is a good time to do it.

After a late, late lunch (Ivar's), we hiked up the hill to the new Library. The Monkey King liked it but refered to it as "The IKEA Library". I was interested in seeing it, and Kate was tolerant but dubious. Oddly enough, afterwards Kate was excited by the building and I was less impressed.

In general shape, the building looks like the conning tower of Imperial Star Destroyer. Indeed, stepping off the elevator into the 5th floor "Mixing Room"/Catalog Hub, you step out onto a catwalk overlooking two floor below you. At that point I leaned on the railing and said "Fear will keep the local systems in line. Fear of this library installation". Kate giggled.

What won Kate over was the spiral, the fact that the floors of the stacks continued to coil upward, forming effectively one large multileveled room four stories high. I found the uneven floors unsettling, and brilliant colors (lime-yellow escalators, brilliant red stairways) off-putting. I probably will warm to it as I figure out how it works as a system (we both got library cards, since we're not officially part of Renton (which is not part of the Seattle Library system)). They are still figuring out some of the systems and how things really work (We had a long talk with an excited and exhausted librarian about some of the teething problems).

Then home for a nap (I told you the museum always is a big energy drain, and we topped it off with an uphill hike) and another episode of Firefly. And there was an interesting message to the site. But more about that next time.

The Bad Burrito

Well, this is irritating.

Things have been going very well for the past two days. Then I do lunch at this Mexican place at a friend's recommendation. Sometimes I do Mexican and there's no prob. Sometimes I do Mexican and live to regret it.

This is one of those latter times. The culprit was a "wet" seafood burrito, meaning it had a red sauce draped over it. Given the sauce and the fact that it was the "special" may have indicated that the seafood in question was insufficiently refrigged before being introducted to the fire.

Suffice to say that I'm not at all well at the moment, such that I missed my Tai Chi class tonight. I'm not really happy with that, but its better than trying to meditate while you are sweating heavily and belching up Bad Burrito.

In other news, Haetmunkey (yeah, I'll get the links back up) sends word that the Unitarians are now legit again in Texas:

Denison church's tax-exempt status granted

By Jay Root
Star-Telegram Austin Bureau

AUSTIN _ Reversing an earlier decision, state Comptroller Carole Keeton Strayhorn announced Monday that a Unitarian church in Denison would get its tax-exempt status after all.

The decision came after the Star-Telegram reported on May 18 that the comptroller's office had ruled the Red River Unitarian Universalist Church was not a religious organization for tax purposes.

The status was denied, the state said, because the church "does not have one system of belief."

Stunned church officials said it was the first time in U.S. history that any state had denied tax exempt status to the Unitarians because of their religious philosophy. Father-and-son presidents John Adams and John Quincy Adams are among past adherents of the Unitarian church.

Jesse Ancira, the comptroller's general counsel, sent a letter Monday to Dan Althoff, board president of the Denison church, informing him of the change.

"Comptroller Strayhorn asked that I review the file on your congregation's application for tax exemption," Ancira wrote. "After reviewing the submitted application ... it is my opinion that the Red River Unitarian Universalist Church is an organization created for religious purposes and should be granted the requested tax exemption."

Althoff and other members of the church could not be reached for comment Monday afternoon.

Strayhorn spokesman Mark Sanders said Strayhorn directed her staff to review the decision after questions were raised about it.

"She asked her general counsel to look into the matter and he overruled earlier staff decisions," Sanders said.

"Strayhorn directed her staff to review the decision" after people starting pointing at her office and mocking it. I love how bureaucracy works. (Yeah, that's snarky. Blame the Burrito)

And finally in a less-snarky mode, I want to note that this template is by Todd Dominey. Credit where credit is due.

More later (Brraaaak) (Excuse me).

Work In Progress

As you can tell, I'm dinking around with the format. Blogspot did a major overhaul, and I felt its time to add a few more toys to the mix. Missing features should be restored in the near future.

More later,

Pipeline, Part 2

The media catches up to the journals - The Olympic Pipeline is currently shut down because of a fire Sunday Morning (which does not explain the Mystery Noise nor the late-night helicopter, but those may belong to a different set of disasters). There was a leak in a sampler line that ignited, starting a three-alarm fire. As of today, the perimeter is still draped with police tape and guys in orange jackets are walking around over where the line runs.

The result is an example of Grubb's Law of Economics - Whatever happens, its bad for YOU. As a result of the accident, gas prices will probably spike (and they were just starting to begin to level onto a less-steep climb). So things are going to be messier for the next couple days.

Interestingly, most of the folk I work with were unaware of the news (it got less attention than, say, a major politician falling off a bike) even though they're working about a quarter-mile north where the fire was. I don't think most of them realize that the big hub for the Olympic is nearby.

More later,

Firefly

A pleasant day, though not all that I anticipated. Salty's had good food and a horribly bungled front desk (the presence of a high chair at our table indicated they were not entirely on the ball). We ditched the library tour after I mentioned they were expecting 30K people (which, if it were true, meant they would outdraw the Mariners). Instead Wolf and Shelly (Monkey King and Mrs. Monkey King in the links), Kate and I spent the afternoon just jawing on a variety of subjects.

