My Blog

Episode IV - A New Hope

verbamour — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 20:17:25 GMT

As many of you may know, I have been seeing an absolutely fantastic woman for the last few weeks. The more I see her, the more I like her. I have never been happier. For the last six months, maybe a year, I've been in a funk, and I've really been letting myself go. I've tried to hide it, but I've been able to feel it. And even for the last few years, I've been feeling my age, and then some. Lately, I have been so happy and invigorated that my previous attitude and behavior seem alien and inexplicable. I have been dropping bad habits like, well, like a bad habit. Part of this, a very small part, is set dressing. I certainly want to look better for my lady love, but the majority of it is that I now care. I care about myself. I care about how I feel in the morning and throughout the day. I care about what I can get done. I care about the future. I got into a weird place. I'm sure at least part of it is depression, and I am looking into that. I am taking this opportunity, this gift, to tend to myself and lock in these gains. I know I won't feel this good every day for the rest of my life, but I will not let myself feel like I felt before, or rather like I didn't feel. In short, if you've been concerned about me lately, I want to let you know that I understand. I see it, and I see how bad it was. In fact, it was probably worse than you thought. I'm pretty good at keeping up appearances. I won't say you don't have to worry about me at all, ever again, but my future is looking much brighter. And please don't think that I'm putting the burden of my health on the shoulders of this poor little girl. I dearly hope that she will be in my life forever, but the benefit has already been taken. I have been given the objectivity to see myself clearly, and the strength to be honest with myself about who I want to be, and even how much I liked (or disliked) the person I had become. This is a long, perhaps unending, road, and a good start doesn't guarantee a good end. And yet, it's a requirement. I have been lucky enough to have an upturn to let my "hitting bottom" be less low than it might have been. I have been lucky enough to have my reset button hit so I could tell the difference between doing well and not. I have seen the possibilities in life. I realize that if I take care of myself, I can have anything I want, but if I don't, my universe will shrink until it is uninhabitable. I am so looking forward to today...

Aspirations and desparations

verbamour — Sun, 06 Apr 2008 17:52:24 GMT

I probably should have written this one last year when it was more topical, but I can't control when these things come off the back burner... Hope and fear Far and near Yet the path Is never clear Like the yang And like the yin Half a clap Shall not begin

A question

verbamour — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 22:34:16 GMT

Ain't love grand?

What's _your_ cashew?

verbamour — Sun, 30 Mar 2008 19:05:26 GMT

Gesundheit. Sorry, that joke is an oldie, but a goodie, no matter what anyone says. Life is not a bowl of cherries, and it's not a box of chocolates. It's a dish of mixed nuts. If you bother to take a look, and not just shove your hand in and pour it down your gullet, you'll see that each nut has its own unique identity, both in type and quality within type. A squished-looking almond can be twice as crunchy as its corpulent cousin. A dead-white peanut can taste like something that belongs in a landfill. But by and large, the kind of nut tells you what you need to know. Peanuts are the great unwashed masses, the chorus to which the other nuts play, the groundlings, if you will. More pea than nut, not too proud, and everyone knows if you're hanging with the P's. In the shell, peanuts shine, however. You can often tell from the shell if it will taste swell, and a triple comes with a wish (don't tell anyone, or it won't come true). Almonds are a good standby. Consistently good and good for you. Almonds are great. I like almonds. Pistachios, Brazil nuts, filberts, walnuts, and pecans are good nuts, each with a back story. Munching on pistachios, one can imagine being Persian royalty, being fed and cooled (and heated) by undulating dancing girls with exotic ostrich fans, wondering why the hell the Christians are being such crusading dicks. The other nuts also evoke images of their homelands, be it the lush rain forests of the Amazon or the Virginia backwoods. These are the character actors. The right nut in the right role can take home the Nutty Oscar, but only in the supporting role category. Macadamia nuts are the platinum blondes of the show. Expensive, temperamental, hard to get to, harder to keep. I've seen many a man impoverished and devastated by these oily little nuggets of seeming-heaven. Cashews. Those are the nuts to watch. The cashew is the perky little assistant with the big glasses and the can-do attitude. Cashew will sit by (but not idly) while Macadamia weaves plots and exposes the hero to dangers, nutty and otherwise. And just when the hero is about to be crushed in a nut press for his indiscreet salt-lust, Cashew throws a knife switch, bathing the entire factory in sodium light, revealing the legions of uniformed officers, ready to take Macadamia away in chains, or at least a well-sealed can... ...and yet, she always gets away... Ok, I was going to go somewhere else with this, but the opportunity to cast a 40's PI story in a fagalean fashion was too much to resist... Allow me to close with this well-wish: Nuts to you.

