Up in smoke

This joint fell out of some dude's locker at the gym yesterday. So I says to myself: "Self, now there's a fine opportunity to have a little fun with a friend of yours."

No, I ain't gonna light it up. That's just it though, he'd be totally surprised if I brought it out nonchalant and asked "Mind if I do a J? Ya, I got a killer deal on some strawberry cush from Chango down the street."

Now, I ain't gonna, but supposing I did follow through, would it be too much like taking a bite out of a perfectly good ham sandwich you found in the trash (tempting, but taboo)?

Sleep is a rare commodity

Tonight is going to be a sleeping pills night, by which I mean that my sleep schedule has run so completely amok on account of insomnia that I need to whack it back into shape with chemicals. So why do I regale you with the minutiae of my life? In case I don't wake up.

Now please, this isn't some suicide notice. No, it's just that I hate taking most chemicals. I don't like the weird way they make me feel. In fact, just the nervous contemplation of the drug's effect is sometimes enough to totally counteract the somnolent* effect of sleeping pills. Maybe I'll pour myself just a very small finger of whisky to take the edge off before popping the pills. No? Bad idea? So I'm told.

So no, I don't really think I won't wake up, but I do worry about the drug's effects.

(catch the irony in the post's title?)

*Interestingly, the proper medical term is "hypnotic." Hypnotics are the class of drugs that tend to induce sleep. Oh, you didn't think it was as interesting as I did? Sue me.

Nothing much

Don't feel like returning to the series I started last time. Just feel like venting a little.

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There comes a time in the life of every notebook computer when the power jack gives up the ghost. Mine is gasping for breath and I really should fix it. I'll have to take it apart like last time
I spilled wine on the keyboard, but this time the motherboard has to come out and I'm a little leery, especially since I don't have a replacement jack ready at hand. I think I'll bite the bullet and start tonight right after I finish writing this.

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I'm finding myself ruminating over the events of last summer again. It's not good, but I know myself pretty well and I know it has to run its course.

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I'm hungry. It's 12:20 am and there's little in the frige. I don't really want to hit up the Jack in the Box down the street. I wish I coud just take anti-hungry pills and go to bed.

The artist

There arose an interesting opportunity right before heading off to law school a few years ago: I had about five months to myself to indulge my hobbies and passions. It was a wonderful time because I finally, for once, had both time and money in happy proportion. I think I'll spend the next several posts highlighting some of my doings during that time.

Once upon a time ago I wore my hair long and silver hoops hung from my ear lobes. Those are my artist's credentials. I can't explain the hair, but I've always liked jewelry (to look at, not usually to wear, though). Following are pictures of some pieces I made and one of my bench, which I prefer to call my "studio." If I call it a bench I'm a hobbyist; if I call it a studio I'm an artist!

This is a pendant I made for my mother's birthday. It is an amethyst in a sterling silver basket setting. I tried to keep as much metal as I could away from behind the stone so that light could pass through as you see here.








These are the first pair of earrings I ever made. The design is similar to one I saw at Costco. It's simple, elegant, and easy to make! In this case they are merely cubic zirconia. To be honest, I've never been a fan of diamonds mostly for the same reason I don't like vodka: colorless and flavorless, so what's the point. The posts and nuts are gold to avoid allergic reactions.



This ring is sterling silver with a basket setting. The stone is pyrope garnet. I made a bunch of simple rings like this out of silver with semiprecious stones that I gave to friends and sisters.









Garnet comes in various shades of color. Compare to rubies which are often so light they're almost pinkish in color, especially since all but the most expensive rubies tend to have a lot of inclusions which only makes them appear even lighter.



I had a really nice little bench going. Unfortunately I had to pack it all up before coming to law school. I was just about to get into casting too.

Why do I share?

Have you ever sent an email only to regret it the very second after pressing the "send" button? Fortunately, in the world of blogging you can always "unsend" your posts. This one was just a tad more deep and private than I think I care to share just now. It was up long enough, however, for my one commentator to give you a sense about it.

It may reappear some day, just not now.

