As you know if you've spent any time floating around here at all, I used to do a pretty decent job of maintaining this little piece of real estate on the web. The last time my posts slowed to a crawl... it was for much the same reasons as now: too much work, not enough time, and the blog is taking much to much administrative effort to keep going.
When I first started blogging here in 1998 or so, I hand-tooled the html every time I updated the page. Not difficult, but it gets tedious after a while. Then I met Jehan Semper, who programmed a content management system in perl that I used for years. Wow, did that make it easy to keep the site updated.
But even so, hand tooling special features became a bit of a chore, and I wanted things like "comments" and other Web 2.0 gadgets like all the other cool kids. Along came Movable Type, and I was once more off to the races.
Now, it's the one-click uploading of photos and comment screening that I want. Like all the cool kids. If I paid any attention to this blog at all, it would be to delete the hundreds of comment spam e-mails I get every week. Of course, I don't bother because I get thousands of junk e-mails each week, and it's a struggle just to reply to valid e-mail, let alone maintain my blog.
...let alone go to work, raise my kids, deal with recent surgery (more on that in a future post), and many other things, besides. But you get the idea.
This blog started out as a means of keeping in touch with friends and family and occasionally waxing philosophical about the topics of interest to me. Truth be told, I haven't really run out of things to say. But it would be more fun standing on a cool new soap box.
So, do any of you, my dear readers, have any suggestions on how I might improve my blogging experience, and thereby renew my enthusiasm here? How might I make it easier on myself to share not only recipes with you, but photos of the finished product? Or pictures of the kids? Or embed movies, for that matter?
Feel free to comment with your suggestions... I promise to read them!
--me
]]>Having gone to the hospital to see someone about back pain, Gabe was diagnosed with late-stage cancer of the gallbladder. This was just last year. She was told that the odds of someone surviving another five years after such a diagnosis tended to be roughly five out of a hundred, if I recall correctly.
Quite frankly, I thought she had a pretty good shot at being in that five percent. She was otherwise healthy, surrounded by a strong network of love and support, and had all the usual things that people say help in these situations: reasons to live, strong will, etc.
Gabe kept in touch with her many friends via Facebook and CaringBridge -- an example of the good use that the social networks can be put to. We all were able to stay connected with her; share photos and memories and shout-outs and well-wishes; offer support when she was feeling down. Coordinate visits. Even send her gifts by way of her Amazon.com wish list.
I phoned her on January 29th to see how she was doing. Out of respect for her situation, I did not want to be one of her hundreds of friends to inundate her with calls, so I had waited until I thought the dust had reasonably settled. When I called, a good friend of hers answered the phone; Gabe was not doing well, but she'd let her know that I called. A few hours later, Missy phoned me to let me know that Gabe had died shortly after my call.
Gabrielle and I knew each other since my high school days; she and I were writers for a weekly student news magazine at the University of Buffalo. The friends I made during my time at Generation have had a lasting impact on my life. They taught me ways of seeing and thinking that influence me to this day. Gabe, like all of them, was fiercely intelligent and expressive; kind and thoughtful.
We encountered each other at several different stages of our unfolding lives. Buffalo. Boston. Buffalo again. Seattle. She became a nationally known slam poet, and I was emceeing a monthly open-mic poetry night in a suburb of Seattle when someone said I should see about having her as a featured performer. "Funny. I used to know somebody with that name. But her bio here says she's a red-head. The Gabe I knew had brown hair...." Yeah. It was her.
She was driving a Rambler Classic at the time, which she loved. She had changed her appearance and had gone through marriage and divorce and a few career changes and had a new kind of fire and vitality that I hadn't recalled from our previous lives... but she was still Gabe.
A couple of months before she died, Gabe performed her last public appearance on the slam poetry scene. I hope you'll take a few moments out of your day to listen to what she had to say:
For all that I knew Gabe on and off over the years, I never expected to be hit as hard as I was by her death. Once she got and shared the news, it brought us all together. And, I think, it made her passing that much harder.
I am taking Gabe's advice. I'm doing what I can to make my life better today. I'm stepping with more purpose. I'm fixing what needs fixing, holding onto what's worth keeping, and putting to rest that which can not (or should not) be mended.
And, what about you, my friends? Are you living the life you want to live? If not... what are you waiting for?
Gabe, I miss you terribly, and will always cherish your memory. Happy Birthday.
]]>So I set up a test.
I went to the local grocery store, and bought two otherwise-identical bottles of Dr Pepper -- one using the current formula, and the other using the 'heritage formula' that uses sugar instead of HFCS. I chose Dr Pepper because that is my poison of choice. And yes: I AM WELL AWARE THAT I SHOULDN'T BE DRINKING SODA POP AT ALL, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
Pepsi was also an option to do the sugar versus HFCS taste test challenge, but Pepsi is not my poison of choice.
So. I made myself some peanut-butter toast to use as a palette reset. I asked Paulette to pour one type of Dr Pepper in one mug, and the other in another while I was out of the room, and to return the bottles to the fridge so that I couldn't be swayed by knowing which formula was in which mug.
I came back in the kitchen and began the taste test. I ate a bite of peanut butter toast, and then tried the first mug. Very bubbly. Otherwise, about what I'd expect from Dr Pepper. I had another bite of peanut butter toast, and then tried the second mug.
Hmmm. A very subtle difference. Very subtle. A little (only a weeee bit) fruitier, perhaps. More like... cough syrup.
Hmmm.
I held out the second mug. "This is the sugar version."
"Yes."
"The difference is almost too subtle to notice. But given a choice between the two, I prefer the HFCS recipe."
So, there you have it.
If you slipped me sugar instead of the HFCS version, I probably wouldn't notice or care. But when paying close attention, when it comes to the taste of Dr Pepper, sugar is not an advantage.
This public service message is brought to you by the find folks at Rousselle labs, who remind you that all soda is bad for you, whether you bow to your Big Corn overlords or fall sway to the great "Sugar Is Better" lie.
]]>I resisted for a long while, but then finally decided to go ahead and play the game. Below is what I posted on Facebook, and it generated quite a fascinating discussion on my Facebook page. That said, I post it here for your perusal. Notice how I decided to use this meme to launch into a discussion about more than just 15 books. Hey, it's my Facebook page... I'll post to it however I see fit!
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Rules: Don't take too long to think about it. List 15 books you've read that will always stick with you. They should be the first 15 you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. If you decide to play, tag me back, because I'm interested in seeing what books my friends choose. (To do this, go to your Notes tab on your Profile page, paste rules in a new Note, cast your 15 picks, and tag people in the Note, upper right-hand side.)
I could just as easily make this a list of fifteen authors....
In no particular order (I even filled in the numbers out of order, just to be truly random):
1. Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein
2. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
3. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams
4. 1984 by George Orwell
5. The Harry Potter Series by J.K. Rowling
6. 2001 A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke (plus lots of others by him)
7. The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress by Robert A. Heinlein (plus, almost everything else by RAH)
8. Animal Farm by George Orwell
9. The James Bond series by Ian Fleming
10. The Federalist Papers by James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, and John Jay
11. What the Anti-Federalists Were For by Herbert Storing
12. The Bonds of Womanhood: "Women's Sphere" in New England by Nancy Cott
13. The Boomer Bible by R. F. Laird
14. The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron
15. The Stand by Stephen King
15.5. The Dead Zone by Stephen King (plus, almost everything else SK has written)
16. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
17. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
18. Selected Writings of Abraham Lincoln (And Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, etc., etc.)
19. The Dilbert series by Scott Adams
20. The Far Side series by Gary Larson
21. The Calvin and Hobbes series by Bill Watterson
22. The Pearls Before Swine series by Stephan Pastis
Annotations:
I re-read Catch-22 every few years or so, and it's brilliant every time. Brilliantly funny, razor sharp commentary. Just brilliant.