Now, its interesting, in that three of the four have livejournal/blogs, and Kate professes no interest in journals at all, claiming to have a real life. And you'd think with all the stuff we shoot back and forth over the net, we'd be pretty talked out. But the journal entries (the secret Japanese garden, Penn & Teller in Vegas, pipeline fires) seem to just provide touchstones for further conversation. Not to mention the fact that there is stuff that you'll say when you know the audience as opposed to what you're saying in a public blog.

Wolf and Shell loaned us the Firefly DVDs, and when the Lovely Bride and I got home, we watched the opener (which set everything up, but which the network in its wisdom decided to broadcast out of order). Strong performances, and a very nuanced universe. Now when I watched a few episodes broadcast-live, I was less than impressed (I was told by the deep geeks that I had caught "a bad episode" whenever I stated this). I think part of that was that I never tweaked to the fact that it was "Space Western" until I watched it (the network promotion was a bit lacking on this part). In any event, the official opener was very, very good, and I can see how it had every right to succeed and no surprise that it didn't, TV being what it is. Kate and I swore "The Couple's Video Code" - we would only watch the rest of them together.

And Kate notes that the Serenity's crew reminds her of her Star Wars campaign. This makes me more nervous than I thought it would.

More later,

Pipeline

So Kate and I are planning on joining ShellyinSeattle and the Monkey King for brunch at Salty's (Where the Monkey King has won Brunch for Life - yes, its one of those disgusting stories about good fortune of friends). And I was planning on going into the office briefly in the morning to get some files to work on this evening at home.

Then I hit the police blockade on Lind Avenue.

Lind Ave (where the company is located) was shut down by a squad car with its bubble-gum lights flashing. I jog one street to the north, and find another squad car - Renton Police. The officer there informs me that there has been a pipeline fire and that the road is shut down all the way to Grady, which translates into - no one is getting to my office, which is in the middle of the sealed-off area. There was no plume of smoke or other evidence of a big fire - just the cop cars and in the distance, fire engine lights.

Let me explain - about two complexes south of the WotC/Hasbro offices is the distribution hub for the Olympic Pipeline. Here's where the oil and other flammible materials come down from refineries in Annacortes to the north. Its company has been having trouble since the pipeline breach and explosion that killed several people a few years back, but its main effect on the local area has been the oversized double-length tanker trucks that are normally found on Lind. That and there is a fire station practically across the street from the distribution hub.

The news has been silent on this one - Northwest Cable News, the local 24/7, is dedicating all its resources to the opening of the Seattle Public Library downtown, and the nets have been horribly quiet as well. My question is - when did this fire start? Was it just this morning, or perhaps it was tied into the mystery noise from yesterday morning? Or about midnight last night, wheN I was kept awake laying in bed, listening to a single helicopter swoop and return, swoop and return, like a mosquito?

More later, if I get any information on this,

Python Attack

A little ditty by Eric Idle (mp3 file). Have headphones available or keep it away from small children or large overseers.

The FCC Song:

(I must be getting old - I didn't think of rhyming "Bush" with "Tush".)

More later,

Mystery Noise

Married readers of this blog with sympathize. Unmarried readers will be amused.

Its been a long week, and it looks like it will be another long week next week, and I was really looking forward to sleeping in this morning. Normally my schedule puts me up and out the door while my Lovely Bride is still slugabed, but this particular Saturday she had to go to teach a tax class and I looked forward to sleeping until . . . oh, 10 or so.

But at 8ish my Lovely Bride heard a noise. According to her, it was a booming noise, and it shook the house, while she was in the other room. Neither I nor Emily the Cat could vouch for this noise, since we were both sleeping (soundly, I might add) at the time.

So my Lovely Bride comes back into the bedroom. The conversation went like this:

Lovely Bride: Did you hear that?

Me:

Lovely Bride: That noise. It shook the house.

Me:

Lovely Bride: I think a branch fell on the roof.

Me: Murrggle Lurrgle?

My Lovely Bride made repeated use of the words "noise", "shook", and "roof" until the system back-ups in my brain flickered to life and I hauled my previously-inert mass out of the waterbed.

So, despite my plans and deep, almost-comatose sleep, I was up and dressed and, half-awake, up on the roof in the drizzling rain looking for this massive branch that had to have fallen on the house in a location that I couldn't see from the ground when I circled the building, checking the roof and the foundation. Nothing but moss on some of the shingles (have to take care of that). Even checked the backyard in case another one of the great old trees had toppled. Nada.

So I got up too early for a mystery noise, and of course, cannot get back to sleep. Because Emily the Cat is hogging the bed now.

Murggle Lurrgle,

Friday Five, RIP

So the Friday Five is no more. But the Internet never let's anything truly die (Remember the Sloganator? Its got its own Yahoo! Group now), so now with have The Flyday Fyve on the LJ. They seem to be a bit tougher than "decribe your refrigerator". Here's the first one for me:

Name your top five cartoon characters, tell us what show they're from and why you picked them:

1. Wile E. Coyote - For providing the basic plot arc for Lord Toede. (I know, now I'm going to here from the Acme Lawyers).

2. Jonny Quest - I want that kid's life, right down to the Redball Flyers!

3. Norville Rogers - Better known as Shaggy from "Scooby Doo". The Shaggy diet plan - eat all you want, then burn off the calories running from monsters. Hey, you noticed he was a Jedi in the Cartoon Network's Star Wars cartoons?

4. Homer Simpson - I really wanted to vote for Lisa, the redemptive one, but Homer is closer to my natural shape. Sorry, Lisa.