American Legion

God bless the American Legion. This veterans organization is pro-American, pro-troops, and most of all, pro-good-times. Here's what I mean. My good friend FriendB invited me to join him at the legion, which post he'd just become a member of. I went over to his house and he drove from there. The first thing that greeted my senses was a wafting cloud of barbeque smoke and a crowd of gentlemen standing outside, gathered 'round a TV watching some football game with bottles of beer in hand. Cool; my kind of party. But it gets better. Inside was basically a dive bar replete with 40-50 year old gentlemen and respective wives, girlfriends, and "regulars." Oh, and bottles of beer that sold for $1.75--cheaper than anything you're likely to get anywhere in LA.

So, basically, I hung out at a small, friendly, cheap dive-bar where everyone is friendly, eager to know you name and ready with a smile, compliment and anecdote to tickle your social fancy. The places I've lived in or visited back east are full of such places, but LA, with its impersonal, loud and crowded night clubs is bereft of the pleasures of the neighborhood bar/scene.

Admittedly, I spent way too much time at the bars near my law school, and yet I really do miss the crowd--where everyone really does know your name and where everyone is glad to see you...and buy you a pint.

Tonight was good. Thank you FriendB.

Lusting after hams

Does anyone remember that part of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland where a pirate is seen chasing a woman round and round?

At least that's the way it used to be. They were these two manikins standing on a large rotating table so that the could be seen chasing each other, first out one door of the house then in through another, cuckoo clock fashion. Well, the PR people at the Magic Kingdom put their little politically correct minds together and decided it just wouldn't do. Amongst scenes of violent cannonades, debauchery and drunkenness and a convivial little tune whose original lyrics went something like, "We pillage, we plunder, we rifle, and loot. Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho. We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot, "--- among all this they just couldn't bear the portrayal of a little ol' fashioned wenching! (Incidentally, at least according to one guy, the song's been sanitized over the years.)

I'll give those PC pinheads a thumbs up for their creativity, though, because they elegantly resolved their problem by placing in the hands of the maiden in question a platter full of food. So now when we see that crazed, glassed-over look in the eyes of the pirate and wonder at his tongue hanging out through that licentious grin we are meekly fold our hands in our laps and utter a constrained chuckle as we make some insipid observation along the lines of, "There goes that crazy ol' pirate again, lusting after her hams" Little do we know....

You too can be a criminal

Forgive me this rant; there are many more interesting and personal things I could wite about, especially after a week's hiatus. It's cheap therapy and I could use a little venting!

Software anti-piracy schemes do not stop thieves because they've all been cracked. Instead, they cause all manners of inconveniences and ultimately force us decent folks to become criminals (an exageration, but not too far off).

Example 1: a game that requires the original CD to be in the drive before it will work; a copy will not work. I would like to have a back-up copy because CDs are notoriously fragile. Lo and behold the CD gets a scratch on the top side through the dye layer. Ruined. Two choices: either throw away the game and buy a new one (stupid!) or call up the publisher to ask for a replacement. Of course they'll charge you a nominal handling fee that's almost as much as the game considering game prices steadily drop after their releases. Besides, they'll need proof. I don't remember exactly, but I believe they either required you to have registered the game or to send back the damaged disk--more time and money lost. So what do you do? Find a hack to crack the protection scheme and make a copy that the PC recognizes as "original."

Example 2: You buy a new PC with XP preinstalled. Years later the sticker with the product key attached to the chassis wears away and you lose the recovery partition on your hard drive (or the physical restore disks if you were lucky enough to have been supplied with such). Now you're SOL since you can't prove you have a legit copy and you need to reinstall because Windows security flaws have so screwed up your PC it glows in the dark. Solution: find a copy of XP and learn how to bypass the product activation feature. So you wind up forced to replace a legit copy of XP with a bootleg one. Dumb.

If, when I buy software, music, etc., I merely buy a license and not just the media, then ideally I should be able to exercise the rights granted under that license independent of the media, right? (It's just a matter of time and authentication technology before it works this way.) Well, all these protection schemes tie us back to the media once again and suddenly we're back to the days when you had to worry when you listened to your favorite song for fear of wearing out your favorite LP record. Dumb.

I am addicted

…to Napoleonic era seafaring novels. I am working on the thirteenth of the 20-book Aubrey/Maturin series by Patrick O’Brian upon which the movie Master and Commander was based. They are thumping great fun, prodigious good reading and I’ll soon blow through the whole series as easy as kiss my hand!