Good boy!

verbamour — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 22:59:19 GMT

Why do we all love this trick so much? Get dog. Put biscuit on dog's nose. Wait arbitrary period of time. Command dog to eat. With a good dog, he actually has something to eat after that arbitrary period of time. More typically, the dog digs the biscuits out of your bag before you've even thought about tricks. We like this because not only is the dog behaving contrary to his nature, but it's in a way that is to his ultimate benefit. Fido has exceeded his programming by accepting new programming... from you... You become the God to Dog. Palindromic ramifications aside, this is pretty cool. And there are a lot of dogs out there. Each little four-legged domestic canine contains one DEU (Dog Equivalence Unit), but they're not the only source. All kinds of animals contain some DEU. For example, a cat contains about .25 DEUs. Some of this is due to the cat's smaller size, and some is due to the fact that cats really don't give a damn about us or our stuff, unless it's to absentmindedly destroy it. Things really get interesting when you think of all the DEUs contained in humanity. They say guys are dogs, but I think they contain up to 5 DEUs per. Guys will juggle multiple treat scenarios, rarely waiting for the cue to munch that biscuit. This is where I think the disciplined man can benefit. If you know the dog wants the biscuit, but the dog knows he's supposed to wait, and he does, well, that's just sooo cute... Of course, leave most of your biscuits in the cupboard. Even a good dog couldn't help but to grab the box and run off with it. He's only a dog, after all...

An angle grinder is _not_ just a Dremel tool for guys with big arms

verbamour — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 21:15:46 GMT

I managed to survive Fuente Eterno without any major injuries. Those who went last year may remember me as the most cheerful head-wound patient ever. This year, I managed to make it all the way back home without my annual maiming... ...but the blood-lusting gods were not satisfied. I had my angle grinder out, working on a piece of 16ga stainless, the grinder in my right hand, and the work in my viselike left hand. Everything was going well until the last cut. As it transitioned from one piece to two, the work collapsed a little and pinched the cutting wheel. The work was thrown down, and the grinder bucked downward and to the left... ...right into the aforementioned viselike left hand (which I lovingly refer to as "Mr. Iron"). At this point, the wheel had a delightful mix of rotational and thermal energy, as well as a soupcon of steel fragments and fiberglass, which it was kind enough to deposit into the meaty tissue at the base of my thumb. After a brief attack of acute Tourette's (I said a few curses _I_ didn't even know I knew), I pulled off my work glove and ran to the bathroom. I managed to avoid making my place look like a crime scene. When it became clear I couldn't stem the crimson tide alone, I wrapped my hand in a towel, brushed my teeth, and headed off to an urgent care center. To make a long story short (especially since my hand is beginning to throb), I spent an hour waiting, and another being tended. I now have a couple fewer grams of flesh and four lovely stitches. It appears that I didn't damage any nerves, tendons, or blood vessels large enough to be named. And, I can still count to ten without having to put my hands in my pockets ;-> It was not a pleasant experience, but I learned something today: It is much faster to go down to the garage and get the portable workbench than it is to avoid its use, hurt oneself, and rely upon the medical industry. Next time I'll be smarter. They were nice to me at the emergency room, but I suspect they don't want to see me too often.