1984, as I found out later when I read Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler (for a Russian history class) and Anthem by Ayn Rand (recommended by a friend), is a complete rip-off of those two earlier works, but its message still resonates more profoundly than both of those works put together. Odd, but true.
With the exception of 1984, I've re-read 1-9 several times over, and re-read parts of 10-15 and 18-22 several times over.
I included Atlas Shrugged not only because it belongs on the list, but also because I know it'll cheese off some of my friends. I disagree with much of what Ms. Rand had to say, but she nonetheless spoke more truth than many people would like to admit.
Brave New World belongs on this list, too. Only read that one once, however. (Same with Atlas Shrugged.)
The Boomer Bible is one of the most scathingly funny books I've ever read, written in biblical verse. It is a satire on history, politics, religion, psychology, human nature, and in particular, so-called Western Civ.
Why "The Bonds of Womanhood" by Nancy Cott? I was a history major as an undergrad, and this was the first history book I'd read that made me realize just how much of our current social structure in the US is owed directly to the way the Puritans set up shop in New England. Why are most teachers in U.S. secondary schools women? Etc. Fascinating. I could have included many, many history texts regarding WWI and WWII, but this one was the first that really hooked me into history as a field of study.
While most kids have read at least parts of the Federalist Papers, it might surprise you to learn that there were many, many brilliant minds at the time who argued *against* adopting the US Constitution. "What the Anti-Federalists Were For" explains their positions, and it's a must read for anyone interested in US politics. (As I clearly am.)
Ah, hell. Add "Take Back Your Government" by Robert A. Heinlein, his best non-fiction work.
The James Bond books, upon a recent re-reading, are so truly awful it's bizarre. But I loved them. Loved them for years and years. Ate them up like candy.
Extra Credit:
I originally included these because I read them in book form, but since they are plays, I suppose they're not supposed to count. So, as extra credit, I include:
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller (plus, while we're at it, the Crucible)
Macbeth by Shakespeare (plus, while we're at it, Othello)
Inherit the Wind by the guy who wrote Inherit the Wind
Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
Tag. You're it.
]]>Listen to the words of this speech. It astounds me that they were even necessary, and that the dream has not yet quite been achieved.
But we're getting closer, my friends.
]]>("Alliteration now is it? Same as my last visit!")
The blogger in question had made a recent post about how his daughter is considering schools in the Northeast, including, among them, my alma mater. Here is the gibberish I posted as a comment:
I’ve been lurking on your site for a bit, but when I saw the picture of my alma mater, I did a double-take. And to hear that your daughter is looking at Cornell… well!Now, obviously, weather should not be a primary factor in considering where to attend college -- that was all a reference to the blogger's (and his commenters') remarks about the snow there. That said, all things being equal regarding the colleges that make your short list, it's fair to make it *a* consideration.I think I’m going to have to write an entry for my blog about “Why Cornell… (or, any Ivy, for that matter)?” The fact is, wherever your daughter goes, she’s apt to do well because of all that *you* have given her. Even so, by jumping into a school where the student body has a healthy sense of competition and support, she stands to make friends-for-life who will likely encourage her to push beyond her comfort level and better achieve her potential.
It doesn’t hurt that each fresh snowfall on the Cornell campus lends a silent beauty (a blanket of snow is so *quiet* on the gorges and hills) that is unrivaled by any comparable snowfall in Cambridge, New York City, or Philadelphia — Ivy League towns where I’ve also lived. And when the leaves change color? When the summer thunderstorms rage? Awesome.
Truth be told, yes, the snow and the cold can get a little old by the time you hit February in Ithaca. But the first snowfalls? The fantastic thunder storms? The autumnal foliage? It's every bit as fantastic as one could hope for. The natural beauty of the entire region is wonderful to experience.
And, after graduation, Ithaca is a fantastic town to FLEE! FLEE I SAY!
When I a high school senior, one of my teachers asked where I planned to apply. "Oh, UB," I said (referring to SUNY Buffalo, the local university).
"Where else?"
"Just UB."
"Why just UB?"
"Well..." And here's where I had to admit that, like many at my school, my family just didn't have the cash to pony up for an Ivy League education.
"Allan," she said, in that firm I Know What I'm Talking About voice that all good Social Studies teachers are required to have. "If you're smart enough to get into an Ivy League school, you're smart enough to qualify for scholarships."
Duh.
She was right, you know. This applies to anyone. The Ivy League schools all enjoy a substantial endowment. The schools themselves will find a way to make absolutely certain that anyone they admit will not be prevented from attending because of financial constraints. Their financial aid offices are expert at extracting every penny the parents can afford... and then STOP. They don't take more than they can afford. If your family can't pay cash for the whole deal, the student can qualify for grants, student loans, and "work study" campus jobs. And Cornell has a program (called the Cornell Tradition) that, for working students, will pay off your loans as you accrue them.
What bothered me about my comment to the blogger's site was that I sent it off hastily, and it reads a bit, er, presumptuous. The line about, "...by jumping into a school where the student body has a healthy sense of competition and support, she stands to make friends-for-life who will likely encourage her to push beyond her comfort level and better achieve her potential."
That sounds wrong. So, let me explain:
Over the years, I've taken many, many college courses at many different schools. SUNY Buffalo, University of Washington, Cornell, and University of Pennsylvania. Two state schools, and two Ivies. The classes were, on the whole, equally excellent at each school. The faculty? Equally good. Sure, there are a few more "star" academics at the Ivies, but the professors at those state schools are no slouches. And they do have academic stars of their own.
The difference that I noticed was in my classmates. And, again, don't get me wrong: I was surrounded, in each case, by people who were smarter than I. And, who better to learn with and from than people who know more than I do? But, each student body had its own dynamic (for lack of a better word), and the dynamic at Cornell was a little more... more.
They were a little more excited to see how far we could go. The late-night bull sessions were a little more animated; a little more thought provoking. Sure, we talked about sex and drugs and rock and roll, the same as any other college kids. But we also talked about the Bigger Picture more at Cornell than at the state schools. While there wasn't necessarily more intellect, there was more intellectual curiosity. More drive.
I saw what my friends were doing, and being a social creature (as are we all), I tried harder to keep up. And I know that by doing so, my classmates did the same. They worked harder to keep up with me.
Was Cornell a pressure cooker? Only if you made it one. I was a bit of a perfectionist my first year (a hold-over from my high school days), but got over that with time. In the Ferris Bueller's Day Off world, I started off as a Cameron, but ended as a Ferris. Except... the more I relaxed, the better my grades got. Go figure.
And, like most college kids, the good friends I made there did become friends for life. We may only speak to each other a couple times a year, but the bonds are strong. And my friends are successful. They continue to inspire me to better myself and my circumstances.
Of course we all have our problems. Of course my crew and I have had our shares of business failures, career flops, romantic woes and the like. But, by having each other as resources as well as inspiration, it's also been easier to recover from those setbacks. The friends I made during my days at Generation Magazine at UB? A couple went on to become reporters for city newspapers. My friends from the WVBR news department at Cornell? One became a VP at Disney (in charge of ABCNews.com), while another is co-hosting Good Morning America on the weekends.
I love them all dearly. But who am I going to go to for career advice if I want to get back into news as a profession? (I'm looking for work, by the way, in case you know of any good job openings in software, project management, or, well, media. I'll post my resume shortly....)
Getting a degree from an Ivy does not guarantee you a job. It does not guarantee you a superior education. It doesn't guarantee you much more than what you bring to the table, yourself. But even after all these years, I still encourage my friends with children to consider that there *is* an advantage to an Ivy League experience. It's subtle, but it's there.