I guess I've always loved a little historical fiction. These are probably more of a cross between historical fiction, adventure, and something out of an English literature course. I also like to read authors or series so there you go: I must necessarily have become addicted to Mr. O'Brian's magnus opus!

(The photo: today I felt like being invisible so I wore fatigues and hid out in the bushes in front of my house to see if I could scare the postman.)

Pssst...pass the candle...

...because I'm an addict too. I'm finishing up the thirteenth in the 20-book Aubrey/Maturin series by Patrick O'Brian upon which the movie Master and Commander was based.

The books are thumping great fun, prodigious good reading, and I've been racking up pages as easy as kiss my hand. (Brownie points to anyone who recognizes the references.)

(The picture: today I felt like being invisible so I wore fatigues and hid out in the bushes in front of my house.)

I am amazing

I think I could have been really good at competitive eating. I can’t eat quite as much as I used to when I was a teenager, but I still surprise myself occasionally and my reputation remains intact. The other day I went to Charo Chicken and accidentally ate three “60% bigger than the competition” bean, rice and cheese burritos together with a 23.5 oz can of Arizona iced tea. It wasn’t exactly accidental, but they screwed up my order and gave me three instead of the two I intended to eat so I had no choice, you see. See the picture (pen for scale)? I am amazing.

Now if they could combine competitive eating with some sort of shooting discipline I’d be the champion of this new biathlon.

I am loved

This birthday, I was loved.

I was loved by a friend who joined me for a very nice breakfast Wednesday. I'm afraid I was a little sleep deprived that morning, but she was very gracious. She surprised me with an example of Hallmark’s finest and I’m glad for her thoughtfulness.

Then I was loved Thursday by Snow Summit. They gave me a free all-day lift ticket on account of my birthday. I had tried snowboarding for the first time a week before and a bruised tailbone convinced me that I am a committed skier so I stuck to what I know. I’m no great shakes at skiing, but I love it every time I go. It was great this time too except that toward the afternoon I got a little tired and my inside leg just wouldn’t quite cooperate on the turns so I spilled it a couple of times. That was a little discouraging, but at least I wasn’t hurt and I’m not so afraid of falling anymore.

On Friday I was loved to the tune of several pints of Jeremiah Red ale by a bunch of friends and my sister. Even my father showed up which was a total surprise and just a little strange since he doesn’t drink. I’m told he sampled my glass, though, while I went to the little boy’s room. Even BJ’s loved me with a complimentary pizzookie which I reluctantly shared, even as I ate the lion’s share.

On Saturday I was loved by my mother who graciously bought me a Royal Red Robin Burger—a pretty decent cheeseburger made even better with by the addition of bacon and a fried egg! My two sisters also joined us and we had a good time since the older of my two sisters made it her duty to keep my mother laughing.

On Sunday I was loved by an old friend of mine who put together the most eclectic little dinner party you could ever wish for featuring an honest to goodness Texas brisket with homemade beans and tortillas. Texans—my God, they know how to eat! We had a couple engineers, a merchant marine, a retired speed guy (the guys who tune and travel with the racing cars), a programmer, a secretary who wants to do children’s ministry and me. We had dinner in a not-so-converted warehouse amidst torn apart motorcycles and a pool table. Very chic.

I was loved. And for the few of you guys who were part of the festivities and also read this post, thank you very much.

Not even a distant memory

Thirty years ago, on this day, I was born...

...and I'm so very glad I don't remember a minute of it!

Think Happy Thoughts

Ok, that's like three somewhat negative posts in a row. Not good. Think happy thoughts....

Wave Rave

First, I admit to being no audiophile, but I've been soured on the Bose Wave radio ever since...

[fade out to the sound of chimes, fade in to geeks in bell bottoms with big sideburns and bigger backpacks walking across Massachusetts Avenue]

...once upon a time, in the People's Republic of Cambridge there taught an MIT professor of electrical engineering named Amar Bose who had a reputation for being a bit of a rebel. One day he left the little trade-tech on Chuck Creek and went off to found the venerable Bose Corp., best known for those tiny speakers with big sound (thanks to Direct/Reflecting technology).

[fade out to the sound of modem squawks and hissing, fade in to bearded geeks in black trench coats walking across Massachusetts Avenue]

...fast forward to the mid-nineties. The Bosemobile shows up on campus one day with a portable demonstration auditorium built into long bed trailer. Like moths to a bug zapper, the geeks are lured into the trailer to listen to a twenty minute demonstration of Mr. Bose's latest and greatest--a stack of audio components surrounded by two large floor speakers at either side, thumping out such geek favorites as the theme to Star Wars.