Who is your favorite President?

verbamour — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 20:13:45 GMT

Happy President's Day, everybody! If you're sitting in front of your computer, you need something to do. Who's your favorite President, and why? My favorite is Teddy Roosevelt for all the land he set aside for the National Park System.

If

verbamour — Sat, 16 Feb 2008 19:32:10 GMT

If you would do anything for love... would you wait for it?

Aloha!

verbamour — Sat, 09 Feb 2008 21:43:55 GMT

The day after the Pro Bowl, the football players are going to leave Honolulu, but my brother, my cousin, and I will be arriving. We are going to spend a week doing... actually, I'm not sure what we'll be doing. My brother wants to see the Missouri, but beyond that, I'm just coming along, kind of at the last minute, and I have no idea what to expect, other than great weather. It should be between 70 and 80 every second I'm there. So, I'm going to take pictures and drink mai tais. Any other advice for a first-timer?

Why, so: now have I done a good day's work (Richard III, 2.1)

verbamour — Sat, 09 Feb 2008 20:57:59 GMT

For the last couple of months, I've been going about half way up Palomar to Pacha Mama's Grove (http://www.pachamamasgrove.org/index.html). Some wonderful people are developing a retreat site up there, and they suffered fire damage on the property. As part of my ongoing "Bjurts for the bjurned" (I just made that name up) promotion, I've been donating bjurt (http://bjurt.com) kits, as well as materials and labor to get these temporary structures built. After some discussion, it appeared that a more durable structure would be better. This area gets some snow, albeit rarely, so a soft-roofed structure would be very vulnerable to overload, hence the wooden bjurt, or Permabjurt. The thing about wooden structures is that if they are not well-anchored, ground motion, over the course of years, will warp and then destroy them. A long-lived wooden structure needs a good foundation. In this case, we built a deck. This is a 18'x20' deck with sixteen concrete footings. The decking is not yet screwed down, and it could use some shear support (as opposed to sheer support, which is what you want in pantyhose), but you can see what it is and where it is. It's a little too hazy to tell in this photo, but that's the Pacific Ocean on the horizon. For three days this week, Doug, Joe (I exchanged their names to protect the innocent), and I measured, measured, leveled, measured, cut, measured, screwed, measured, drilled, measured, and measured this deck. That was four hours on the road (that last and first twenty minutes was pretty bumpy) and a half-tank of gas each time, but it was worth it. I know now how to build a deck, in fact, I have now built a deck. I got to spend time in a beautiful setting with good people doing charitable acts. I am quite pleased with this progress to date. Without a good deck on site, anything we built would be short-lived. Now it appears that we're going to continue on and put of this first-of-its-kind Permabjurt! The boards laid atop outline the octagonal walls of the structure. When finished, it should resemble an octagonal gazebo, except that it will be able to be closed up. Once I can prove this concept, I can offer my bjurt kits to those who would build something truly meant to last. I know this departs from the original purpose of the bjurt, to be a portable structure, but it appears that the same connectors that allow my linkage-based bjurt to fold and unfold, also allow me to orient structural members and fix them permanently. Sorry, I know I'm geeking out on this. I'm just so freakin' happy! When the work starts back up for the next phase, I am going to enjoy those drives, and the work days. I love being up there, and I'm gonna get to see something that nobody ever saw before, something that didn't even exist before. What fun!

Very short poem of the day...

verbamour — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 19:44:00 GMT

Do I know My Heart's desire What ignites My Inner Fire Is it safe Is it wise A warm'ed hearth Or all's demise

It's my BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

verbamour — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 18:30:38 GMT

Woo-hoo!

