A while ago- probably not a very long while- I started an entry in this space with a thought about art hitting but not hurting. A while later, not very long ago at all, just now in fact- I suddenly recalled the inspiration for the thought:


One good thing about music, when it hits you (you feel no pain)
Oh, oh, I say, one good thing about music, when it hits you (you feel no pain)
Hit me with music, hit me with music now

This is (Trenchtown rock), don't watch that
(Trenchtown rock), big fish or sprat now
(Trenchtown rock) You reap what you sow
(Trenchtown rock), and only Jah, Jah know
(Trenchtown rock) I'd never turn my back
(Trenchtown rock), I'd give the slum a try
(Trenchtown rock) I'd never let the children cry
(Trenchtown rock), 'cause you got to tell Jah, Jah why

(Groovin') It's Kingston 12
(groovin'), it's Kingston 12
(Groovin') It's Kingston 12 now
(groovin'), it's Kingston 12
No want you come galang so, oh no
(... no want you fe galang so), ska-ba-dip-ska-ba
(You want come cold I up ...) Ska-ba-dibby-dip,
ska-ba-doop, ska-ba-doop (... cold I up)
Oh, oh, I'm groovin', and the world knows by now,
now, now, now, now, now, now, now, y'all

Oh now, I said, you feel no pain now
One good thing about music, when it hits you (you feel no ...) feel no pain
Hit me with music now, oh now, hit me with music now
Hit me with music, harder, brutalize me (... music)

This is (Trenchtown rock), I say, don't watch that
(Trenchtown rock), if you a big fish or sprat
(Trenchtown rock) You reap what you sow
(Trenchtown rock), and everyone know now
(Trenchtown rock) Don't turn your back
(Trenchtown rock), I say, give the slum a try
(Trenchtown rock) Never let the children cry
(Trenchtown rock), or you got to tell Jah, Jah why

(Groovin') It's Kingston 12
(groovin'), it's Kingston 12
(Groovin') I said, it's Kingston 12 now
(groovin'), oh, oh, oh, it's Kingston 12
(No want you fe galang so) Didn't I told you that
(no want you fe galang so) we should leave with love?
(You want come cold I up ...) I'm not gonna do that, man,
nothin' (... come cold I ...), and look deh now
(Groovin') And then it's Kingston
12, uh

(Good God ...) Good God, looky here now, uh
Hit me with music ...

Actually, until I tracked down the Bob Marley video, I had only heard the Almost Acoustic Band's version of the song... which you can find here. To date, I've both avoided using and continued to dishonor (in my links on the sidebar) the Internet Archive website for being clumsy and plagued by speed problems- it's better now, though still balky in some functions, and the new streaming player works well and since it always had good bones, by which I mean it was a pleasant and navigable site, I think I can restore my whole-hearted recommendation. There was nothing wrong with the old streaming player on the page, and there's nothing wrong with the new one either. You have to use it, because the old one won't work- and you have to click the link for the new player. Full downloads in various formats are available at the bottom of that same page. If you're an ethical file-sharer, be ye advised that the Almost Acoustic Band are not only wonderful musicians, they're also happy to let people trade their live recordings freely. You can find their statement (along with many other peformances) on file here.

This is a test of the emergency text entry method- had this been a real emergency (it is) this signal would have been followed by news and official information. This message will not repeat. We repeat- this message will not repeat. See below for some news. It's probably old news- someone else has surely millennia since written the same thoughts, but they struck me and now I turn them loose to strike you. Or not. You could duck, cover and/or run, but you wouldn't do that, would you? I hope you would if you felt like it. Why be proper if proper ain't right? Anyway, see below. If you get rich thanks to them, give me whatever royalties you can afford that haven't already been paid to everyone with prior claim to the idea(s). Or don't. See how easy-going I can be when I feel like it?

Note- everything below this line is below, as mentioned above.

There are but four things necessary to great art:

One must wish to share, or at least to present, a conception.

One must have the means to execute the work, and the energy to do so with passion, precision and despatch; failing these, one must be willing to sacrifice sole credit and enlist aid.

One must avoid entanglements arising from public and critical notice without offending the target of the art, which means everybody.

One must expect and accept obscurity- that is one should be content to live as though the work of art had never been realized.

And so it fell out unto him, for the people trampled him in the gate and he died.
King James Bible Kings II Chapter 7

If you want to read the story of which the above is the punch line, follow the little red link. It's a quick, easy read of about twenty verses. One of my Gideons Bibles says measures of such and such shall be sold for so many pieces of silver- the other that seahs ... shall be sold. So in this case, a measure is 6.659274893 dry quarts. I don't know which of the two printings is older, but I would expect that modernity demands something more specific than a measure. The printing which uses seahs also changes a lord into an officer, and takes some of the starch out of the writing by removing medieval turns of phrase of the sort which gladden a heart like mine. Don't ask me why- I just like the baby talk; I was pleased to find that the Gideons Bible website still uses the older, and more pleasingly archaic, text. The only reason I read this story at all was because the final sentence as printed above caught my eye and my fancy. But that's not what I want to talk about.

