25 Years After

It's amazing how the mind, especially the part called the "male mind," works. One day I stumbled upon the music video of Yes' "Owner Of A Lonely Heart" on YouTube, and began wallowing in nostalgia about the 80s, completely unaware of the significance that that day was our 25th wedding anniversary. On some level, though, I must have known it.

Men have a strange way of approaching sentimentality. They will feel a sorrowful yearning or bittersweet ache for a particular event or a phase of their lives, set about by some old movie or song, and usually intensified during a brew or five. But it shall never occur to them that a particular day might be an important anniversary or even their own birthday. And they are often found shopping on Christmas Eve.

Neither will they communicate to their beloved anything about this orgy of wallowing historicity, and most certainly not any of their feelings about it. I'm not even sure I understand mine.

For us, the 80s were a tough time, and the music itself not very good. In contrast, the music of the 70s and 90s is generally much more well conceived and executed. Yet the music of the 80s, mostly very trite, stirs a great sadness. I think it is because it makes me think of all the promise of a young couple, and the long road since then. It hasn't been a sad story, but such a long journey is poignant.

Perhaps we feel regret for the mistakes we made, or our failure to make situations better, or harsh things we have said. But we shouldn't think that--life was just as we made it and we make it better as learn more about it. And the only way to learn about it is to make bad decisions.

I thought I had something profound to say about time and memory, but it has slipped by somehow. At any rate, here is the music:

Trip through the 80s - A Video Compilation

Gary Numan - Are Friends Electric?

Gary Numan - Cars

Gary Numan - I Die You Die

What Gary is up to these days

A-ha - Take On Me

Big In Japan - Alphaville

Men Without Hats - Safety Dance (the most inexplicable band name, song title, and video theme of the 80s)

And the video that launched me on an orgy of sentimentality:

Yes - Owner Of A Lonely Heart (full-length official video)

I thought that this last classic, voted best video of the 80s if I remember correctly, could not be improved upon--yet perhaps it can:

Max Graham vs Yes - Owner Of A Lonely Heart (2004)

The Karrs

The many faces of John Mark Karr

Alexis Valoran Reich; Delia Alexis Reich; Daxis das Verdammte; Caelitus, Dark Prince of the Immaculates; John Mark Karr, Freak of Nature, et cetera, et cetera

There is something poetic in the the life and times of John Mark Karr. Gentle readers will perhaps remember Karr as the bizarre personality who stepped forward in 2006 to take credit for the kidnapping and murder of JonBenet Ramsey. After a short investigation, police determined that he had in fact done nothing wrong, was kurbashed for annoying everyone for a few hours, and sent on his irrelevant way. Then, we knew him as a bent individual obsessed with the 6-year-old beauty queen--twisted and disturbing as that is in itself. Now he has emerged as a certified freak of nature. The man, and I use the term loosely, has built a resume most of us only dream about, usually after a blurry night in the vomit runnels of Old Cancun. He helps us to define life's elusive quality of "afictivity," that is, being too strange to operate as fiction. Here, then, are a few articles detailing his rich exploits:

John Mark Karr Re-Emerges to Form a JonBenet Cult

Search Warrants Issued for JonBenet Lookalike Cult Leader John Mark Karr

I mentioned a poetic quality in all of this--assembled fragments of the very strange reportage read almost like found poetry:

John Mark Karr, 46 * reputed pedophile * falsely confessed to murdering JonBenet Ramsey 2006 stirs international sensation * has had a sex change operation in the past two years * now goes by various names * "Alexis Valoran Reich," occasionally "Delia Alexis Reich" * married a 13-year-old and later a 16-year-old in the 1980s * has been trying to create a cult of JonBenet Ramsey lookalikes he calls "the Immaculates" * may be armed, seeking shelter from followers * blond girls 4 - 6 years old with small feet * internet aliases Daxis das Verdammte, Drk Prnz, Caelitus, F.O.N. (Freak Of Nature) * rules the only place on the Web that tells the truth about him * written in third person and called Lei Sussurra (Latin for "I murmur") * Occupation: Nanny, teacher, tutor, child care giver, computer repair and instruction * threatened 19-year-old Samantha Spiegel * met Karr when she was 9 and he was a teacher's aide at elite Convent of the Sacred Heart Catholic School in San Francisco * he taught her fourth-grade class * voluntarily surgically castrated in 2006 * Karr demanded that she recruit young girls into The Immaculates * Alexis was last seen in a metropolitan Seattle, WA shelter * "If you deceive me," he replied, "I will kill you. I know where you live" * "Reich" has as many as 30 "minions" * Principius Caelitus Immaculatae * often lives in homeless shelters and uses Craigslist to find rooms for a few days at a time * "If you cost me my little girls I will hunt you down and kill you" * lei sussura * "He checks my website 80 times a day" * Reich failed to respond to e-mail messages from Fox News * refused to comment * he was trying to look younger * last seen living in a shelter for battered women in Seattle * In one of his last messages, Karr wrote: "I want to hurt you..." * I murmur * "The life he leads is purely speculative."

Losing Face

In Japanese, "I dreamed that..." is expressed literally as "saw this kind of dream" (こんな夢を見た). This phrasing implies that one has experienced not a specific series of images, but a pattern or template that plays out from time to time and from place to place. It makes me wonder whether dreams are unique to the dreamer. Jung did not think so. According to him, all dreams, especially those involving nudity, or game shows, or both, are almost certainly not original.

I have a bad habit, borne of a hubris in which I imagine myself some prophetic Belteshazzar, of trying to find the deeper meaning in dreams, as if something were being desperately encoded to me during sleep. Or worse, in assuming that it presaged actual events, and only my mental thickness prevented me from seeing revealed truth. I mention hubris for, let us face it: not all those you meet at parties who claim to be psychic are frauds, but all are annoying.

And so... where was I? I had this kind of dream.

A surgical team had fitted me with a prosthetic face. Whether my natural face had been lost in an auto accident, or by consequence of some awful disease, was not known. I was simply in need of a face. Inexplicably, they fitted me with the face of an anatomical mannequin of the kind used to demonstrate musculature. The exposed muscle, tendons, and exposed eyeballs, albeit false, were disturbing. The point of using such a device was lost on me, but they made up for this deficiency by adding yet another mask to fit rather clumsily over the first--the exterior mask being the kind used at masquerade parties, made of white plastic.

I resolved to venture into public only when necessary, and to avoid people at all costs. I had little reason to be out in crowded places, and only one activity lured me outside--walking my dog Fritz. This worked well enough, and I was happy to be out and about with him again, almost forgetting my predicament.

But then he wandered off as he is wont to do, sniffing and marking various patches of ground, posts, and logs. He began to wander too near to a group of people, and I was worried that my appearance would alarm them. Somehow I could not stop him from forging toward this group of people. I became very annoyed at him and finally had to pick him up bodily and whisk him away. I remember trying to avoid a young girl lest my false face frighten her. I felt isolated and could not even bring myself to look in a mirror and see the mask over the mask.

Later, a day or two later after this dream, I took my four-year-old daughter H to the office. I had a few tasks to follow up on, and N wanted to go swimming that evening. H behaved well at first but increasingly grabbed things and wandered around. I suppose I wasn't paying attention to my own annoyance level, but it was the sort of situation in which you think you can finish up in a few more minutes--though you never can with computers.

Before we left, I had to print some documents and pick them up. After the usual delay with the printer, I told H to come with me down the hall to the printer, and she did, but then wandered off when my back was turned. She hadn't gone very far, but it set me off that she'd slipped off in just a few seconds and after I'd been clear in telling her to stay in the copy room. I pulled her back to the office and this made her stubbornly want to go wherever the hell she had been off to. We're very alike in this way--stubborn about what to do next and hair-trigger tempers. It escalated very quickly from there. I tugged, she cried, then I dragged, and she screamed. So I had to exit the building hastily while carrying a shrieking child upside down. Embarrassing at best, and at worst incriminating--it occurred to me that I could be seen as a kidnapper.