5. Harley Quinn - Originally put into the Batman Animated series to make the Joker look a bit more manly (they did the same thing with Aunt Harriet in the old Batman TV shows), she remains the hottest animated babe since Tex Avery and Jessica Rabbit. Cute, chipper, and totally insane. Of course I find her appealing.

More later,

Just call me Chaotic Good and Be Done with it

Here's a more refined political chart, which asks more questions and then posits you not only on the Right to Left axis, but on the Authoritarian to Libertarian Axis as well. Again, to no surprise I fall into both the Liberal and Libertarian departments, with a score of -4.18 and -4.91. That puts me near Gandhi and the Dali Lama and . . . Dennis Kucinich (two outa three ain't bad. Its a better quiz in that there were more than a few questions that I was neutral about, but "no opinion" was not an option.

The Democrat Presumptive Candidate came in almost at the balance point, while the Republican Candidate was almost off the chart to the Right. Only one thing to do - Move the center of the axis up and to the right! That makes EVERYONE else Liberal and Libertarian.

More later

Not Too Much of A Surprise

Another quiz - I'm just worn out - battling demons and yuan ti just takes it out of you.

(Deleted because the formatting was messing up my format - Suffice to say, it reports me as a Liberal, and very nice one, thank you)


More later,

Bits, Pieces . . .

And other updates.

Those of you who want to read a college comencement address (and who doesn't) will find it here. Oh, yeah, its the William and Mary address by Jon Stewart I mentioned earlier.

A new bit of LJ foolery also works here on blogspot, where you can find out your color based upon your user name. Mine is grubbstreet. Yeah, its blue. Gotta prob with that?

A while back I went down a list of excluding various recognized religions and peoples as far as marriage was concerned. Good fun, right? But no, leave it to TEXAS to take me seriously. A State Comptroler is trying to remove tax-exempt status from the Unitarian Universalists (I know, it sounds like a contradiction), because to be a religion, you have to, you know, believe in something. Actually, the statement is you have to have a creed, which oddly enough, means that Baptists are out as well, which outa will play REAL down there. But seriously, Kate and I were married in a Unitarian Universalist Church - I am a Wandering Presbyterian and Kate is Up-From-Catholic (You know - get your rosaries off my ovaries?). So suddenly I may be in the same ball of wax as many other people whose marriage is not recognized in all state of the unions. To which I say "Austin, here I come!"

[Kate has just informed me that we also have a marriage license in addition to a church's blessing. Darn that intermingling of Church and State!]

New Texas Motto - "Making those swells in Arkansas look all hoity-toity".

And finally, lemme check the Drudge Report - nope, nope, they're still fascinated by Kerry's Daughter's Breasts. He must be desperate for those hits nowadays. Maybe we could set up a warning system - "Today's forcast - Breasts, followed by more breasts, with Michael Moore breaking out towards dawn.

More later

Finally! A Shorter John Kerry ad!

You know that guy from the other commercials? I don't know that guy. Neither does my wife.

More later,

On The Road Again: Giving Me Gas

I feel a rant coming on. Yep, it's definitely a rant.

So as the average price of gas in the country crests 2 bucks a gallon (and its about two bits higher here in the Puget Sound area), more people have been asking me about my hybrid Honda Insight. In particular, its gas mileage.

For the record, it gets between 45 and 50 MPG driving around the city, better on long trips. Though I'm not really taking a lot of long trips at the moment. While it burns less gas (and powers down at stop lights, which is disconcerting to first-time riders), it still uses gas, so I'm still at the pumps - though not as often as my friends with the big SUVs. I'm not one to taunt them - They can still crush my car like a bug, though they'll spend half the tank getting into position to do it.

What has impressed me to date is the big shrug that this latest price surge has gotten - its like everyone has said - "Yeah, gas prices have been too low. Poor oil companies. We should be more like France or Germany. I don't mind spending a bit more. And its only going to get worse, yaknow." I mean, the orbital mind-control lasers must be burning out fuses at this point.

Of course, the current administration (Motto - "New Questions, Same Damn Answers") has both been buying up a lot of oil (at these inflated prices, so I guess they're HOPING it will get worse - otherwise they've been spending your cash on very expensive oil) and pushing the idea of increased drilling in Alaska again.

You folk do realize that if the abundance of Alaskan Oil had ANY effect on our gas prices, then we'd have the cheapest gas in the country in the Pacific NW, this close to Alaska? Instead we're about 25 cents higher than the average (and don't even ask about our neighbors to the south). Most of the Alaskan crude is heading to Japan and our new best-buddy China (which is good for the balance of trade but not for you filling up your tank). Actually, one of the locals out here has been tracking the fact that the number of refineries on the West Coast have decreased in the past two decades, despite increased drilling up north. And its refinery limitations that kicked off the first of this steady rise, as a lot of local plants reduced productivity for "regular maintenance" while two more refineries suffered messy explosions (Let's assume that those were ones that did NOT have "regular maintenance"), and there was a big pipeline spill north of SF a few weeks back. Let's say the system is pretty stressed at this point.

There is one group that should be happy with the current turn of events - those with "No Blood for Oil" bumper stickers. Good news, guys - We spilled the blood, and we stilldon't get the oil. Woo Hoo! That shows us! And if you think pipeline safety is sucky in this country, its worse in places where people are actively trying to blow it up.

