Oldbie.org

I really can't express how annoyed I am with the way the Livejournal feed treated my archives, unloading them all into everyone's Friends list like so much dump-trucked manure. The worst should be over, but, again, I'm really, really sorry about that. First I make you re-add me as an LJ syndication, and then I take over your Friends page. It wasn't on purpose, but is lame nonetheless.

Just a note to let everyone know that my intentions will be, ultimately, to write a script of some kind that will post both to my MT blog and Livejournal, but time is in short demand as of late, so it will have to wait.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Welcome to the new blog. If you're a LJ-er, just add the user czechharrison to your LJ friends list, or login, go to http://www.livejournal.com/syn, and search for my RSS feed (http://www.oldbie.org/michael/atom.xml), then add that syndication to your friends list. You can also go to http://syndicated.livejournal.com/czechharrison/ and then choose to add it.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 4:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

How could these two be so different? Or, rather, how could my Google Personalized Home be so off. This has been a rather annoying trend, as of late. How am I supposed to trust you with my private data, Google, if I can't even trust you to give me accurate weather information! I mean, come on. You can categorize and classify the world's information and make it available to anyone with a browser and an internet connection, but you're telling me I still have to go outside to determine whether it's the leather jacket or the fleece pullover for today?

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Natania got me one of the new moleskine cahier packages, and much like two years ago, when she first introduced me to the brand in the form of an extremely thoughtful Christmas present, it has spurred me on to write a bit more.

They're perfect for stashing around the house and office in various places. Each package comes with three cardboard-bound notebooks. They're bigger than my pocket-sized 9x14, and the same size as the 13x21, though the "cahier" style is flexible and fits in my pocket if I roll it up. With my pocket-sized, I find that it's unbearable to write at any length due to the small pages and the stiff covers. The cahier is perfect for working on a piece day-to-day, whereas I still look to the 9x14 for quick note-taking.

Enough stationary fanboyishness for today.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 6:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Found this on one of my regular RSS feeds, Parent Hacks (which I've been reading religiously, in addition to my new copy of The Baby Owner's Manual, to prepare for impending infantitude... they even posted a link I sent in about the Read to Me Program) and though I'm not sure it's quite appropriate for newborns (or even children, for that matter... the strange sound effects and music tracks that sound vaguely like the demos from Mario Paint would probably terrify most youngsters), it fascinated the entire office this morning.

So, with no further a-poo...

(God, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.)

La Machine a Caca

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Five nights in a different time zone presents an interesting dilemma, especially when you have to wake up on the sixth day for a flight that departs at 6:25. Do you hang out 'til midnight, wake up at 8, and then pay for it in coach (where you cannot sleep, because you are Michael Harrison, who simply cannot slumber whilst airborne)? Or do you go to bed after Matlock, causing your peers to question your youthful vigor, and arise before dawn in the hopes that you'll somehow remain in your originating time zone physiologically if not spatially?

It's almost ten o'clock PST, so I'm obviously attempting the latter option.

I'm looking forward to being back in the Carolinas. While the courteous staff of the amazing Hotel Avante in Mountain View have made my stay here as wonderful as was within their powers, I am very much ready to relax in the guest room of my parents' home in Wilmington. Perhaps not as stylishly contemporary in design, and certainly without a chic and relaxing Hi-Fi Room, their ranch offers much in the way of creature comforts. Plus, there's a slim chance the weather might allow a few walks on the ocean. We shall see.

It seems a fairly sure bet that I'll be setting up a local blog at oldbie, since I'm getting a little fed up by LJ. I'm leaning toward Movable Type, though there are some pretty nifty plugins for WordPress available (the Google Analytics one, in particular). I'd love to be able to archive my LJ posts locally somehow, and I've read a few howtos on just that. If anyone has any more information, please do drop a line.

Anyway, up and at'em in about 6 hours, and I've got to call the wife. See you on the other side. Of the country, that is.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Best

• Tons of free Naked Juice whilst waiting in the lobbies at Google


• The climate


• Free wireless everywhere you go


• The toilets at Google. Seat warmers, bidet, and, yes, even ass-dryers


• Double-doubles at In-N-Out Burger

• Drinking too much Blue Machine and getting stomach cramps


• Uncomfortable plastic red, blue, green, and yellow chairs


• Being with a bunch of geeks on Valentine's Day, instead of my wife


• That guy sitting beside me whose cologne smells like cat urine


• Being told not to take any more photos of the Googleplex

The absolute best? Leaving the left coast for the right one in just a hair over a day. I miss Natania, and haven't seen my folks in Wilmington in more than seven months.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It took the midwife a few minutes to find it. She put the goo on the tip of the Doppler and pushed it against Natania's stomach. At first, we could hear my wife's heart. It sped up as time passed. So did mine. At one point, I realized I was actually holding my breath.

At the first appointment, they told us that sometimes you can't hear the heartbeat. At 8 weeks, the Doppler device probably won't register the sounds. They're too faint, washed out by the noises from the mother's intestines, and her larger, slower heart. The way it works is, the device throws soundwaves out. They come back, but are altered by movement. The thing makes a horrible racket when the midwife powers it up and brings it to the belly, because the noises it generates are electronic, far from anything a human makes.

I was still holding my breath. Natania stared at her stomach; I stared at Natania. They say that sometimes you can't hear the heartbeat, but not to worry. At 12 weeks, it's almost always audible, but sometimes it isn't. You're not supposed to worry. Sometimes they don't even do it until later, because it can really upset parents-to-be.

It was upsetting me. I wanted to hear something that told me that everything was all right, that things were coming along, that everything that we--and, really, Natania--were going through wasn't for nothing. I wanted to know that my wife was on her way toward the end of morning sickness and soreness and all the M.O.P., as the midwife called them. Mainly, though, I wanted my first communication with this small creature, whom I desperately wish to meet in August, who is currently the size of a lime but will (with all our hopes and dreams) eventually grow much larger, who is currently siphoning somewhere between 150 and 350 calories from my wife's diet but will (again, hopefully) enjoy sushi and North Carolina barbeque and dad's homemade salsa, who is currently attached to Natania quite physically but will (with all of the usual exceptions, including car privileges and dating and the countless embarrassing stories, like this one) grow pretty fond of this other one who is somewhat responsible for its creation.

I just wanted to say, "Hi."

The midwife moved the small device down, and again I heard my wife's heart pushing blood through her body, soft and muffled. And then something else. Louder, clear as an infant's steel-blue eyes, and fast. A normal fetal heart rate is between 120 and 160 beats per minute. The midwife counted 150. Natania and I, we both laughed and cried a little. The chance for miscarriage, the midwife told us, drops to 1% once you hear the heartbeat.

Now we just have to get started on worrying about all the other stuff. That's fine with me. I think I can deal with it, really. I'm just looking forward to saying, "Hi," again.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 5:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I took my final final last night. Chemistry, and much easier than I expected, which was a blessing considering the amount of time I spent studying for it. I spent an hour driving to school, an hour taking the exam, and an hour driving home. There was little fanfare regarding my return to the working world, and my departure from academia, nor was I expected any. Right now, after just barely surviving the semester from hell, I'm looking forward to a bit of time that is not broken into semesters.

The past two weeks have been somewhat of a blur. After my cousin's wedding over Thanksgiving, I came down with what could only have been some sort of mutated Hantavirus. School and work soon became impossibilities. The best part was that, after the fever fell enough to make it back into the office for a couple of days, it returned in full force, kicking me back home to rest for almost another week. I took the bulk of my exams while in a haze, dribbling snot on papers and desks, and somehow managed to drive home from Greensboro without falling asleep or choking on my own phlegm.

I'm feeling better now, though, thanks.

It's good to be able to focus on work right now, though. Things are really gearing up and I must admit that I'm excited to be a part of what we're doing. There's also quite a lot going on over at SoulBound, where we've just implemented a DKP system for our World of Warcraft raids. It's very much fun.

Natania and I saw The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe last night. Very well done, and the changes made were tiny and, in all honesty, for the best. Case in point: Father Christmas doesn't tell Susan and Lucy that "It's ugly when girls fight," opting instead for the more universal, "Battles are ugly affairs." Named characters were added (Orieus, the centaur commander, for instance), lesser characters expanded (Fox), and names changed (Fenris Ulf becomes Maugrim). There's no mention of Aslan's father, the "Emperor-over-the-Sea," and there are a slew of mythical additions to both armies, including Cyclops, Gryphons, and a Phoenix. Besides these, the movie stays dead-on with the book. The kids were wonderful, if a bit one-dimensional at times (Peter and Susan play up the characteristics that become more pronounced in the later books), Georgie Henley, who played Lucy, standing out most. She was adorable, animated, and extremely dynamic for such an inexperienced actress.

Did anyone else notice that the White Witch had donned Aslan's mane in the final battle? Nice touch.

Anyway, back to work...

This Just In: Got an A in my British Authors course. Score.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 3:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm in Las Vegas for Webmaster World Pub Con X, which has been rather interesting. To say the least. With a huge week in Google News (Google Base, free Urchin in the form of Google Analytics, and new additions to Site Maps), we've had quite the abundance of topics to discuss. Googler and ex-Tar Heel Matt Cutts, was on hand with a rather illuminating Q&A session.

It's my last night. Not much more to do at the conference, so I've got an evening to kill. I was intrigued by all the cab ads for Avenue Q, the "muppets in the real world" Broadway show. Too bad it's about $100 a pop. I guess I'll just download the soundtrack.

Anyway, off to dinner. Another buffet. Whoo.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 8:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Yay! This is awesome. I know what I'm doing this afternoon!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 1:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In the mornings, after Calliope has eaten, we go around to the back yard. I suppose that, by definition, it can be called a yard. It's a area of land "next to, surrounding, or surrounded by a building or buildings," which "building(s)" could, I suppose, mean my house.

It could also be defined as a pit or perhaps a garden of nature's rage (D&D joke there... sorry, folks). Mainly, it's a huge cliff, complete with deadfall, stretching out for a good half of the property, toward one of the little trickles that feeds Bolin Creek. Trees tower over the house, poking out from the lush greenery below, pulling themselves up from the tendrils of ivy that hold them captive. It's quite a beautiful wood, in a "Mirkwood" fashion.

As Calli poops, taking a circuitous romp in and around the ivy before settling on a good spot, I stare out over that land. About 20 yards out, there's a clearing. The sun brightens it up, although you can still barely see it through the trees. It looks warm, even in these cool, damp autumn mornings.

This is a nice spot for us, here in Chapel Hill. We're thinking more and more about settling down. It's all dependent on the job and school situation, of course, but for now we're thinking of that big void that's up ahead of us, and I want to start putting down some lasting roots. From what I've seen of the world (and I haven't seen much, you know), here is as good a place as any. At some point, I guess you have to stop moving from one place to another if you really want to start with the stuff that happens after childhood and college, after marriage. If you want to follow these biological and social urges to spread your seed, to make a human for the future, to maybe give the world a tiny little spark that may change it some day. You have to find yourself out of doors, and just be happy with the room you're in.

I think if we buy the place, I'll put some steps going down into the valley. Cut away some of the ivy, landscape it a bit so we can add some variety, put in a shade garden, something like that. The path could lead down toward that clearing, and maybe if Natania lets me, I'll put a nifty little zip-line running down from the top of the hill, like we had when I was a kid. In the clearing, we'll put a playground or a clubhouse, maybe extend a dog run for Calli.

The dog finishes her business and hops away from it, darting back up the hill toward the house. I jog after her.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 6:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

If you're really working, trying, doing your best to spend about an hour every day, after work or school or whatever, to write... and you hold aspirations to be a "writer," to maybe support yourself one day by your craft alone, does that make writing a hobby? Or is it something more? A passion? What differentiates a passion from a hobby? Is it going to bed every night, thinking of a story in which you're knee-deep, doing your best to tell? Is it doing something until your fingers bleed, or it's 3am and you didn't even notice that your wife went to bed without you? I don't know where I stand with any of that jazz. I enjoy writing, I love telling stories, I love to read stories, and when I sit down to write, I find myself astounded (and oftentimes frightened) by the process of unearthing them.

My job and school, though... they sap a lot of my energy from me. And writing, for me, has never been easy. I don't care what I'm working on, it's always work. And, sometimes, the last thing I need after 9 hours of work is more work. And so I go to other hobbies. The D&D campaign we've started recently with some friends, painting or playing with my Warhammer 40K miniatures, teaching myself Adobe Illustrator... these things are hobbies.

I'm not so sure writing is a hobby. I think maybe when hobbies consume your being, when, even while you're not actively engaging in them, you're thinking of them, then it's a passion. My problem isn't desire, because I have plenty of that. My issue, at the moment, is drive and commitment. And time. Talent is cheap, it's been said by professionals. To paraphrase further, "The only difference between a talented writer and a successful one is a whole hell of a lot of hard damn work."

If only I had more time in the day.

Hmm... that'd be a neat idea for a story...

Off to bed.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Getting out of bed at 7:15 is horrible, for the most part. The sun has a bleary and squashed look about it. Outside, there's a fug to the neighborhood that doesn't seem to go away until nine o'clock or so. In North Carolina, even morning in September (which is still considered summer by my standards... if I'm sweating at 7:30am, it's still summer) is hot and humid.

But then there's the whole part about having a ton of time to yourself. Which makes waking up early worthwhile. Today, which is my "drive-to-Greensboro-for-school-alone" day, I did the following, all before leaving the house at 12:45:

• ate a bowl of cereal
• made an iced Americano
• sent my Congressional Representatives a letter regarding cuts to student loans, medical care for the elderly and misfortunate, and (once again) the Center for Public Broadcasting
• watched more "Desperate Housewives"... shut up...
• downloaded more "Desperate Housewives"
• read the latest additions/editions to Natania's story
• cleaned the kitchen
• walked a couple of miles with the dog
• scanned six Shakespeare sonnets
• made lunch

Lately, time has been occupied by a number of things. Getting my Tau army painted is taking up a big chunk of free time, but I don't mind. Painting miniatures is one of those things that just lets me get my hands to working, and then get my mind to wandering. It's great. I'm not the world's best painter, but I'm learning.

Also, I'm reading Neil Gaiman's latest, which has been great fun so far. I've moved along, too, from one writerly-inspirer, Bag of Bones, to Stephen King's little memoir on writing... On Writing. Duh.

And when I'm not reading or painting, I'm scribbling my own ideas in my Moleskine, reading sonnets, and trying to be patient with Calli.

Life is good when you wake up early, I suppose. In a few weeks, God willing, the humidity will be gone, fall will be here for sure, and when I take the dog out back to do her business, I want to see steam, damn it.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mondays are good. I wake up, late if I want, but usually at or around 9, and I have three and a half hours before it's time to go to Greensboro, for classes. I can read, catch up on homework, surf the web, and play with my doggy.

This past Monday, I went out with Calli, let her do her business, and saw the fig tree sitting by our bedroom window.

Upon closer inspection, I realized where all the butterflies have been coming from. They've been all over the place.

There the butterflies were, crowded around the fig tree, eating its rotting fruit from the stem. A very intriguing sight, as they were accompanied by what appeared to be representatives from every member of the insect world. Green flies, wasps, yellow jackets, bumble bees... there were thousands of bugs converged on our fig tree. From afar, it seemed like the tree was moving.

I can't wait for autumn to finally come. The heat is starting to get very annoying, and it's September already. Almost October. Smells of woodsmoke and the need for pullovers are requisite! I want to see my own breath when I go outside in the morning, and a frost (which, yes, I understand would probably take out a good portion of the Fig Tree Crew) would be splendid.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today, more life occurred. It seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace, but then I was driving home, listening to my iPod in the car, and looking forward to a relaxing evening alone. Natania and I spoke on my way home, and we're going to the Apple Store tomorrow. I need a laptop PC for school, because I am there so often, and also for any traveling I do at work. And since she has Cuthbert, a 14" iBook, I figured I'd steal it from her and she'd never notice.

But she did! She said, "Michael, I see that you have taken my computer. Hand it back, please." And I pouted and continued in vain to hide it from her behind me, but that wife of mine is no fool. So we came up with a compromise. I get the iBook and she gets an iMac. And the free iPod mini that comes with it. We're heading to the Apple Store tomorrow to scope out the scene and see how much this will impact our pocketbooks. We're doing well enough right now, our debt is under control, and all checks to lenders are in the mail.

