I was born and raised in Indianapolis. I currently live in Indianapolis. There are circumstances in which I would be comfortable dying in Indianapolis, but none that will apply any time soon.
So, on the eve of Super Bowl Weekend in which my home city will host modern day gladiatorial fights in the shape of professional sport (Go Giants!!), I will be going to Chicago. Partly as a favor to my brother, partly as a vacation, and partly to reach minimum safe distance in the event the inferior team wins (Patriots SUCK!).
It's my hope against hope that I can get caught up on a lot of things that are good for my soul. A lot of words and local pizza will be involved. Catching up with a friend or two, making making new inroads, and playing with cats will likely happen. There may even be some gym activities. And, when time permits, a few MST3K episodes await my perusal.
There's been a lot of prep work going into this little venture. A small fraction of it was even planned. Repairs to my car were not, but then neither was the need to have it repaired. Still, that and a couple minor cuts aside, I'm ready as I'll ever be. Really looking forward to it!
I've also gotten some news from the medical community that, while nothing superhuman has come up, it's actually looking like I'm going to inhabit this mortal plane for quite a bit longer, so maybe I should arrange for extra positive experiences.
While one may need to suffer to write, if you suffer too long you lose the memory of happiness that you would compare the suffering to in order to make it stand out that much more. Drama = Happy + Sad, and Drama sells, kids.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Monday, December 12, 2011
Reminders
The world is full of potential frustrations. Doubly so when you're trying to go out of your way to make things better for someone else. Hence, I believe, "holiday stress".
So it's nice to find little reminders that things aren't all frustrating. That there is some good in the world. Like, for instance, coming across a bit of writing from a long way back that, despite all memory, reads well. They can be the gift we give ourselves.
I have more I'd love to share, but not the freedom to do so. Like Jacob Marley, we're all bound by chains that (some more than others) we forge ourselves. Don't worry about coming off like Scrooge at times, because at the end he turned out okay.
So it's nice to find little reminders that things aren't all frustrating. That there is some good in the world. Like, for instance, coming across a bit of writing from a long way back that, despite all memory, reads well. They can be the gift we give ourselves.
I have more I'd love to share, but not the freedom to do so. Like Jacob Marley, we're all bound by chains that (some more than others) we forge ourselves. Don't worry about coming off like Scrooge at times, because at the end he turned out okay.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Janitorial Duties
There are a number of strategies writers adopt when they edit their work. There are some that will keep a document active for as long as it takes. Years, even decades will go by from the completion of the first draft to the final edit, while the writer will meticulously correct, restructure, and position every letter with the diligence and precision of a neurosurgeon. I respect this strategy, but it’s not for me, mostly because it requires a number of attributes I lack.
There’s the first-and-out strategy. I’ve known a couple of people who truly believe that the first draft is the most honest, that the raw text contains the purest form of the narrative and that’s what should be published, and good for them. Such people did not grow up required to take regular speech therapy sessions. I can’t legally describe what I would do for the ability to pass what I want to say through a trusted set of eyes before it shot out of my mouth. Any clever thing I’ve said – probably EVERY clever thing – was a result of me holding back a statement that crucial half second to get just a little bit closer to truth. Thoughts are pure and beautiful things, but the language used to express those thoughts inevitably fails to convey their whole essence. I firmly believe the best anyone can do is know their languages flaws well enough to occasionally use them to their advantage.
Most people fall in the middle. They push the first draft out, ignoring the errors they find as they type, then go back and start cleaning it up enough that they can admit to another person they wrote it. Then those people tell the writer what they missed. Revise and review. The sequence and amount of time can vary endlessly, but it stops when the writer’s sick of looking at the thing. Most say “when the document is as clean as it can be before submission”, but there’s not one user of this strategy that hasn’t felt queasy at the thought of reviewing their manuscript another time.