Of course our foreign policy hasn't helped us much. We should be able to lean on our buds in Saudi Arabia for a hand (that sharp-talking smoothie we had in charge four years back managed it, and the current guy has family business deals with the Royal Family, so he should be even better), but the Sauds are a little busy with their own unrest and may not be able to help. In our own hemisphere, we have Venezuela, where we tried to kick out the current government. Oh yeah, they're going to help out. We'd better hope there is oil under Haiti, or we're going to have to start being nice to the Russians. What we may see is "Wal-Mart Roll-back" where the prices go up so they can then come down just a notch for a "special sale" in late October. Thanks guys.

But the good news is that gas will stay cheaper than milk per gallon. That's mainly because the Department of Agriculture has allowed the prices to float upwards to about 50 cents more than last year. Most of the increase will go to the middle men as opposed to local farmers, which sort of is fitting in our Through The Looking Glass kind of policy.

Me? I use the Hybrid for long trips (more than 15 miles) and don't tick off people with SUVs too much - they tend to get surley these days. And I await the day of the vehicle that Ed Begley Jr drives in The Simpsons - powered by my own smug sense of self-satisfaction.

More later,

Review: Jon Stewart, Naked

Naked Pictures of Famous People by Jon Stewart, Rob Wiesbach Books, 1998

This particular book (not the book in general, speaking of all books of this type, but this single physical volume) has already had a life before it came into my hands. My friend Brian found this in a used bookstore in New York City, pulled it from the shelf, and saw that it was autographed "To my best friend Jeff - Jon Stewart". Brian thought "I have a friend named Jeff", and so he bought it and sent it me. Brian's like that.

So I have a book autographed by Jon Stewart to me, declaring not only his friendship but his "BEST" friendship. Though we've never met. And maybe Jon Stewart will come across this modest weblog (you know, he's ego-searching his name - Find all "Jon Stewart" minus all references to "Green Lantern"). And maybe he'll feel irritated with his so-called "Best Friend" Jeff, and decides to drop him like a bad habit and that his NEW "Best Friend" Jeff is the holder of the book. That would be me. So I'm hanging onto it, just in case.*

OK, the book itself is a series of ficticious and outrageous humorous essays about famous people, written in the pre-Daily Show era when Stewart still had his talk show. Ficticious. Humorous. Outrageous. Hitler on the Larry King Show. Van Gogh on an AOL chat room, Lenny Bruce getting a sitcom on CBS. The waiter at the Last Supper. Part of the humor is the offbeat setups. Part of it is also in a paen (as opposed to "direct rip-off") of Woody Allen's brilliant essays in "Without Feathers", both with its Judaic references and entries from the Department of Funny New York Words ("Rent Control", "canasta", "nosh", "Schmucks"). And part of it is sort of the rude nonsequiter East Coast college comedy magazine humor ("Knock Knock" "Who's There?" "Joke's Over Now! Bite Me! Hahahahah!") I should note that Jon Stewart graduated from William & Mary, and recently delivered an excellent commencement address there ("About the world. Well, we broke it.")

Essay after essay of famous people doing horrible things or horrible people thrust into mundance positions is a bit wearing, such that writings that break the pattern are amusing in themselves (A former geek who goes back to his High School reunion seeking revenge, to discover that the majority of the people there are ALSO seeking revenge is paticularly amusing). But it also underscores an important point that has since become a part of The Daily Show humor - that the tools in the modern world we utilize for communications (Talk shows, the Internet, People magazines) are pretty damned crappy when describing the modern world that we are part of. The Modern Media is a box full of hammers, and we're holding a handful of screws. No wonder things are so badly screwed up, and we have so many ragged holes in the walls.

Anyway, if you happen to be in a used bookstore and comes across this book, and it turns out to be autographed "To my very best friend" and your name is listed, pick it up. Maybe Jon will call.

More later,

* I recognize another option here - that the autograph ITSELF is fraudulent, written by someone to give to the "Best Friend" Jeff, who might be a big Jon Stewart fan (but not so big that he didn't sell the book later, maybe to buy time on a MMORG or something). But I find that option to mere fantasy, whereas Jon Stewart will read me this and fly me out to The Daily Show. Or maybe just to have a nosh.

Hot Flashes

OK, its finally happened - Drudge Report went NWSF (That's Non-Work-SaFe for the acronymnally-challenged). I can no longer trust to fire it up at work without hearing the crackling sound of raised eyebrows behind me.

Strange enough was the parade of latest photos from Iraq that looked like Maplethorpe tripped out on corn squeezin's, but now he picks up Candidate Kerry's daughter at Cannes in a dress that screams "Wardrobe Malfunction". As the AP report (no, go look it up on your own) notes, there are certain fabrics that tend to become translucent under sudden, intense light. You know, like camera flashes. Now, what would possess anyone to MAKE A DRESS out of this material boggles me. OK. Hugh Hefner would. And Bob Gucionne. And maybe Larry Flynt, but only if there was an implicit promise of "going commando" attached.

And, I'll admit, the question "Does this dress suddenly go invisible at inopportune moments?" is not one of the FIRST questions that springs to mind when buying a gown.

But I digress. Reporting on this is a fair cop (pardon the horrible pun). Someone tangentially famous is caught with their anatomy hanging out, its fair to call them on it. Sort of like the Bush twins in the latest "Girls Gone Wild" video. That's not what bothers me.