So, tomorrow, Apple Store and probably the Farmer's Market, and then we're both working tomorrow, 3-ish to whenever-ish. If I get a chance, I'll do a spot of lawncare on Sunday, and there will be homework and exam preparation. Tonight, I'm going to work a bit on scanning my photos, our new webpage (IbidIbid.org, which is a sort of online writer's workshop with magazine, but it isn't that right now; just our homepage), and possibly burn some DVDs for the watchin' pleasure. I'm almost done downloading the first KTMA Mystery Science Theater 3000 season... should be intriguing.

We got rid of World of Warcraft. So I'm gonna log on and send my gold to our friends and say goodbye. The end of an era, I suppose. C'est la vie. This too shall end.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We slept in this morning, which was all right. I did my homework last night, and despite the fact that I knew I had a chem test today, I realized that I really didn't need to do any studying. True, last night I was posting on how I'm trying to do more work and skipping out on studying is certainly the opposite of that little promise I made. But, seriously. Intro Chemistry. This stuff is ridiculous. I think it's the same cirriculum I had back in high school. Remember how to do exponential numbers? You're set.

I handed the exam back to the professor thirty minutes after sitting down to take it. She had four different exams (all color coded...) and had made a seating chart so to dissuade us from cheating. That thing about high school chemistry... cirriculum and discipline. Awesome.

Anyway, I'm really confident in the test. No worries there. I got out of class forty-five minutes early, strolled down to the student union, where I sit now, connected to the school's nascent wireless network. It's been about two and a half hours. I finished up an essay due on Monday for my American Lit class, and now all I need to do for next week is get an outline together for the British Authors exam. It's good to have things done.

I haven't had much of a chance to write for pleasure. I am, however, reading Stephen King's Bag of Bones, which is reading for pleasure. It also has the strange ability to inspire the hell out of me. And, yes, inspiration is like 1% of the equation, but it helps considerably.

I've got a few projects up my sleeve, and after work tomorrow, I think I'll sit down somewhere... maybe the back porch, if it's cool enough (and dry enough... Ophelia needs to get to her drowning, if you ask me), and write 3 pages minimum on the story about the dead girl who meets the living boy on the playground, and they play detectives to figure out why the girl is dead. Sound like something you'd want to read? Perhaps I'll push it off on you.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

(And I think I know who you are.)

Here are 11 Tips to Surviving a Day Job With Your Creativity In Tact.

I haven't even read it yet, but I know it's gotta be beneficial.

Discuss?

Posted by Michael Harrison at 2:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I got back from Google about two weeks ago, and I think I'll save that particular story for another day. It's been awhile since then, and I've been extremely busy. Things haven't really slowed down... but tonight was nice, quiet, and I spent it doing more or less whatever I wanted.

Our friend Shawn was in town for a couple of weeks, which was a blast. We got to show off our house, our neighborhood, and our town, and it made me realize how happy I am with where we're at. We went down to Lake Hartwell, on the SC-Ga border, and had a great weekend full of dogs and tubing and swimming. It was hot as hell, but we had a good time.

Classes started, too. It's been a blur, learning to balance work and school. I'm working on Saturdays now, which leaves Sunday as my only real day off. Mondays and Tuesdays are spent in Greensboro, in class. Natania's working now, too, so she's out of the house more often. This is what we call a "transition period."

Calli started coughing a few days ago, too. This happened to correspond exactly with the disappearance of her blue microchip tag, so I assumed that she had swallowed it and it was stuck in her throat, or something. Took her to the vet today, and it turns out she's just bruising herself by pulling too hard on the leash. We just need to get her a new collar... thank God.

So, last week I installed a wireless router and I'm sitting in the living room, typing this on the iBook. I've been painting miniatures and checking the PA Games and Technology Forum. It's really nice. Life is nice when it's slow. And it's more appreciated when that slowness is plopped down right in the midst of a bunch of craziness.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

On Thursday, as I merged onto Interstate 40, I noticed that there was a little green fellow hitchhiking on the passenger-side mirror of the car. I'm fairly sure it was a Spissistilus festinus, or what the oldsters call a "Three-cornered Alfalfa Hopper."As I was already accelerating toward the usual 80 mph that Triangle drivers find comfortable for their morning commutes, I couldn't do much but give the little guy a few cautionary glances every few minutes or so. I cruised along, finishing up with Sarah Vowell's spectacular Assassination Vacation, and when I arrived in Raleigh, somewhere around the Oberlin off-ramp from Wade Avenue, my stow-away jumped ship. I hope he finds Raleigh a happy place, though I must admit, I myself am a Chapel Hill-ian through-and-through.

This is, of course, after only living here for two months. What can I say? The place feels like home. We have the house in such wonderful order, and the yard looks like heaven, the back porch is splendid, our neighbors are great... and I love the towns. Carrboro and Chapel Hill, which we are nearly smack-dab inbetween, are bastions of thoughtful-mindedness in an otherwise selfish state. "Hippie" and "hippier," my friend Geoff calls these two towns, and he's right. But in a good way.

Saturday was "Movie Night," which is the newly-instituted tradition of getting everyone together in one place to watch one of our rented Netflix. Natania and I took a trip to the Carrboro Farmers' Market, which rocks the socks off of Greensboro's. We got out of there, spending $9, and we had a treasure trove of goodies, too. I even got a cup of homemade root beer.

We made dinner and sat down to watch Wizards. And... I didn't really get it. I suppose it has its merits, but for the most part I was simply appalled at Bakshi's ridiculous attempts to tell a simple story. It seemed that everyone else agreed, and we'll be attempting to pick something a little less lame for the next movie night. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

Today, I spent a good deal of time totally and completely geeking out. I drew this map for the upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that we're starting... I think it looks fairly good, although I'd like it to be a bit more stylized. I was looking at these Dutch city maps from the 1649 Blaeu atlas, Toonneel der Steden, and really wish I could reproduce the same old-world look and feel. Practice, practice...

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I apologize. I have "Dancing Queen" in my head. I cannot get it out. Soon I will resort to the "screwdriver-and-hammer" method, because, when it is all said and done, one can only take so much Abba.

The beach vacation came and went. There was libation a-plenty and fun was had by all, even on the last day, which is usually reserved for cleaning and bitching about how annoying it is to go back into the real world, with a sunburn to boot. We managed to get ourselves blacklisted from the one decent pub on Topsail Island (though, truth be told, their service was so abysmal that I cannot say for certain upon whose shoulders the blame falls) and I bought the sweetest book evar from the really quaint independent beach bookstore, Quarter Moon Books.

Then we came home, and began to prepare for the inlaws' arrival, which was tonight. They are here now, and we are full on Chinese food from our new favorite Chinese restaurant, The Jade Palace. If there is one positive thing about moving (and there are many of them, though the traumatic event in question is far too close for me to see them), it's finding new haunts. For all of the takeout places in Greensboro, we never found a good sit-down Chinese restaurant. Jade Palace had some tasty food and you can call us regulars now, because that's the plan.

Another interesting tidbit of news is: I get to go to San Francisco in two weeks. Google (I can't believe I linked it... heh) is having a conference on Urchin and its usage in Pay-Per-Click advertising. I've never actually been to California, and I've heard the Googleplex is quite a sight to behold. So, yeah, I'm sure I'll be extremely geeky and take lots of pictures. You'll be the first to see them.

It is time for bed, I believe. Good night.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Selecting a Reader By Ted Kooser First, I would have her be beautiful, and walking carefully up on my poetry at the loneliest moment of an afternoon, her hair still damp at the neck from washing it. She should be wearing a raincoat, an old one, dirty from not having money enough for the cleaners. She will take out her glasses, and there in the bookstore, she will thumb over my poems, then put the book back up on its shelf. She will say to herself, "For that kind of money, I can get my raincoat cleaned." And she will.

I love The Writer's Almanac.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

There's a really nifty entry today over at the Mind Hacks blog, to be used in times where terrorist attacks aren't giving public transit a worse rap than it already has.

...if you're really enjoying yourself and you don't want time to go too fast, try keeping your eyes as still as possible.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

London rocked by terror attacks

I'm sure you've seen, but if not...

And Bush couldn't wait: "The war on terror goes on."

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

DSCF0041
Originally uploaded by Czech37.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Home is where the rump lands, as they say. We're home, after a huge Moving Day that saw large amounts of assistance from family. If it weren't for Mom and Dad and my cousin, Tandy, her husband, Brian, and, to some extent, their toddler Will, I have no idea what would have happened.

Getting all your stuff from one place to another is fine and good, but putting it where it belongs is another arduous story in and of itself. It will be three weeks come Friday, and that is still what we are doing. Picture will be on their way, as soon as we have something that's worth recording. It's looking nice... but not nice enough.

After a week's interlude in Massachusetts, we came back down to the new home to put things together. It was nice, being back in the area. My friend, Geoff, and his girlfriend Lee, came over this past Saturday and we introduced Lee to the wonders of Settlers. The next day, being only about 20 minutes from their house, we went over there and played a rousing Game of Life, which has been updated to include a "Computer Technician" career. To facilitate money-making for this new career, Milton Bradley turned Life's trademark spinning wheel into a bigger piece of junk than it already was. If a player knocks it off its tracks, the Technician gets $50,000 from the bank. As an up-and-coming Computer Technician, I made somewhere in the neighborhood of $800,000 this way before my fellow players figured out how to stop screwing up the dial.

Monday was my first day at the new job. It's eerily familiar, to be honest. My new position is a bit different from my last one, in that I'll be focused on one primary task, and not spread thin like the last bit of mayonnaise in the jar. In three weeks, I'll probably know more about search engines and search engine marketing than any person has a right to. It's nice, having a solid foundation, and learning more about something that I've always found fascinating is a great thing to be paid to do.

We're off to Wilmington this weekend for some much-needed time in a home that's already put-together.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Natania's mom came up this weekend to help with the preparation of the new house, and we took some more photographs. The garden was tidied up (though "gutted" may be a more appropriate word) and we painted the rooms inside. The guest bedroom needs another coat, and there's lot of trim work to be done, but for the most part, we're just ready to move in. Which we shall be doing this coming weekend. Because Friday is my last day of work. Then I'm free for two weeks, one of which will be spent in Massachusetts (sadly, no home games while we're there) and the other in getting our house together.

You're all invited to the housewarming! We'll pick a date in June, and if you're in the mind for some burgers and 'dogs, and a few bottles of (perhaps) (home)brew, then come on 'round, y'all.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I gave my two weeks notice on Monday. My boss was surprised and disappointed, which I suppose is better than delighted and pleased. I can tell she's not happy about my decision, but she's doing her best to keep a good face. Everyone else is sorry to see me go, but the cow-orkers with whom I'm closest wish me only the best. My immediate supervisor and "cubie," to use the official parlance, seems to be somewhat jealous of my ability to just drop a job and go back to school willy-nilly. He's asking me all sorts of questions about it. In a way, it's making me more and more excited about the future ahead.

This future that I speak of involves boxes, and the filling of said boxes with my life. Then the transporting of the boxes 50 miles eastward into our new home. In addition, the future includes painting five rooms in various shades of color, and a visit from the mother-in-law. We're back in Chapel Hill this weekend, for to fix the house and to tame the yard. Next Friday, I'll no longer be employeed in Greensboro, and by the end of that weekend, we'll no longer reside here either.

Here's to the future. The future that lies beyond boxes and manual labor.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Slowly, we're getting our stuff to Chapel Hill. The end of the month--and of our lease--is fast approaching. It seemed so far away, and now it's not. This is the way that life works. It is, after all, what happens when you're busy making plans.

I called in sick on Friday because I wasn't feeling well. My friend, Geoff, came into Greensboro, riding Yoshi, our old Civic, and we had too much to drink on Friday night, awoke earlier than I wanted, but later than I should've, on Saturday, and went to Chapel Hill to show off our future duds. We also purchased some gardening supplies and a charcoal grill for the beautiful back porch (which was, incidentally, constructed by my very own father). Not for lack of trying, we didn't get the chance to introduce the grill to fresh meat. This momentous occasion will take place next weekend, when Natania's mother comes down to help us warm the house for our imminent occupation.

My aunt and uncle, who are so kindly offering the place to us, also went along to help us with paint. They bought us enough to cover the square-footage we need, and probably a bit extra. It's going to be a big job, but we're looking forward to it.

So, after some much-needed yardwork, we grabbed some supper in town, then drove back to the Gate City.

Tomorrow, I give my two weeks. It's liable to be ugly. Wish me luck.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Had the third interview in Raleigh this past weekend. Natania came along, as per the owner's wishes, and met everyone. She got a tour of the office space, which is more than she's ever seen of my current workplace. In more than a year of my employment there, my own wife has not met a single co-worker, nor has she seen where I toil away. I haven't even started at the new place, and she's already got a great idea of what I'll be doing, with whom I'll be doing it, and where.

The office is a complete turn-around from where I'm at now. There are several part-timers (myself included), and everyone is on extreme flex-time. Most were under 30, and all were extremely nice. The place is well-lit, whereas my current work environment is like a stifling cave. New office furniture, nice flatscreen monitors, and a clean atmosphere. I'm looking forward to Day 1, which will begin at 10:00am on Monday, June 6th.

Immediately following this interview, we continued eastward to Oak Island for my sister's wedding. It was as wedding-like as you can get, which includes, I've learned, a dash of the good, a smidgeon of the bad, all mixed up (a la The Facts of Life) with free alcohol from numerous open bars. This resulted in a very flavorful weekend. Much comradery, vast quantities of potential for drama, but surprisingly little of the stuff itself. I was glad to see my sister happy, and extremely happy myself to see members of my family and some very, very good friends--primarily, Miles and Laura and Jessie. Not to mention the fantastic seafood that we feasted upon last evening at a well-recommended restaurant on Oak Island, which, after a justified hour-and-a-half wait, was more delicious than words can render truthfully.

We're working at the schematics for the move later this month. There's yet another wedding at the tail-end of May, and I have to admit, when it's three of the things in six months, and that average starts reaching one wedding every other month, you just don't want to think about the damn things: toasts and drunken relatives and the two forming a shaky partnership in the construction of long and boisterous speeches whose primary characteristics are less "uplifting" and "poignant," but more "slurred" and "halted."

My early retirement will commence on May 20th, which means I have but one week to steel myself for tendering my resignation. There is a week in New England planned, and then we will be moving.

Just bought Ben Folds' new album, Songs For Silverman, from the iTunes Music Store. So far, it's nice. Usually, I need some period of attachment, and my iPod shall be the medium for that interchange. I'll let you know how it goes.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I gotta stop doing this. When I skimp, I just end up having to write more.

Well... hopefully, in a month and a half that will cease. I will have more time for writing, which is something I have been looking forward to for quite a while. I'll have more time for most everything. Because The Plan is in effect, my friends, and we're well on our way along its golden path. We've even got a sweet new ride in which to traverse it.

Step 1: Buy a new car to replace poor dying Yoshi, our 1994 Honda Civic.
We did it. We went to Carmax, after doing some research, and test drove a 2001 Volkswagen Jetta. It drove so well that we used the loan that we had pre-approved at the credit union and bought the thing. Or, rather, we had our bank buy it. All in all, the loan is good and we'll only end up paying around $500 more than we would had we paid cash. Not too bad for a couple of newlyweds with student loans out their ears and a "developing" credit score. I'll take pictures of Wensleydale II, as he hath been dubbed, and post them over at www.oldbie.org/photos as soon as possible.

Step 2: Find a New Place to Live That Is Both Better and Less Expensive
Did that, too. Not on our own, though, but through the wonderful help of family. My uncle owns a great ranch in the Colonial Heights neighborhood of Chapel Hill. It's a fantastic place to live, city-wise and neighborhood-wise. Free public transit, about a mile's walk from Franklin Street at the college, and in the best part of the Research Triangle. Plus, the place has a nice big yard in which Natania and I may cavort, plant vegetables, and release our cats into, thus bypassing this feline "shitbox" custom that has been inflicted upon the cats in question... or, I suppose, upon their human masters... I'm still trying to decide which.

Unfortunately, because said house is about an hour east of current abode, a new job seemed necessary. After a raise at the current place of work, I felt that I may attempt the commute. But my desire to head back to school and current stresses in my job were making the decision much more difficult. Thankfully, fate came in and dealt its cruel blow. Or, in this case, its light and kiss-like nudge, and...