There’s a lot that happens during the editing process that can determine how long it last, but ultimately it comes down to the deadline. How clean can a writer get their manuscript before someone with a checkbook gets bored waiting for it? Setting one’s own deadlines is a great disciplinary measure; a writer gets used to having to focus, to the best job in the fastest time, and develops skill as a result. Of course, writers have their own checkbooks. Often stained with red.
There’s the first-and-out strategy. I’ve known a couple of people who truly believe that the first draft is the most honest, that the raw text contains the purest form of the narrative and that’s what should be published, and good for them. Such people did not grow up required to take regular speech therapy sessions. I can’t legally describe what I would do for the ability to pass what I want to say through a trusted set of eyes before it shot out of my mouth. Any clever thing I’ve said – probably EVERY clever thing – was a result of me holding back a statement that crucial half second to get just a little bit closer to truth. Thoughts are pure and beautiful things, but the language used to express those thoughts inevitably fails to convey their whole essence. I firmly believe the best anyone can do is know their languages flaws well enough to occasionally use them to their advantage.
Most people fall in the middle. They push the first draft out, ignoring the errors they find as they type, then go back and start cleaning it up enough that they can admit to another person they wrote it. Then those people tell the writer what they missed. Revise and review. The sequence and amount of time can vary endlessly, but it stops when the writer’s sick of looking at the thing. Most say “when the document is as clean as it can be before submission”, but there’s not one user of this strategy that hasn’t felt queasy at the thought of reviewing their manuscript another time.
There’s a lot that happens during the editing process that can determine how long it last, but ultimately it comes down to the deadline. How clean can a writer get their manuscript before someone with a checkbook gets bored waiting for it? Setting one’s own deadlines is a great disciplinary measure; a writer gets used to having to focus, to the best job in the fastest time, and develops skill as a result. Of course, writers have their own checkbooks. Often stained with red.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Apologies to xkcd
There’s a sci-fi staple that I haven’t seen or heard in a while, it feels to me, and that is the notion of quantum computer. In the shared experience we tolerate (re: reality), all quantum computing entails is the capacity for a computer to say “it could be both zero AND one”, instead of the current “it must be either zero OR one” mentality. Such a computer could take longer to process some things (it has 50% more possibilities to work with), but could solve other problems in much fewer steps.
In science-fiction, quantum computers get a bit cooler. They take their definition of “quantum” from the idea that all options people don’t choose in life exist in other realities. This kind of quantum computer observes those other realities and, taking a set of definitions from its user, can actually predict the outcome of a situation, and even recommend actions toward optimum benefit. Does this sound familiar to anyone else? Give it the stock reports from the past week, it’ll tell you how to make 50,000% return in one afternoon of trading. Are pirates invading your home with the aim of abducting you and your cat to hold for ransom? If you have a quantumly-smart phone, you just describe what they look like and what order they burst in and your phone can tell you how to either sneak out and steal their car or go all Batman on their asses. In short, sci-fi Q.C.s could activate god mode in a person’s life.
I was thinking about this and a few side-thoughts came up. First was that this Q.C. would have one huge, critical blind spot, that is it would not be looking at its own reality. Presumably, the best reason our Q.C. could comprehensively observe these realities is because it exists outside of them. That being the case, this position would mean it could not examine any data that was not entered in by its user, itself vulnerable to bias, error, and its own limited perspective. This means that any output from the Q.C. is applicable only to a certain point for its user. For example, I could ask for the ultimate chocolate chip cookie recipe, and could get one, but if the realities it searched just happened to be silicon-based instead of carbon, I would probably not appreciate the resulting cookies as much as the Q.C. thought I would. Not to mention I would need to get a government license to legally buy a few of the ingredients, but whatever.
Simply by observing the scope of the multiverse, we would remove ourselves from it. Much like the camera man and the mosh pit at a concert, we can either be in the thick of things ourselves, or we watch everyone else have fun. We can’t have both. Taking it to another level, this means that in another reality, one with its own Q.C. that can look into the whole of the multiverse, it would not be able to look into ours. Why? Because we already took ourselves out of the multiverse by having the audacity to want to look at other realities.