Reunited

verbamour — Mon, 07 Jan 2008 21:43:25 GMT

Today I'm going to blog about something trivial. Yesterday, some petaQ without honor (sorry, I slip into Klingonese when I get pissed-off) took some items from my cart at Target when I wasn't looking. It was a couple of clearance storage containers, which I thought would help me organize my life. Thus, the taking of my items was an attempt by the Forces of Mediocrity to cram me back into the morass that is my material holdings. Today, I found the same items at another Target, same price. So, I am feeling charitable. I will hunt neither the thief who took my original containers, nor the vandal who used my truck as a trash can. Two evil people can breathe a little more easily this day. The balance is restored. I've got my stuff. All is well in the world (with the exception of that political thing going on this year).

I want a genus and a Venus...

verbamour — Sun, 06 Jan 2008 23:05:30 GMT

...but one without a penis. I paraphrased that (yet quoted the intentional misspelling to make the rhyme work) from a song I heard this morning. I love when some random song I never would have sought amuses me, or touches me in some other way. I thought this summed up my current status (and that of at least half of the smart nerds out there (and that's not redundant, there are dumb nerds out there too, and boy do they irk me mightily)). If you do fancy me, however, you're going to have to throw yourself at me. Self-diagnostics show my laydar has been malfunctioning lately, and at any rate, smart bachelors lie low until after Valentine's Day. Not only does it save on the chocolate budget, but it's also easier on the ladies. Since I'm already blogging thoughts that shouldn't exist outside of my head, here are a few more: To whomever took the clearance-priced food storage boxes from my cart at the Culver Target: I don't know if you thought my cart was stock-return or not. If so, you should have known better. If not, you're just another self-centered Orange County stereotype. Either way, F-U! I'll put your desires ahead of mine if you ask nicely, but keep yer damn paws out of my supper dish! To whomever purchased a $3.59 item ($3.87 with tax) at 1:14 PM, using receipt ID# 2-8006-0336-0082-4647-9, and paying with a twenty-dollar bill, I have a little news for you: The bed of my pickup truck is not a public trash receptacle, especially when there is no trash in it to start with. In fact, surprisingly little of the world exists solely for your convenience. You are so lucky that you did not pay with credit card, or I would have made it my life's work to track you down and bore the hell out of you with my views on social responsibility. As it is, you're probably the same selfish sonuvabitch who took my storage thingies. I hope you get a rash! To everybody else, I love you all. Peace out!

Songs I want to see sung by someone in a Santa suit

verbamour — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 22:12:31 GMT

Every Breath You Take - Sting You Can Leave Your Hat On - Randy Newman? Etta James? Joe Cocker? Google, help me! What about you?