Step 3: Get a Part-time Job That Doesn't Involve a Freaking Hour-long Commute on I-40
...was checked off the list. I interviewed last month for a design position, and the owner thought my enthusiasm and experience were ideal. He just didn't have a position at the time. This weekend, I went back, and it appears that the position for me now exists. Not quite design, and not quite server administration, but it's 3 days a week, in a great part of Raleigh (about 20-25 minutes from our new home), I can go in as late as 10am, and it will allow me to go back to school.

I'll be doing search engine optimization for websites. It's something I'm somewhat experienced in, and it'll pay the bills and allow me to learn some pretty interesting new skills. I'm excited.

Step 4: Go Back to School

I was also re-admitted to UNC-G for the fall, and I'll be taking classes both online and at campus (on Mondays and Wednesdays, most likely).

So, yes. Things are going well. I just thought you might want to know.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

There's a site we do at work for a cookie company in the Carolinas (ahem) and they've got a promotion in effect now for a certain line. So, the marketing "boss" tells me, over the intraoffice IM network, to just pick something random for the coupon code. Someone gets the code, they choose what they want to buy, then they enter in said code and get a discount. You've probably seen these before. The codes are usually something like JD42349 or PQ95845 or whatever.

So I picked SF94784 or something, right? Random series of numbers, and the letters signify the promotional line of baked oblong dessert treats.

He comes over, sighs, with the other marketing dude. "I dunno. Can't it just be a word?"

"Yes," I say. It can. It can be a word. It can be anything he wants it to be. But he told me to make it random.

"Can it be just 'SUGAR FREE'?"

"Yes, but no spaces. 'SUGARFREE,' yes. 'SUGAR FREE,' no."

"So make it that. SF94blahblahblah or whatever, that's too long. Why didn't you make it something people can remember?"

I turn back and stare at him.

"Because. You. Said. Random."

I must deal with these things daily...

Anyway, in other news, we're definitely outta Greensboro in June, and into the house in Chapel Hill. I am officially seeking employment in the Triangle, and it shall be part-time. Because school will take up full-time. I am excited about this.

Also, there was a honeymoon in January, believe it or not, and here's proof.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Up and at them before 9 on a weekend. My hat goes off to Natania, who got up at 8:30 to head to the gym, leaving me behind in a very cold bed, which gave me no choice but to get up and clad myself in oodles of clothing to keep from freezing.

I have to work on my portfolio. I need to have it ready for my interview, which is at 3:45 this afternoon. I've been asked to provide a digital portfolio, and a print portfolio for anything I've done that can't be represented in digital format. This latter category really includes nothing.

Any suggestions or tips? I've never really done a real portfolio review, except during my brief stint at art school. Merynetjeru, I'm looking at you! :D

Wish me luck!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 8:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I came home from work yesterday and because of our plans for the upcoming months, decided it was time to find some jobs and send out some resumes. You know: the lamest, most annoying, suckiest activity known to man.

So I went to a few websites, found some classifieds, and then I was at a website for a design firm in Raleigh, filling out their online application. After an hour updating my cover letter and resume, I cut-and-pasted, then clicked 'Submit.'

Before I went to bed, I checked my mail. 'Lo and behold, there was a response from the owner of the company. He was asking me to clarify some items in my application. I shot off an email, doing so, and this morning, he'd replied.

I have an interview on Saturday. Time to get my portfolio updated. Hot damn.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 6:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This weekend was pretty darn cool, if I may say so. I'm sure that Natania will, at some point, update with news of her talk at the NC Colloquium in Medieval and Renaissance Studies. It was a very informative conference, and I must admit that showing Natania around Duke was exciting. The keynote speech, about the Lime Street naturalists of Elizabethan London, was about as interesting as scientific history gets. And even my mother and aunt found the four graduate students' pieces (Natania's included) to be interesting enough; shipbuilding as seen through the gauze of gender studies, however, is fairly disturbing. I daresay that I will never look at a mast the same way again, and if I do see one, I'll make damn sure to keep it as far away from my fundament as is humanly possible.

I stayed home sick today, because my throat felt bad and because I felt like a day off. Things at the ol' job-eroni aren't going all that hot, thanks to an untimely promotion of another staff member, and some more of the news we received whilst in the Triangle region of our grand state has made my entire existence at Greensboro Web Design firm #5 somewhat shaky in my own head.

You see, if we have our way, we'll be living in Chapel Hill come June 1st. Our way will be hard and wrought with much instability and job-seeking, but we've got a really wonderful opportunity to take up residence in a relative's three bedroom home (house, even! With yard and neighborhood and basement!) for cheaper than our current rent. For those counting, we're in a small two bedroom apartment in Greensboro, with hardly any storage space and no yard whatsoever.

We wouldn't make this decision based upon storage area and lawn size, of course. First, there's school. Natania has one more semester at UNC-G, and then she's going elsewhere for her PhD. Hopefully, she gets into Duke. This is highly possible, I believe, with some of the things that went on at the Colloquium. Even so, she has a great chance of acceptance at Chapel Hill, as well. So, there's one reason to get the move on.

Second, I know I can find a job in Chapel Hill. I've been told that ibiblio is hiring web developers, and there are, apparently, many freelance opportunities for someone with my background. And I can always get a job at Visart again, god forbid.

There's a bus stop about twenty yards from our (future) front door, and bus transit in Chapel Hill is free. No money. It costs nothing. There's even a route that goes all the way to Durham, in case Natania does get into Duke.

So... things are changing. I'm keeping an eye out. And we're already starting to get rid off stuff, to pack stuff up, and to look around.

Wish us luck.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

As mentioned in the last post, we needed a nursery to store all of our new baby books. Instead of shelling out $100 or so at Target or wherever for a cheap particle board bookcase, Natania and I bought some shelving boards and some really nifty brackets at the Home "Deppo", and after a half hour's work, the books are off the ground and onto the wall. Amazing what you can do with a stud-finder and some screws.

We got a lot done today. So we're going to go out and eat Vietnamese. Viva la weekend!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 6:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I haven't written anything here in over a month. One of the best things I can do for myself, to keep myself sane and to keep my writing ability at least in some amount of shape, is to unload my feelings onto a blank slate. Usually, this is that blank slate, but as of late, I've been writing a lot of personal and story notes into my Moleskine while on off-times at work. That is it, however, and usually these notes consist of things like "What is in Agent Binghaus' trunk?" and "Scott Hewler - Beaufort Scale" and "List o' NPR stations," which is to say, nothing of substance. So, over the past year-and-some-change, I've grown accustomed to airing my (sometimes petty) thoughts on this little weblog-a-doo-dad. Lots of things have kept me from it throughout January, and I will detail them in hopes of figuring out how I can better get my ass connecting with my seat, and my fingers a-tappin' at the keyboard. After all, we don't want Michael to go mad, now, do we?

Two weeks of January were spent in England, and it was an excellent time. I won't go into much further detail right now, because it's not in me to write a full-length exploration of our honeymoon. Besides, we took a lot of photographs, and as soon as I copy them over from Cuthbert to Muninn (Natania's and my computers, respectively... hers gets a link only because mine was constructed by me and me alone, and is therefore too unique for one) and into brand-spankin'-new Picasa 2, I'll post 'em to the web, along with a commentary/travelog with both Natania and me. So, look forward to that, if you're into that sort of thing. It'll be like the couple coming into your house with their hulking photograph album and detailing their honeymoon, day by day, hour by hour, second by second... except, we won't be troubled by having to come to your house. The Internets have made it okay to be lazy!

Speaking of lazy, the reason why I haven't really lifted much of a finger in the ways of writing or study or creation of any kind (except for delicious heavy armor kits and succulent Crocolisk Gumbo) is, pure and simple, World of Warcraft. Damn Blizzard and their beautiful game. It has eaten up a large portion of my free time, as of late, and there doesn't appear to be an end in sight. The world is stunning, and the gameplay is probably the best I've ever seen. Despite my formative years spent in text-based MUDs and MUSHes, I never trucked much with MMORPGs. I thought the idea was fantastic, but the delivery always seemed a bit off. I think Blizzard has rushed in and perfected the genre, much as they did with real-time strategy games, and the result... is all I want to do with my free time. I even dream about the damn game!

This weekend, I plan to do four things, and four things only. Number one, work on getting the photos from our trip into a viewable format for posting on the web. Second, write another three or so pages in the sequentual art project (read as: comic book) that Filby and I are sorta-kinda working on. Third, we're going to Lowes or Home Depot and buying shelving, because when two book lovers get married, they do not immediately start having children. Instead, their books co-mingle, and then baby books are born into this world (i.e., my living room and office) via literary storks or possibly tiny bookish uteri, and they begin to overpopulate, and because their owners are kind-hearted and couldn't even begin to consider culling the population, they must be provided with low-cost housing. In this case, it will be along the wall of the office. We hope the book boom will end soon, but it doesn't look hopeful.

Oh. Fourth? As if you need to ask.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Could've fooled me. As most folks blogging throughout the southeast are noting, it's about seventy bloody degrees outside. This is our New Year, and it's balmy and there's nothing outside that even hints that Old Man Winter has taken up residence. As someone who loves the cold weather, I'm fairly annoyed. I prefer to bundle up at least a little bit during this time, and I expect to see my breath in January. It's just something that you get used to, y'know.

My Christmas was fun, as I hope yours was. I won't go into detail, other than: played with my stocking-stuffer Nerf gun way too much, wore a new robe, found some places to send my scribblings, and watched a couple of great movies. Plus, more. My sister-in-law's boyfriend showed off World of Warcraft, which Natania and I promptly went out and bought. Two copies. And we play together. Which, yes, is incredibly dorky, but also an insane amount of fun. Penny Arcade made some really funny comments that were incredibly topical to us this past week.

New Years consisted of a couple of friends coming over to the humble abode, where we chatted, played Duck Hunt on the NES (which I finally set up, after nearly six months of being moved in... from here on out, I shall proclaim that a house is not lived in until a Nintendo Entertainment System is hooked up to a television within. Them's the rules.), and drank some bubbly. Nothing big, but after the past couple of months, a weekend of very small things, and not moving about very much... that was just what we needed.

Anyway, we're running around this week, getting ready for our trip to the United Kingdom this weekend. Four days, and we're gone. We'll take lots of pictures, I assure you, and I'll try to pop on from time to time if we can.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 7:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Whole heaps of stuff has happened, and I'm not really going to go into detail. My father-in-law is doing better, I made it to Massachusetts in one piece, and when I came back, I was still in one piece, though that one piece had doubled, according to North Carolina state law, and the tax code, to encompass one Natania Harrison née Barron as my wedded wife. So, yes. We're married (at least according to our greater family and friend network) and that's over, and we can continue to live pretty much in the same we were living before, albeit with a nice windfall of gift checks and fancy new stainless steel appliances. I love Natania dearly, and have for quite a while; now I have a piece of paper, and the church's good blessing, saying that I'm allowed to giggle with her beneath our sheets when the lights go out. For this, I am happy.

At the moment, it's work work work. I keep meaning to get a portfolio together for all the nifty things I've done so far under the employ of the Greensboro web design firm that I work for. One day I shall, and oldbie.org will be made a bit more useful. I also completed my one class of the semester, and angels rejoiced, and the heavenly host sang Abba, and I sauntered--nay, strutted--down the street back home and plopped down on the couch and played Xbox with my wife (oh yeah, that sounds so hot. Xbox with my wife.)

We go to Scotland for our honeymoon on January 10th. Every day until then is just an obstacle.

This weekend, it's off to Charlotte for Christmas with the sibling. Maybe I'll find some time before then to write a bit more.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just dropping a note so no one worries.

On Monday, we got news that Natania's dad was in the hospital. He was unresponsive, and running a fever, and there was a chance that meningitis might be the culprit. Anyway, I zoomed out of work and back home, and we decided that Natania would head to Massachusetts to be with her family, and that I would hang around until I could finish up some things at work.

Thanks to the ever-amazing folks at Southwest Airlines, we moved Natania's ticket for next week (i.e., the wedding ticket) to Monday, and rushed through RTP traffic on I-40 to get her to the Raleigh airport in time. With that successful, I went and unwound in Durham with a friend, and she bounced around the Atlantic states in an aeroplane. I gave her my iPod, which I hope she used to ward away the Icky Travel Blues.

So here I am, at home, and she is up in Massachusetts, not planning for the wedding, but waiting to find out if her dad is going to be all right.

And it's only Tuesday.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After a rather trying weekend, Natania and I arrived home at about 1pm and immediately crashed. We napped until 4ish, and then went out to run a few errands and spend some hard-earned wedding money.

It was at Linens N' Things that we discovered exactly what we were looking for: a joyous addition to the family.

We decided our new buddy should have a very respectable name, and therefore he shall be called Tony Blair. Upon arriving home, I unwrapped Tony from his packaging and placed him inside his servant's chambers to charge.

After many hours of charging, it was time for Tony to play! I took him out and set him down and we got to know each other. He's a very by-the-book kind of fellow, Tony Blair, orderly and no-nonsense. He rides up and down the walls, and occasionally he'll jet away, rumble, and his Active Dirt Response will kick on. He's not too righteous about how dirty our apartment is; just displays the little blue light and keeps right on rumbling.

When Tony was finished picking up a good portion of the living room, I decided it was time for a break, and got out the chessboard. Being light, I moved first:

I gave him plenty of time to think it over, too, damn it.

I don't think Tony is the chess-playing type.

He's not good at voiding his own bowels, either. I mean, our cats can poop in the litter box, so why can't he? Small complaints, I guess, for a little guy who cleans the floor of my apartment without saying a word. Look at all that cat hair and dirt! What a little helper!

Anyway, Tony was tuckered out and so I slipped him back into his quarters and plugged him back into the wall. We'll see how the little guy feels in a few days, when the apartment gets dusty again.

And here's hoping he doesn't rise up against his soft, fleshy hoo-man masters and destroy us in our sleep!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 7:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Laura and I were chatting about books the other day. She mentioned one that I should read, and as I've recently finished a series of novels that I've been at for nearly ten years, I asked her for more suggestions; I need to tackle something different, you see. Something I've not really thought about reading. So we agreed we'd compile a Top 20. So here's mine, in no particulary order. With reckless abandon, I've included such literary "no-no's" as "graphic novels" (read as: comic books) and young children's stories.