What bothers me is that the same parts of the media that freaked out about Janet Jackson's Superbowl exposure seem to be the ones rushing this particular picture to the fore. You know, the right-of-center moralists. They need to show how evilevilevil the other side is. Even if it means they are pushing questionable images themselves. Sex! Licentiousness! Poor Fashion Sense! How can we trust these people? Honest, officer, I was just reading it for the articles!

Meanwhile, the liberal side of the blogosphere is concentrating on . . .

Middle-aged gay people getting married in Massachusetts.

Have we truly moved into the mirror world, the one where Colin Powell has the moustache and beard and yells at his handlers on camera? The conservative press is pushing purient imagery and the liberals are comfortable with their own sexuality? The Dems become the doughty stay-at-homes while the Reps have the nipple rings and video nasties? I mean, the conservatives have been wracking up a hypocritical record on defending marriage, and now seem to be set on inflicting their unbalanced morality on the rest of us.

In the meantime, I just hope Drudge goes back to showing pictures of politicians with silly expressions on their faces. And Michael Moore, in full-body shots. Just so I can tune in during work.

More later,

Lost Weekend

Crashed and burned this weekend. Don't know if it was exhaustion, or the H&R Block Gilligan's island-themed Party (it was just about as you would expect it). or trying to mow the lawn (unmown since the party two weeks previous, and overgrown to the point that wildebeast and gazelles were grazing out there) as the stormclouds rolled in, but I had a mild, sluggish cold and no desire whatsoever to continue on with anything or anyone. Kate spent the weekend gaming, reading her tax books, and watching Seabiscuit, and left me to my general lethargic grump.

So I read, finishing up a couple books. And I snacked. And I played a lot of Civ 3. A LOT of Civ 3. Its the comfort food of computer games. I have my standard plan - raise money, buy my tech advancements, invade only when I have to. Ended up with a diplomatic victory (I build the UN, am involved in a battle with lower-tech Greeks (not my fault, the Chinese dragged me in), and was elected King O' The World).

Yeah, I still have opinions, and stuff to write. I'll see if I can catch up. But I need a completely empty weekend every so often to recharge.

More later,

Breaking It Down

Serv. Size 1 Blog

Posts About Daily Life:    14%

Trips and Experiences       8%

Local Politics              8%

Friday Fives                7%

Reviews                     7%

National Politics           7%* 

Blog-Related                5%

What xxxx Are You? Quizzes  5%

Gaming-Related              4%

Link-Related                4%

Shorter: Entries            4%

Quotes                      3%

Writing-Related             3%

Food-Related                3%

Weather-Related             3%

On The Road Entries         3%

Creativity, Ravings, and Misc. Filler 12%



*National Politics NOT about the War 5%

Contents may settle in shipment.

More later,

DVD

So it was a long day today at work, one of those first in the office in the morning, last out at night kinda days. The long hours have been a rarity so far, but appplied in this case primarily because I wanted to nail a rules set to the ground by tomorrow morning so that five other important tasks based on that rules set could go forward. The entire proceedings left me a little drained, so I sat down to surf and came across the reunion special for the old Dick Van Dyke show.

The show itself was all memory, threaded together with a ghost of a plot (Alan Brady pulls the surviving cast members together to write him a eulogy). You're aware that Rose Marie isn't moving around so good, and Mary Tyler Moore has tight wrinkles about the eyes. And the good lines were given to the minor players - Alan and Millie Helper. And there is a heaping helping of clips. But looking at it I was struck by how much this show influenced my own upbringing and my view of the world.

I mean, Rob Petrie has a job as a corporate creative, works with other creatives who both respect and like him, has a nice house, and a beautiful, supportive wife. A lot of how I deal with others comes out of watching the Dick Van Dyke show (mostly in syndication, now that memory kicks in, so I never really saw the cigarette comercials in the original). And the fact that I have a strong, mutually supportive relationship with Kate comes as no surprise to me, because that's what Rob and Laura had (Though I am much more likely than Kate to open a rubber raft in the living room).

And the show had no real "bad guys". Even Alan and Mel Cooley, the management foils, had their redemptive moments and their little victories. The plots were driven by basic weirdness of everyday life and things being a little out of kilter. I mentioned the show to Kate and she immediately mentioned the rock in the basement, the banjo-playing brother, and the Rosebud story. Forty years on, and this stuff still sticks in the mind.

Often I ask friends who are going through identity crisis "What TV Show are you in?" Its often a good shorthand for how they view the world. I know people who work in a very "M*A*S*H"-like environment. I've had my months and years as Bob Newhart, and there was a period when I bought into the idea that our game design department was the creative version of "The Right Stuff" (OK, that's a movie, but you get the point). Media does provide role models for our behavior, and an operating system for modern-day survival. One of the reasons that I am likely comfortable with what I'm doing is that it fits into a mode that I recognize. On my good days I can be Rob Petrie. On my bad days I can be Buddy Sorrel. On my worst days, which I want to be few and far between, I can be Alan Brady.

That's it. More later,

DOW Breaks 10000!

Woohoo! I knew that the economy would recover! Yep, all that hard work is paying off, because, after long months, we're finally seeing Wall Street recover its stride! Onward and Upward! Huzzah!

What's that?

Oh.

Never mind

More later,

Wisteria Hysteria

I've mentioned a couple times about the wisteria being in bloom. Wisteria is an relative of the pea, with drooping flowers that look at a distance like bundles of light-purple grapes. There are a number of species and varieties, including two American species, but most of the ones that are used as ornamental plants are Japanese or Chinese, and are invader species.