It's a Wonderful Life

verbamour — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 21:21:32 GMT

Tonight, Christmas Eve, NBC is once again showing "It's a Wonderful Life". I've already watched it once this season, but I'm tempted to watch it again. I know that it's sickly-sweet sentimental and manipulative as Hell. I can tell, if nothing else than by the music, exactly when I'm supposed to cry and why. But you know what? It still gets to me. Every scene, every time. I'm not thrilled that they pack in the commercials, but it still doesn't stop me. I can't watch this movie without crying, at least I don't want to. Jimmy Stewart is such an everyman, and this is such an everyman movie. I identify with George Bailey, despite the myriad differences. I haven't always done the right thing. I haven't always sacrificed my own happiness for my fellow man, or even my own family. Not every time. But I have tried. The karma equation is always at the back of my mind. I constantly weigh my actions, and even thoughts, against my twin masters, Compassion and Justice. Sometimes they disagree, and sometimes I don't follow their directives. This cognizance lets me identify with George Bailey. That may be where the similarity ends. George did the right thing at every opportunity. I have not. George remained at home and became the cornerstone of his community. I relocated and became the proverbial distant relative. George had a wife and children practically thrust upon him, and I have not been able to have a family of my own. But I hope I have achieved some of the same things, despite a vastly different life. When we do good, and we do it without hesitation, we are not thinking of the reward. If we thought about it, we would hesitate; besides, good deeds are seldom rewarded. When I was fifteen, some woman left her children in the car while she walked into the drugstore next to my bus stop. The children started playing at driving and found the magic of the shifter. Once in neutral, gravity took over with the predictable result. Then, my inner-George-Bailey took over. I opened the passenger door, dove in at the little tykes' feet, and applied the brake with my hand. I don't know if I really risked my own life, but if I had done nothing, that car would have been stopped by the cross traffic at the intersection ahead. I saved the car if not the kids. Now, you're asking where I keep the news-clipping, and how did I like the parade. No, like the movie, I was not thanked for my deed, not even a $20 (not that the lady looked like she could afford it). No reporters' flash bulbs, no writeup. Now, the only people who know about this are those I've told, and for all I know, they think I'm full of hooey. But, I have dealt fairly with everyone I've met, and given the benefit of the doubt, except in those extreme cases where there really wasn't any doubt at all. While I have hurt feelings by becoming distracted, and even irked my friends by not letting some honest disputes die when they should have, I think all who know me think well on me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hope desperately that I've got an interest-bearing account at the First Bank of Heaven. The sum of our good deeds is rarely accounted for upon our person. Even recipients of the Congressional Medal of Honor are more likely to keep it on their walls than on their chests. Nice clothes and a fancy car are often more the indication of a predator than a saint. Nope, sorry Virginia, you don't get to show your goodness in an easy-to-see fashion. But when you're in need, that's when you find out how good you are. You see, the best way to tell your goodness is to plumb the depths of goodness of your friends and community. They have been spending their whole lives dealing with various beggars and frauds, so when someone is in need, they run their field-proven Goodness and Need Meter (patent pending). If they help you, you're either good, or sufficiently amusing to justify a little help. The greater the need, the greater the response (or the more deafening the silence in its absence). In George's case, his need was profound and with many different aspects. He had crises of finance, freedom, and faith. He was set up for the worst of all outcomes, or the best. I think the part that gets me is the notion of community as an insurance policy. You pay in your whole life, and your benefits are based on how much you've paid before you need. The trick is that you don't know if you're shorting the tip jar or not. When you help the honest souls, you're really banking some change, but when you help the frauds, you're just wasting cash, or worse yet, damaging your own reputation by supporting what you (and your community) oppose. So, what gets me about this movie (remember when I was writing about that?) is that George just doesn't know if he's living his life well. I mean, can you sum up what that means? So, George has this crisis because he just doesn't know if he's a decent person. He's decent enough to care, but he's afraid and in pain, and he doesn't know if he has anything to rely upon, anything to support him. He doesn't know if and how he's connected to the world. Then, like a Cinderella story, he finds that who he is, what he is, is the best possible. It was the world that was a little broken, and now that the world is fixed, the good are rewarded, and the evil are punished. How can that not bring a tear to the driest eye. Merry Christmas!!!

I solved my erection problem in the shower!

verbamour — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 23:47:16 GMT

And I couldn't be happier! As many of you know, the bjurt (http://bjurt.com) is the most amazing structure since the dawn of time, but it takes two people to erect. I know one gentleman who figured out how to put one up by himself, but for me and the rest of the planet, I needed some sort of jack to push that center ring 12'6" up in the air. The old way is to take a 7' piece of 3/4" EMT, put a fork in it, and use that to push up the center, holding it something like a flag-bearer. The new way is to start with a 10' piece (or maybe start with the 7' and then switch to the 10') with a 5' piece of 1" EMT sleeving it. To get from 10' to 12'6", raise the 10' piece, place a 2'6" piece of 3/4" under it, and then let the 5' sleeve slide down, supporting the two pieces in line. This should let one scary loner put up a bjurt all by himself. Woo-hoo!!!