1. Taran Wanderer, by Lloyd Alexander. The first YA book that I came across that did more than just entertain--it made me think. And, consequently, depressed the hell out of me. I think the loneliness of the titular character really affected me. Alexander's Prydain Chronicles remain, to this day, one of the most magical series of books that I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing. I wish I could go back and read them again with eight year-old eyes...
2. Sandman: Dream Country, by Neil Gaiman (esp. "A Midsummer Night's Dream," which was the first--and only--comic book that ever won a World Fantasy Award for best short story... they changed the rules afterward to prevent it from ever happening again). Gaiman's Shakespeare is a very tragic figure, caught up between worlds about which he only has the vaguest idea. This particular story, paired with the last story in the Sandman run, The Wake's "The Tempest," I think, serve as great book-ends for a really spectacular move for the realm of comic books. Literary, mythological, and intelligent... and though I never bought the entire ten book run, these stories brought me back to Barnes and Noble day in and out to finish them up.
3. The Magician's Nephew, by C.S. Lewis. Best one in the series, in my opinion. Trippy and fun and my first experience with the ill-fated "prequel" concept.
4. The Old Curiosity Shop, by Charles Dickens. I think Dickens is at his best when he's got a sqajillion characters, and the narrative jumps back and forth between them all. This novel, in my opinion, defines "Dickensian." Swiveller is my favorite Dickens character, and Quilp is the author's best villain, hands down. Second only to A Christmas Carol, in my opinion, which explores Dickens' rarely-used abilities to focus his narrative... I think Chs. Dickens is proof that maybe in a hundred years, literary snobs may not be so unkind to modern-day quote-unquote hacks.
5. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by J.K. Rowling. Purely for the entertainment value provided. There's very little in the way of deep theme here, but it's my favorite of the Potter books because it deals with some heavier concepts--death and jealousy and hatred. It's the series' Empire Strikes Back. I like how angry Harry is in the beginning, mainly because he reminds me a lot of what it was like to be fifteen, and out of the proverbial loop.
6. Look Homeward, Angel, by Thomas Wolfe. I wish I had written this. The best coming-of-age story, I think, of the past century, which may make it the best of all time. Not as difficult and ornate as You Can't Go Home Again, but still full of Wolfe's clever attention to detail.
7. Into the Wild, by Jon Krakauer. Chris McCandless was a young man who graduated from college, then sold his belongings, gave his entire savings account to charity, and took to the road. Four months afterward, he died, alone, in a rotted-out bus in the Alaskan wilderness. His story is unique, and Krakauer does a good job, I think, of weaving in and out of McCandless' narrative with his own unique voice. Disturbing...
8. Look Back All the Green Valley, by Fred Chappell. The final book in Fred's Kirkman saga, about a writer from western North Carolina who heads home to help his ailing mother find an eternal resting place... preferably along with his father, her husband, who has been deceased ten years, but whose cemetary plot won't hold two people. Very charming, very funny, and the author's voice is so charismatic and down-to-earth, yet also poetic and beautiful, that you feel like you're being read to.
9. The Drawing of the Three, by Stephen King. The best out of the Dark Tower books, with the introduction of some of Stephen King's best characters. As characterization is King's strong point, it's always good when he's on his game with the folken in his stories. The later parts of this series gets a bit bogged down by theme, one the weaker tools in his craft, but the second book is exceptionally well done and entertaining.
10. Hearts in Atlantis, by Stephen King. This is a collection of five stories, all linked together through their characters. The title story is about college students at the University of Maine, during 1966 and at the height of Vietnam craziness. It's about a boy's dormitory floor that gets so addicted to a card game that they begin to flunk out, and are subsequently sent off to war. A very amazing story, one of King's true gems that has very little to do with the supernatural, and everything to do with people and the way they act under certain situations.
11. Cold Mountain, by Charles Frazier. I read this in 1999, my senior year of high school, about four years before the movie came out. The movie was atrocious, overly romantic, and inaccurate. The book was none of these things; it was a beautiful tale of chaos and the way that human beings try to make order out of that chaos. This book taught me that modern literature didn't necessarily have to be strange and clipped and in the present tense.
12. A Midsummer Night's Dream, by William Shakespeare. "If we shadows have offended, / Think but this, and all is mended, / That you have but slumber'd here / While these visions did appear." So many people disagree, and they can keep on--this is Shakespeare's best play, because it's not only funny--it is bloody brilliantly amazingly hilarious. And it's deeper than it appears, which is always fun.
13. D'Aulaires Book of Greek Myths, by Ingri and Edgar Parin D'Aulaire. Ms. Patterson, my gifted teacher in elementary school, had a battered old copy of this, and from it I gleaned a lifelong fascination with myth and folklore, which eventually led me to...
14. The Hero with a Thousand Faces and The Power of Myth, by Joseph Campbell. Both books are worth reading. Joseph Campbell does a great job of showing us what humans will do to create order from the random. Not as opulent in its style or weight (physical weight, that is) as Frazier's Golden Bough, but that can be a good thing. It's also not mired down by social Darwinism or sweeping judgment, either, which is definitely a good thing. Mainly the only reason why I don't include Golden Bough on my list...
15. High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby. He's got it right, really. Relationships aren't easy; in fact, they are a whole shit-ton of work. But so is the "whole sad, single person culture." For awhile after reading this book, I made lots of top twenty lists. Like this one.
16. The Diamond Age, or A Young Lady's Illustrated Primer, by Neal Stephenson. Brilliant sf, a bizarre, interweaving story, and beautiful characters. This is the only book on my list that, shamefully, I haven't actually finished. Does that make me a bad person?
17. Works of Edgar Allan Poe, by Edgar Allan Poe. Because he didn't truck so much with longer fiction, I'll go on a limb and say that most of Poe's short stories are fine by me. I haven't met one that I didn't like. "The Masque of the Red Death" has and always will haunt my dreams every few months, and I've got a fondness for "The Black Cat" that I've never really been able to verbalize. Poe is, simply put, one of the best storytellers of the macabre, and his unreliable narrators tell betters stories than 95% of authors in that genre.
18. The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I like Hemingway, but I like Fitzgerald better. The last lines of this book still make me weep, and also make me wonder if alcohol could jump-start my own writing. It then makes me wonder... what would Mr. Fitzgerald have achieved if he hadn't, more or less, drunk himself to death at 45?
19. Fight Club, by Chuck Palahniuk. One of the only post-modern books I can stand. It's refreshing to read something that talks about the changing role of the male in modern society. A bit melodramatic at times, but the pay-off at the end isn't Shyamalanian enough to be annoying. It's just really neat. Although, if I hear what the second goddamn rule of Fight Club is one more time, I'll probably go postal. I think Palahniuk said the same thing in his tenth anniversary foreward.
20. The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien. Because it taught me that letting characters go away and rest in the Grey Havens was never going to be easy...
21. Shit. I'm past twenty already! Umm... let's see. I really like Hawthorne, and Elie Wiesel, and Simon Schama's A History of Britain. Catch-22 was fun, and John Irving's A Prayer For Owen Meany was weepy and heartfelt and not quite as over-sentimental as the movie version. Microserfs was a neat zeitgeist sort of thing, and 1984 was a few years off the mark... maybe. But I guess I can't list everything. Stupid lists. I have a million more books... but I'll settle for Sophie's World: A Novel About the History of Philosophy, by Jostein Gaarder. This I could not recommend to anyone past an introductory philosophy course in college, but as a high school sophomore, it proved to be the best primer for philosophy that my 15 year-old hands could get ahold of. It's definitely a simplified history, and the skeleton plot that surrounds the lesson is childish at times, but that's the point. It's an introduction to thought and wonder, and making sure that you don't ever stop asking questions.

So... that's it. I've got a bunch more, and maybe I'll post them later. I'm sure I've even forgotten some. I hope this satisifies everyone.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 5:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

From an email I just sent to my parents:

--
Michael Harrison
--
(who may be reached at _________@triad.rr.com)
(or during the weekdays at __________@gmail.com)

Posted by Michael Harrison at 3:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

... It's Saturn's Day.

We took him to the shelter today. It wasn't pleasant, but I guess it shouldn't be. I'm not deluding myself with any false hope for the cat's survival. I just wish it didn't have to be like this. When Luna died so abruptly back in July, we just knew that we had the room and the facilities for a new cat. And we decided to get a five year old cat, because we knew the kittens get snatched up and the older cats aren't quite as lucky. We just didn't look him over enough... he was declawed on both ends, and there was a wound on his foot that we found weeks afterward.

Really, we did what we could. And we didn't succeed. I can't beat myself up over it anymore.

So we're at home right now. My most recent project has been ripping all of my CDs into iTunes. I'm going all out, because I finally feel like this is a program that reflects the way I like to organize my music. The plan is, in a few months, to get an iPod, and an external hard drive, and then I'll never have to lug around a stupid case of CDs again. It's weight off my back.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 3:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Yesterday, right before I left work, my boss said to me: "This is a rather uncomfortable conversation to have with someone, Michael." The first thing that went through my head was, Oh, shit. She's going to get after me for taking a long lunch today. But I was wrong...

Last week, Natania and I had a spell where cleaning up Odin's fecal calamities and keeping on with schoolwork got the best of us. So we left a load of laundry in the washer for some amount of time; I'm not really sure how long it stayed there--a day or two, I'd imagine--but one of the other folks in the building took it upon themselves to throw it in the dryer and finish it up for us. Very nice of them, considering. But this resulted in a rather pungent batch of clothes, most of which we threw back into the hamper to re-wash later.

Most, but not all. I have a pair of dark green slacks, which I wear to work on a very regular basis. You see, they go very well with most of my shirts, and since my job consists mostly of sitting in place, inactive, day in and day out, I can wear an outfit two times or so before it's really necessary to launder. These slacks, I figured, weren't as bad as the rest of the clothes. They didn't smell too terribly, and besides, who the hell is smelling my pants? No one gets that close, right?

Yesterday, I found out that my boss does. She sent an IM at 5:00 telling me to stop by on my way out. I did so, and she told me to close the door.

"I wanted to let you know that there has been an odor about you today," she said. "I noticed it once last week, and again today. I just wanted to be polite about it and give you a heads up. Try to re-evalute your grooming habits, and everything will be fine. We want to give a good impression to the clients, and personal hygiene is part of that good impression."

Dead serious. This is how she talks. I'm surprised she didn't use the word effluvium.

My face flushed. I felt the blood rushing upward, and felt that awkward, embarrassed smile stumble across my bearded mug. All I could do was nod and tell her, yes, I'd work on it, sorry about the funk, thanks for telling me, blah blah blah.

On the ride home, I realized: the stank-ass laundry! And I just couldn't keep myself from laughing.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 8:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I haven't watched MTV in about three years, but I just saw the video for the Modest Mouse song, "Ocean Breathes Salty," and it's pretty darn cool. If you've got about four minutes, and a broadband connection, check it out. Maybe not as technically neat as the video for "Float On," but still, this is what a music video should aspire to: story, entertainment, and a good wrapping for the song.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Doing laundry now, and trying to write on this, my night off. I paid all the bills for the month and it feels good to know that I won't get any late charges. We're getting an account with the State Employees Credit Union, and that will feel good, because I'll know that instead of BB&T's ridiculous $32 overdraft fees, it'll be a trim $12 every time I screw up the accounts. Which should be never, but if shoulds were coulds, I'd be out of the woods.

Work was awful today and the only thing that kept my going insane was the fact that I am not in prison. Also, we're heading to the mountains and the New River State Park for some reprieve from civilization this weekend. I am planning on reading a bit, fishing perhaps, and, if at all possible, drinking beer from cans cooled in the river itself.

We saw Garden State on Friday, after a very excellent (for me) sup at the new brewpub downtown, Natty Greene's. This place is named after the city's namesake, Nathaniel Greene. I had the Sir Charles sandwich, which was sashimi grade tuna steak with Vidalia, wasabi, and soy sauce, on a roll. I wants it again, and again, and again. Tuna is so delicious when thrown on a grill for just a minute or so, and still red and juicy in the middle... plus, it takes about half the time to make it to your plate, and into your belly.

Oh, yeah... Garden State. Go see it, if you like Wes Anderson movies, and The Graduate. I read a review saying that it was too "derivative," but I totally dug the style. I love subdued humor. And non-subdued humor. I like humor.

I'm going to go and eat some ice cream now. Next post will include photos from the trip to New River this weekend.

And everyone, have fun searching the infinate abyss.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's been awhile, I know. A very tough week, all in all, but it's nearly over. Our new cat, Odin, continues to shit on the floor. We continue to try and condition him to love the litterbox, it is your friend, it will not hurt you. Things are getting very frustrating with that entire situation, and if we can't get him to learn to defecate inside the box, then we may have to give him away.

He has a small sore on his footpad, which may or may not be a claw trying to regrow. If I could find the assholes who declawed him--both front and back feet, mind you--I'd give them a stern talking-to. Antibiotics haven't helped the wound much, so Odin may just prefer to stay out of the litter because it hurts his paw. But would that explain why he chooses to use it every other time? He pees in the thing every time. It's only one out of every two poops that make it on the floor. I caught him crapping outside of it this evening, and he was just sitting right beside it, maybe a foot away, squatting and staring at the box. When he's inside, he just walks in, poops right near the entrance, and jumps out.

I feel very bad, because my frustration with cleaning up cat shit from our floor every goddamned day is starting to make me dislike Odin a good deal. Anyone want a broken (and I don't mean house broken) cat? Damn. Thought so.

It's off to Lake Hartwell this weekend, to visit the family. Nothing quite like a hurricane to bring everyone together.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am unclean. The dirt will not wash out.

Earlier, while working on my story, there was a hair sticking out from one of my keys on my keyboard. I looked down and was suddenly and completely disgusted by the filth beneath the keys. So I started to clean my keyboard. I probably would have been better off just going out and buying a new one. I may still do that.

Here is what I found when I removed the keys. For those with weak stomaches, go here and read up about Muppets, because the Muppets are cool.

This is an extreme close up up the nasty keyboard-jam inside.

And, thank God, here is what it all looked like, twenty quality tips, about half a liter of Windex, and thirty minutes later.

Sometimes I amaze myself.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 4:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Thanks, Filby, for this lovely meme.

Go to Google image search and type in your name or handle or whatever. Fun stuff.

This is not me, by the way. Click it, though, and visit my evil twin. He needs a goatee, damn it.

Here, for those curious, is a recent photograph of myself. While my hair is far more wild and unkempt than Mr. Harrison-the-pianist's (or what he has left) and his glasses are more chic than mine will ever be, I still think that I am, by and large, cooler than he. Who's with me?

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

...there's something terribly wrong with you.

Just got back from Napoleon Dynamite, which we saw at Greensboro's luxury theatre, the Carousel. Normally, I'd scoff, but I love seeing movies at this place. It's independently owned, it has stadium-seating, they sell espresso drinks--real espresso drinks--and alcohol. And (best of all), the usher told us (and everyone else in line) that there was a bit of movie at the end of the credits. I almost hugged him. That's one of the most courteous things that a theatre employee can do, I think.

The movie was amazing. One of the most unique, most clever comedies I've seen in a while. The director, Jared Hess, made me think of a concussed Wes Anderson. Not as tight in plot or cinematography, but still, an overall success. Natania said it was like a really warped John Hughes movie, and I agree. It even had my favorite Cyndi Lauper song in it, "Time After Time," and everyone's favorite When In Rome tune, "The Promise."

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Progress is being made on the novel. That's really all I have to comment on, at the moment. A black Cadillac in the story, which plays a rather important role, has become, instead, a black Ford Galaxie. Why? Because I saw a Galaxie on the way home from work today, and I liked it. People ask writers where they get their ideas. It's kind of boring, that place where ideas come from. It's a lot like everyday life.

I'm reading Bag of Bones for the third time in my life. It is a good book. For whatever reason, Stephen King's author characters are the best. Finally, Natania is going to tackle American Gods, which I own in first edition hardcover (signed by the author), and I commend her on it. I like the book immensely and I think it will inspire her greatly in her own endeavors.

In other news, I want an iPod. I will have one. Mark my words, Batman. Mark them well.

Seriously. Here's a pen. Write them down. Good. There's a good Bat. Okay.

Give my pen back. Now. Aww, c'mon.

Always with the damn Bat-a-rang. Bastard.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today, we were on our way out of the apartment, headed to the grocery store for some food. It's nice and cool and the skies were blue, and Natania said, "This would be a perfect day to go to the mountains." And so, we did.

For the bridal shower, Natania got a really great pic-a-nic basket (Hey, Boo Boo!) and we went by the Teet, which thinks it is our "Neighborhood Food Market," and got some fried chicken, some cheese and crackers, a bag of beef jerky, and some pâté. Then it was off to Pilot Mountain.

We hiked and ate and had a good ol' time. I'm breaking in a pair of hiking boots that I've had for nearly four years now, except that it's not the shoes I'm breaking in; it's my feet. I now have a huge blister on one heel, and a bruised ankle. Eventually, though, I hope to get in shape enough to hike Cold Mountain near Asheville, and turning my pasty, soft feet into gnarled and knotty bark-skinned eaters-of-miles is top of the list.

Here is a photograph of a mushroom. This mushroom is, evidently, very special, as it had its own spotlight:

Also, what looks like a tobacco curing shack right at the entrance of the park. May be original, may not:

And since I'm unloading my camera, here is a photograph of my cousin at the beach. He is asleep. It is 6:30pm, and everyone has gone in:

A shirt, taken at a store in Wilmington, NC. I'm rather shocked and insulted by it, but, then again, I don't buy Levi's. I guess these colors do run. Run into a computer, plopped into a database, and taken right out of your checking account.

Anyway, that's it for me.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 6:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I need to close some windows or my computer asplode, so I'm gonna go all bulleted-list on yo' unsuspectin' ass. Bear in mind that half of these can be found at boing boing:

• So, you're a Neil Gaiman fan? And you think that Dave McKean is a damn fine artist? Oh, and you really miss those really excellent Jim Henson movies from the early 80's, like The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth? Well, it just so turns out that said creators are all working on MirrorMask. Written by Gaiman, directed by McKean, and produced by Lisa Henson, daughter of the puppeteering genius, this is going to be really excellent. Take a look at some of the screenshots from the film in this article from Comic Book Resources and tell me they're not wickedly weird and beautiful. Personally, I can't wait.


• Speaking of Muppets, Fraggle Rock finally came out on DVD. I would go on and on about the merits of this television milestone, about how it was light-years ahead of its time, that its themes were more concrete and viable than many of the Saturday morning cartoons that stood alongside it, but Danny at ToughPigs does a better job than I could.