Now, like I said I'm no audiophile, but I thought it sounded just OK. For such a big piece of equipment, though, it was just plain crappy. Besides, I never liked Star Wars. So then, with a triumphant voila, and presumably to audible gasps from the audience, the salesman lifts away the whole audio component system which was just a plastic facade to reveal a tiny countertop-sized Bose Wave radio. Well screw that, for the money I could have bought the component system and better sounding speakers.

Way to go Mr. Bose, you just ensured I'll probably never buy anything from you. (You can buy can buy me one of these, though.) Can anyone detect a theme here? Like, I don't like my chain yanked?

(Interesting article about marketing techniques for the Wave radio.)

The Rest of the Story

God bless Paul Harvey, but I really do wish he would...[insert something here about that giant mic in the sky]. He is a radio institution and his “Rest of the Story” segment is probably as recognizable as the softdrink with the white script on red background. But it is exactly that segment that so rankles my nerves I want to reach through my radio and strangle his wrinkled little turkey neck every time I hear that grating, quavering, old-man voice croak “Paaaaaaul Harvey. Good day!” Why? Because I really couldn’t give a darn what the rest of the story is! Am I supposed to feel better about my lowly self upon being “surprised” that Joe Famous Person started life scrubbing toilets? Am I supposed to thank Mr. Harvey and say, “Oh chucks, Mr. Harvey, you yanked my chain, insulted my intelligence and dragged out a five-second factoid into a Dickens novel. Gee thanks. Oh, and I'll be taking three of those Bose Wave radios please.” (I've got another story about those Wave radios....)

I absolutely love radio. I grew up listening to radio dramas well after they’d become “quaint” so I certainly have respect for the timelessness of old-timey radio. Paul Harvey is timeless. In fact, he was probably just as annoying back when he had to dot-dash-dash-dot-dot-dot-dash-dot-dash-dot his call letters on a telegraph key!

Relative Danger

I am dangerous…to harmless scraps of paper with the unfortunate luck to have bull’s-eyes imprinted on them. What Olympic sport would you have been really good at had you had all the training, support and opportunity as a kid? For me it would have been one of the shooting sports, maybe archery or standard pistol.

When I was a kid I used to spend a lot of time in the garage building all sorts of things, including bows, crossbows and even air guns. The rest of the time I spent dumpster diving for materials behind such places as the bathroom cabinet factory (source for hardwood strips) or the injection molding shop. I flatter myself by thinking these were actually pretty well made, accurate and powerful little gadgets. Being as I’d long ago dismissed such favorite when-I-grow-up careers as firefighter and teacher in favor of physicist, I regularly put my little creations through all manners of accuracy and energy experiments. One of these, for example, involved a weight hanging from the rafters in the garage with a device for measuring how for it moved when struck by an arrow/pellet/bolt.

Ok, you get the picture, but here’s the rub. I was constantly afraid of nosey people calling the cops. I couldn’t shoot across the back yard, I couldn’t take my gadgets to the park, I had to be careful who I shared my stuff with. Several times I did have the cops knocking at my door. Consider these two examples: in the first example you have a pimply-faced teenager trudging to the public library where he receives a gold star, a pat on the head and the admiration of parents, teachers and peers for doing no more than reading the latest Harry Potter gibberish for the summer reading program—which he would have read anyway; in the second example you have a kid designing, building and conducting physics and statistical tests in his garage, constantly looking over his shoulder lest someone call the cops, constantly afraid he’s on the verge of getting in trouble for indulging his curiosity.

I remember the 1984 Olympics that were held in LA. They did this human interest athlete profile of one of the archers who happened to be a young kid not much older than me who had the good fortune to grow up in Orange County, have good equipment, supportive parents and neighbors. Those are the only distinctions I could see. Oh, but what a difference they made! They showed how this poor kid made the best of his circumstances (living in a crowded urban area, like me) by shooting his bow from the curb in front of his house, through his open garage and at a target sitting at the far end of his back yard! I would have been arrested on the spot for shooting my crossbows in the same fashion.

And the world lost another Olympic champion. But I’m not bitter.