First, it seems that not only were the food and goods taken from the Syrians in this God-assisted victory to be sold to a famine-stricken people, presumably by their own king, but the prices for this wicked gouging were set by God. If that doesn't make you think about religion in general and the God of Moses in particular, you ain't thinking. Then there's the matter of murder. The sassy- and worse, doubting- lord (in the feudal sense, I suppose) or officer in the service of the king of Israel who gets trampled in the gate by the people has been cursed by God (through Elisha) for sneering at something- perhaps the pricing scheme? which is never specified, except by inference- and then sent by the king to die in a food riot. Was the king innocent of murder, though guilty of profiteering and price fixing? I don't know, I wasn't there. Now, unless the cursed man happened to be right that there was something fishy (and not in the good sense) about this deal, why would the people riot? Could it be that the people were a little fed up with starvation and didn't feel like giving up their silver pieces to pay for famine relief the king was getting for nothing from God? Further, though they might not have known it, there was also plenty of gold and silver right there in the abandoned Syrian camp, and therefore little or no need to charge the people for what a king should give to his people freely. Yes, I think this is a story about corruption trickling down from on high, since it is nigh inconceivable that anything could trickle heavenward from Earth.

Thought: Art should hit everyone and hurt no one.

My goals for this week are to eat only vegetables and to move into a roof-garden penthouse. So there- if I seem a little preoccupied, it's because I am. I have a lot to do this week. The veggies I could probably do, the penthouse probably not. Will I do either? Nope, but I think I will give up coffee, and start planning my pirate implementation of this which I found here by way of here. I really like it, and if it saves even one kitty whisker's worth of fuel, great. I think any decent swivel-mounted mirror will do fine- I'll affix it to the windowsill in some appropriate and feasible manner yet to be determined. Why do I like it? It eliminates a significant blind spot on the driver side at eye level in the forward field of view. It bypasses distracting (driver must select left or right mirror via tiny, lurchy slider switch) joystick adjustment. It's easy to do, and it's one less thing they can damage in the parking lot. Darn them anyway. Yesterday they left a 2 inch paper-washered nail (I know, I know- I'm trying to find a picture) on the shoulder of the road. When I pulled to the right for a bunch of wailing fire trucks, I picked up the nail and got a flat tire. They will stop at nothing to wreck my car. If I stopped at nothing, I'd wreck my car, too.

There will come a time when no one living will remember a world in which loud, demanding announcements and propaganda did not issue from:

gas pumps
deli cases
check-out stands
waiting rooms
dining rooms
buses
airplanes
trains
jail cells
automatic banking stations
transit stops
public restrooms

But I remember. In the past ten years this authoritarianist approach to broadcasting has migrated from the inhuman (yes, Asia- I'm talking about you) world to our fair land, and it's getting harder and harder to go anywhere without being subjected to a forceful violation. Have you experienced this? You're minding your own business when an unattended audio-video device self-launches into a repeating barrage of mind-numbing, insulting, privacy-invading crap that makes any sort of thought or (let alone conversation) nearly impossible. What gives anyone the right to program a machine to do this to you? If you laid this kind of a trap with a knife or gun, you'd be a criminal. It's called booby-trapping, and it's illegal. Never mind the legality-most of the miserable shits who are abusing technology this way would probably argue that you are asking for it by patronizing their establishments. Bear this in mind when you shop- these businesses think so little of you as a person that they are perfectly willing to let a machine harangue you, on the off-chance that you might respond positively. Please show them otherwise, by protesting everywhere you encounter these pervasive and 100% unacceptable assaults.

Don't give your business to anyone who treats you this way, and let them know why you are staying away. If they tell you how much other people appreciate being blasted with unsolicited and unstoppable blather, ask them where your feedback fits in. This won't do much to change their minds- after all, a) they have already committed a lot of time and money to crafting their traps and b) they know more consumers will put up with it than won't- but it's the proper response to utterly criminal noise pollution. If you don't fight them now in the supermarket and the library and the fast-food line, you'll just have to fight them next month when they want to install one of these infernal devices on your street corner. If you ignore the one they plant at the corner of Home Street and Neighbor Ave, you'll find them putting one in your kitchen next, and when you order them off your property they'll say you are over-reacting to something that's already well-established and generally accepted everywhere else. What will you be able to say to that? Eh?

Even when I know what's gotten into me lately, I don't always know what to do - or not do- about it. But that's only factual- in my opinion, which is the only authority under your sun I recognize, there's nothing wrong with this world I can't fix by breeding you Earthlings like rats. Ooops, past my bedtime.