It is common knowledge that the most comprehensive opinion is the one that comes from outside. Such an opinion has risen in value over time because it has so often been proven correct, if occasionally unwelcome. It’s why doctors and judges are made to remove themselves from cases whose outcomes might affect them directly. But the power to control such weighty things as health or freedom comes at the cost of being able to stand with one’s own when they need connection the most. In the case of doctors or judges, very often there are others that can act objectively so those of us with friends in need don’t have to act, they can simply be there for each other. Does the same apply to factions of the multiverse? Can we add ourselves back in after grasping the power to watch and learn from others, trusting another universe to wield the same power in a way that won’t hurt anyone?
I normally see such trains of thought accompanied by comforting stick figures. I hope their lack didn’t make the above too painful.
In science-fiction, quantum computers get a bit cooler. They take their definition of “quantum” from the idea that all options people don’t choose in life exist in other realities. This kind of quantum computer observes those other realities and, taking a set of definitions from its user, can actually predict the outcome of a situation, and even recommend actions toward optimum benefit. Does this sound familiar to anyone else? Give it the stock reports from the past week, it’ll tell you how to make 50,000% return in one afternoon of trading. Are pirates invading your home with the aim of abducting you and your cat to hold for ransom? If you have a quantumly-smart phone, you just describe what they look like and what order they burst in and your phone can tell you how to either sneak out and steal their car or go all Batman on their asses. In short, sci-fi Q.C.s could activate god mode in a person’s life.
I was thinking about this and a few side-thoughts came up. First was that this Q.C. would have one huge, critical blind spot, that is it would not be looking at its own reality. Presumably, the best reason our Q.C. could comprehensively observe these realities is because it exists outside of them. That being the case, this position would mean it could not examine any data that was not entered in by its user, itself vulnerable to bias, error, and its own limited perspective. This means that any output from the Q.C. is applicable only to a certain point for its user. For example, I could ask for the ultimate chocolate chip cookie recipe, and could get one, but if the realities it searched just happened to be silicon-based instead of carbon, I would probably not appreciate the resulting cookies as much as the Q.C. thought I would. Not to mention I would need to get a government license to legally buy a few of the ingredients, but whatever.
Simply by observing the scope of the multiverse, we would remove ourselves from it. Much like the camera man and the mosh pit at a concert, we can either be in the thick of things ourselves, or we watch everyone else have fun. We can’t have both. Taking it to another level, this means that in another reality, one with its own Q.C. that can look into the whole of the multiverse, it would not be able to look into ours. Why? Because we already took ourselves out of the multiverse by having the audacity to want to look at other realities.
It is common knowledge that the most comprehensive opinion is the one that comes from outside. Such an opinion has risen in value over time because it has so often been proven correct, if occasionally unwelcome. It’s why doctors and judges are made to remove themselves from cases whose outcomes might affect them directly. But the power to control such weighty things as health or freedom comes at the cost of being able to stand with one’s own when they need connection the most. In the case of doctors or judges, very often there are others that can act objectively so those of us with friends in need don’t have to act, they can simply be there for each other. Does the same apply to factions of the multiverse? Can we add ourselves back in after grasping the power to watch and learn from others, trusting another universe to wield the same power in a way that won’t hurt anyone?
I normally see such trains of thought accompanied by comforting stick figures. I hope their lack didn’t make the above too painful.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Decorations
Here's that shorty I was talking about last update. This was typed using QuickOffice Word on a Droid Bionic with SwiftKey X. Between the breaks and "editing", this took about an hour and a half to write. One typo was corrected after moving it from the phone. It came from a joke exchanged at the comic book store that I wanted to explore just that much more.