Only later did it occur to me that what I had feared in my dream had actually happened--that I lost face. In particular, my carefully groomed outer persona (a word which, after all, originally meant mask) was peeled off quite easily--by an escalation of minor events and ultimately my own loss of control.

Dennis Hopper +RIP+

The classic scene: "It's dark now"

...not to mention his significant contribution as the music critic Milton Pawley.

Do we really need this crap?

The Onion taps a poignant yet risible vein of truth that helps me further understand my chronic self-loathing:

New Social Networking Crap that Nobody Needs!

"Launched last year, Foursquare is unique in that it not only allows users to broadcast their whereabouts, but also offers a number of built-in incentives, including some innovative new crap The New York Times surely has a throbbing hard-on for."

To think I work on Scheiße like this...

Making some changes

Our lives have been turned upside down in the past month or so, it seems. We decided to move back to the Puget Sound area so that the family can be together all week. Also, we needed to get away from the construction debris, which encroached upon everything we own. We've taken an apartment in Issaquah WA, where we'll stay while the house in Winthrop sells.

The remote work situation was the biggest frustration. The long drive back and forth (which everyone thinks is the major obstacle) was fine; in fact, I quite liked it. But the lodging arrangements away from home were only just tolerable. Originally I had intended to spend much more time working from home. I have to laugh at the breathless wonderment given in the technology and business media to the coming boom in remote work. Perhaps my experience has made me cynical--but it's a steaming pile of hype. Calling into meetings is not the same as being present (though it does spare you some of the feelings of resentment and despair). And most companies' attitude toward the remote worker is one of constant suspicion. As if employees have never played Serious Sam on the office computer.

With the experience now behind me, I consider the best work arrangements I've had to have been where I lived close to work (less than 30 min drive) and had a reasonably flexible schedule. I've found I prefer to be in the office where I can interact with people face-to-face. Most days, that is, except Friday, which is largely not a viable work day. Too many people are absent or have taking off early.

Life is already becoming saner. In this 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom apartment, we have to prioritize what possessions we really want and need and can reasonably store. It's an effective antidote to hoarding.

Can't Wait to Sin

It rings provocatively and strikes a deep chord, like one of the greatest punk rock titles of all time, or perhaps a dirty old blues standard cranked out in the 20s and revitalized by Eric Clapton, but it is an abashed and reluctantly admitted truth among us Catholics. The best thing about Lent is its blessed End.

Easter is our most important holiday for many reasons. We say that we await it for the spiritual reawakening, and we do, but let us be honest about religious feeling. It takes the emotional form of Togetherness and Gluttony; the Mass is but a kernel of the great family get together consisting of heaping portions of chiefly pork and potato based cuisine. We drink, we schmooze, we argue with family members blessedly not seen for several months. It is much like a Polish wedding, without the fights.

It is a fundamental truth of the human psyche that religious feeling is caught up with excess. And it is a testament to the genius of the church fathers that excess preceeded by abstinence is more keenly felt. We appreciate all the more the first beer of Easter after a hellish 40 days in a parched desert. Thank you God, we say as the cool hoppy goodness pours down the gullet.

Each of us entertains our own personal Hells. My most challenging Lenten fast involved abstinence from caffeine. It was a vast wasteland where life lost most of its Joy. My most recent Lent was no desert picnic either. Giving up both sarcasm and muttering blasphemies to myself, two of my most cherished habits, was more than difficult. I admit that I mostly failed. But I learned a lot about myself. One, I enjoy talking to myself far more than most people, except for my dog, my four-year-old daughter--both of whom see the world very much as I do--and my wife, who reminds me that the way to salvation is not how much you buy but where. Two, I learned that I am full of vitriol for my fellow man and enjoy it immensely.