It's slightly better because you make it so. And that makes all the difference in the world.
[Coming up in a future post: Why I hated Cornell, and nobody should ever inflict it upon their kids!]
]]>"Anybody wanna be Santa?"
"Sure, I'll do it." I put on the costume. Now, keep in mind that at the time, I was in pretty good shape: I was a varsity swimmer, skinny as a rail, and all my weight was lean muscle. I slipped into the suit and turned into the skinniest, whitest Santa you've ever seen walking with a city swagger at a mostly non-white, inner city high school. (Yes, people, even Buffalo has an inner city, complete with drug gangs and guns in the schools and all that.) I didn't bother with the beard, if there was one.
I decided to play it up. Over half of the kids had skipped school that day, so there really wasn't much going on in any of the classes. The teachers were taking it easy, the kids were taking it easy, and I was feeling... playful. Frisky.
Keep in mind, at school I was a straight-laced, perfectionist, up-tight white boy. I had a sense of humor, but I tended to be... guarded around the girls. They'd never want anything to do with me anyway, I figured. (Well, except for the fact that several kept hitting on me, and I was too wound up to do anything about it.) But, now, here I was in this Santa suit, with none of the classroom pressure I normally put upon myself, and I was free! Free to be a different guy.
I didn't play Santa. I played a guy playing Santa. I played a guy who didn't mind being forward -- inappropriately forward, in fact -- who was playing Santa. And everyone else played along.
"Hello, little girl, want to sit on Santa's lap?" I asked all the pretty girls, esp. the seniors and other "unattainables." And they did. All smiles, and some giggles, these girls I never would have approached as myself gladly sat down and entertained lecherous banter with my jolly ol' elf.
Looking back... for all that I was a smart kid, why did I never, ever see the lesson in all this? Those "unattainable" girls weren't unattainable. They liked me! I was a likeable enough guy; all I had to do was engage.
At the end of that school year, some of those girls signed my yearbook saying that they would always remember me as their lecherous Santa (or words to that effect). The one time I let my guard down and allowed myself to be playful was the me they would remember.
A lesson I don't think I ever really took to heart.
2006. Married man, father of two young boys. (Nolan was an infant.)
I was president of the community association board of directors. The community center was going to have a tree lighting ceremony, and I figured they'd ask me if I wanted to light it. Imagine my surprise when they said that *Santa* was going to lead the lighting ceremonies. And then, further surprise, they asked if *I* would be Santa.
Since the fire department would be giving Santa a ride to the event, I went a couple of days early to meet with the guys at the fire station, and to try on the suit. The suit was a good suit, but imagine my dismay when I discovered that, well, I didn't need any padding to fill out the suit. It fit me perfectly. Bah, humbug.
Instead of my brown steel-toed boots, the firemen leant me a pair of black fire fighter boots and the ensemble looked quite convincing. Hands down, the coolest part of the gig was getting to ride in the fire truck, sirens a wailin', en route to the event. If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend it.
At the time, Alex was four years old. Old enough to enjoy the all the trappings of Christmas. Paulette brought the kids to the event (there were games and activities for the kids; it was a big party, of which the tree-lighting was just one part.) Let me tell you, one of the most surreal experiences of my life was sitting there in Santa's chair, talking to the kids as they came up one at a time to tell Santa that they were being good and what they wanted for Christmas... and watching my own children look at me and completely not recognize me. Eventually, Alex came up to sit on Santa's lap.
"Hellooo, Alex! And are you being a good little boy this year?" I had on my Santa voice. Having spent years in radio, my "on" voice is very different from my normal conversation voice. But still....
"Yes," he said, in that matter-of-fact way he had. No sign of recognition at all. Or was there?
"Are you being a good big brother?" I asked.
"Yes."
"And what would you like for Christmas?"
"A Spiderman!" I didn't even know he knew who Spiderman was. We didn't watch tv at home except for DVDs of the Wiggles and Walking With Dinosaurs and the like. But anyway...
We talked for a bit with the usual patter before I sent him along, but man that was weird. Talking to my own kid and he didn't even realize it.
"The usual patter." Ha! I've been doing Santa for the community holiday events ever since. I'm such an old pro. But, yes, there's a routine.
2009. I've dropped about 35 pounds or so. If anyone were to ask why Santa's looking a little bit thinner this year, I'd simply say that it's been a lean year for all of us. Ho, Ho, Ho. (I needn't have worried. I saw myself in the mirror, and in that get-up... let's just say, even a few belt notches in, this Santa has a long way to go in the weight loss department.)
This year, my children are not in attendance. Otherwise, we go through the usual routine. The difference, this year, is that it's a new events committee, so they set things up differently. I had a Mrs. Claus, for example, and some helpful elves who would lean in and tell me the names of the kids before they came to sit on my lap. Wonderful touches like that.
One boy kept asking if I was the real Santa. At one point, he asked me if I could make kids fly. This was while we were outside, getting ready to light the big community tree outside the community center. Lots of kids and parents were within earshot.
"Can you make kids fly?"
"Well... not since that one incident in Albuquerque."
The parents completely cracked up. It was great. Having played Santa a few times now, I've grown into the role. My Santa is a working guy who loves kids, but has an easy-going sense of humor. I encourage the kids to be good to their siblings and find things they love to do in school, but really, the emphasis is on having fun.
This season hasn't felt very Christmassy so far, and truth be told, I wasn't really looking forward to playing Santa this year. But putting on the suit, hearing the carolers at the party, cracking jokes for the parents and posing for pictures with the neighborhood kids definitely helped.
Today, our family is going to get a tree. It's time to get into the spirit of things.
Ho, ho, ho, everybody. Ho, ho, ho.
]]>It's customary for many folks in the US to take stock this last weekend of November of what we have to be thankful for. (Our Canadian friends do it a month and a half earlier. Something about the exchange rates on Canadian days being shorter than US days, or something.)
At the risk of sounding sappy, I just want to say that of course I am most thankful for the continued health and happiness of my beautiful and intelligent boys. Of course I am extremely thankful for my entire family, in all of the many directions it extends.
But I also want to give out a very big thanks to my dear friends. For the past few years, I've generally gotten so wound up in the day-to-day of running my business and tending my family that I started to lose connection with my friends. This year, in part thanks to Facebook, but also thanks to my realizing I just plain need to reach out, I've managed to reconnect with many good friends from my past as well as make new good friends at my taekwondo studio, in my neighborhood, and elsewhere. And, I've tried (with varying degrees of success) to shore up the friendships I've been enjoying on an ongoing basis.
As I wrestle with new challenges and new opportunities in my life, I find that my friendships provide me with a sturdy foundation without which I would surely lose my way. Thanks in particular to John, LAL, Kathy L., and so many others. You guys are the best. I can only hope that I prove to be as good a friend to you as you continue to be to me.
And... thanks to you, dear reader, for sticking with me even during my prolonged silences on this blog this year. It's been a rocky year in many ways, but better times are just around the corner.
]]>At one point during my days at the aforementioned software company, I was responsible for coming up with a list of new "Wizards and Templates" that would enable users to easily create various kinds of documents. I recently stumbled upon my brainstorming list of wizards and templates that I'd generated, just to get the ball rolling.
Wouldn't it be cool if, when you started up your favorite office productivity suite, you had the ability to start creating the following with just a click of the mouse?
I seem to recall that, in the end, the patent application would have taken too long, so we settled for photo albums and the like, instead.
What wizards and templates do *you* think would be fun for your office productivity suite?
]]>
The Trouble With Heroes
Edited by Denise Little
Also available from Amazon.com and BN.com.