The cold was biting again, and would bite for some time yet. It wasn't concerned. The snow had blessed it just a short time ago with its cushioning depth. The kin would benefit as the season passed and it went from loose powder to protective shell. For itself, the powder would be best loose, just for a while longer.
The tree waited. Reliably, dutifully, the savage walked into the forest. It tracked the savage as well as it could through the snow's coverage. The savage was as regular as the season. The tree had felt the screams of the kin as the savage followed the snow to fell one post-sapling tree every year. They all felt the screams, it corrected.
It felt the savage approach. It was to be the savage's chosen this cycle, and it rejoiced. It delighted as the savage prepared to take the first bite. This bite was not like the cold, it would penetrate faster than anything the tree might have imagined. It remembered the screams of the kin-that-were when, over the course of a thousand insignificant bites, each tree fell. The silence that followed was always louder still.
The tree allowed the savage one bite. Before the tree could register the pain, it flailed its upper limbs and blinded the savage with its accumulated powder. Distracted, the savage never saw the tree's lower limbs whip into his soft, watery flesh.
Heavy red rain stained the alabaster snow directly beneath, when the tree noticed that same rain would not color its ageless needles. It felt sacred bathing in the savage's sap, and while the shock of the single bite spread through its trunk, it started to sing.
Happy Holidays.
The cold was biting again, and would bite for some time yet. It wasn't concerned. The snow had blessed it just a short time ago with its cushioning depth. The kin would benefit as the season passed and it went from loose powder to protective shell. For itself, the powder would be best loose, just for a while longer.
The tree waited. Reliably, dutifully, the savage walked into the forest. It tracked the savage as well as it could through the snow's coverage. The savage was as regular as the season. The tree had felt the screams of the kin as the savage followed the snow to fell one post-sapling tree every year. They all felt the screams, it corrected.
It felt the savage approach. It was to be the savage's chosen this cycle, and it rejoiced. It delighted as the savage prepared to take the first bite. This bite was not like the cold, it would penetrate faster than anything the tree might have imagined. It remembered the screams of the kin-that-were when, over the course of a thousand insignificant bites, each tree fell. The silence that followed was always louder still.
The tree allowed the savage one bite. Before the tree could register the pain, it flailed its upper limbs and blinded the savage with its accumulated powder. Distracted, the savage never saw the tree's lower limbs whip into his soft, watery flesh.
Heavy red rain stained the alabaster snow directly beneath, when the tree noticed that same rain would not color its ageless needles. It felt sacred bathing in the savage's sap, and while the shock of the single bite spread through its trunk, it started to sing.
Happy Holidays.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Linkage
I got a new phone the other day. The last time I upgrades cell phones, I got a Blackberry Storm about two months before the Storm 2 came out. This time I promised myself I'd get something that - while it WOULD go out-of-date in side a few months, that just the nature of the beast - it wouldn't be out-of-date for a long time. Hence, the Droid Bionic.
Not being very experienced with Android phones, I have been poking at prodding like a young boy might a full-figured mannequin. The Bionic is much more responsive and rewarding. Angry Birds and the Amazon app have been downloaded and get good use. I found one game, Alchemy, that I have gotten at least one friend* angrily addicted to. I've ordered a cheap case, and mean to install a mount so I can get all GPS-y up in this. It's like I'm catching up with the rest of society.
Another friend* got me into SwiftKey, a third-party keyboard which I immediately gravitated toward over the stock program. I'm still not completely used to it yet, and since the only way will be with practice, I aim to write a short story on this little piece of tech. The results shall be posted here. Should I time it? I'll figure it out.
*I don't use friends names NOT out of shame of or for my friends, but because I want to provide them the option of anonymity.
Not being very experienced with Android phones, I have been poking at prodding like a young boy might a full-figured mannequin. The Bionic is much more responsive and rewarding. Angry Birds and the Amazon app have been downloaded and get good use. I found one game, Alchemy, that I have gotten at least one friend* angrily addicted to. I've ordered a cheap case, and mean to install a mount so I can get all GPS-y up in this. It's like I'm catching up with the rest of society.