I dug a carrot bed 1.5 feet by 2.0 surface area in my little plot today- depth of screened and amended soil is 1.5 feet,very slightly mounded to a 70% plateau perhaps 4 inches high. I didn't border this mound with the screened gravel as I did with my latest potato patch, but I may do that later if the pile begins to unravel, though such a modest mountain will probably sink into the ground before it can get much of a start at falling apart. Because the new carrot bed is not very exciting, I've attached a photo of the walled-in potato mound instead. I like the gravel retainer ring because so far it's been keeping the mound smooth and soft, which will make harvesting much easier, and it should do a pretty good job of holding the dirt in the ground when I yank the spuds.

I have a couple of other potato beds- a tall un-walled mound which I expect will collapse to clods and loose dirt when I start pulling potatoes, and a deep brick-bordered bed (you can see part of one wall in the picture) that will give the same neat harvest and consistent replanting it always does (third year of mostly volunteer crops)- but I think the graveled mound will do almost as well, without the expense, effort and zoning debates of building another brick pit. My beloved brick bed- originally built as a fire pit- is over twenty years old and though still quite serviceable, it is showing its age, mainly in the mortar, which is cracking and letting moist dirt work on its increasingly exposed inner surfaces. The necessary repairs would amount to a rebuild, which would mean cleaning bricks and mixing mortar- probably a couple of days work. I can rebuild a gravel-edged mound, refreshed soil and all, in an hour using only a shovel and a 1/4 inch screen, so if this first try works as well as I expect it to, I will probably install gravel rings around all my mounded beds next time I turn them over.

My yellow-fleshed icebox watermelon and small striped eggplant are not doing as well as the potatoes, since nights are still too cold and days are not hot enough- if I can keep them alive another month, I think they'll wake up and start growing. The soil is good and they're properly watered, so all we need is the weather. I may dig a bean patch this weekend, unless I can forget in time. I'm working on that even now.

I'm not political- not partisan anyway, and not at all activist- and I don't intend to take the pulpit or beat a drum in this space, so join me instead in marveling at the power of formulaic language.
Listening to Terry Gross and Al Gore chat today, I heard the man some describe as our former vice president even as others consider him their president in exile give tongue to something very like the following:

On the eve of the Iraq war Senator Robert Byrd stood on the floor of the Senate and asked .. blah, blah, blah, blah.

Note the senatorial phrase Mr. Gore employs in this anecdote, and appreciate the imagery it evokes- even over the radio, I could see Senator Byrd- or at least someone (someone like Colonel Blimp holding forth in the bath) of senatorial and unmistakably grave posture and countenance, to say nothing of voice. So what, you ask? Well, nothing earthshaking, only that it's good to recognize how easily our imagination can be manipulated.

Patience may be a virtue, but it is also a necessity. I want my potatoes to grow, and perhaps they share that sentiment with me, but there's not much we can do but wait. The ground was prepared, the soil was carefully amended and a safe-and-sane plan for water delivery was implemented- I even planted the potatoes. Apparently the missing ingredient is time.

If I can't be patient, I may suffer for my impatience; I may worry and make futile efforts to hasten the growth; perhaps in my eagerness to see little green sprouts coming out of the ground I will harm or kill my crop. Certainly I will annoy myself and others on this subject. I'm doing that right now, and you're just sitting there taking it. Thank you.

and now... a rip-off of an old song (movies here and here) I can't get out of my head-

In mia testa, questa canzone caratterizza il minore ma in pieno bodied gli accenti orchestral del barbershop che circondano e che aumentano le frasi e le girate selezionate dell'aria ma affiderò quello alla vostra immaginazione . Se desiderate quella ultima frase in inglese, veda sidebar superiore di questa pagina e scatti sopra il collegamento metta la vostra linguetta nella bocca del Drifty o vada diritto a questo Web site libero stimabile ed attendibilmente inesatto di traduzione.

or, read it like this: In my head, this song characterizes the minor but in full load bodied the accents orchestral of the barbershop that they encircle and that they increase to the phrases and the turns selected of the air but I will entrust that one to your imagination. If wished that last phrase in English, sees sidebar advanced of this page and releases over the connection put yours linguetta in the mouth of the Drifty or go straight to this stimabile and reliable inexact free Web site of translation.

Intro:


Go on gal, don’t take me for no fool

I ain’t gonna quit you, pretty mama, while the weather’s
cool

Around your back door, honey, I’m gonna creep

Just as long as you bring me two-and-a-half a week



I’ve got a girl, she works in the white folks yard

She bring me meal, I swear she brings me lard

She brings me meal, honey she brings me lard

She bring me everything honey that a girl can steal



Lord a vaudeville circus rider came to town

They got a dancer lookin’ nice and brown

They didn’t know it was against the law

For the monkey’s to stop at a five cent store

Well, just around the corner, just a minute too late

Another one standin’ at the big back gate

I’m simply wild about my good cocaine



I stood my corner, hey hey!