My story is the one about Jason and Medea... unless, perhaps, it's really about a sports figure whose initials are O. J.
The title? "If I Did It."
Makes a great holiday gift, so be sure to stock up now!
]]>Then, they blew it.
This essay contains spoilers regarding the most recent incarnation of Battlestar Galactica on television. If you think you might one day want to watch the series, do so with the knowledge that I think you'll be similarly disappointed when you reach the ending, but don't read the specifics of why, because I'm about to spoil the ending for you.
The problem with the ending is that it does not satisfactorily resolve a substantial number of the major plot points. At first, it seems to. There's a big battle at "The Colony", Galactica jumps (with Starbuck at the helm) to a solar system that can support human life, and the rest of the fleet meets up with Galactica at its final stop. The fact that it's *our* solar system provides the symmetry we've been expecting all along (the pilot episode tells us they are on a mission to find Earth, so they delivered on *that* promise, at least).
Then, the writers undo any of the good that they had managed to perform up to that point by unraveling the entire story by trotting out the machinery of the Gods. Deus Ex Machina. God did it.
Given the political and religious themes that the series had explored all along, I was primed for the possibility that the answers to some of the plot points would indicate the machinations of a higher power. That's fine. But this went over the top. Everything was all about God's Plan. This breaks all the rules of good storytelling, because once you bring in the Deus Ex Machina, you take out any real drama on behalf of the characters.
Everything is arbitrary.
Starbuck's ship blows up, Starbuck returns, and spends a year screaming, "What am I? What does that make me?" And for a year, we went along. It's a mystery! How will the writers satisfy *this* interesting twist? And at the very end, we learn: Starbuck is merely a plot contrivance. She was a contrived part of God's Plot, nothing more. When it was inconvenient to have her die, she came back. Once her character satisfied the needs of the plot (at least, the plot regarding Earth), she was unnecessary, and >poof!< she disappears.
This was the biggest crime of the writers of the show: they gave great, great set up, and then cheated us of the payoff. For example: the show set up right from the beginning that Apollo and Starbuck were going to get together. All of the traditional clues and foreshadows were there. Then they hooked up with (and married) other characters. And as the series wound down, those characters were killed off (or maimed off, in Anders' case) just in time for the ending we were promised.
And then, was the ending delivered? Did they get together? No. Because the Deus Ex Machina was done with that Plot by the time we reached the resolution.
There was the mystery of who/what Starbuck was. Great set-up. No payoff.
The rise and fall of Gaeta promised, for a very long time, a "redemption" as it were. No.
Right from the beginning, we were given the clues and foreshadowing that promised a profound retribution for Baltar's (and "Caprica Six's") role in the destruction of civilization. Instead, they were among the few characters that made it out alive at the other end, not only relatively unscathed, but even portrayed as some kind of heroes of the resistance.
THEY WERE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATHS OF BILLIONS OF PEOPLE ON TWELVE PLANETS, AND THEY LIVE OUT THE REST OF THEIR DAYS IN PEACE, WITH GOD'S AND MAN'S APPARENT BLESSING.
With all of the pill-popping that Adama was doing during the fourth season, there was a suggestion that we might see a twist on the old "a dying leader shall bring them to the promised land, but shall not enter" prophecy. Instead... nothing is mentioned of it again.
And with all of the fascinating, interwoven relationships among the many different groups and sub-groups, we are told at the end that everyone simply agreed to walk away from it all and head off in onesies and twosies to mingle with the natives. Not only is this completely unbelievable and unfathomable, it betrays the investment the writers (and viewers) made in these complex and interesting relationships. "That's all, folks. Nothing more to see here. From now on, everyone wanders off and doesn't know each other any more."
What happened to the promise of Baltar's followers? Where did they go? Great set-up, no payoff.
Okay, so that's my biggest problem. By pulling out the Deus Ex Machina, all of the wonderful set-up and promises are dropped with no payoff. The only two threads that get any real resolution are: the fleet finds Earth, and Hera's importance is fulfilled.
Here's the other major, major problem I had with the finale. After all this excellent science fiction-y set-up, the main voice of reason at the end (Apollo) sums up the moral of the story as being that SCIENCE IS THE PROBLEM. Science and technology caused this mess, and humanity would be better off if we just ditched it all and went back to living off the land like, well, cavemen:
"If there's one thing that we should've learned, it's that, you know, our brains have always out raced our hearts. Our science charges ahead. Our souls lag behind." -- Lee "Apollo" AdamaSo, instead of of us trying to be better people, to improve our proverbial souls, we put the blame on science. That bad, bad science.
Here is where the writers betrayed me. Betrayed us all. It's bad enough that they failed to fulfill the many promises they made, but then they took it a step further and said that when people do bad things, it's not because human nature has flaws, it's because SCIENCE IS BAD.
People don't kill people. Guns kill people.
It's a message that is inherently wrong, and I must deny this idea to the last. Science is a method of better understanding the world in which we live, through testing, experimentation, and reasoning. Science is a tool that can produce other tools (technology). What we do with those tools is where we make choices. But whatever tools we have at our disposal, we will always be faced with those same choices, and the only way to improve how we make those choices is to improve how we deal with our own nature, both for good and for ill.
To use a Biblical story, Cain did not have (or need) a gun (or sword or bazooka or bomb or num-chucks or martial arts training or taser or Cylon Centurion) to kill Abel. Going all the way back to that story (and further back to the legends of Gilgamesh, if you'd like), science and technology are not the problem. Good problem solving skills, or the lack thereof, are the heart of the matter.
If you want to have an element of God in your story, that's fine. I've read a lot of very satisfying fiction where spiritual elements of one sort or another play a part. The problem here is that the payoff didn't match the set-up. We were given a mystery that was never solved, a love story that was never resolved, a redemption that was never fulfilled, a retribution that was never extracted, and the very genre we were led to believe we were watching (science fiction) was abandoned for another genre (pig-headed, woo-woo, New Age foolishness).
I was talking this over with a friend of mine, who asked if the ending was bad enough to ruin the rest of the series for me. I'm not quite sure, yet. It's happened before... Anne Rice's The Tale of the Body Thief was so bad, for example, that it completely ruined everything about the three previous books in her "Vampire Chronicles", which I can never read again.
But I remain curious about the new series from the same people, Caprica, and I know I want to see the upcoming Battlestar Galactica movie, The Plan. I think that it is, in fact, possible for me to forget the finale happened and watch The Plan. But it's going to have to fulfill any promises it makes. I don't know if Caprica will have that luxury, since the writers have already shown that they are not above giving a great series-wide set-up and then just... ignoring it.
The lesson I take away from BSG is this: no matter how great your writing is, no matter how great the set-up, you have to deliver the goods in the ending, or you will have pissed off your audience and may have a very hard time getting them back for your next work.
]]>Here's how much this recipe impresses women:
My friend had made it for a bunch of us during our senior year in college, and the dinner party included my then girlfriend, who I ended up dating for another two or three years after graduation. During those post-college years, I made this recipe for her twice -- once for a small dinner party on a very cold New Year's Eve in Ithaca, NY, and once for a romantic dinner for just the two of us in New York City. I went all out: a candle-lit dinner with just the right wine, fresh bakery French bread, etc. (Sadly, it was to be our last formal meal together. Ever.)
I remember each time I've made this recipe; it is that distinctive. Those two times I made it for her, even more so.
Five years or so after our relationship dissolved like the former Austro-Hungarian Empire, I spoke with her for one last time. Surely, I said, there must be something positive you remember from our days together. Of course there was, she replied.
"I'll always remember Chicken to Impress Women."
"Really?" I asked. "I only made it for you twice."
"You made it for me? No, Peter made it that one time back on Charles Street."