Another friend* got me into SwiftKey, a third-party keyboard which I immediately gravitated toward over the stock program. I'm still not completely used to it yet, and since the only way will be with practice, I aim to write a short story on this little piece of tech. The results shall be posted here. Should I time it? I'll figure it out.
*I don't use friends names NOT out of shame of or for my friends, but because I want to provide them the option of anonymity.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Bloodshot
A lot of my friends love to boast about how much sleep they can avoid. I may be mixing up the context a bit, but I think I have the idea: if one isn't asleep, one can do other things, and other things are more interesting than sleep. Sounds great, and I respect those that can pull it off. I ain't one of them.
It's not like I have the fun kind of insomnia where I can't physically sleep for days at a time, otherwise I'd be one of the above. Sleeping, for me, is something of a chore. I've never been able to just lie on the couch and grab an hour of rest, not without a major dose of either antihistamines or disease. At night, I can have burned 10,000 calories, worked eight hours, and played games with friends until I thought the pieces/ screen was moving on its own, my head hits the pillow and it takes an hour for my head to calm down, sometimes longer. It's not enough that I'm physically, mentally, spiritually exhausted, oh no, I have to WANT it.
This doesn't exclude me from the biological need for sleep, in fact Nature thought it'd be funny if my need was actually above average on top of being able to get it so roughly. Like many of my countrymen, I am not in shape. Sorry, Body, I have other things I'd like to do with my time. When I can, I exercise, but usually I can't, which limits my energy under ideal conditions. These conditions are mostly theoretical, and I can't recall actually experiencing them; in fact, I think that's what "ideal" means.
Last night's, for example, were what I call "good" conditions: plenty of physical and mental activity, maybe not as social as possible, started prepping before 11pm. Today I woke up feeling exactly the same as I did before sleeping, re: completely exhausted. This isn't unusual, I just drink a couple cups of coffee and it goes away. Not today. Today I drove to work, barely, my brain moves like mud in winter, and someone has replaced my eyes with burnt-out charcoal. If I could access my full vocabulary (thank you, internet, for getting me this far), I'd properly curse whatever gene was responsible for this. Though now that I think about it, one ancestor or another had to have beaten me to that punch.
And I have five more hours of work to go through. Score.
It's not like I have the fun kind of insomnia where I can't physically sleep for days at a time, otherwise I'd be one of the above. Sleeping, for me, is something of a chore. I've never been able to just lie on the couch and grab an hour of rest, not without a major dose of either antihistamines or disease. At night, I can have burned 10,000 calories, worked eight hours, and played games with friends until I thought the pieces/ screen was moving on its own, my head hits the pillow and it takes an hour for my head to calm down, sometimes longer. It's not enough that I'm physically, mentally, spiritually exhausted, oh no, I have to WANT it.
This doesn't exclude me from the biological need for sleep, in fact Nature thought it'd be funny if my need was actually above average on top of being able to get it so roughly. Like many of my countrymen, I am not in shape. Sorry, Body, I have other things I'd like to do with my time. When I can, I exercise, but usually I can't, which limits my energy under ideal conditions. These conditions are mostly theoretical, and I can't recall actually experiencing them; in fact, I think that's what "ideal" means.
Last night's, for example, were what I call "good" conditions: plenty of physical and mental activity, maybe not as social as possible, started prepping before 11pm. Today I woke up feeling exactly the same as I did before sleeping, re: completely exhausted. This isn't unusual, I just drink a couple cups of coffee and it goes away. Not today. Today I drove to work, barely, my brain moves like mud in winter, and someone has replaced my eyes with burnt-out charcoal. If I could access my full vocabulary (thank you, internet, for getting me this far), I'd properly curse whatever gene was responsible for this. Though now that I think about it, one ancestor or another had to have beaten me to that punch.
And I have five more hours of work to go through. Score.
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