Here come Sal with a nose all so’

Doctors said she couldn’t smell no mo’

Lord run doctor, ring the bell

The women in the alley…

I’m simply wild about my good cocaine



Furniture man came to my house, was last Sunday morn

Asked me was my wife at home

Said she’d long been gone

Backed his wagon up to my door

Took everything I had

He carried it back to the furniture store

Honey, I did feel sad



What in the world has any man got, now

Messin’ with the furniture man?

Got no dough, stand for sho’

Certainly will back you back

Take everything from an earthly plant

From a skillet to a frying pan

If there ever was a devil born without any horns

Musta been the furniture man



I hear you mama, hey hey!

Here come Sal with a nose all so’

Doctors said she couldn’t smell no mo’

Lord go doctor, ring the bell

Women in the alley…

I’m simply wild about my good cocaine



Lord the babies in the cradle in New Orleans

The doctors kept a-whiffin’ til the baby got mean

Doctor whiffed until the baby got so’

Mama said she couldn’t smell no mo’



Lord go, Doctor, ring the bell,

The women in the alley…

I simply wild about my good cocaine

I’m simply wild about my good cocaine



I’m simply wild about my good cocaine


If you're interested, the performer (song) is Dick Justice.
I don't know who made the movie. You can find an mp3 of the song here.

I've been so busy at my new job (helping make digital maps for an Internet giant) that I haven't written anything in a very long time- the last thing I want to do after a day of computer labor is more computer labor.

Work: I (along with eleven coworkers) was appointed a team lead, responsible for the welfare and productivity of 5 to 10 digital mappers. Sadly, most of my team members have been fired for incompetence, sloth and/or attendance issues. I feel I failed them somehow- maybe if I'd tried harder they would have succeeded. This is very depressing, and I believe I will be fired for failing to lead successfully.

Leisure: I am growing potatoes and sweet potatoes, eggplant and yellow-fleshed icebox watermelon in my little garden. Yesterday my dog crapped on the eggplant. I don't think she meant any harm, and I doubt she was trying to tell me anything- she probably did it because she is a dog.

Love life: Well, I love life...

I wear a real shirt very day! Buttons, pocket, collar, all that. I'm surprised at myself, since I used to hate shirts and it is perfectly acceptable to wear t-shirts at my work, which almost everyone else does. I started wearing shirts as soon as I became a team lead- though I don't recall giving it any thought, maybe I hoped this would inspire professionalism in my team. That evidently didn't happen, but at least I can serve as way-point for giving directions: See that guy in the collared shirt? Go past him and then turn right. And another nice thing about a real shirt is that I can put my notebook in the pocket.

Gosh, I am really feeling low about all the people who have lost their jobs while following my orders. What am I doing wrong, or not doing at all? I wish I could conduct exit interviews to see what's going on, but because of the temp agency's policies I almost never know someone's going to be fired until (at the earliest) the moment it happens, and usually not until after the fact. This Saturday, I met a team member in town and he told me he had been let go after our shift on Friday. I expect I'll be officially informed of this fact Monday. Other teams do more work and lose fewer people, so maybe I can learn from them. I think I need to set some goals for myself and for the people in my team. There must be some way to get the quantity and quality of work we need.

News:

Drifty promises to do titles.

Garden remains unplanted, but I'm still ahead of schedule.

Ich bevorzuge vollständige Erdnüsse gegenüber Erdnußbutter, aber ich kann nicht an irgendeine andere nähren-leistungsfähige Weise denken, zwei Scheiben brot schmackhaft zu bilden.

See the Put Your Tongue In Drifty's Mouth link for translation of above. And below, somewhere. While you're there paste or compose some text into the translator and have a little fun while you learn a new word or two. I think it's more fun than sorting needles. Pienso que es más diversión que clasificando agujas.

Today's Title:

is brought to you by the Scratch and Sniff Guide To Animal Companions. Don't ask me- I just type what I hear in my head. This sounds like a great coffee table book and I'd like to read it, but I don't think I've ever heard of it. If you've written this book, please send me a copy. A free boxful, if you can swing that. I'll mention you every time I give one away, and since nothing sells like free books a lot of folks will take your name home with them. You can't buy that kind of marketing. I'm not on topic. Oh, yeah- a title.

Nope, can't think of one. Roll yer own. Must be something I can say!

If You Can Read This, Use BabelFish Until You Can't Read It Anymore And Then Commit Two Foreign Words To Memory.