So. The one good thing she could think of from our years together was the first time she had tasted Chicken to Impress Women. Made by my roommate. That one time on Charles Street.
Some day I'll find a recipe along the lines of "Fillet Mignon to Save a Relationship". In the meantime, I present my only slightly modified version of...
Chicken to Impress Women
Take four or six chicken breasts and rub them with brandy.
Let them stand for about 10 minutes, basking in all that brandied glory, and then season with salt, pepper, and marjoram.
Put six tablespoons of butter into a big pan, and melt.
Saute the chicken over medium heat, 8 minutes to a side (check to make sure that they are cooked all the way through). Remove chicken to a heated dish and keep warm -- I find the oven is an excellent place to keep the chicken at this stage, and if the chicken is quite cooked all the way through, you can leave the broiler on while you execute the rest of the recipe.
Add a half cup of dry sherry to the butter that remains in the pan. Simmer over low heat until half the liquid evaporates.
Beat 2 cups (that's one pint) of heavy cream with 4 egg yolks, then add this to the pan, stirring constantly. Season with salt, pepper, and nutmeg.
Keep stirring, and cook until the sauce is slightly thickened. Pour the sauce over the chicken breasts. Sprinkle with shredded Swiss cheese and fine buttered crumbs. Broil until the cheese just starts to brown.
Bon appetite!
I recommend fresh French bread and salad for sides. Occasionally, I've served this over white rice (cooked in white wine rather than water).
---
As a side note, I'll mention that I've made this for other people (not just her), and it has *always* been favorably received. And to the extent that my former paramour only remembered the time my roommate prepared it, and not the two later times that I'd cooked it for her, I'll simply say that as hard as she worked at forgetting everything about me and us, when it comes to Chicken to Impress Women...
You always remember the first time.
]]>While I've been otherwise occupied, some goobers decided to smash a 1959 Chevy Bel Air into a 2009 Chevy Malibu in order to make a point:
They just don't make 'em like they used to.
Some of y'all who knew me back when may recall that I used to drive a classic car -- that my first car was, in fact, older than I. There were a lot of things to love about that car. From time to time, I even fantasize about the notion of picking up another such car, fixing her up, and making that my driving-around-town vehicle.
But, no, that's a foolish notion, and nostalgia for the things I'm fond of gives way to the sad reality that there's a reason they don't make 'em like they used to. And, that's usually a good thing.
Here's a link to the article: IIHS crashes modern Malibu into '59 Bel Air.
I recommend reading the article. But, since you're here now anyway, check out the video:
[sigh]
]]>
Before Andrew turned one year old, Nolan turned four. His birthday (and party) were in mid-April; I've been meaning to post pictures ever since, and am only now getting around to it a few months later. Sorry, little guy!
His birthday party was the first full-fledged party of his own. Up until this point, all of his friends were Alex's friends (or siblings of Alex's friends'); his parties were more an excuse for the grown-ups to have a pleasant small get-together. Now, though, he has his own friends from pre-school in addition to the kids his age who are siblings of Alex's friends, and as four-year-olds, they can actually participate. What's so amazing is to see these kids come into their own, rather than just be Alex's or Nick's or Kyle's or Jackson's younger brothers/sisters.
The party itself had an airplane motif. His mother very creatively used our industrial printer at work to create a "put the pilot in the plane" game with stickers and a biiig illustration of an airplane; there were wooden planes for painting that the partiers could take home; and, she created some static cling window stick-ons for party favors, as well. The boys and girls all got into it (since we don't have any girls of our own, we weren't sure if they would enjoy airplanes as much as we knew the boys would, but they did, which was great), and Nolan thoroughly enjoyed being king for the day.
As I mentioned earlier, Nolan is very much coming into his own. It's remarkable how he and his older brother can be so similar in temperment, and yet so distinct in personality. Nolan is more of an introvert than Alex (and, for what it's worth, it appears that Andrew is following more in Alex's shoes than Nolan's, in that regard), but when he speaks, it's with authority. He's assertive, clever, and very playful. In fact, one thing that's marked these past few months has been his constant desire to play with his Mom and Dad. Ohhh, if only we didn't have to spend so much of the day working, instead.
Last summer, Nolan took swimming classes with yours truly -- he was at an age where the classes were toddler/parent. He emphatically did NOT like the transition last summer to taking swimming on his own, when it was time to move beyond toddler/parent.
This summer, he has taken to swimming classes like a US auto manufacturer takes to bail-out money -- he just can't get enough. It's thrilling to me to watch him smile as he splashes around in the pool, doing things he used to be afraid of. And unlike the aforementioned US auto manufacturers, he can stay afloat.
We're hoping that we'll be able to get Nolan into a good gymnastics program before too long. He is quite a climber, and given how well Alex is doing with gymnastics, it's clear that Nolan could take it far if he wants to. He enjoys the classes he does have, but the program he is in has been gutted by recent shuffling of the local gyms' personnel, as have all of the other nearby local boys' programs. So far, no good new boys programs have arisen to take their place. We hope it happens soon. Nolan has such a great command of his body, and he is so fearless that this would be an ideal way to channel his energy and ability and, dare the proud parent say it... raw talent!
In the meantime, Nolan continues to shine with his interest in science and constructive play. And, as I mentioned, there's his ever emerging style. What's most heartening for me to see is how well the boys tend to get along with each other; that they can be comfortable developing their own styles while still being sympathetic to each other. Speaking from personal experience, it's a Very Good Thing to get along well with your sibling(s), and I'm so glad to see Nolan doing so well as both a brother and, at the same time, as his own person.
Swordplay
Edited by Denise Little
Also available from Amazon.com and BN.com.
My story is the one about Custer ("Last Man Standing"). Buy early, buy often, and enjoy!
]]>All of these I mention survived their time in the armed forces ('so far,' I must hesitantly add). In the case of my father and grandfathers, I'm particularly glad they survived, because otherwise, I wouldn't be here. Of all of these who completed their service to the government, all went on to contribute in other ways to our society. As parents, as teachers, as a professor, as an assistant principal, as a cop, as a business owner, as a pastor, as so much more.
But so many others, so many more good men and women did not survive their time in our service. How many other children were never born because they didn't return? How many good teachers and parents and professors and business owners and friends and mentors never had a chance to contribute because they had already given their ultimate sacrifice?
Whether they lost their lives in some grand battle to stop Hitler or in some pathetic training exercise gone awry or in some minor skirmish in a battle that never officially happened; whatever their personal motivations for being there; however futile or pivotal their actions were -- they died in our service.
I am thankful to those who have served. I am thankful to those who serve today. To those who survived -- I appreciate what you have done. For those who didn't survive, I honor their service and mourn their loss. Our loss.
Kevin Lier and Lee Scott Dwen, thank you for your continuing service, and may you return home safely to your family and friends and enjoy many long years ahead.
]]>Subject: Prestidigitation?To which I replied something along the lines of:
Body: Elaborate.
"Magic" is typically divided into a few major categories, such as: mentalism (think of a card, any card, and I'll tell you what it is), prestidigitation (pick a card, any card, and I'll do something clever with it), and escape (get me out of this straight-jacket, you card!). There are a number of sub-categories: stage, close-up, street, kids', cardistry (flourishing), comedy, bar, and so on.
First, let me say that I pretty much like it all. I like to watch as a spectator; I like to solve the puzzle (when there is one), and in some cases, I like to practice the art myself. As with writing and reading, I enjoy it for its own sake, and I enjoy dissecting the performance and grokking it. That said, of the major categories of magic, I'm particularly interested in prestidigitation.
I enjoy watching good escape magic, but it's more of a physical feat than a clever ruse. What you see is what is happening.