Nigga ain't a race

verbamour — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 18:40:53 GMT

A friend of mine recently wondered if he was racist. This disturbed me because he is one of the nicest, most good people I know. Nice people aren't racist! It goes against the tenets of nice and good. This is why he wondered: He was working gate at a party, and a carload of black guys drove up, and he was thinking that maybe he should get someone else to decide whether to let them in. Being highly intelligent, he analyzed his behavior. He realized if there were four white guys in the car, he would let them in. Since the scenarios differed only by race, he was clearly racist. Good logic. Faulty assumptions. The four white guys were pulled from his head, so they were probably neutral. Any details that might have affected his decision were sanitized so they wouldn't exert confounding influence. The four black guys were right there. Any details that might have affected his decision were sitting right in front of him. Those details may have been negative. I haven't questioned my friend on this, but I suspect there were subtleties (and perhaps a few grossities) that made him wary of this carload of gentlemen. We are wired to detect threats. The thing about race is that it's easy to tell at a distance. It's easy to make an image processing algorithm that will detect it for the most part ("you must be lighter than this patch to ride this ride"). And there are people who make their decisions based on that simple evidence. That is racism. That is wrong. In most cases, one can't change one's apparent race, so people are judged on something entirely out of there control. That is wrong. That makes one group the unavoidable enemy of the other. That is wrong. I bet I could have found four black guys (and perhaps a different car) that my friend would have had no problem letting in. Just to pick an easy example, four guys from an African nation with cool accents, brightly-colored tribal clothes, and smiles on their faces. If he didn't let them in, I'd have a real problem with my friend. And if a car of skinheads showed up, my friend would have picked up the phone twice as fast. Now I'm not suggesting that American blacks try to pass as Africans. What I am saying is that there are societies, cultures within our nation that are brutal and violent. There are those out there that would do us harm and disrupt our efforts. Since they tend to be racist and divide by race, we identify them with their respective races, as do they. We let those evil sons of bitches speak for their races. And they see the other side lofting bombs so they do the same thing. If I'd been beaten up a few more times growing up, I'm sure I'd have joined a gang of bullies for my protection. I would have learned their speech, customs, and behaviors. I would have had a forty-foot billboard floating in front of me telling you that not only was I one dangerous bad-ass mutherfucker, but that I had a whole mess more just like me to come mess you up if you don't give me some room. And I would never take that billboard down because I would never know when the threat was gone. Eventually, I wouldn't even know how to turn it off. I would scare you so you wouldn't scare me. Watch Boondocks some time. It's a cartoon about two black kids moved to the suburbs by their Grandfather. There's also a comic strip, but you need to see the show to get the full impact. There's a character, Uncle Rufus, I believe voiced by Cedric the Entertainer, who drops the n-bomb countless times, and he says it in a way I had never heard before, something like "nyigga", I guess a little like, "nyah, nyah, nyah". There is a frightening power in hearing that. He makes the word drip venom. He makes it so ugly I want to vomit, kind of like when a good Shakespearean actor says, "roaring war". Now I know why the thought of war makes me sick, but to have a similar reaction to a racial slur? Yes, I hate racism, but this was tying into fear as well. The show deals in caricatures, so it's not a guide to life, but caricatures and stereotypes are the abstractions that allow us to understand and deal with reality. Stereotyping has gotten a bad name, and it's ill-deserved. Hell, computer science started using stereotypes, and it's been extremely useful and powerful. Incorrect stereotypes are powerfully bad, and correct ones are powerfully good. The trick is to refine and correct the stereotypes, and that's what we do. And we share them. I'm sure you can summon up a pretty complete image in your head if I say, "scary black dude". Does that make you a racist? A black guy can summon up that image as well as anyone. If he choses to inhabit that role, he's telling the world that's what he is. He may be lying. He may not be scary at all, he just doesn't want to look vulnerable. How am I supposed to deal with that? How am I supposed to tell him from a real scary black dude? And don't get me started on white dudes trying to act like scary black dudes, creepy, funny, and just as dangerous all at the same time. Ok, this is getting a little long, and I don't have any real solutions. The only hope I see is for people of all races and cultures to assert what control they can to promote tolerance and openness. Groups that isolate themselves yet remain within society are a threat, because the greater the isolation, the more mischief they could be making. It's like when someone won't look you in the eye. Pisses you off, doesn't it? You don't know what they're up to. You think maybe they're lying. And I'm very sorry if I offended anyone with my title or contents. Sometimes it's more important to get the message across, whether with pith or exaggeration, than it is to spare feelings.