That's not a title, but it will have to do for a heading. What else? my 2 Gigabyte MuVo 100 now holds 209 songs or audiobook files, about half its capacity. The guy who sits next me at work has a 30Gig iPod with numerous feature length movies on it. I'd have to be pretty bored to watch much two-inch TV, and I don't bore easily. You might bore easily, so I won't print my playlist here. Well, I want to but the titling is pretty awkward. I listen to music at work, and audiobooks elsewhere. The stories tie up the part of my mind I need for work in a way even the craziest music never does. One chapter of a Sherlock Holmes story does more damage to my productivity than two T Rex songs. Or one piece of jazz.

Another short, lazy post. Sigh. I like pocket notebooks, and I like tiny mechanical pencils I can carry with them. This combination is working well for me now, though I will make the next notebook a side-opener. I haven't settled on a final design for the pencil holder yet, so I just taped a length of disposable drinking straw to the back cover for now. I moved the little pocket clip to the eraser cap, to let the pencil hang deeper inside the straw, which meant I had to glue the clip in place or it slipped down and obstructed the lead-advance clearance. There is still a significant risk of losing the pencil if the eraser cap itself detaches, but I can live with that chance, for now. I've been trying for years to store pencils in the spiral binding of notebooks, with little to no success- this slim (less than 1/4 inch in diameter) and short (4.25 inches) pencil may make this possible. I had been trying for a year or more to buy a mostly metal Zebra pencil of similar dimensions (about US$6 and considerably heavier) that I know I saw at an Office Depot, but can't find anywhere- Zebra say it's for Europe only and was never sold in the US. I think they're full of prunes. When I stumbled across this perfectly acceptable (and almost literally featherweight) version for a buck and a half at my favorite toe-sock store (Daiso) I didn't hesitate to buy on the spot. That's still a lot of money for a plastic mechanical pencil no more reliable than the 10 for $2.00 Scriptos, but it's really the size I'm paying for. All right, enough from me- the sun is shining and I want to be outside.

Briefest of Updates:

That short work day (four hours) I mentioned the other day turned out to have been a blessing in disguise- today the head-scratchers at the Internet giant decided our entire 40 person shift could and should bill the company for a full eight hours, so we did. Oh, that reminds me that I must remember to submit my time card before 11 AM Monday or I'll never see a dime of my pay. Not even a thin dime, if I can believe the dire threats that pass for the temp agency's payroll submission guidelines. I guess submission is an important aspect of temp agency protocol.

A milepost passed: Three people who don't work for me have written to say they enjoyed my blog. To date, I have had good reason to say I enjoyed just one of their blogs, because only one of them blogs. If you can't wait to see a link to that blog, too bad- I'm waiting for permission to post a link. That undeniably serious person knows who he/she/it/other is...

Drifty is taking the day off- but he would like to thank his alert reader for spotting and answering his plea for amusement the other day. Although he wasn't able to take up the offer, it was greatly appreciated.

Also, Drifty's latest fleece cap project (shown at right) came out a little small for his pin-sized head, so if your head is less than twenty-two inches around and you'd like a clean (unworn except for five minute trial period) cap with a merit badge sewn on it, write to Drifty and he'll mail it to you.

-Ed

Aaargh! I left the house by 5 AM, expecting to work eight hours at my new new job, but here I am home again after only four hours, and at loose ends. A problem with the computers has rendered us all (temporarily, we hope) unemployed. I don't know what to do! I'm still too broke to drive out to the coast or shop or see a bargain matinee movie, because neither of my two newest jobs has given me a payday yet. I don't want to vote early- I like doing that on the proper day, in full view of my fellow citizens; I don't dare sit down to read a book for fear of falling into a nap and upsetting my sleep schedule. I don't even want to go to the library, since I did that yesterday. Speaking of yesterday, I watched TV for the first time in years- at a Superbowl party thrown by good old friends. I was quick to tell people that I was only in it for the party aspect, not for the football. I don't think I impressed anyone very much with my ascetism- maybe people don't like to be around a secular saint, or maybe they all thought I protested too much and must therefore be a closeted TV watcher. Or maybe nobody listens to anything anyone says anyway. Yeah, I think that's it. People told me all kinds of personal details at this party, and I don't remember anything about anyone, except for the sexiness seriousness of a couple of the other guests. I think they know who they are, and if by chance they read this, well- congratulations on being an object of my desire respect! Drop me a line if you're bored. That goes for anyone, not just the sexy serious ones- I need something cheap and fun to do today, and I don't care what. About the only thing I wouldn't consider doing is flensing and trying whale blubber, and only because I don't want to stink up my clothes. And of course because I love whales and don't think they need to be killed at all, but especially not for commercial purposes. That being said, I do favor the sinking of whatever vessel(s) Greenpeace may operate, for much the same reason they go to sea in the first place: kneejerk cookie-cutter response to tyrannous anarchy. You listening, Greenpeace? I think you're a bunch of power-mad, intolerant, self-absorbed tyrants. Having you defend wildlife is like hiring a Fascist to administer the rail systems, except a Fascist would get the job done.