I've been enjoying studying mentalism, especially as it is all based primarily upon psychological tricks that are also used by con artists, marketing/commercial enterprises, and self-professed psychics. I've always been fascinated by human nature and what makes us tick. So, I enjoy *studying* it. But I don't generally find it as entertaining to watch. (There are some major exceptions.)
Prestidigitation, however, is a joy to watch, to study, and to practice. I'm not very good at it, mind you, but it's fun to try. It typically involves sleight of hand (ie, physical skill), optical illusion, and/or misdirection.
I'm a big fan of comedy magic, where comedic timing is so intricately linked to the timing of the trick. In particular, I'm a fan of card tricks (I collect playing cards), but any kind of prestidigitation can be fun.
Here's a classic example of excellent sleight of hand (under the category "comedy close-up magic") by Bill Malone:
Here's another routine by the same guy (not so much comedy, but excellent close-up magic):
Here's some sleight (watch that Rubik's cube!) plus some excellent misdirection and illusion on stage:
Barry And Stuart On Stage
Notice how, in all three cases, the performance is all about story. I think that's another reason I dig prestidigitation. Escape magic is all about physical daring-do, and mentalism is, for the most part, mind games. But decent prestidigitation requires a story and brings it all together. Without story, all you have is a trick.
What about you, dear reader? Do *you* like magic? What kinds?
]]>I am currently unable to download my personal e-mail because my e-mail client is unable to handle having over 91,000 pieces to download. This is the most amazing spam e-mail attack I've ever seen.
Am using tools in my web-to-mail portal to try to deal with this, but I'd much rather be doing productive work today. Ugh.
]]>
This past Wednesday, Andrew completed his first lap around the sun. As is tradition everywhere in families that have several children, we celebrated quietly at home for our one-year-old rather than having a big to-do. Andrew had his first taste of chocolate cake (in the form of a cupcake, which he promptly smeared all over his face, hands, hair, shirt, chair, etc.) and received a few small presents.
Having two older brothers, Andrew has as many toys as a kid could want, and plays with almost none of them. However, he keeps grabbing for his dad's keys and cell phone, so the little guy got his own toy keys and toy cell phone for his birthday. His grandparents also got him a musical Mozart cube thingy, which he loves to dance to. Andrew seems to have as much interest in music as his brothers and parents, which is just fine with us.
Andrew does the things that typical one-year-olds do. He walks like a drunk, babbles incoherently (also like a drunk, now that I think about it), and instinctively knows which stuff he should avoid playing with and plays with it.
While each of the kids has his own personality, appearance, and style, it's impossible to resist making comparisons. There is one way in which Andrew is completely unlike his brothers at this age -- well, there's two, but I'll get to that in a moment. Andrew is very, very attached to me. Sure, Alexander and Nolan have gone through phases where they would show me varying degrees of affection, but Andrew is constantly asking for me.
When I come home, he won't let me walk by without picking him up and holding him for a while -- otherwise, he'll just cry and cry until I correct my oversight. When I leave in the morning, he clings to me in a way that his brothers had only done occasionally when they were small. The difference is pronounced, and I don't mind saying that it's kinda cool. And don't get me wrong -- I know Alex and Nolan love me, and they still ask for hugs and monkey-back rides and the like. And yes, when they were young, they were attached to me. But not like this.
It could be annoying, I suppose, this constant need for Daddy's attention, but it isn't. I'll give him all the hugs I can as long as he wants 'em. Alex and Nolan are growing *so fast*, that I know it's only a matter of time before they've all outgrown the need for hugs from Dad. I spent this past weekend holding Andrew until my arm felt like it was going to fall off. Sometimes, it's a little inconvenient. But it's never a chore.
There is one other way in which Andrew is different from his brothers; he is the coolest cucumber of the bunch. He very rarely complains (his aforementioned need to be held by moi notwithstanding). He's as easy-going as they get.
That said, as he entered first-birthday-season a few days ago, he has decided to experiment with throwing his version of a tantrum -- again, usually to protest when he's not being held. His version of a tantrum is to refuse to stand up; he'll lie down on the ground and cry demandingly. Any tantrum from any child is a bit annoying, but all his tantrums are doing for me at the moment is reminding me of how effing lucky we've been with him so far.
These are hard times; I am hearing increasingly bad news regarding friends of mine who have lost their jobs, lost their health, or are losing those near and dear to them. I'm having some tough times of my own, for all that, and threats of more on the horizon.
But then there's Andrew. And Alex. And Nolan. I am ridiculously blessed to have them in my life, and incredibly fortunate that they continue to be so amazing, so healthy, and so just-plain-lovable. I love my guys more than I can possibly express, and only hope I can become a better father to them as we all move forward along this bumpy road called 'Life.'
I mention this because, as an amateur photographer, I'm bothered by what looks like a cupcake as big as his head floating mysteriously in the foreground....
]]>Allan Rousselle's Partial List of Genre Definitions
I hope this helps all of my fellow aspiring writers out there. A friend on the list had a great addition; I'll ask for his permission to include it here. Do you have any additions *you* want to make? Please add them via the comments.
--Allan
]]>One such character was John Barry Hill, our "JBH". He was the station's chief engineer when I was there, and had been for decades before. He was, at the time, one of the station's three living memory keepers; he knew the crews from by-gone days, and helped (and, to be honest, sometimes hindered) the development of the station's overall character by providing us with continuity.
JBH was not a perfect man, and he was not necessarily perfect for the radio station. But he was a good man, and he was, on the whole, good for the station. I'm glad to have known him.
I enjoyed his story-telling, and all of the many technical tricks he taught me. He was a gifted practical joker, and had a lively sense of humor. And the man had a voice -- both in the character sense, but also in the vocal sense -- that was compelling. Today, as a writer, I tend to focus on narrative and character voice. As a listener, I'm enthralled by good 'pipes'. JBH had it all. He had Voice. He could put you at ease, or rile you up, but mostly, he just told great stories and explained in just the right words how to do what needed to be done.
JBH is the second good friend of mine from my VBR days to have passed this scene. I have yet to comment on the passing of one of the station's other great "memory keepers" -- Atley Nesbitt. I will, in time. Both men deserve to have their memories honored. While it may be some time before Atley gets his recognition, I was touched to learn about a brief tribute paid to JBH by fellow WVBR alum, Keith Olbermann:
Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy
Here's to you, JBH. You made a lasting impression on all of us who knew you.
]]>I'm an aspiring author. I have several pieces I've begun to put together, however, being somewhat of a beginner, I know they aren't as great of quality as they could be. As a professional author, is there any advice you might give to a young novice?
Hi, Laura.
I'm just starting out myself... even though I've been writing in one form or another since high school. It was only a few years ago that I began to take my fiction writing seriously enough to pursue it as a career. There are many others more qualified than I am to help you along your way, but I'm happy to pass along some advice anyway (beyond the "Wear Sunscreen" variety, which is always worth keeping in mind):
The guitarist, the gymnast, the radio announcer, the basketball star all get better by practicing their craft. Each time they practice, they try to address one or two areas where they could stand to improve. Same is true for writing. It's okay if you write crap, just as it's okay for the aspiring concert cellist to practice and it sounds like crap. Keep working it. You'll become pretty decent faster than you might expect.
You'll also find like-minded writers at your local chapter of the Mystery Writers Association or the Romance Writers Association. And while the best place to hang with SF writers is at the cons, some metropolitan areas do have an active writers community you can tap into. In Seattle, for example, there's the Vanguard group and the Clarion West parties and readings held each summer.