The wisteria in particular is currently taking over the front of the house, along the front porch overhang, around the side, and now across the two-story front. Far from fighting this invader species, my lovely wife, in the thrall of the Alien (see below) planted it next to the water barrel and has been aiding and abetting its takeover by trailing it up the porch posts and providing plastic trellis-work for it to grow along. Its a fragrant, pretty blossom, though now that summer approaches it is shedding its petals, leaving a colorful litter on the front porch.

When Kate first put in the wisteria, I was doubtful, pointing out that it hangs low right in front of the door. Kate states that this the whole point. The Irish made extensive use of wisteria, so that when British soldiers came to search the premises (no Constitutional protections there), they were at least forced to bow or remove their hats before coming in. I don't know if this is true or not, but its a good story.

What I find interesting is that I connect ornamental wisteria with England and France (when we were there, Kate would often say "Look, Honey, Wisteria!" and force me to admire a huge, gnarled collection of purple blossoms that threatened to crush the building it was attached to). Instead, this was itself was an invader species, likely brought back when the sun never set on the various empires, and now makes its way to the furthest shore in the hands of other admirers.

More later,

Pictures from an Inquisition

Despite occasional appearances to the contrary, I don’t currently have the capacity to post pictures on this journal. This is because I’ve never gotten around to claiming website space from Earthlink (and now Comcast) to store the stuff. When you do see a photo, it is from somewhere else on the web, and may or may not be there tomorrow. So bear with me as I move through this, because I’m NOT posting the pictures, but rather describing them. Most of them you’ve probably seen, but not the last.

Let’s start out with one from about two weeks back – flag-covered containers lined up in the cargo bay of a transport. War dead. It’s a somber, serious picture, taken by one of the cargo handlers. It’s sent to a friend, and run in the Seattle Times. Then the cargo handler who took it and her husband are both fired because the picture got out, and the picture is repeated EVERYWHERE. The conservapundits bluster about how this is a horrible thing at the time, but I’m not sure – we need to know that yes, this war has consequences, and we aren’t doing ourselves any favors by being in denial.

Then about a week back Nightline ran the photos and names of those that had died in the past year. Again, it was serious and somber. The pictures came from a variety of sources, from grainy shots blown up too far to family pictures to what looked like high school mugshots to military uniform pictures. I was struck by the fact that no one looks good in Marine Corps full dress. I was also struck by the diversity of the men and women we have lost, and that all but a handful were younger than I. And again, the pro-war forces huffed about how horrible it was, and one media chain in particular refused to run the show. I think of standing in military cemetary above the Normandy beaches, and thanking those that sacrificed then, and thanking those that sacrifice now.

And now there is this week and the horrific photos that come out of Abu Gharib prison. Odd twisted photos of threats and humiliation. Stuff that evoked Maplethorpe’s photo works, made more obscene by the fact these were not models, but prisoners. When I first saw them, I passed through that denial stage of the thinking process – was this staged? Who would be stupid enough to commit these acts, when we were trying to show the world that we were here to make things better? Who would be stupid enough to take pictures? And in the one case I expect a government denial, instead I get “Yep, they’re real. It happened. There’s more. And it’s much, much worse.”

And the naked human pyramids and hooded prisoners went out into the media, and this time there was less talk about protecting the American people, which made me wince again. In fact, the right-wing, which was previously harsh on anyone admitting that bad things happen in wars, seems to be positively enthusiastic about this. Drudge oozes There are videos with the breathless excitement of a pornographer. Rush compares the shots to a Britney Spears video (I think he’s being sarcastic) and saying that humiliating foreigners is an OK way for Americans to blow off steam (OK, I’m taking him off the list for the next garden party). This really creeps me out.

The perpetrators of these took the pictures. They got into the press because those involved didn’t want to be holding left holding the bag (or the hood, or the leash) alone, to show that this was condoned and encouraged by higher-ups. In fact, these shots were SHOPPED AROUND the media and government before CBS picked them up, and CBS waited to show them at the request of the military. These shots are from abuses in January, which begs a slew of new questions – How extensive was this? Who knew and when? Is this typical for other US Military Prisons? And most important, IS THIS STILL HAPPENING?

Answers are wrapped up in a fog of war (note here – the first court martial has been ordered regarding this particular case yesterday). It leaves me shaken in a way that the bunted coffins and somber call of names did not. It is the sad realization that we have blown it, have we have shown that we are not the paladins we claim to be, that we are as vulnerable to human abuse as anyone else. What kind of people do you think we are, we asked the world. That’s been decided, replies the world, now we’re just haggling about the price.

One last picture. This is one you haven’t seen, unless my friend sent it to you. It shows a gangly, short-haired young woman in desert fatigues, cutting a cake. Behind her are a number of other soldiers, also in fatigues. Some are clapping, she’s smiling and looking at how she slices the cake. Her name is Allison, and it is her 22nd birthday. She’s on the far side of the world, in Qatar, doing her boots on the ground.

This last photo is a reminder. All of the craziness is not done, and it is up to all of us to help resolve it. I’d like Allison’s 23rd birthday photo to be with her family, back in Wisconsin. I’d like to see an end of abuse of other people by Americans acting in my name. I’d like to see the loss of American military to go back to be news, not status quo. I’d like us to bring the democracy we claim for Iraq to Iraq, even if that means that they may not agree with us. And I’d like to know why we’re there, but in that I’m like a lot of other people.