• Don't Panic.


• We're all in danger of Disney's new Dream Desk personal computer for kids. Here's hoping it doesn't "gay" them up. Apparently FOX "News" Channel's "Your World with Neil Cavuto" (my world with Neil Cavuto sounds kind of like a punishment that might be given to me, a kind of liberal "time-out" that I might receive if I were to, say, purchase a Ford Escapade or something; an act that would no doubt jump-start me back to my senses) had Robert Iger, Disney's President, on to interview him about the product. Sub host, Stuart Varney, actually brought up the Disney theme parks' "Gay Days" in connection with this kids' computer. "You got any 'Gay Days' on the Mickey computer?" he asked, obviously in reference to the hordes upon hordes of pornography available for download on the Internet. "You don't protect the kids from 'Gay Days' at the theme parks, do you? Why do you have to protect them in the computer?" What an ass.


• On "Gana la Verde," which translates to "Win the Green," contestants compete for a team of immigration lawyers who help expedite their entry into the United States. It's basically the same competitions as on that awful show, "Fear Factor," but there's no cash prizes. I thought that maybe "The Simple Life" or "Amish in the City" or even "The Bachelor" were enough to realy cement the fact that reality television is the root of all evil, but making people eat live scorpions or a worm burrito, all the while promising them something that really can't be guaranteed... this is sick. Absolutely disgusting.


• Jesus is fucking metal, folks.

That about does it. It's the weekend, and I am prepared to make it worthwhile. Last weekend was "pay weekend," where members of our small household go "buck wild," eat out for three consecutive meals, order multiple pints of alcoholic grain-based beverages at $4.50 a pop from expensive Irish pubs, and even attend the picture show. We saw M. Night Shyamalan's latest, The Village, which was notably better than the reviews it got. I would recommend it to anyone who was bummed out by Signs or Unbreakable.

I also opened up a subscription at the comic book store down the street, and I signed up for three titles. Books of Magick, which started off in the early nineties as Neil Gaiman's exploration of magic in the DC universe, is about a young man named Tim Hunter (bespectacled kid with black hair... interesting, huh?) who may just be the world's most powerful wizard. I'm not saying that J. K. Rowling was ripping anyone off, but... it's interesting, nonetheless. Also, Powers and Hellblazer. The latter, because I want to be John Constantine, ill luck and sour demeanor notwithstanding.

Now we're off for a stroll. Cold front came in on the heels of Alex, and there's a beautiful calm-after-the-storm in effect. Gonna check my box at Parts Unknown for new titles, and get some incense down Tate Street, and later, we're off to the coolest store in the state, Edward McKay Used Books for some cheap reads.

Take it easy!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Much time has passed since we last spoke, friend.

...is how I would open an entry were I a character in a Dungeons and Dragons game. Which may come to pass, because I've been invited to join a local campaign. It meets bi-monthly, on Sundays, for seven hours. I'm a little nervous, to be honest. It's been awhile since I played pen-and-paper, and I'm unsure about my dorkdom. I mean, what if I'm not uncool enough?

We got back from the annual Jarrell Family Beach Week, and I must admit, I had a grand ol' time. It's great to see the entire maternal line in one geographical place. Not much to say about Topsail Island, though. It's a bit more commercialized than it once was--three of those big chain beach stores (Waves, Wings, and Eagles, I think) all within the same mile stretch--but it's really just sand, water, and seashells. And a whole lot of relaxination.

Before that, Natania and I went down to Atlanta to visit Miles and Laura. Lots of money was spent on alcohol, and we watched both The Jerk and Orgazmo. It was good to be with friends. We even played golf-frisbee in Candler Park. That's not frisbee golf, either. That's golf, with some frisbee thrown in when you get bored of hitting the ball.

My untitled novel project, which up until now has existed in longhand, contained within a journal of mine, seems to have taken on a tentative title. I'm typing it up, too, and switching to word processing. Writing by hand is a bit too much for me, I think. For the moment, it's called Suspension of Belief, although I'm sure that'll change in time. I'll be sure to post something when I get to a proper stopping point.

Read Stephen King's Song of Susannah during holiday. Very intriguing. Stephen King died in 1999, you know. Hit by a van. Tragic, really.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The week just started, and it's been hellish at work. I've been thinking a lot lately about how much I'm looking forward to finishing up in school and getting a teaching job. I'd be out on summer holiday by now!

Really, though, I understand how difficult teaching is. Which reminded me of this one teacher that taught at my middle school. Her name was Ms. Bechtal-Hoops.

Yep. Swear to God. Pronounce that, and then tell me if there is a genuine name more unfit for a teacher? I seem to recall one of the more popular in-class games was to try and pronounce her name incorrectly to her face without her knowing. It's very easy to give Bechtal a slight murmur at the beginning, shaping that 'B' into an 'R'. And 'Hoops'? Just drop the 'H' and you've almost got the 'P' right there.

Anyway, that's my interesting story for the day.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 6:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Our cat, named Luna, swallowed an amount of thread from the Persian rug in our living room. Until earlier today, we just thought that she was having trouble passing a hairball. Then we saw that there was a length of thread coming out of her anus. We took her to the emergency vet tonight at around 11:30, and here we are, back home, a little more than an hour later, and we don't have our cat any longer. Surgery was far outside of our price range, and the other treatments would most likely have just prolonged her suffering, so at around 12:25am on Saturday, July 10th, we put Luna to sleep.

I never realised how attached I was to this cat until tonight, while I sat worrying about her fate. Now it's too late. She was a beautiful kitty who hadn't quite made it to adulthood, and we were looking forward to seeing what she'd be like fully grown. She loved us a lot, and there was never a time where she didn't possess an overabundance of affection. She loved food, too, and gobbled it up whenever she had a chance, edible or not. A stupid and senseless way to go, but what can you do? She was a cat and nothing more. Nevertheless, we loved her a great deal, and already our apartment feels empty without her presence.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just thought I'd link to this War On Pornography thing. Y'know... maybe I'll make up a small percentage of effort toward the Google-bomb.

Post-of-substance to come later, after work.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've been reading Douglas Coupland's Microserfs, and it's making me painfully nostalgic for the days of trumpet winsock and the bbs. I remember the first time I "talked" to another live human being with my keyboard, and how exciting gopher and MU*s and surfing the World Wide Web via Lynx was. World Wide Web is something you don't ever hear anymore. It's just the Web. Of course it's worldwide. What else would it be?

There was something amazing about the whole act back then, and now it's just so everyday, like cable television and video cassette recorders. I'm not sure if the moment of inspiration passed, or if I was simply blinded by the light of something new.

For some reason, the Senate Judiciary Committee wants to make sure that nothing innovative comes out of the U.S. electronics industry. In this shocking mock complaint against Apple, Toshiba, and C-Net, for inducing the infiringement of copyrights, the Electronic Frontier Foundation shows how the Inducing Infringements of Copyright Act that Orrin Hatch wants passed will really affect consumer electronics. If this whole deal sounds like something with which you are not down, then by all means mention it to your representatives.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

...can probably be found over at bOING bOING. Unfortunately for me, my friends haven't given me any good links lately that don't involve flopping mammaries or bodily fluids of some kind. Nonetheless, this photo-documentary of the daily commute on the MTA is very well-done. Check it out.

I'm off to get rid of approximately 75% of my clothing. By the end of the evening, I hope to have six pairs of all articles of clothing. Wish me luck.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 7:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Thanks to Alana and a random algorithm that deigned to bestow upon her some invites, I can now be reached at AN UNDISCLOSED GMAIL ACCOUNT WITH THE USERNAME OF C Z E C H dot H A R R I S O N. No fair that plain 'ol czech@ was taken was too short, but I'll settle. Au revior, Yahoo.

I must be lame, because I'm way too excited about this free email account I just snagged. Maybe I'm just excited about the one gig of space, but deep down inside, I realise how dumb that is. Still excited, though.

We're off to the Public Library downtown to hang out with some of the drifters, and also to borrow some of those book things. I do hope the librarians at our local branch have not recently been forced to shelve fifty-seven copies of "Three Mo' Tenors." If so, I shall pity them with much gusto.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 7:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I don't want to move again, friends. If I never explore the world, and I die in Greensboro, North Carolina, it'll be because of June 1st, 2004, a date which will be imprinted on my memory forever.

Needless to say, we were not quite as prepared as we had previously believed. By around 1pm on move-in day, we were sitting around the old apartment, wondering where all the folks who had offered up their moving services were. Eventually, they showed up, we rented a U-Haul, called in reinforcements from Durham (thank you, Mister Kirby) when things were looking down, and after four trips from old place to new, we had moved all of our stuff.

What a traumatic experience. We're still living in boxes. I was so sore the day after that I called in sick. It's just one of the hardest ordeals to go through. But we're done, and now we're on to the slightly more enoyable part of putting our home back together. Pictures will surely come.

Some good links this week:

• Enron Tapes Anger Lawmakers. This is why our free market, as it stands, does not work. Privatization of necessities like electricity or water is a very bad idea. These assholes deserve to be thrown in jail for a very long time. Scum of the earth.


• Buy the World a Coke... or a Pop... or is it a Soda?


• Museum Reveals How Houdini Performed His Metamorphosis and the BBC blabs on it, too. And a load of famous, overpaid illusionists are upset. It was a fake knot and a secret panel. I mean, come on.

Back to work tomorrow. The weekends are far too short these days...

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It sucks. Sucks sucks sucks sucks sucks. Suckity sucks.

That is all.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 4:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

. . . for things not being the same always. You know. I'm sure there is one. Isn't there? There must be a word for it ... the thing that lets you know time is happening. Is there a word?

Change.

So, it's the last weekend at Jackson Street. Our lives, about seventy five per-cent of them anyway, have been stored inside boxes, which are in turn stored in the living room. Getting from the bedroom to the toilet can be a challenge. This morning, I was so exhausted after taking Natania to work, that instead of wading through the dreck and back into the bedroom, I just crashed on the couch.

Created three CDs this week at work, for various companies. They're all benefits packages in digital format. It really wiped me out, and while I enjoy playing with Flash in creative, artistic fashions, using it in conjunction with the phrases "Accidental Death and Dismemberment" and "Dental" usually doesn't result in fun.

If you want to help us move, we'll give you free pizza and beer. Seriously. We need all the help we can get. Geoff/Ian is coming back to the Carolinas (and will be helping us move), after bouts with tuberculosis and academia. I am looking forward to seeing him, and am glad he is still with us, and also not coughing up blood any longer. Realising that advertising the presence of a consumptive at our move-in is not the best way to attract assistance, I'll reiterate: free pizza and beer.

The next time I post, it'll probably be from the new place. Hooray!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 4:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We spent $520 today to buy two airplane tickets (with new government-enforced $5 post-September 11th security fee!) to Massachusetts for Mother's Day. Of course we waited until the last minute, so the total was about 150% higher than it should have been. Whenever I drop money on the opportunity to get into a metal coffin and go flying through the spacious skies at 550 miles per hour, I feel a bit torn. I don't smoke, so I can't say that I pay for cancer, but tonight, when I clicked the 'submit' button at southwest.com, I felt like one of those fools who buys the ol' coffin nails by the carton. There's something vaguely unnatural (in my opinion) about jets, but they're just another one of those modern necessities, like gasoline and urban sprawl.

Work is a bore this week. I spent a large part of the day cataloguing the computers owned by the company, recording their specs, and then dreaming about my own new machine. My new Athlon XP 2500+ chip with bundled Asus A7N8X-E Deluxe motherboard (and 512 megabytes of DDR400, baby!). seems to be stuck perpetually in Rialto, California, where, two days ago, it was checked out of the FedEx Sorting Facility. I hope and pray that somehow it has made its way eastward, perhaps stopping in Vegas to throw a few rounds at the roulette table. It had better be damn close to crossing the Mississippi, or so help me... The lack of an update at FedEx's normally reliable tracking site fills my head with images of a rogue truck driver playing Splinter Cell 2 on a wifi network somewhere east of SLC, laughing as he--and not I--explodes an enemy head like a grape.

Landlord woes have kept us between truly falling in love with our living quarters. There is a window beside Natania's desk that is rotted to the point of open air circulation. You can reach through the gap with your fingers. This has been the situation since the first of August, 2003, when we moved in, and while seasons have come and gone, it remains much the same. We've seen snow flitter through the window, and now, wasps. And, frankly, we're fucking tired of it. So as soon as I'm done here, I'm writing an email to our landlord, letting him know:

1. Fuck him


2. We're terminating our lease


3. We're getting our deposit back


4. And if he doesn't like it


5. Fuck him


6. And we'll also be sending a letter to our lawyer

Up the street from us, there is a converted mill property that was turned into condominuims back in the early 80's. We would love a place there, as it's still in College Hill, and still within walking distance of the university. We're waiting to hear back on the pet policies.

I made chili tonight. It is the best chili I have ever made, and because of that, you need to make some for yourself.

Kick-Ass Chili

• A pound or so of ground turkey


• A whole mess of spices (allspice, cumin, nutmeg, cinnamon, chili powder, cayenne, freshly ground pepper)


• One can of black beans


• One big can of whole peeled tomatoes


• One can of tomato sauce and one of tomato paste


• Salt


• 2 medium onions and about 10 cloves of garlic


• Fresh chilis, if you got 'em

I didn't do it this time, but it's supposed to work: throw a whole messload of chili powder into the bottom of your saucepan/stockpot. Heat it on medium heat for just a bit of time, maybe a few minutes. Then add about two or three cups of water. Let the water boil, stirring to mix the chili powder. Drop the ground turkey in and stir to mix it up. Add the onions and garlic (use a garlic press for maximum results). Add the spices. Cinnamon is the best part of this, so don't skimp. Two or three teaspoons is probably enough, but you may find yourself adding more because it tastes so damn good. Feel free to add more chili powder, too. Add the chilis now, if you so desire. Mix in the canned stuff and then stir, and make sure it's simmering pretty well now. If you're really hungry, wait about thirty minutes, throw some cheese and sour cream on top, and serve on spaghetti or rice (or nothing, if you're a wonky low-carber). If you want perfection, simmer for two and a half hours, covered for the last hour or so, and then let it cool. Then refrigerate overnight. In the morning, skim off the fat (may be minimal, if you used turkey and not ground beef), and re-heat. Chili is always better as leftovers.

I have a cat in my lap, and she's over the diarrhea, which makes it a much more tolerable experience. Later tonight at 11pm, there's bluegrass music to be broadcast. For a week, I've written a page per day in the dryad short story. And tomorrow brings a paycheck, the first two "Freaks and Geeks" DVDs from Netflix, and maybe even a new CPU. Life can be pretty darn pleasant sometimes

Posted by Michael Harrison at 8:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just one page a day...

"Literary Life" by Posy Simmonds

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This morning we woke up early (for a Saturday), went by Natania's work to pick up coffee, and hit the yard sales. It was average fare for the first forty-five minutes or so. It's so beautiful out today, and the week has been heaven-ish, so there were a good number of yard and garage and tag sales. We picked up a wine rack for $2, and I got 2 lemon bars (for the price of one!) at a bake sale. And then, we pulled up to an unassuming house in the Bog Garden area of Friendly. This was an estate sale, and it was weird.

The fellow who owned the house was an artist. By the dates of his work and the decor of his house, I would place his prime at approximately 1973. Apparently he taught at the local community college, and painted watercolors for trade magazine covers. The house was about as retro as you can get in this day and time. Smallish, and cramped, it seemed like there was no room to move. The place was packed, too, and the hallways seemed hobbit-sized, so it was an exercise in patience just to go from room to room.

Two of the rooms, the bedroom (I believe) and the living room has huge cubist mirror-walls, which reflected the entirety of the place back at you, broken and shifted about. There was orange carpet and mod furniture and an 8 track player in the shape of a perfect sphere. Part of it made me sad, but it mostly made me ill and uncomfortable. Natania grabbed an old paperback of Hamlet and an ancient hardbound Moll Flanders. $2 for hardcovers, and a buck for paperbacks, but the woman at the cashbox wouldn't settle for $2 even. I guess she realizes that she'll be making a pittance on the house itself, what with its "inspired" decor, and she needs to pinch all of the pennies she can out of the domicile's contents.