Allow me to recommend, in particular, the Clarion-style workshops (Clarion West in Seattle in particular, but also the Clarion workshop in San Diego and Odyssey in New Hampshire) and the Oregon Coast Writers Workshops. For writers who are not yet sending their work out to editors, I recommend the "Kris and Dean Show" at the Oregon Coast. If, however, you are already sending out your work, or if you've already attended a Clarion-style workshop, then you should seriously consider the "Masters Class" at the Oregon Coast.
I know I wrote up a little article about the do's and don'ts of critique groups. I'll have to look for that, and post a link here when I find it.
In fact, Laura, here's an exercise that I think you'll find worthwhile. Go out right now and pick up a copy of the Year's Best Crime & Mystery Stories and then write a crime story. Next up: Year's Best Science Fiction. Then, do the same with Year's Best Horror. I don't know what genre(s) you are interested in, but do this exercise. You'll learn something from it, I promise you. I certainly did. (I never wrote historical fiction until the piece I did recently based upon Custer's Last Stand, which is the story I sold to the aforementioned Swordplay.)
Thank you, Laura, for allowing me the opportunity to get all didactic. It appeals to the teacher in me. But, all that said, the best advice for aspiring writers is always this:
Keep writing.
Drop by from time to time and let me (us) know how you do, okay?
--Allan
]]>
Okay, here's another gratuitous photo of Alex and Nolan. Sorry to bore my friends and other visitors who aren't as enamored with kids as I am, but every once in a while, I just need to trot out the ol' photo album.
As I've mentioned previously, I'm inclined to share [some of] my experiences with them now, while their lives are still mostly under my umbrella. As they get older, and their stories become more their own, I'll have to exercise even more discretion. In the meantime... let's take another peak at the brothers Rousselle.
I snapped this photo in August of last year. I'm not quite sure why, in the middle of summer, they were inclined to wear heavy pajamas, just as I'm not sure why now, in the middle of winter, they are inclined to wear next to nothing when they go to sleep. They simply take after their old man, I suppose.
But this photo reminds me of a phenomenon I don't think I've mentioned here before, and it strikes me as bizarre every time it happens. When I am out shopping with the kids, or some similar public outing, and they are seated next to each other, it's not obvious that Alex is substantially taller than Nolan. Apparently, it's also not obvious that Alex is three years older than Nolan. I am often asked by passers-by:
Are they twins?
I look at this photo, and I think I see why. Despite Alex's height advantage, Nolan is quite sturdy for his age, and there's only ten pounds or so separating the two. But just look at those smiles. And look at their eyebrows. For all that they are so very, very different, their mannerisms and eloquence are more similar than most siblings I've bumped into. On those occasions when Nolan chooses to wear shirts similar to what Alex is wearing, the resemblance can be quite pronounced.
It's a funny question, every time I hear it, but I also think it's cool. It's a reminder that I've been doubly -- now, triply -- blessed.
That said, I doubt anyone is likely to ask if Alex and Nolan and Andrew are triplets, what with the six year spread, but it seems possible that, a few years down the line, Nolan and Andrew might elicit the same question that Alex and Nolan get now....
]]>Combining the categories will allow me to occasionally make observations about one or more of them without necessarily tipping my hand as to which one I'm referring to. This is not an effort to be coy; rather, as they get older, it'll be more relevant to allowing them some modicum of privacy while still allowing me to tell my stories....
]]>Friday, February 20th, he will be at Third Place Books at 6:30. He has an entire slew of readings in other towns up and down the left coast (including Powell's in Beaverton, OR and Borderlands in San Francisco) throughout this week and next. You can check his website for times and locations.
Ken is an amazing writer as well as a great guy. I've had the opportunity to start on this novel, and I'm enjoying it a great deal. A mutual friend of ours who has been a "first reader" for Ken says that he has seen the first drafts of the next two books, and they just get stronger and stronger. So, go meet Ken if he's coming to your neck of the woods, and definitely buy his book regardless. (And, if you're a fan of science fiction and fantasy, you might even read the book.)
]]>During a lull in the conference, I should have been working on red-lining the page proofs I'd received for Swordplay, which contains a short story of mine ("Last Man Standing"). Instead, I decided to create an account on Facebook, as I'd alluded to earlier.
Once on Facebook, I found a near and dear friend of mine who had posted to her "Notes" section a response to a couple of questionnaires that seem to be making the rounds. "Twenty-Five Random Things About You" and "The Name Game", where you answer questions based upon factoids about yourself.
These seem like really fun games to play, and I want to play. I want old friends of mine to have a chance to catch up with some of the tidbits I've collected in my life over the years. I want my old friends to find me. I intend to find a way to share what I can with them.
BUT.
So many of these fun little games can pose a security risk. I don't mean like, "Oh, Betty Sue from first grade might find out that I've converted to Pastafarianism and now will use that information against me to spoil my relationships with our mutual friends from first grade who have since become religious fundamentalists." Rather, I mean, "Oh, I mentioned the name of my first pet, and that's the security question on my credit card accounts."
I've written a bit more extensively on the topic of "breaking and entering" into your identity using this kind of information. Please take a look at my previous blog post on the subject. But, let me repeat part of it here:
If someone wants to get at your online identity, your weakest link (and therefore your greatest vulnerability) is probably your security question.
Many online data warehouses will, if you "forgot your password", simply e-mail your password or a password-reset link to your e-mail address. As long as you have reasonably good control over your e-mail address, that's fine. But many online data warehouses will, instead, ask a security question (possibly even one that you have picked). Upon successfully answering the question, *anyone* can be given complete access to *your* online identity.
This is particularly problematic for AOL and the major blog networks, where the user ID is already public. If Johnny Badguy wants to hijack your blog on BlogJournal, and he knows (isn't it always a 'he'?) that your blog belongs to "Victim-American", then he already knows the login ID to use. When asked the security question, well... all he has to do is look it up on the web, no?
It's like this: Johnny Badguy types in your login ID and clicks on "I forgot my password." He is then asked, "What year did you graduate college?" He then searches your blog (or elsewhere on the internet, as appropriate) for any references to your age, deduces what year you probably graduated, and then he's in. "What's your mother's maiden name?" He looks for any references you may have made to your grandparents. "Where were you born?" Again, not usually all that hard to find the clues necessary to come up with the answer.
I've been meaning for some time now to post an essay about an old car I owned, but I know I used that as a security question/answer for something, and until I track down what it was, I'm reticent to share that online....
So, yeah. One of these days, I'll probably join y'all in the "Twenty-Five Random Facts About Me" game. But I strongly encourage you to make sure you are not sharing any information that you have used as the answer to a security question on any of your bank, credit, or online accounts.
By the way... will you be my friend?
]]>
Andrew is crawling now... but, mostly backwards. Yesterday saw him finally begin to make "forward progress" in the crawling department. Lately, he's been much more interactive with his environment; playing with toys, grabbing whatever there is to grab, and so on.
Just as Alex did with Nolan when they were at that age, Nolan (at three and a half years old) has suddenly started showing Andrew all sorts of affection. Rather aggressively.
One of Nolan's favorite things to do is give Andrew a nice big hug and kiss... while Andrew is sleeping. Until he is no longer sleeping. When Andrew is awake, Nolan likes to give him a biiig hug, and then pull him down onto the floor. Then, he gets up and moves on to something else. Lately, one of the most common phrases you'll hear at Casa Rousselle is "Gently, Nolan! Gently!"
While it *is* inconvenient to have Nolan waking Andrew up from naps, I have to say I'm happy that he has started to interact with Andrew with such joy and enthusiasm. For a little while there, Nolan didn't seem to know what to make of Andrew.
Alex, at six and a half years old (in fact, he hit "six and half years" exactly just a couple days ago), is very much stepping into the role of Big Brother. He's helpful when it comes to the little things -- running to get wipes or toys for Andrew when we ask -- and enjoys taking time out to play with his baby brother. Alex looks out for his brothers, and that makes me more pleased than I know how to express.