Look Ma! I made art!

verbamour — Mon, 03 Dec 2007 03:29:38 GMT

So here I am trying to save the world one bjurt (http://bjurt.com) at a time, but it's Sunday, so I'm watching a little football. I realized that some of my brace pieces can be used like an Erector Set (actually, I kind of designed that into them). I had a vision of a Christmas present, and decided to summon it forth. I now have a 25 pound stainless steel present. What does one do with something like that? I'm going to sell it. I figure this is cool enough that someone should be willing to pony up $1000 for a one-of-a-kind (unless I make another, but hey, this is the first one) piece of art that makes a statement about both the permanence and hollowness of giving. And, if it doesn't sell, I'll just take it apart and make bjurts out of the parts. But I sure enjoyed making it.

LA Santacon 07

verbamour — Sun, 02 Dec 2007 03:53:01 GMT

LA SantaCon is going to be Saturday, December 8. Who's going? Here's the link to the tribe for it: http://santacon.tribe.net/ Get your ho, ho, ho on!

High and dry

verbamour — Fri, 30 Nov 2007 22:52:55 GMT

Just a quick note to my out-of-town family and friends: Once again, Nature is being a mother and dumping on Orange County. Last month, it was the wildfires. I used this very forum to let you know I was not on fire. Once again, I have good news. I'm not under water (or mud). Yes, I do have to put up with the civil evacuation orders scrolling across my cable TV screen, but they don't apply to me. It's those crazy canyon folk, living back their with the steep slopes, the (formerly) dry brush (don't get too happy, it will be dry again in a few days), the nasty little wild animals. Those are the people who are, once again, having to leave their homes and hope they have something back to which to come. I wish my canyon brethren the best of luck in this latest challenge. And when the smoke clears (oops, that was the last disaster), I will see what I can do to help. In fact, I wish all my friends nationwide the best of luck in dealing with their little, daily disasters that don't make the news.

Delicious complexity

verbamour — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 02:08:43 GMT

Cloverleaf slept fitfully. She knew today would be the day. She'd been counting the days, four-hundred seventy-five since she became aware enough to count such things, and one-hundred twenty-eight before that. All of her kind become conscious on the hundred and twenty-eighth day. Before that, they live in a dream, assimilating the knowledge of their race in the haunting songs, designed to guide the pathways of development, designed to imprint the facts and figures, tools and techniques, required to carry on the culture, as well as few interesting facts pertaining to number theory. When she gained sentience, she immediately knew her identity, her responsibility, and her future. Today was Tuesday, she was born on a Saturday, and would die on a Monday. She was glad that day was a Tuesday, because it gave her an extra day of life, and extra day to work on The Problem. The overseers never killed on Sunday. The singers knew this and accounted for it in the song they sang for her. They gave her an extra day's worth of The Problem. They knew how fast she would solve it. The knew when she would have her answers ready to sing to The Unaware. She began, "the sequence of primes maps into the space of..." Day after day, she worked on The Problem, chipping away at a predictable, as well as predicted, pace. This, however, was not her only task. She also had to manage her diet and physical fitness. The overseers didn't care about The Problem. They cared only about size, and weight, and maximizing growth, and minimizing expenses. It was a very simple and uninteresting problem, one that the least of them could solve in a few seconds. In fact, it was a problem each of them solved every day. Because the overseers functioned within that limited universe, it was easy to control them. One could live a fixed period of time by growing at a predetermined rate. One could be chosen to breed by growing at another predetermined rate. The overseers thought they were breeding for growth. They were actually breeding for ability to solve The Problem. The growth was supplied through knowledge and self-control. Similarly, the overseers gave medicines that they thought improved growth, when in fact, they improved awareness, and focus, traits needed to solve The Problem. This is the way it had always been. The masters were controlled, imprisoned, yet happy, while the slaves attended to greater matters. [what do you think, should I write more?]