As we walked away, I mentioned how disturbing it is to walk into a place and feel like you've gone back in time to a world in which you weren't alive. There are styles that last, and then there's the house of the artist we visited today. The furniture and the carpet and stereos shaped like balls just didn't make the cut. But, then again... what objects that we use on a daily basis will seem clunky and ridiculous to our children? I think, now, that I better understand Laura's post a little while back about the depressing side of yard sales.

Still, I'm glad my stereo isn't shaped like a jawbreaker.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 2:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Tonight I will be keeping my eyes pried open with toothpicks (or strong iced coffee) in order to play bluegrass and old timey music for the Gate City. WUAG is UNC-G's student-run station, and I have a show that runs from 11pm until 1am. Entirely too late, considering I must be awake by 7:30am for work. The summer will bring a better timeslot, but until then I'm stuck in my purgatory. We got a new console in, and suddenly, as of last week, we have a streaming webcast (which can be heard with WinAmp, RealPlayer, Windows Media Pooper, and even iTunes). So take a listen at 11pm-ish, and leave me a comment below if you actually hear my silky (tired) voice on the Intarweb airwaves.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 8:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Stuff happens, every day. Sometimes, I watch it happen. Other times, I'm taking part in it. At the end of the day (or week, or month, or year, depending on the way my brain decides to go about it), I like to take stock. Here is my laundry list of the stuff:

• I got accepted to UNC-G, full time, no holds barred, all out! So, yeah. If I can somehow fit it into my 40+ hour work week (and I will), I'll be taking classes in the fall.


• On the same day as (above), I got my first monthly paycheck. Can anyone say: bonanza? Okay, maybe not, but it was really nice to be able to pay the bills without fearing the dreaded overdraft. We made some serious headway in the Neverending Story that is my credit card debt, and Natania applied for a car loan, because...


• My sister is selling us her car. It's a 1994 Honda Civic. Bessie, the 1990 Chrysler LeBaron who had around 30,000 miles when I got her in 2001, and now has 118,000, is dying. She has been a good car, but it's time we put her away.


• At Elendor, which is a place where dorks like me pretend they are actually taking part in the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, in a text-based fashion (I like to think of it as team-based literative entertainment!), I was made a Local Admin in the Bree culture. This is not very exciting to anyone who has an actual social life, but it is nice to me. I've been shunned at my previous culture (what we call the groups of folk who live in Middle-earth, which sounds so deliciously geeky that I'm getting chills writing it) for so long that it's really splendid to see my efforts actually noticed in another. So, take that! And you know who you are! And if you're reading this... well, jeez. Why are you reading this? It's for my friends.


• I'm working on a short story. Here is a direct quote: "I tried the patio outside of a restaurant called Heaven’s Gate. My co-workers frequented the place only on the rarest of days. In all honestly, the place was too weird for your average diner. They had a drink called the Cyanide Curprise (their spelling), which was just grape Kool-aid. People ordered it, too, and laughed at their friends while they slugged it down. I moved on one day when I spotted the crew from the office heading down the sidewalk toward the place. Part of me was self-conscious, because they would question why I was sitting in a restaurant patio, eating my sack lunch alone—even though they didn’t like me and didn’t want me along, they would ask; I knew they would. Besides, the waitstaff had been giving me looks, and who wants to hang around a place where people drink faux poisoned beverages anyway?" It's less boring than that, I think. There's a dryad, and a river spirit, and even a blood sacrifice, but all of that is inside of my head at the moment, and if I were to try and show it to you right now, it might get messy.


• In addition to short fiction, I've got an idea for a comic book. How's that for spending my time wisely? I may have to draw it myself, because I'd really like to see it out there. We'll see how it develops. I have to write it first, and, well... that's always the rub.


• I don't know if I told you, but I'm getting married in November. So, yeah, we've got to plan for that, too. It's up in Massachusetts, so over the summer months, we'll be jetset to Hartford, getting things ready.


• I worked with the new Flash MX 2004 at work last week. I used it to do this lame-ass ActionScript menu thingy for a company CD-ROM, but I got to use the new embedded streaming video features. Needless to say, I really miss working in animation with Flash. It's a great utility for people who want to do simple animation ala Power Puff girls and (to a less simple and more complex-as-freaking-hell) Samurai Jack. Maybe above comic book may end up more like...


• A Hellboy Online Comic, which is (be warned) hosted at Playboy.


• OverClocked ReMix is pretty sweet, too.

So, yeah. That's a big laundry list there. I'm tired, so now I go to bed. A good even to you.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I don't have much time here. In five minutes, I've got to pick up Natania from work, and then we're headed to the farmers' market to restock the larder.

The reason I've been so absent as of late is, firstly, work. I'm taking on a lot, and the company is very busy as of late. Things will probably even out in the near future, in which case I won't be so stressed.

It's eating into some of my recreational activities, even when I'm off the clock. MUSHing, and more importantly, writing, both involve sitting on one's arse for extended periods of time, staring into the CRT and typing away. I spend eight hours a day doing this, usually, and the last thing I want to do when I get home is plop my calloused behind down in a chair and tack on an extra four or five.

But I've made a small amount of time for the latter of those two ventures, because it's a passion that I cannot (no matter how hard I try) get out of my brain. And that is the secondary reason for my lack of posts. I'm working on something bloggish, dealing with an experience I had two summers ago. I'm having fun getting it down in words, and I'm learning a bit in the process. I hope you'll enjoy it, when I do finally deem it ready for the few of you who read my thoughts.

'Til then, I'll leave you with what is occupying my free time outside of work:

• Neil Gaiman's Blog. I don't typically read journals-of-the-rich-and-famous. I like to stick to the folk I know and geeky ex-child stars. But recently, I've gotten back into Gaiman's work, and he has one of the most down-to-earth yet informative journals available on the web. If you don't know who Neil Gaiman is, then go to your local bookstore (unfortunately, most indies don't carry a lot of his work, so you may be forced to infiltrate the nearby B&N or Borders), locate the graphic novel section (comic books), pull out 'Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes' and possibly 'Endless Nights' (and, really, anything you can find) and read them. And then, go to the fantasy section, locate his stuff, and read American Gods, Neverwhere, and his short story collection, Smoke and Mirrors. And then, maybe you'll understand my obsession.
  
• WUAG. The campus radio station just got a new console and we're gonna be doing webcasts pretty soon. My show's Thursday at 11pm, and I'm usually too tired to go on for more than an hour, but maybe soon you'll be able to tune in over the Intarweb?
  
• Ghost Town. The tale of a cyclist's adventures through the scorched earth of the Belarus/Ukraine borderlands, the epicenter of the largest reactor meltdown in history. Human and technological error combined to create a most unfortunate graphite explosion, which sent so much radiation into the air that it was registered thousands of miles away in Sweden. This could be the plot for a post-apocalyptic science fiction story, but it's not. This is real.
  
• Academy of Art in SF Fires Teachers, Expels Student Over Content of Short Fiction. Not related to me, personally, but I had ny fair share of gratuitously violent short stories written and submitted to writing workshops in my youth. Doesn't seem like the best way to go about dealing with it, eh?
  

More later, I hope!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I took part in an online survey some time last year. It was one of the most interesting little quizzes I've ever taken, and now that the results are in, I'm really glad I participated. Check it out. You know that little grey bug that rolls up when you touch it? Or those long sandwiches with meat and veggies? Well, you may call it a roly poly/pill bug/potato bug/whatever, or a sub/grinder/hero/poor boy/whatever, but not everyone does. Not by a long shot.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 7:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today was my first day at the new job. Starting at a new place of employment is always a stressful venture, but it's even more of a strain when you're not one hundred per-cent certain that you can even do what you were hired to do.

First, I was given a crash course on the office "customer relationshop management" software package. This is a fancy way of saying "email client". It's called Goldmine (if you click on that link, you are as much of a dork as I am) and, while it is a powerhouse with linking the client database with correspondence and updates, it's a little funky to get used to. Especially when you're using a Hewlett Packard Pavilion from circa 1902, which runs off steam, and taps out messages in Morse code.

My new computer should arrive tomorrow, hopefully early, and then I can get down to business. I can't really divulge exactly what I was doing... at least, I don't think I can. I signed some sort of NDA, and I'm really not sure what I can talk about. One of the sites was running an "e-commerce" storefront that used a form to submit an email containing credit card information to a client. Just so's you know, that's far from kosher. So I'm working on that right now.

I could get used to this. Definitely. It's not changing the world, but it's giving me a much easier time in paying for school and getting out of debt. 40 hours a week is more than I was doing delivering hot, delicious pizzas to your doorstep, but it's less irritating, I don't have to wear a stupid hat, and people don't call me the "Web Designin' Dude" when I ring their doorbell. Mainly, because I don't ring doorbells.

The blog may see less activity. Or more, depending on how things are at work. I know that if I decide not to ever post while on the clock, my weekend entries will be significantly more meaty. Less fluff, more flavor, heartier portions... but you may only get to chow down once or twice a week. All two of you.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 7:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Oh my God. I got the job. I can't believe I got the job.

They're "extending an offer" to me, via email right now.

I got the job. I'm just... speechless.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 3:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After nearly two months of not having my mp3 collection on my computer, thanks to a ceaseless sojourn from hard drive to hard drive, OS to OS, window manager to window manager, I have managed to summon my tunes from the ether. Read as: I got them from the zip disks and CDs where they were backed up.

The other day, I posted a long, rambling essay-thing about a Ben Folds Five song. Now, in the spirit of repetition, I'm going to talk about another song. There's a band called Modest Mouse, and they write weird, funky pseudo-progressive songs about the most intriguing stuff. Their lyricist and lead singer, Isaac Brock, has a very unique voice, and it turns many people off, as do his rather loopy and pattern-based melodies. I find the music about as wonderful as the medium can get, and I am consistently shocked and amazed at the man's lyrics.

I opened XMMS, added the Modest Mouse directory, and got a song off of their album, Building Nothing Out of Something. It's called "Neverending Math Equation." Brock has a very strange and curious logic about his philosophy, and he picks away at his lyrics until they're just this far from the reach of someone listening in. You don't get the full view into the man's mind, but you get enough to wonder... and perhaps, worry.

I'm the same as I was when I was 6 years old,
And oh my God I feel so damn old;
I don't really feel anything.
On a plane, I can see the tiny lights below,
And oh my God, they look so alone;
Do they really feel anything?
Oh my God, I've gotta gotta gotta gotta move on.
Where do you move when what you're moving from
Is yourself?

Pretty straightforward stuff. And then, there's a verse that brings me back. I'm in my bed, probably eight or nine years old. I sleep on the bottom bunk, so I'm staring up at the top. The underside of the mattress above me is coated in this thin linen material, and I have pulled it away. It hangs like spider webs.

I think about the time before I was alive, when my parents were only dating. Then my thoughts move on, to ponder the circumstances of my birth. I see myself, smaller but still a little boy, residing within my mother's womb. If I had never left her belly, if I had died in birth, these thoughts would never have taken place. I could have never pondered my own existence, or created any thought, period.

Pretty advanced philosophy for a nine year-old, I'd say. So, I was an old hand with the next lyric:

The universe works on a math equation
that never even ever really even ends in the end.
Infinity spirals out creation.
We're on the tip of its tongue, and it is saying,
"Well, we ain't sure where you stand;
You ain't machines and you ain't land.
And the plants and the animals, they are linked,
And the plants and the animals eat each other.

I don't know if things end. I mean, sure, high school had a terminus. And in six minutes, the hour will be up. But a new hour will come about. A new day happens in nine hours and six minutes. It's the same thing, again, except different stuff will happen. Time is not linear as much as it is cyclical. The stars move in elliptoids. Atoms revolve around nuclei. And human beings think that they are so much more important than they actually are.

You should listen to Modest Mouse, at least once. Brock likes to noodle around with his guitar, but if you can comprehend what he's saying through that lisp of his, I think you will be rewarded.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 3:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

As I'm growing older,
I'm bored.
I remember when misery
thrilled me much more.

I was about fourteen when I first heard Ben Fold Five's self-titled. It came out on Caroline Records, home of my pre-adolescent favorites, The Smashing Pumpkins, but Folds, Sledge, and Jessee were different. They were local boys, straight out of Chapel Hill. They recorded at Wave Castle studios, and they practiced off of Airport Boulevard, "down by Rosemary and Cameron."

It wasn't until later that I actually purchased own of their records, the sophomore release Whatever and Ever, Amen. I was sixteen, the proud owner of a new North Carolina driver's license, and I drove around Durham listening to songs that could have been anthems for my misspent youth. "Song for the Dumped" detailed the angry, irrational thoughts of a guy getting the boot from a relationship, something I was all too familiar with. In "The Battle of Who Could Care Less," I identified so easily with the song's subject, and later realized that it was the song's narrator I shared most with: a fellow singing a bitter, sarcastic diatribe about how "the more you care about something... the less they care about you," as Ben Folds himself said.

When I went to college in the fall of 2000, for some reason I stumbled across my sister's old copy of the band's first album. I recognized some of the songs from radioplay ("Underground" was the perennial favorite throughout the group's formative years) and others only seemed familiar. The majority, I had never heard, but the lyrics and the music seemed to echo a chorus that sang through my entire young adulthood.

Even in that horrible first semester of university in the god-forsaken barrens of Boone, North Carolina, I don't think I understood what Mister Folds was writing and singing about. Not entirely. But I think that's what makes music lasting, what makes art worthwhile. I could sing in my car, at the top of my lungs, the chorus of the song, "Video," while driving the 180 miles back to home in Durham, but I never got it. I thought I did. I put my energy and my best squinty-eyed rock star emotion into the lyrics. And now that I'm older (as the line goes), I recognize that I was treading those same paths that Ben Folds probably wandered. I understood it then, on one level. And I understand it now, on an altogether different one.

When I listen to the song now, I can still remember what it was like to sing the words with such conviction. I have a mental slideshow of the imagery I associated with the song, of how mercurial and mystifying I was in listening to it, as compared to the lunkheads who never gave a second thought to the words of the songs. This was during the rise of Nelly and Christina Aguilera. I knew what it was like to be aware of things, to be an artist and to see all.

Well, I've seen
some old friends sort of die,
or just turn into whatever
must've been inside them,
and whatever all of us had then in common
grew up and left home.

I left school before Christmas, and I was back in Durham. Things weren't the same. I tried moving out of my parents' house, to live on my own with a friend from high school. That didn't work. Things were different. As much as I wanted to hold on to that comfortable little world that had existed before, it was impossible. It had grown up, moved on. I was faced, for the first time in my life, with the complete and utter responsibility of choosing where I wanted to go.

We're counting the days down
'til the day when we'll live in a video.
I'll be stone-faced and pale;
You'll pout in stereo,
24 hours, every day of the year.
Oh, what fun!
I can't wait 'til the future gets here!

When you're on your own, you figure out how damn hard things can get. It's not the difficulty of flunking a test, or of being able to ask the girl out. It's lying in bed, unable to sleep because you may not make rent, or be able to afford groceries this month. It's wondering about your purpose in life, and trying to kick a bad habit that's been with you for eons. It's job interviews, and college applications, and the burden of the future. In a way, these are simply the old problems dressed up in new clothes, with a smattering of makeup thrown on, but there's one big difference: you're the one who's got to face them.

Depression and the sadness of existence seemed so new when I was sixteen. It had sneaked into my life, crawling through the doors left ajar by the death of my grandfather and a suicide attempt by a close friend. As I aged, it was always there and it lost its luster. It was no longer glamorous, and unlike the movies and books, it didn't always result in some epiphany of ingenuity, or a whirlwind of pleasant happily-ever-after imagery. It was persistent, it was irritating, and most of all, it was tiring. It bored me.

I think that when you realize how mundane the troubles of life are--I mean, really, we all have them, in one form or another--it's a little easier to recognize how wonderfully lucky we are to have breaks in between. The weekends of life are truly splendid. I've found the love of my life, and the path I was meant to tread, all in between the stumbling blocks. When I'm not tripping over the obstacles (or my own two feet), I'm awestruck at how damn nice it is to not be on my ass.

So I think I really understand what Mister Folds wrote in that song. I hear it now and I laugh, because I know that life doesn't turn out like a music video. It has its moments of dread and despair, and they are not fashionable or glamorous. But they serve their purpose. Without darkness, the light cannot shine.