I really like my new job. I mean I hate it already, but I like it- know what I mean? Did I mention the hours are 0545-1415? Awful, yes- but there are compensations. The commute is around five and a half minutes, max. And even with sixty-five co-workers getting in my way, I can still make a cup of espresso and get outside to enjoy it with a cigarette before works starts. That was never even remotely possible anywhere else I've worked. Not only is this the first place to offer an espresso machine, it's also the first place to actually stock and maintain coffee-making supplies in real time. Quality seems quite decent, too. I hate feel-good bribes, especially when it's so damned obvious they are funded by reduced wages, but if they are unavoidable and they are done right, they don't irk me all that much. The free catered "hot" lunch does bother the living heck out of me- it's too little food for too many people, it's always cold, and it's not very good. Some people seem to think that merely containing exotic ingredients is enough to make a meal magic- well, I'm not going to fall down dead in awe of shrimp or calamari or a peanut sauce just because a certified food planner thinks I should. Nothing, not even a vacuum-fried truffle sandwich (not offered, a fictional example) will make up for overcooking, insipid seasoning, uninspired preparation and heedless presentation. But it probably looked great on paper. I know it costs the equivalent of $1.25/hr of wages per shift: I can pack a better lunch for $0.75 than they put on for $12.00, and it doesn't need refrigeration or heating. Bah! I say. Pay me 1/3 to 1/2 the difference in wages, keep the beverages coming, and leave lunch-making to people who know what's good for them. So long as some damned fool whose only qualification is a chef license from the Fancy Knife Institute insists on playing cute with the menu, and it all keeps falling flat, I'm going to remain utterly unimpressed, churlishly ungrateful and justly resentful. If this offends anyone (except a real chef), GOOD! I hope you choke (figuratively and only momentarily, at that) on your displeasure and have to give yourself a Heimlich Hoist, which I sincerely hope will save your life, because I need readers.

Yesterday was my last day at the online bookstore. Sadly and with a gleam of anticipation in my eye, after one solid week of very enjoyable work, I have moved on to... the past.

What happened to the last ten years? In the spring of 1998 I was working at a digital map company, tracing lines over aerial photos. Then for ten years I did a lot of different things- today I started working at a certain Internet giant (the one who DIDN'T just lay off a thousand souls) making digital maps. When I showed up for work today, I thought I'd be checking scanned images, probably of books, for clarity and completeness. If I'd persisted in standing in the first crowd I joined, that's pretty much what would have happened to me- I saw the scanning booths, and I did not like them, Sam I Am! Instead, I got rescued by a helpful stranger, and for the second time in my life found out that while I'd been told I'd be doing one thing I was actually destined to do digital mapping. It was deja vu all over again. 1993.5 calling me by name, and asking for a rematch. Woo-hoo! That's like telling Br'er Rabbit he's gonna be tossed in the old briar patch. Sure, hooking up with an ex who you know you were better off without, and who you were finally very glad to have seen the last of is probably unwise, especially if the last hitch almost drove you mad. I think any self-help expert who knew how much sleep I lost over the last mapping job I had would tell me to run like hell from this, but I won't. You see, the last time something like this happened to me, the job I never saw coming turned into a wild five year joyride along the cutting edge of mobile navigation technology which I wouldn't have missed for the world. As a matter of fact, it delivered the world to me, or at least big important patches of North American territory. My first assignment here in 2008? Italy! Just north of Sicily. Well, well! I feel more worldly already. Near as I can tell, this effort is a few years behind where my old company left off ten years ago. Same chaotic approach, same ragged interfaces, same mix of lazy thinking and aggressive goals. Same slow, glitchy computers. Same broken chairs, same parking lot traffic jams. I'd almost swear some of the people are the same, or might as well be. The work is achingly familiar, and far easier to learn than it was the first time around. I don't scare so easy anymore, for one thing, and I already know how to do this stuff, for another. If it didn't all feel so new, I'd think nothing had changed. I'm making at most 75 cents more per hour than I was way back then. There's free catered food for snacks and lunch, but nobody who isn't all elbows can get near the chow before it's reduced to scraps. Thankfully, I foresaw that and took along a sandwich that wouldn't need refrigeration, and that's exactly what I intend to do every day. Heh-heh. The triumph of experience over optimism, to adapt the old phrase about second marriages. And this time around, I'm not in the least reluctant to put in earbuds and tune out the room- I used to think that was selfish and irresponsible, but I know better now. Some of the best digital cartographers and most engaged process innovators I've ever met worked with headphones on and paid so little attention to the production chatter they would have to be shaken by the shoulder in case of fire, or for a meeting/break/announcement.