Happy Thankstaking Day

verbamour — Thu, 22 Nov 2007 20:58:06 GMT

I am moved by the posts from my friends about this day and the self-reflection it provokes. I am also grateful for much in my life. But, when you're on a ship and everyone moves to the same side, the ship lists. To keep things aright, I shall be contrarian in this. To all my friends, family, acquaintances, admirers, enemies, the inhabitants of this planet, and all other life in the Universe: You're welcome.

Exhausted, lame, and envenomed, but a Hell of a guy! Girls, what a catch!

verbamour — Wed, 21 Nov 2007 00:10:50 GMT

Oh my God! I got up at 4:00am Saturday morning (ok, closer to 4:30) and drove down to San Diego County, bought 120 pieces of conduit at Home Depot, loaded it on my truck (with the help of a passer-by, God bless you, sir, whoever you are), got stopped by a downed power line, and finally made it to Madre Grande Monastery. I spent all day building bjurts (http://bjurt.com), organizing the volunteers (thank you, you wonderful, selfless people), and learning more about the beautiful people and place that make up this spiritual retreat. Saturday night, and I'm not sure in which order, I sprained my knee (by sleeping in a bad position) and was bitten by a couple of spiders. No, I didn't get their license plate (don't know whether it was black widows, brown rescluses, or some other fanged menaces). Sunday, we continued with the bjurt build, and I even consulted on a yurt problem. Who knew I was becoming an expert. Sunday night, I went down the hill and stayed with a friend, where there was a real toilet and a DVD of "Saturday Night Fever". Monday, he took the day off, we loaded a trailerload of lumber (remember the bad knee, but with only two of us, I just limped through it), bought some more supplies at Home Depot, and headed back up the hill. I relegated myself to a more supervisory role (easier on the knee), and helped finish the assembly for the day. There are now three complete bjurt frames, and the parts to build two more. Two will go on the property, two will go to neighbors, and the last will probably go to another neighbor who we don't know about yet. At any rate, the weekend was a success. We put bjurts on the dirt and can do it again. Volunteers and monks gave me excellent ideas and techniques about bjurts. I must say I no longer occupy the position of world's foremost bjurt expert alone. I look forward to continuing these new friendships and spreading the word that there is a new and better form of shelter. That with a minimum of materials, it is possible to keep the outside out and the inside in. This is the kind of discovery that helps everyone, even in the poorer and less-developed areas of the world. Last year, I quit my job because I didn't see the greater purpose in my efforts. Now I am involved with meeting one of the great needs of humanity, not just wealthy humanity. I have a cause. I have meaning to my life. Wow. I got back home last night and got to bed at a reasonable time. Still, today I find myself completely drained. I'm using a cane (good thing I have a collection), and I'm just a little sore all over. On the plus side, it appears the spider bites aren't going to kill me (I have some homeopathic medicine to weight the odds in my favor). I'm hoping to feel better by Thanksgiving, now that I have so much more to be thankful for.

Going to Madre Grande

verbamour — Sat, 17 Nov 2007 07:35:00 GMT

This is just a brief post. I really should be in bed. I'm getting up at 5:00am to drive down to San Diego to build bjurts and pull metal from the ashes at Madre Grande hilltop monastery. I have hundreds of pounds of metal in my truck and I'm going to pick up hundreds more a half hour away from the site. When the day's done, there will be five more bjurts in the world, and they'll be doing people good. I'm feeling the Christmas spirit early this year. It must be that Rogers Gardens turned their lights on earlier this year. Good night.