Still there is this matter of Lent and its true meaning, which we conveniently ignore. Perhaps it is good to put aside some of our comforts and crutches for a while. Fail as I would with my abstinence, I did take time every day to contemplate God's Hand in our temporal existence. I am not ashamed to say I made a leap of faith, and let my mind focus on Trust in God. This is a hard thing. I prayed very hard about things that are going badly in the world and in my life and that, frankly, scared me cold. And I came out with this: God wants the best for you, but God will let you fail. God will let you make your most stupid decisions and suffer the consequences, and that is where real pain comes from. I firmly believe, as Swedenborg maintains, that because God is the source of love and creation, suffering does not come from God, but we cause evil and suffering ourselves, and create our own customized, form-fitted Hell of our very own. And in a perverse way, we cherish that sweet Hell, for it is as unique to each of us as our own fingerprints, and as much an emanation of our character as our children.

Hell is a rich and fascinating subject worthy of its own article, or novel, or epic poem. For here and now, let us celebrate, for we have contemplated God's intimate care and sacrifice for us, and now we can dig in.

The Mystery of St Patrick's Day...

Why is Riverdance hypnotic?

The things you learn at the range...

I saw that my local range/gunshop had BOTH a CZ 75 Kadet .22 AND a SIG P226 Classic .22 available to rent. So, I made some range time right after work and worked out these guns--I've been wanting a .22 pistol for some time, but obstacles keep manifesting. It might not be considered manly to say, but the lowly .22 is my favorite round, because it's so cheap, useful, and dammit fun for practice.

First I tried the SIG. The Classic 22 is actually a major caliber P226 (better known as the sidearm of the SEALs and Texas Rangers) with a .22 slide/barrel kit factory installed; it comes with a coupon that allows you to buy a 9mm, .40 SW, or .357 SIG slide/barrel kit for $400. I liked that idea, so I favored this model. However, I had a huge problem shooting straight with this SIG. I've shot a P226 in 9mm and really liked it; today I was all over the paper--to be fair, I was probably milking the gun (overly squeezing the grip, thus subtly turning the barrel) and flinching a bit. But the gun itself also misfed and stovepiped several rounds, practically on every magazine.

This is the SIG 226 .22 Classic--essentially a SIG 226 with a .22 conversion kit installed at the factory:

Then I tried the CZ. What can I say, it was... amazing. The holes appeared wherever I pointed the gun. As if I couldn't miss. Actually, I could miss when I got a little cocky, but if I focused, it was dead on. The CZ 75 (I've shot the 9mm version as well) is probably the most accurate, natural handling, ergonomic gun I've ever shot. No FTFs whatever. Needless to say, a CZ Kadet immediately went on my buy list. Highly recommended.

Here's the CZ Kadet--based off the CZ 75B, this is a very easy albeit full-size pistol to shoot:

Mei Guo Yang Guizi Need Not Apply

Viva USA, an information technology staffing firm in Rolling Meadows IL, posted an advertisement for a technical writer stipulating that an "arrogant American" would not be suitable for the position.

Job Description:

Writes a variety of technical articles, reports, brochures, and/or manuals for documentation for a wide rangle of uses. May be responsible for coordinating the display of graphics and the production of the document. Requires a bachelor's degree in a related area and 4-6 years of experience in the field or in a related area. Familiar with a variety of the field's concepts, practices, and procedures.

Relies on limited experience and judgment to plan and accomplish goals. Performs a variety of tasks. May lead and direct the work of others. Typically reports to a manager or head of a unit/department. A wide degree of creativity and latitude is expected.

Looking for someone with nuclear experience or experience with terms/expressions commonly used in the nuclear industry....a tech saavy [sic] person is preferred. This individual will be responsible for writing proposals with the assistance of engineers, etc. Exelon Nuclear Partners sells services to foreign countries who are looking to build nuclear facilities. Exelon Nuclear Partners is looking to provide these proposals to Chinese businesses, so someone who is respectful and understands Chinese culture is preferred. An arrogant American will not work well in this role. Proposals do not need to be written in Chinese, they can be written in English. Location for this position can be in Canterra or Kennett Square.

Well, that's me out...