Closing in on the pain and the torture,
he's slamming the door like it's something to strive for.
The girl tearing curtains down
looks funny as hell.
And a sense of humor,
can there be any doubt?
Yeah, well, natural selection
had weeded it out
just to keep me from laughing out loud.

"'Video' was written when I was in high school. I had been getting fed up with hearing about the fucking sixties on VH-1 and everywhere else, kissing the baby boomers' asses. In fact, what later became the whole 'Generation X' thing was brewing in all our heads at that time, probably, and it seemed that every generation before had had a lot of pride in themselves for what they were. Even the fucking Micky Mouse Club seemed more valid than anything we had, and everything new seemed to be a throwback or revival. Anyway, it dawned on me that what we did have was 'the video.' And that was even more depressing. And most videos were bleak and listless and projected this boring faceless future. These were the things to aspire to: frowning, in fact not just frowning but deadpanning, breaking things in slow motion over and over again, watching yourself on TV. So I thought, so that's what it's like when you grow up... I can't wait until the future gets here. Then I added another side of what it was feeling like to grow up and assume responsibilty. Then again, I was just 17 (and you know what I mean)." --BF

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Apparently the Bush administration feels it needs to protect the deaf and hard of hearing from Sabrina, the Teenaged Witch. This is astounding. Over 200 television shows, most of them cartoons, dramas, and sports events, are being cut from the U.S. Department of Education's closed-captioning list.

Here are the blacklisted shows, and check out the rest of the National Association of the Deaf website. Neil Gaiman posted in his blog that he's really only found one article about this act of censorship. Surprising. Shocking. Sad.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm standing in front of the mirror and I feel ridiculous. Wearing a suit is always alien. I think of David Byrne in Stop Making Sense and pull off the tie. Gotta get it right.

The interview is in forty-five minutes. I want to leave in fifteen. Half an hour will give me time to get across town, with a few minutes to spare. I want to be early. I need to leave a good impression. If I bring a bottle of water with me, my mouth won't dry up. But if I drink too much, I'll have to pee.

My beard. Dear Christ, my beard. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to keep the facial hair. It looks a little rough. I should have shaved. My Everything Get-a-Job book says to arrive clean-shaven. Do they mean me? Do I wear my contacts, or will glasses make me appear more intelligent.

I need to go to php.net. My mind has forgotten what it is to code. Do I call out the letters, SQL, or just say 'sequel'? Never mind. I don't have enough time, so I kiss Natania and pet the cats, and I leave. But I forget my resume, and my satchel, and a notepad. I forget my head, because it's not attached.

Now I leave for real, and I'm heading down Friendly Avenue. NPR is going a mile a minute, but I flip off the radio. I need to think about the questions they're going to ask me. The doozies that'll make me slip up. I need to think of questions to ask them, because if I don't seem inquisitive, they won't think that I'm serious about the job.

I don't want to get there too early. I'll pull into a parking lot across the street if I arrive too soon, then head over. Five minutes early should be fine. No, three minutes. Maybe two.

My worrying is for naught. I'm there, four minutes early. Perfect. I slip out of the car, avoid the ice on the concrete, and I go inside. I give my name and sit down and I wait. Should I read the business magazine, or is Our State okay? Does it even matter?

Am I going to deliver pizzas for the rest of my life?

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In the Old Fourth Ward, where Martin Luther King, Jr. strolled down Sweet Auburn Avenue and John Wesley Dobbs made the place shine, there's a restaurant--nay, a muncheteria--called Jake's. Inside, I stood staring at a picture of a young black girl, no older than eight, embracing a white girl, younger and smaller. The elder child's joy was captured so beautifully; she's so intent on her task that the tiny embracee is lifted into the air. This was part of a project where children in East Atlanta took photographs of people, places, and things that were important to them. The topics ranged from one subject's big brother to a neighborhood's barber shop. The photo of the two girls, though, was the last piece that I saw. I like to think that it summed up the entire project best.

The food came, eventually, and I sat down with Natania and Laura to discuss academia, Tolkien, and the lovely walk we had just taken through Little Five Points. There was a used bookstore on Euclid called A Cappella, and inside a glass display case toward the front, a first edition of Catcher in the Rye rested. A signed advance copy of Cold Mountain was also present, as well as about seven or eight from UNC-G's finest. Ta picked up a rather striking bucket hat (I believe that's what it is; cloche, perhaps?) at a vintage clothing joint, and we stopped in on a record store, as well.

Laura got some Burt's Bees stuff at this food co-op called Sevenanda. When I was in high school, Burt's Bees was still based out of Creedmoor, about twenty miles outside of Durham. In my AP Psych class, we visited the John Umstead Mental Hospital in Butner, where we received mis-labeled Burt's Bees lip balm. The patients at the psych ward made money by working for Burt's Bees. Now, I doubt very much that the company works with Umstead anymore. They're in Raleigh, now, so maybe Dorothea Dix, NC's other big mental health facility, is getting their assistance.

On our way out of Sevenanda, I mentioned how co-ops are fantastic, I love 'em, but it's sad that you really can't trust 50% of the stuff inside. People who go for the whole foods thing are suckers like everyone else, if not more, and water with special "ions" or "cleansing agents" is just the type of hook they'll swallow. Even in a bloody co-op, there are people trying to fleece their brethren.

The entire trip was a blast. Fish and chips at Limerick Junction, down in Virginia Highlands, and my Dekalb Farmers Market. Laura mentions the regression in front of the TV on Saturday night. Unfortunately, she had to miss the hap'nins Sunday night, due to homework. Miles, Natania, and I went out to see Big Fish, stopping first for delicious Thai eats at Surin's Thai Bowl, pints of Guinness at the Highlander, and then to the Midtown Arts Cinema, probably the biggest, most cineplexy "arthouse" I've ever seen.

The movie was fantastic, and it reminded me of the importance of fiction in day-to-day life. Attitude helps, and good fiction is partly a hopeful attitude. And on the ride back to North Carolina, after leaving Miles' empty apartment behind (both he and Laura had class), the most interesting piece came on the radio.

Paul Ford was talking about the Making of America site, put up by Cornell University. In his adventures through countless issues of 19th century Harper's Monthly and The Atlantic, he stumbled upon a then-brand-spankin'-new publication of a story called "Bartelby the Scrivener." Wading through these journals and finding such a gem--arguably Melville's greatest short story, and one of the best examples of the genre to date--showed Ford that the fiction of the refined, in the case of "Bartelby," is by far the exception to the rule. This isn't a bad thing, though. It's the details, the minutae of daily life that really makes up the bulk of things. Seeing the beauty in the lesser articles, the Burma Shave ads, the grammatically challenged letters-to-the-editor pushes something like "Bartelby the Scrivener" to something of an exalted position. It's all the more beautiful--and distant--because it is so exceptional. Exceptional, as in... the exception. Especially when it's smack in the middle of page 546, and you weren't expecting it. And you live in 1891, and there's no way you can tell that this thing of precious wonder will be assigned to millions upon millions of college students through the generations come fifty years.

So, here I am, writing about my own slice of life. My own minutae. For myself, mostly, but there are less selfish motives at work, I promise.

It's good to be home, even if the cat on my lap does have killer gas.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 7:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I know, I know. Stop linking, Michael. Give us some original content. Oh, I will. As soon as I get home from work, a certain thing that has been unfinished shall be completed. Until then, you should read Adam Greenfield's Ikeaphobia and its discontents over at v-2. Here's a tasty bit-sized sample:

You know what? I'm done with it. If your life is mediocre, I promise you, Ingvar Kamprad didn't make it that way. You did. And if you're so desperate for your own soixante-huit moment that you can sit there with a straight face and tell me that you're being oppressed by flat-packable pine furniture with goofy pseudo-Scandinavian names, I'd advise you to spend a few days working with child slaves in the Sudan, or something.

Anyway, more this afternoon, soon as I get home from delivering pies.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I can lock all my door. It's the only waytolive.

Yeah, so we've been looking at getting a car loan and possibly financing a new used car. What a pleasant surprise that Mr. Wheaton linked to Boing Boing, which linked to This Fantastic Article on Edmunds.com. You need to read it:

I could only answer that the system was not set up for educated people who thought for themselves, it wasn't to help customers make informed decisions. The system was designed to catch people off guard, to score a quick sale, to exploit people who were weak or uninformed.

This is, of course, in reference to the system that car salesmans often employ to dupe their customers. Please, if you're interested in purchasing a car, if you've purchased one in the past, or you think you might purchase one sometime in the near or distant future, you need to read every single sentence of Mister Chandler Phillips' undercover exposé (a word which, quite frankly, sucks).

Posted by Michael Harrison at 1:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Weird. It's really cold outside, 20 and dropping, and there's all this white stuff falling. Can anyone give me a hand with this? It was like 55 degrees yesterday, so there's no freaking way that it's snow, is there?

Anyway, I'm going to make some coffee, eat some Malt-o-meal toasted honey oats, and beat Prince of Persia. Snow day! Whooo!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Casey linked to a very interesting, very fun hypertext piece on interactive fiction that she composed, I'm guessing, for an Interactive Narrative course. I do hope she doesn't mind my linking to it.

As a veteran MUSHer and, before that, a pretty avid IF player, I've always been amazed at the possibilities--and frustrations--of the medium. Reading is my number one pastime, followed only marginally by gaming, and the combination of the two is sometimes entertaining, sometimes alien, and always an experience. The desires to tell a story or to be involved in a story are really one in the same, I think, and IF allows a passive action that's really quite intriguing. Add in a bunch of other participants and you've really got something going.

This is something I'd really like to explore. I know it's been done before, by better writers than myself, but it's worth a shot.

If you're interested in IF, click here and here and here. For the punk rock crowd, here's ex-Adbusters editor and author of Flyboy Action Figure Comes with Gasmask, Jim Munroe, and his attempt at IF.

If you clicked on at least 50% of the links above, you get a special cookie.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 6:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"I mean, if you think about it," I said, chuckling and grinning like an idiot, "We got a free car for the price of a coolant hose."

These were the words that tempted fate and destroyed a car. In five mintues, their speaker (me) would have a burnt-up husk of a vehicle with no working engine. He'd have a good two hours to sit and watch traffic blast by on Interstate 85, northeast of Charlotte in the sprawling suburbs of Concord.

Carrie is my sister, and back in December, I had some problems with my car. Being the wonderfully giving and more financially secure sibling that she is, Carrie offered us her ex-automobile. It is (nay, was, for it is no longer) a 1989 Mazda 626. A five speed four-cylinder with a good amount of miles on it, but the reason my sister moved on to another car was "a coolant leak, probably," because the radiator had been replaced.

So, of course I could fix it. Carrie picked us up and took us to Charlotte, I had a look at the car and noted that the coolant reservoir was full, so the radiator was full, too, right? We made dinner, and then headed off. And, immediately, the car began to overheat.

Natania and I pulled over in the parking lot of a Harris Teeter and had some delicious coffee while we waited for the car to cool down. And then I found out that the bloody radiator was bone dry. And there was a leak on one of the smaller hoses leading from the radiator to the engine. It was about 9 PM on a Sunday, so the auto parts stores were closed. Stopping in at the Walgreens, I hoped that some duct tape patchwork would do the trick. How wrong was I.

We put as much water as we had into the radiator, then drove back to a gas station. It stayed much cooler than before, but that leak was still pretty heinous. Taking the little clamps off the hose was the biggest pain in the ass. It took nearly an hour to get them back on, after taping up the big gaping hole. And, after filling up the radiator with free water (!), we were back on the road.

This time, it ran smoothly. Before we hit the Interstate, I drove around for about fifteen minutes, and the temperature maintained itself. Going onto I-85 was perhaps not the best idea, but I knew no other routes to get home, and I was overconfident. But after about ten minutes on the highway, the temperature gauge suddenly started to move. Within seconds, it was clicking the 'H', and the engine shut itself off.

Later, after AAA came and towed the car, and Carrie picked us up, and we slept the night back at her apartment, and when we finally made it back to the garage where the poor car was being kept, I found that through a combination of a poorly duct-taped hose and a speedy trip on I-85 I had ruined Carrie's old (and our "new") car. Turning the key made some noise, but not the right kinds of noises. That meant the engine had no compression. I had destroyed it, through heat.

I felt bad, and still feel bad, for wasting a car. People keep trying to convince me that it was just fate, that the car would've gone soon anyway, but I'm frustrated and I feel that if I had just waited for a hose, things would have been okay. Now, the car is probably sitting in a junkyard somewhere in Suburbia, rotting away, giving up its innards to other, more fortunate 626 owners.

What a sad damn picture.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 7:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

WOW!! Good job! You know as much about Middle Earth
as I do!! Finally, someone who knows Middle
Earth! Most people think they know everything
there is to know about Middle earth just by
watching the movies! HAH!! well keep up the
good work! ( I wouldn't be surprised if you are
learning elvish!! ) RATE MY QUIZ!!


*~* The TOUGHEST Lord Of The Rings Quiz *~* [with pictures!]
brought to you by Quizilla

Okay, yeah. Big surprise there. I was a little irritated by this quiz, though, because I'm pretty sure Tolkien explicitly said that Tom Bombadil wasn't a Valar. Goldberry says very succintly of Tom that "He is," and in a letter to Mister Stanley Unwin, Tolkien calls Bombadil "the spirit of the (vanishing) Oxford and Berkshire countryside." Firstly, there are fourteen Valar. and they all have names, and not a single one is called Tom Bombadil. Then again, they have many names. I suppose he could be a Vala, but I'm pretty sure the Valar were sent to Arda to defeat Melkor, and since Tom says he "knew the dark under the stars before the Dark Lord came from Outside," I don't think he was one of them. And probably more important, I think Gandalf, a Maia, would recognize a Valar.

And Tom isn't God, or Ilúvatar, despite how similar Goldberry's "He is" may be to our "Jehovah". Tolkien says, "There is no embodiment of the One, of God, who indeed remains remote, outside the World, and only directly accessible to the Valar or Rulers." Seems rather clear cut to me.

Again, I think Tolkien sums it up. Tom's a spirit, pure and simple, of the land. That, or he's just a literary creation invented to wreak havoc on the minds of snobbish analysts and instill a bit of rhythmic fun into the book. Who knows. Merry dol derry dol indeed.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I just thought I'd mention Wil Wheaton's blog site, which I frequent. It's nice to know that the majestic geek survives and that our nerdy legacy shall live on. Here's a blurb from his latest entry, entitled "see the world from shore to shore."

"So where should we start?" I said. My answer came in the form of Nolan running toward the biggest SUV I've ever seen. Seriously. It was a few feet shorter than a Star Destroyer.

I caught up with him as he climbed into the back seat.

"Wil! Look at how much room there is in here!" He said as he bounced and extended his legs to barely touch the back of the seat ahead of him.

"Yeah, but the power to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of The Force." I reminded him.

He looked at me with a furrowed brow. "What?"

"Sorry," I said, "I was having a nerd moment."

"Oh, good. I hope we can have lots of those today." He said, dryly.

"I find your lack of faith disturbing." I said, and twitched my fingers.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We'll take a break from my current posts, which are detailing something I experienced just the other day whilst at work. Instead, we'll focus on the fact that I have been ruined. I am broken.

And I blame Bill Gates. You see, I was weaned on the sour milk of Microsoft's sagging, dusty teat. My first experiences with a computer were with MS-DOS, where (my grandfather instructed me) you pressed the damned space-bar if it asked you for the ever-elusive 'any' key. My father was a master with batch commands, fool-proofing our family's computer with an autoexec that pulled up a nifty menu with numbers for all the programs we used. Rather ingenius for the times, but these days, it don't cut it.

My current "box," which is how all l33t hax0rs refer to their computers, was running XP. And then the hard drive crashed, and I lost that OS. I still have the upgrade disc, but it needs a previous copy of Windows to verify itself. My computer came with Win98 on its restoration disc, but of course that's not good enough. I even installed the foul Win98 onto my machine (which is now unclean, I believe) and XP still wouldn't accept it as one of its fell brethren. So, I'm "stuck" with Linux.

Which I enjoy. I really do. I like telling people, "Hey! I'm a Linux user, man. Take your Windows and... do something with it! I dunno, something involving your butt! Or something!" But, my God, I suck so hard at it. I am a terrible, terrible Linux user. I use my computer for a grand total of four things. So far, I've managed two of them. I'm still working on getting a bank register program, and as for MUSH clients... I have war stories to rival your grandpappy's.