Garden Report: When the rain quit for a few hours this morning, I was out the door with a shovel in my hand before the trees had stopped dripping, intent on getting my soil amended and putting it back in the ground- I have one raised bed and three planting mounds, for a total of about thirty square feet, from which I always turn the previous year's soil out and sift it back in during the amending process. I got the whole job done in a little over an hour, finishing just as the wind began to push the clouds back overhead. Then, oddly and a little annoyingly, the sun broke through and the generally favorable conditions continued to prevail, meaning I could have taken a little more time at the task. However, the whirlwind approach actually suits me, and anyway one never knows whither the weather will, nay? Want that in English? Insert four dimes, turn handle, wait for translation... Hmm. Came out the same- must have been in English to begin with. Maybe YOU don't speak English?

Library sale: Missed it. Headache tore me from sleep at 3 AM and kept me awake until 7, so I had to make up the missing hours. That's OK, I have all the books I need.

Ponderable: What footwear should I put on for my Monday interview at the Internet giant? The truth is I intend to work in my mock Crocs, but for the sake of professional appearance during the critical first impressions phase I should probably wear something with laces; I am more than happy to make an effort, only all I have in that department are some battered and muddy hiking boots. All my years of skating around the margin of the everyday work world have depleted my wardrobe. God knows what else in my professional profile may be lacking- I suppose the interview will reveal more deficiencies. I do know better than to airily dismiss questions about my strengths and weaknesses as irrelevant and not my business to describe to strangers who should be capable of discerning my true nature, and I'm pretty sure I know better than to sprinkle my conversation with such nuggets as "Yes/No/Maybe, Sir Ma'am or Other." and "Ah, the old say what you're thinking so as to startle the applicant into an untoward disclosure trick, eh?". I am reasonably certain that I know better than to be seen performing an inspection of my interviewer's body, unless I am already getting strong complicitous vibes from said party. Don't look so shocked- that kind of thing does happen and I have been hired by people who engage in it. I say fun can be found wherever you look for it, and most people are a lot more fun than we give them credit for.

Well, the inevitable has happened- I've been given an mp3 player (Thanks, Dad) and you can guess what THAT means, can't you? Yep, no time for blogging, barely time to eat and sleep- all I want to do is load the little box full of stuff and walk around listening to it. I'm so busy doing that I think I forgot to poop today. Did I remember to go to work? Ye-e-e-s... I think so. I must have since nobody called to ask why I wasn't there. Not that I ever answer the phone. Heh-heh. What am I, a secretary? What sort of things am I downloading and uploading and crossloading into my (c'mere you little rascal, I need to read off your name for the people out there on the web..) Muvo V 100? Well, some Edison cylinder recordings of semi-bawdy music-hall tunes, an entire live concert of the Almost Acoustic Band, a Librivox recording of a few of Hans Christian Andersen's Fairy Tales and, well, the list is growing even as I speak. There are hundreds, if not thousands of hours of great material to be had both free and legally. In many cases, the artists themselves are fully aware of and entirely supportive of this. Think about that for a moment, willya? Record companies are suing people over how they obtain copies of music, while some musicians are giving the stuff away. We're not talking about just crappy homemade demo recordings from bands nobody's ever heard of, either- though I like a lot of those too. Honestly, I don't know why anyone would pay to listen to most of the crap that passes for popular music these days anyway. The real crime is taking money for it, not the other way around. But that's not my problem. I'll never be sued (for downloading music) because I'll never need a copy of anything the record companies care about, and if I do need one, I'll just check it out of the library and listen to it until I've heard it enough. If I can't hear it enough in three weeks, or I need it again later, I'll check it out again. Simple. Who needs to own a copy of everything? Not me. In my entire music-loving life I've only purchased about 35 recordings, yet I hear as much wonderful music as anyone on the planet, or at least I hear enough to suit my needs. Ask anyone who knows me whether I know what I'm talking about when it comes to music, and then ask them how many times they've heard me say "I just gotta go buy that record!". Doesn't happen very often. That doesn't make me a saint, it just makes me slightly (very slightly) more sensible than the rest of the world- and probably only in this and perhaps in several other obscure but highly important areas of life. There, my sneaky bragging has overwhelmed my natural (and mostly fictional) modesty, so everything is in balance.