I’d like a lot of things. Now I just have to figure out how to get them.

More later,

Real Headline

"Push for Productivity finally adds hiring back into the mix

"Companies rediscover that to get more work done, they need workers."

Well, Duh.

More later,

Footnote:

I must confess that my attempts to get "bondage" mentioned in the ad copy failed horribly, but that Heroclix succeeded. Tells you where the ad dollars are coming from.

Heh.

More later,

Bad Quiz (no donut)

So here's a quiz result:


You are most like Raven. Quiet and usually soft
spoken, you don't like crowds and can be
slightly gothic. You try to repress your
emotions for one reason or another but one of
your most powerful emotions is your anger. Your
temper sometimes gets the best of you and when
that happens those in your way would wish they
weren't. You seem somewhat creepy to others and
you earn a few odd stares but who cares? You
aren't an outdoors person and avoid venturing
outside when you can. You are generally the
smart one and maybe not by trying to, the most
cynical and sarcastic of the bunch which can be
good or bad. You don't like anyone invading
your privacy and you don't seem to be all that
social. But for what it's worth you can be
quite handy in a tough situation. You are drawn
to the darkness or night most of the time. You
appear mysterious and/or potentially dangerous
at times and not everyone trusts you right
away.

Which Teen Titans Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

OK, but I don't really recommend it since this is a Bad Quiz. Its a bad quiz because as you take it, you know which answer automatically links up with which Teen Titan (if you have any familiarity with the Teen Titans, and if you don't, why take the quiz). A better quiz asks general questions and calculates which figures would answer the same way. This quiz? Its effectively asking off the start "What Titan are you" and just counting the number of times you vote for a particular titan.

Meh.

More later,

Heroclix

So I was going to write up something about the Fifth of May and how much most people don't know about Mexican History, under the title "Cinqo, hold the Mayo". Instead, Brainstormfront sent me this link, which sends my thoughts in a different direction.

Marv Wolfman is a great comics creators, and from my time at WizKids, I know he's also a fan of the Heroclix game. Which makes me very, very happy to see that he likes what we did with both Cyborg and Raven, part of the Unleashed set for DC Heroclix. The Unleashed set is probably the best thing I did in my near-year at the 'Kids, and I am particularly happy with the fact that its gotten a very positive fan response (why yes, I DO lurk on the boards over at HCRealms.com).

I did a lot of things, great and small, at the 'Kids, and had a great time working with the people there. I am particularly happy with Unleashed, and with the non-player Galactus rules (the player-Galactus was added after my departure), as they both represented a great deal of personal sweat and toil. But glory is fleeting and time marches on. Now the next set in the offing is for Marvel, called Ultimates, and while I had a lot to do with the figure choice, beyond that, my main contribution was on the first drafts on the more common figures (the layoffs occured when when I was half-way through the unique figures). A lot of development, revision, and playtesting occurs over the course of the design project, and I have faith that the gang has taken the ball and put together a really good product. I'm looking forward to seeing what they did with it, and I don't doubt I'll be pleased with it, but Unleashed was the personal high-water mark for my tenure there.

I was thinking about the 'Kids for another reason, since I just hit the six-month mark at the Wizards of the Coast offices, first as a temp, then as an employee/consultant with True North Media and Arts, our kinda-freelance web design team. I know its the six-month mark because Outlook refused my password, and I had to get a new one. For security reasons, everyone gets new passwords every three months, but because I use a Macintosh at work, I have to drop in on Technical Services down the hall and feed a new one in as opposed to making it up at my desk. Its no real trouble (though I was on a tight deadline when it conked out on me, the process is relatively painless and the TS folk are cool), but since this reminder hits every three months, its an interesting clock to keep track of my time and accomplishments there as well.

But more about those accomplishments later,

Memo

To: All Employees
Fr: The Mgt.
Re: New Building Security

All,

In an effort to increase our corporate security, we have installed new electronic locks throughout the campus. The previous key-cards will no longer function with these new locks - however, since the key-cards also double as ID Badges, employees will still be required to wear them on neck lanyards and/or produce them if called upon by building security.

The new security system functions off a DNA Identification/Activation system. Saliva inserted into the locking mechanism is analyzed and access granted if it matches the database. Temperature is also monitored to prevent fraudulent entry, so it is highly recommended that employees place their tongues directly into the identification slot as opposed to merely licking their finger and inserting it. The latter method has resulted in a number of false alarms for building security and will be discouraged.

The new sensors are mounted next to each external and internal door, in the same location as the previous locks, at belt-level. Kneeling pads have been ordered and will arrive in 4-8 weeks, and we ask for everyone to be understanding in the meantime.

Remember, building security is up to the employees, and good security is worth a little personal discomfort.

The Mgt.

Party of the First Part

So Saturday morning was the caucus for the 47th legislative district Democrats. Back in February, I reported on my earlier adventure in the caucus process, which resulted in me becoming a reluctant Edwards supporter. This get-together was to choose real delegates that go up to the STATE level which then chooses the hardest of the hard-core to go up to National level at Boston. Yeah, it sounds like a reality-show on FOX. By this summer, three people from the 47th will get the shot at paying their own way to get the convention. I will not be one of them.