As you can tell from the photos, Andrew's hair is coming in a bit thicker than his brothers', and also a little bit darker. While many people comment that Andrew's face looks even more like mine than his brothers did when they were babies, I suspect he's getting his hair genes from his mother -- which is all to the good, given how thick and healthy her hair remains, and how fine and thinning my hair has been.
We've also belatedly started Andrew on solid foods. Like his brothers before him, Andrew shows little interest in eating, but seems quite content to grab food and smear it anywhere he can reach... most often, his face and aforementioned hair. Is this common with kids, or just *our* kids?
That said, with "short" blog entries like this, is it any wonder I'm finding it hard to get the time to post items that are more in depth?
In the meantime, though, I find it necessary to comment on an event that happened earlier this day. While I still have many thoughts I want to share about our new President, and the politics surrounding his election, and so on, the transition of power today bears particular attention.
I have commented many times before on this blog, and elsewhere, that I have had differences of opinion with the previous administration. And while I have been less obvious about it on this blog, I must also take exception to the notion that our previous President is the "worst ever." Not even by a long shot. (That's a very rich topic for another day.) Most people who make such a claim have obviously not studied their American history all that closely.
But I find it remarkable that, on his way out of office, President George W. Bush left with grace and dignity. No last minute flurry of questionable pardons. No last minute theatrics or grandstanding. Granted, there were a couple last minute Presidential Executive Orders worthy of reconsideration. But, all in all, George W. Bush left the White House today with an important distinction.
George W. Bush turned over the reigns of governmental power in a peaceful, orderly fashion. Our constitutional government, for all of its many, many flaws, remains in tact and, despite a change in leadership, stable and predictable. "Distinction?" You ask. "It's been done 42 times before."
Yes, it's been done 42 times before. Well, actually, more like 41 times before, since Buchanan did an awful job of turning over the government to Lincoln. Truly awful. But, that notwithstanding, each successive transition of executive power is for the record books. Our republic persists, which is more than can be said of so many other governments throughout the world and throughout history. And, for all it's flaws, there remains the very real hope that *many* of our nation's problems can and will be eventually corrected... without undue damage to the republic as a whole. We have managed, against so many odds, to perpetuate a system of government that is not only somewhat reasonable and fair, but also nominally self-correcting and self-healing. It's truly amazing. The proverbial "machine that would go of itself" still works.
I have no reason, yet, to laud our new President. Nor have I reason, yet, to censure him. But I am nonetheless glad that we have a new President. For all that, nothing so became George W. Bush's Presidency as the leaving of it.
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Love him! Love him!
]]>You may remember him as one of the thumbs up/thumbs down reviewers from TV's movie-review programs "Siskel & Ebert" or "Ebert & Roeper". But he's been a newspaper man for a few decades in Chicago, and his work has been online for the last several years. I visit his site regularly (rogerebert.com) and catch up as much as I can from the archives in addition to the new stuff that's posted. Mr. Ebert and I often disagree in matters of taste as well as politics, but I enjoy reading his work immensely.
Ebert has a phrase that he likes to employ when discussing a movie that has a particular bent; he'll remind us that "a movie is not about what it is about; it is about how it is about it." This is a profound thought, and it bears consideration. For the sake of argument, think about the movies "The Godfather" and "Analyze This". Among other things, both are ostensibly about how hard it is to be a crime family. But how they go about showing that is what makes them the (very different) movies they are.
This is all by way of saying that similarly, Ebert's movie reviews are not about the movies he's reviewing; they are about how they are about them. This is what makes his writing so much fun. His reviews and essays are multi-layered.
Take, for example, his review of "The Aristocrats," a movie featuring a large number of different comedians telling the same joke. Ebert starts his review by commenting on the nature of different kinds of humor (the quick and the slow build-up), then takes a series of quick snips at pieces of the movie. His review then ends with a killer punch-line, that reveals that the whole review was a slow build-up all along. Brilliant!
(As a former producer of a comedy radio show, I was put on guard when he states early in his review of "The Aristocrats" words to the effect that, "I know something about humor." Echoes of "Good Morning Vietnam" rang through my head. But when I got to his punch line, he had me convinced.)
Alas, my post today is not really about why I enjoy Ebert's writing so much. But take my word for it; you should go read him.
Mr. Ebert spent a couple of years recuperating from surgery complications that nearly ended his life. He still is unable to eat or speak (so yes, his television days appear to be behind him at present and may well stay that way, and yes, he is much thinner than the guy you might remember seeing on TV), but he is back at work, writing as if there were no tomorrow. During his medical ordeal, a movie called "Expelled" came out that, in Michael Moore-ish fashion, creatively mixed fact and fiction to claim that Intelligent Design proponents were being unfairly treated by Big Science.
As Ebert resumed writing, he was frequently pestered to write a review of this pseudo-documentary. He recently posted his response, not within his formal movie reviews on the Chicago Sun-Times sponsored site, but on his personal blog here.
In my opinion, the blog entry stumbles out of the gate, but once he picks up steam, he hits it out of the park. (How many metaphors can I mix in one sentence? My record so far is tied at three.) You should read it. Go ahead. I'll wait.
As you'll notice, he allows comments to be posted. What inspired me to write tonight was a series of comments that appeared below this particular entry. Keep in mind, his essay was about the movie Expelled and, in particular, the intellectual dishonesty that Ben Stein and the movie's producers employed in claiming that Intelligent Design was anything other than a cover for religious dogma. That was the whole point of Ebert's essay.
He often notes the use of the "excluded middle;" the failure of the movie's producers to entertain the notion that some people can be religious and still believe that evolution works the way scientists describe. What I found fascinating was how several commenters (commentors?) completely missed the point of Ebert's essay and went straight to the same "excluded middle" assumptions by begging the question, "What is the meaning of life if we're all just the result of a bunch of chemical interactions?"
Understanding biological evolution has nothing to do with resolving philosophical or, for that matter, religious conundrums. Ebert's review did not take a position on religion (although, if I recall correctly, he has stated elsewhere in his writing that he believes we are more than just a bundle of chemical reactions). Religion wasn't the point. Intellectual dishonesty in a movie that claimed to be a documentary was the point.
But I feel compelled to address the little philosophical conundrum that those commenters posed, because I hate, hate, hate crimes against logic. The commenters in question assume that subscribing to the concept of biological evolution necessarily means believing that we are nothing more than a bundle of chemical impulses. Therefore, they further deduce from this faulty assumption, people who agree with evolution have no ends worthy of pursuing; "no heart to love / no evil to rise up above," etc. If we accept the theory of evolution as demonstrated, then our lives hold no value and we hold no faith but greed.
These responses completely missed the point of Ebert's take on the movie, they completely miss the point of scientific inquiry, and they insultingly miss the point of logic. They also assume that atheists (as if everyone who understands evolution must therefore be an atheist) don't feel emotions, engage in morality, or hold values. Which begs a question that's interesting to ponder:
If this is all there is -- if we get one shot at life, and there's nothing left of our consciousness once our brain stops working -- then isn't this life that much more precious than if we instead assumed that life is never ending? Isn't the atheist who dies for a cause more noble than the believer who expects that there will be rewards in the Great Beyond? Isn't triumphing over evil all the more urgent if we know that there are no second chances to get it right? And likewise, aren't we less likely to strap a bomb to our chest or commandeer an airplane on a murder/suicide mission if we are assured that what waits for us "on the other side" is not our own personal paradise, but instead... nothing?
It seems to me that life is precious, no matter which side of the philosophical or theological fences you find yourself standing.
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