Speaking of inevitability, I did finally hear back from the nameless Internet giant about the job I was supposed to get before I took the book-warehouse job, and I have an invitation to an interview Monday afternoon. Today I had to tell my new boss I was sorry about it, but I might run off and leave him in a lurch. And I was sorry, because I do like my job. I like it more each day, and I think I'm actually getting to be pretty good at it, for a beginner. The poor guy was polite and didn't call me any dirty names to my face, but I wouldn't expect that to last long if I actually do run away. But then I wouldn't be around to hear it. Or maybe I would. I just had a strange premonitory inkling: I think- and this is way out of character for me, since deep down I don't like having one job- that I might be able to work forty hours at the Internet giant and fifteen or twenty at the book-warehouse. The work loads involved would not be crippling, the schedule would not be too awful, and it might actually be fun, not to mention putting some more dough in my see-the-world-before-it-melts fund. I guess I'll have to decide fairly quickly whether to do both if I get the other job. The interviewer says if I get it I will start Tuesday, and that means my current boss will start needing help... Tuesday. Well, heck! I feel much more peaceful about all of this than I thought I would, and am probably less troubled by it than I deserve, though I don't see what else I could have done, and I was completely honest with all parties from the very beginning. So fuck 'em all. I have to have money, and nowhere in the Constitution does it say I have to please everyone all the time, or even try very hard to do so.

Some of the links I keep in my sidebar are a little racy, one way or another, and I don't apologize for that, not one bit. Try them, and if you don't like them don't go back. The latest one- You'll Wish You Hadn't Clicked... is truly different, and you should exercise extreme caution about visiting it. For one thing, it's most likely illegal wherever you live to see what is shown here. For another, the subject depicted is profoundly and depravedly unnatural and may just blow your mind. Think about this for a second- what could be illegal for you to see? It does not involve anyone under the age of eighteen, nor does it in any way suggest the participation of anyone under the age of eighteen. Nobody, no matter how they might try, could say that it has anything at all to do with children, because it doesn't. If, by chance, it is legal for you to view this stuff, you will need to be over eighteen yourself. Let there be no doubt about that. So what could be illegal for you to see? It isn't state secrets. It isn't a beheading. It isn't the real story of how our president is yanked about like a puppet by cynical, greedy, lying murderers and other associates (oh, quit whining- this statement has always been true, and will always be true, no matter who is in office). It isn't what Alvin and the other Chipmunks get up to when they're not making records, so far as I know. All I can tell you is it is almost as disturbing as politics, and not quite as insulting as TV. I myself see no particular inherent harm in the acts displayed here, but I can't bring myself to say they are harmless either. Seeing these things could easily lead to insanity and blindness. Go and look, if you want to, but remember I warned you.

So much for the news that wasn't fit to print- on to the important stuff:
In an attempt to bankroll my bad habits (travel, unmonetizable studies etc.) I have taken employment with a small and growing online bookseller in a nearby town. One of the reasons I got the job was that I billed myself as a book nut and a small-scale trader in books, and though I have no intention of halting or even slowing down the buying/selling aspects of my book addiction, I cheerfully signed an agreement today, one clause of which says I won't do the same thing outside work that I do at work- sell books. How could I so blithely sign a damned lie that even the other party to the agreement knows very well CAN'T be true? I don't know... I guess it's just one of those things we all do for the sake of manners and which employers feel they have to enforce on the outside chance that we might get caught doing something really wrong- like stealing customers or false-bidding. You know, bad things. Even going into the same business in the same way would be bad. But that's not what I do. Really, the agreement is intended to keep me from using what I learn on the job to do competing business on my own, not to keep me from casually disposing of books I may pick up but don't need to keep. In other words, it's to keep me from running away with my employer's business secrets and using them to beat the company out of it's own business- and clearly I won't be doing that. I don't sell online, except very occasionally in very small quantities (never more than one or two items at a time, and usually niche collectibles offered at relatively high prices) on craigslist.org and even when I do that, I don't usually ship books to customers, opting to offer them almost exclusively for local pickup, since I find the struggle to get paid online or by mail more trouble than it's worth. Most of my book dealings involve buying at low prices around town (Goodwill, library sales, garage sales) and trading them in at Book Buyers for a higher trade credit than what I paid in cash. For a small investment in time and effort, I realize about twenty or thirty percent "profit" in store credit. My main reason for shopping for these books in the first place is to find what I need at the low prices- I sell the stuff I buy cheap but don't want to keep as a way of financing purchases of items I do want to keep. I don't have any regular sort of business selling books, and don't seriously contemplate ever having one, so I don't see my street-level exchanges as a threat to the business for which I work. While I think I'm morally and legally in the clear on this and feel utterly OK about it, I welcome your comments.
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COMING SOON:
399 New installment of the story of my fictional Show Church
398 Garden Report
397 Shopping Plan for WonderCon 2008 (Moscone Center, San Francisco)
396 Short comparative review of Journey Without Maps, by Graham Greene and a book about the same trip Too Late To Turn Back, by his cousin Barbara Greene
395 A rundown on my existing and new links- just a few words of description and points of interest
394 Travel hopes
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