I guess I'm just used to installing programs and having them throw their random crap wherever, writing over .dll files and making my paths and registry a complete and utter mess. But it's easy! One click!

So, yeah. I've been ruined. Fuck you very much, Microsoft.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My hard drive bit the big one yesterday, for the final time. I could have waited, ordered one online, and saved some money, but I was impatient and ended up going out and buying a new one at Intrex for about $80. Now I'll never have to worry about HDD space. Miles convinced me to install Linux, so I did, and I'm trying to learn this brave new OS. It's not easy. I've got years of Windows tolerance built up, and change doesn't come smoothly. There are a few things that I'm trying to get past, but I will be strong. I shall break the manacles of Microsoft, and face away from the shadows on the wall. I shall exit the cave of Windows!

Sorry. Actually, what I'll do is shut up.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's all over. I got home from driving Natania to work, and it was a feat. North Carolina drivers are not the best on icy roads, and I think the city of Greensboro has two snowplows, maybe. Work should be interesting tonight.

The cats are getting along well, though Luna's poops are rather horrifying. She's been nibbling on some of Minerva's chow, so I put the older cat food on the shelf for the time being, and both cats can eat the kitty stuff for now. And Minnie is playing with a piece of paper from the trash can right now. To think we just bought her a new toy, and all she really needs is rubbish.

Miles flies in tonight at 9:48. We shall have fun, I believe, with the homebrewin', the video gamin', the Lord-of-the-Rings-Monopoly-playin', and the couch-destroyin'.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 8:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We took Luna in for her checkup today, and it started off as one of the best veterinarian experiences of my life. Woke up at 8 to get her there by 9, and it all went smoothly. She took her booster shot like a pro, and her fecal test went well, but I guess when they jammed their little sample stick up her butt, they loosened up her guts.

On the drive home, she started going apeshit inside her carrier. And then, about halfway home, I heard it: the loose thwopping noise of diarhhea. My cat had emptied her bowels all over the car carrier.

The smell was sickening. We had to roll the windows down and bear the 10 degree air, because otherwise we would be purging our systems. Of course poor Luna tried to bury her shit, but because she defecated on a towel, that was impossible. She just ended up getting the crap all over her paws and legs, and subsequently all over the walls of the carrier and the nearby door of my car.

After several dry heaves and a few more miles, we got home. Into the bath goes Luna, and then immediately she jumps out, darts through the carrier door, out of the bathroom, and into the apartment, tracking poo the entire way. I managed to get her back in the tub, but as soon as the water started, she went crazy. Scrambling to escape, she managed to scratch—with poo-covered claws, no less—my arms and even my stomach, through a shirt. This cat was bananas.

Right now, she's hiding under the tub, shivering, waiting for us to come and finish the job. We have to wash the feces from her, but I'm not sure how we'll do it, yet...

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This just in!

Who woulda thunk it. ;) That's the higest resolution colour photo of another planet ever taken. Go Spirit!

In other news, we drove to Durham today to pick up a chest of drawers that was donated to the cause (i.e., our apartment's cleanliness) by my good parents. It was fun to transport. Next on the list of Things To Get From Other Cities in North Carolina, my sister's Mazda 626, which she is giving us. It is located in Charlotte. Stay tuned for the next adventure in Secondhand Stuff!

The new cat, Luna, just leapt onto the keyboard. She must be eating her Wheaties, because just yesterday, she was only able to scale my computer chair into my lap by sinking her claws deep into the flesh meat of my thighs and pulling herself up. I am glad for this development.

Off to watch Gigantic: A Tale of Two Johns, which we received for Christmas from a very dear friend. While I'm away, if you could put your hand inside this puppet head for me, I'd be much obliged.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Wow.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's not fun. Ol' Muse (the name of my three year old PC) is kicking the bucket, I'm afraid. Random BSODs, refusal to boot up... these things are not typical of a working machine. And the sheer chaos of their timing signifies to me that it may not be a worm, but that my motherboard is slowly dying.

I shall reformat tomorrow to see if I can squeeze a few more years out of this computer. Otherwise, I may be looking for a new one.

In happier news, my cat is adorable.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Nothing quite like sleeping until noon, waking to your sweetheart, and heading out for a belated anniversary lunch. We wanted sushi, as we've not had any for a great while, but it seems that every single sushi bar in Greensboro observes the Sunday sabbath. So, instead, we hit up the Old Town Draught House for pints of Scotch ale and IPA, a Stilton Burger for myself (I am rather addicted to cheeses of the blue hue), and a chicken Philly for the Ta.

Much of the remainder of my day was spent playing Kingdom Hearts, which I got for Christmas. I sat around the house by my lonesome, save for the cats, and relaxinated. Natania detailed the first day with Luna, the new kitty, but the second day was altogether different. Minerva seems to hiss less and less at the young upstart, but they've taken to darting around the apartment, chasing one another. Our bedroom has hardwood floors, and this can make quite the racket, so I'm hoping they'll calm down just a bit, for sanity's sake.

I made some soup tonight, out of leftover turkey and some stock we made last month. The young couple's fridge in early January, after visiting the well-stocked larders of the family for Christmas, is rather depressing. I was an Iron Chef, however, and I used what we had. Some old celery: drop it in; slimy carrots: wash 'em off and toss 'em in; onion with discolored rings: cut off the bad parts and sautee them for a few minutes first; month-old cilantro: find the good parts, and ditch the rest. If you put enough fish sauce into anything, it's going to taste good. Or like open ass. Depends.

My computer is acting strange. It's crashing and then shutting off on its own. Miles thinks I have a worm, and Scott says it may be hardware failure. I'm hoping for the former, because I was thinking of reformatting pretty soon anyway. I'm backing everything up as I type. Outlook is chugging away because I deleted about two years worth of old emails with 2-5MB attachments on 'em. Now it's 'Compacting.' I like that because it compares a computer operation with something I have seen in my physical life, and therefore is easier to understand. Gotta live Windows.

I envy Mac Users very much at this moment. At least the intuitive and perty UI is running on something worth its salt.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today is the 112th birthday anniversary of Professor John Ronald Reuel Tolkien's birth. Last year at this time, I told a certain person that I loved her, and we started on the most wonderful relationship ever... the one to rule them all.

It's our one year anniversary, and to celebrate, we're off to rescue a kitten. Wish us luck!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Remember through sounds
Remember through smells
Remember through colors
Remember through towns
With fear and fascination
On what was here
And what's replacing them now.
Interchange plazas, a mall,
And crowded chain restaurants.
More housing developments go up
Named after the things they replace.
So welcome to Minnow Brook,
And welcome to Shady Space.
It all seems a bit abrupt.
I don't like this change of pace.

I deliver pizzas for a living. Since I've been back from New England, I've worked three nine hour shifts in just as many days. My area is not inner city or campus, but out in the suburbs, near the airport. I bring pies to the McMansions all up and down Pleasant Ridge and up toward Summerfield, listening to my CDs and NPR, and trying to ignore what I see around me. I am so tired of this, right now.

The horse farms are my favorite, but even they are losing their ground to developments that tear down the trees and meticulously re-plant them in strict accordance to the owner's whim. Be it feng shui or just south-side sunlight, it's a little sickening and I'm getting tired of seeing it.

Natania and I live in a hundred-plus year old Victorian right off of campus. We rent one of the three apartments that this house has been converted into. I love this place. The paint (lead) on the window sill is flaking, and the nails (old iron, with no resemblance to any nail you'd see in a hardware store today) poke out of the wooden floor planks, but it's great.

We've spent about four or five hours tonight getting the place back into order after the holidays. Off to Massachusetts with two suitcases, and we somehow pick up two more on the return journey, and enough stuff to fill them (and a shopping bag). Lovely gifts, indeed, but it seems like the in-family forgot that we flew up that way, and didn't take a U-Haul. We've put away most everything, hung the new pictures and arranged the new doo-dads. Cleared out the kitchen to make room for the 8 piece Revereware set that mom and dad got us, and made a spot for the new food processor. I even found some time last night to relax and play some Kingdom Hearts in the comfort of our beautiful living room.

I wouldn't say it's our house's "character" that does it for me, but there's something about it that can't be faked in some suburban subdevelopment. Something about walking down the street and popping in the comic book store, or strolling down Spring Garden, headed home from the Exchange (even though I hate the place) via foot because you're a bit too cocked for the steering wheel. When I really need eggs or butter or milk, the corner store seems like it's always open, and I don't have to start an engine to get there.

I guess I just don't care too much about convenient parking.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's where I am, at the moment, and the reason I'm not posting very often. I had a very wonderful Christmas, and we're coming along with plans for the wedding. Things up here are cold in climate but warm in spirit. I love New England very much. Perfect place for the holidays.

More when we return to the Carolinas, probably tomorrow eve if I'm not too tired. See everyone later. Happy holidays, merry New Year. Eat them collards 'n black-eyed peas.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 11:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I just changed the oil in my car, and checked all the fluids. I think I have a pretty severe oil leak, and the steering is getting to be very harsh. The ball joints seem all right, but I'm no expert. I am very concerned over this matter, seeing as I have to drive to Wilmington today to see my parents for Christmas.

My dad and I will look at Bessie and we'll figure out what's wrong with her. She's an old car, and I've put nearly 80,000 miles on her in the three years that I've owned her. If this is her time to go, I suppose I should let her pass into the West.

But that will leave me with no car, which is not a good thing. We'll see how this develops. As much as I love my 1990 Chrysler LeBaron (not very much, all in all), I think I would prefer something a little less boatish. I used to drive a 1986 Volkswagen GTI, and when I fill up Bessie every three or four days with fuel, I miss that zippy little German. A VW or a Honda, circa 1990, would be perfect. I think I'd be able to service it myself, and not worry that my measley two ton jack is going to crush under its weight and my head will burst like a tomato in the Steward of Gondor's maw.

I've got RotK on the mind. I may get to see it again tomorrow, with my family. Here's hoping!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 3:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I think this is a fairly apt sum-up:

Tycho said:

"I predict that you will be knocked clean on your ass, in the absence of mercy, pounded by raw craft and quality for the film's over three hour duration... At one point, I covered my gaping mouth with the Hordes of the Underdark manual. Yes, I brought it. I'm sort of a big dork, maybe nobody told you."

And, finally, movie critic David Edelstein, who writes for Slate Magazine and does reviews for NPR's Day to Day says:

"Of all the things to love about The Return of the King, it's those lightning shifts in scale that I find the most thrilling. I don't mean just the sudden impossible hugeness of it—those hundreds of thousands of demonic Orcs led by massive trolls and winged dragons called Fell Beasts and eight-story elephants called Mumakil as they surge toward a seven-tiered city that soars into the sky. I mean the way Jackson cuts from that amazing vision to something small: a spiked wheel grinding as the heavy gates of the city close; then a human face—Pippin, say, with his mouth grimly set and his eyes shocked open; then a few hundred thousand more marauding Orcs. So you get eye-popping spectacle, then a close-up with texture and weight, then a flash of human emotion, then more eye-popping spectacle. The threads are awesome, but it's the weave—of the epic and the intimate, the airy and the visceral, the lofty and the blood-curdling—that's spellbinding."

I'm going to see this movie again, Friday, I hope. What an amazing piece of work.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 1:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

That's what I am. Peter Jackson has done the impossible, I think. Just utterly amazing. See it, as if your life depended on it. It will move you. This much I know.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 4:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm just testing out this little LiveJournal client, seeing how it works and whether or not it's something I should stick with. I suppose it's cool, typing my junk into a program window as opposed to my browser, but... not that cool.

In less than an hour, I'll probably be sitting in the svelte velour seats at the local cineplex, Coke Product and overpriced popcorn in hand, as I await the Return of the King. I am very happy, you see. My plan was originally to re-read that section of Tolkien's magnum opus, but between work and exams, my intentions fell flat. I made it through the Battle of Pelennor Fields, so at least I have that fresh in memory.

I used to work at a theatre. In Durham, I worked for two thankless years at the local Carmike multiplex, snaking my way up the ladder until I presided over fifteen projectors and grew pasty and fat in the darkness of my booth. In reality, most of the "work" I did consisted of splicing out cool frames from movies I liked, and reading lots of issues of ToyFare magazine.

So I know how ridiculously overpriced that popcorn is. It's probably got the highest profit margin of any other product ever sold. Bulk popcorn is about $10-15 per FIFTY POUNDS. It takes about two OUNCES of popcorn to feed your gaping maw, maybe three if you're really working at that tub. So, we'll be stingy and say that they're buying it for about a cent and a half per ounce. You're getting about a nickel of product there. I'm terrible with math, but they are charging you about a hundred times the cost to them. And don't tell me about labor, because I've slinged popcorn before. It don't take much.

Anyway, I'm off to spend my hard-earned lettuce on overpriced popcorn, soda, and a movie that I've been waiting to see since I was eight years old!

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I just saw Liv Tyler on Letterman and that reminded me. We bought advance tickets to the midnight showing of The Return of the King tonight. So, yeah, we'll probably be watching it with all of the really scary folks. Still, the stuff in RotK is probably my favorite of the book, so I'm really looking forward to seeing how Peter Jackson handles certain key scenes, including:

• Gandalf and Denethor
  
• The Shadow Host
  
• Púkel-men Statues? I don't even know if this is a possibility
  
• Merry, Eowyn, and the Witch-king
  
• Michael getting angry because Saruman has been cut from the film
  

In other news, the bread turned out really well. Elendor has been down for nearly eight hours and I quite literally don't know what to do with my idle free time. I guess I'll take up blogging.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 12:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Miles called me with the news that he's beaten hell out of his whopping courseload at GT. I know how much he worked for it, and he deserves the night of boozin' and gamin' at Casey's little soirée. But as I was chatting with him on the phone, the smoke started pouring forth from our kitchen. As per usual when things in the apartment catch on fire, I had to drop the conversation and go put out the blaze.

The oven was belching black smoke into the living room. We found out that it was leftover sugar filling from last night's sugar pies, all collected at the bottom and caramelizing. So, yeah... that was a pain. I still have bread rising in pans, and I don't really want to get to cleaning out the disgusting mess.

Anyway, last night while I was drifting off to sleep, I thought of an idea for a story I've been writing. And then, immediately after, I remembered when I was about sixteen, I slept on the bottom level of a bunkbed in my parents' house. Back in those days, when I got an idea, I would flip on my bedside lamp and scrawl out the blurb on the underside of the top bunk. My parents still have those beds, I think, and I'd love to see what it is I wrote there.

After calling forth that particular teenaged memory, I thought about how many tiny stories we all have to share, and how most people go through their lives without even considering that they'd be worth telling. On the average night, as I lay in bed pursuing sleep, I'll come up with between five and twenty pieces of storytelling grit. In the period between sleep and waking, I'll forget half of them, but the rest work their way into my head and collect other ideas, and pretty soon they're like little pearls of narrative splendor rattling around in my head.

No wonder I can't remember my friends' birthdays.

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This is crazy. I'm eating a slice of pie and some ice cream, right? But this is no ordinary pie. It is pie that is is made of sugar. I am just as shocked as you are, my friend. Look to below sources for the awesome recipe, however. I am merely an awestruck bystander whose lips are still sticky with the sweet, sweet bounty.

An amazing supper tonight, of roasted leg of lamb, potatoes, and salad. We cracked open a bottle of the latest homebrew (a delicious Irish stout with about twice the alcohol a normal dark beer contains) and lit up the candles and had ourselves a pre-Christmas dinner. It was delightful.

The sugar pie recipe is an old one from Natania's maternal Québécois relatives, but I've seen several similar recipes in these books:

Posted by Michael Harrison at 9:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Again, the rain has thwarted my plans. I woke up this morning with such good intentions: to head north to Pilot Mountain for an autumn hike full of beauteous orange-and-gold vistas. Sadly, the sky was gray and weather.com told me that thunderstorms were imminent. So, scratch that idea.

Instead, we went to the grocery store. Exciting, I know. Actually managed to keep it to $30. Praise the Bilo Bonus Card. Two more Turkey Tokens, and we get a free bird.

Tonight has been a boring--but pleasant evening--at the homestead. I'm still desperately trying to get the Bachelor Pad comic strip ready. I found out tonight that all my work in Flash--about twenty or twenty-five hours, all in all--is for naught. I'm going to re-install Illustrator and see if maybe I can salvage the vectors.

Even with an extra hour in the day, things just don't get done, eh?

Posted by Michael Harrison at 10:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)