First off, the caucus was held at Kentlake Senior High which is (of course) nowhere near Kent, but rather far to the Southeast, towards the geographic heart of the 47th, in Lake Sawyer (halfway between Covington and Black Diamond). We convened in the high school basketball court, home of the Kentlake Falcons. This is an area which has not yet felt the heavy tread of the developers, so its a nice area with a lot of woods (we were near the Elk Migration area). Driving the roads, though, I can see why transportation is such a major issue further to the south and east - every road is a small two-lane, and traffic backs up at the slightest provocation.

The Caucus itself was a zoo. The old-timers I talked to told me about when they would have 10 people for a delegation some years. We had 313 registered delegates total for the caucus, plus a host of other supporters and alternates. Registration stated at 9 and went well past the 10 AM deadline. All four of the delegates from Rush district made it down (Kristine and Geraldine for Kerry, me and Richard for Edwards), which made me happy for our group. Though we were not required to vote for who we said we were going to vote for, both Richard and I carried through with first-ballot votes for Edwards. Much of the rest of the Edwards supporters drifted, so Richard and I were two of the only three official Edwards votes. Without sufficient support, we were cut loose - Richard went to the Kerry camp, and I went back to Dean (I was originally a Dean supporter at the start).

For our Congressional district, the only candidates with sufficient support to more forward were Kerry and Dean. It worked out to 19 state delegates for Kerry, 9 state delegates for Dean. At this stage, we had to choose delgates themselves. Each person interested had a numbered card (shades of A Chorus Line), and spoke out to why they should represent Dean. These ranged from shoo-ins (the local Dean organizer, the woman who was the first local Dean contributor in the area) to college students, to Union folk, to a mother-son team and a firebrand Anti-Bush preacher (who was the walking definition of "preaching to the choir"). We had 19 people running for the 9 slots. Kerry's team (the "larger half" at the other end of the bleachers) had about twice that many. We got off lucky - Phil, who was a local Dean delegate up in the city, said his caucus had 135 delegate candidates. Figure a minute tops per speech and the math becomes horrible.

We got off easy on delegate speeches. Where it truly bogged down on us was vote counting, first for the initial preferences, and then for the delegates themselves. Tyler, who organized our original caucus, had other speakers available, but we exhausted the bag of tricks during the initial counts, so we started to see some real voter erosion as the caucus moved on. I got to hear for the first time 8th Congressional district candidate Heidi Behrens-Benedict (a smart, thoughtful woman) and Geoff Simpson (passionate, loud, and brought the crowd to its feet). Also speaking were Pat Sullivan (enthused and very, very young) and Mike Gregoire, husband of Gubernatorial Candidate Christine Gregoire (older, choppy delivery). There was a local blogger, who concentrates on academia, and a granger speaking out on the return of the blanket primary (which didn't go over well with this crowd - after all, it the organized polical parties that wanted to ditch the blanket primary in the first place).

Anyway, I had gotten there about 9:30, and with the huge lines for registration, speakers did not start until 10:15 or so. Computer screwup and double-checking inital ballots took another hour, hour and half. Then came the choosing of the delegates. By that time it was 12:30, and I had to go. I have no idea if the firebrand preacher made it, or the college students, or the mother-son team. I had to leave before the choosing of the alternates and the passage of resolutions calling for the creation of the Department of Peace, revealed what we gave away exactly to Boeing, and the impeaching the current president. That's because I had the Other party to worry about. Which leads me to . . .

Party of the Second Part

I'll be frank - I dread hosting parties. I particularly dread hosting garden parties, since Kate and I have had the worst luck with them. Last time we did a garden party out here we got cold, hard rain on May 1. Last time we did a May Day party in Lake Geneva, it SNOWED. So a Garden Party here also meant cleaning the house and preparing WAY too much food - Brats soaked in beer, burgers, and Kate spend way too long plank-cooking a salmon on the grill (it was very good, but she had to finish it the broiler - it was too thick for the bed of coals we had).

We had about thirty people who were from a wide variety of our parts of our lives. I've done parties were everyone was from my place of business, but this was a sprawl with people from former jobs, poker games, current positions, long-time friends and others. The end result was a very interesting melange of people. We thankfully have some friends who are fearless social interactors and will talk to anyonel. In particular, we had three couples with infants, and the kids were incredibly well-behaved. Our household is baby-tolerant but I worry about it being baby-friendly and completely baby-safe, but there were no problems (though we did hear from one couple afterwards - their daughter had blown through two nap periods over the course of the party and was now loudly resisting going to bed ever again).

So the food was good and the company was excellent (so I hear - the other problem with being a host is you don't get to smooze nearly as much as you do as a guest). The weather was great and the garden was as good as it has ever looked. Timing worked out great, the rhodies in the front and back were in full flower, and the wisteria was rampant over the front door (I really have to do a bit on the wisteria for this journal). The dandelions were defeated and the moles had yet to invade. Let me say to everyone - THIS YARD WILL NEVER LOOK THIS GOOD AGAIN.

There was one casualty (splinter from the pole). One total brain melt-down (I mangled the names of a friend's wife and child (both of whom I know) immediately upon trying to introduce them to others). No one set themselves on fire. No police were called. Furniture and lawn ornaments were given back-stories. Good food was consumed. Croquet variants involving use of multiple mallets were created by five-year-olds. Bocce was played in the mole-modified backyard. Lawnrolling was recommended. A good time was had by all.

And now I'm taking the day off.

More later,