I had a job interview this morning at 10:30 (aww, poor me) for the shelving position at the Library. Fortunately, I keep an emergency wake-up-in-the-morning survival guide in a cold war era armored floor safe for just such an occasion. I got ready, ate what might pass for breakfast, and set upon the morning's first daunting task: my necktie. Several of my attempts ended up looking nothing like the traditional men's accessory, but rather something I had become entangled in while sleeping. Eventually I got it tied, but I was running a little late, so of course I hit every red light on the way to the library. The interview went pretty well, I thought. I think my strongest advantage over my anonymous competition is that I can already shelve books with the aplomb and agility of an art major trapped in retail purgatory. This job is another step towards doing what I want, as it will provide me with money for this fall. I did get the job, by the way, the HR person called me about three hours later. Score one for cracker.

New comic books tomorrow. Astonishing X-men #1 written by Joss Whedon (genuflect, all ye geeks) and Punisher #6. Marvel comics has no respect for numbering or continuity anymore. I haven't purchased an X-men comic in ten years or more, back when the characters had actual costumes and Wolverine was intelligent and disciplined and did not have a goatee. The current continuity has him as a metrosexual shadow of his former self.

I need new geek media. Last week's Smallville and Angel finales left my inner fanboy confused and curled up in a fetal position. Smallville's season closer was a big-budget rush job mess with a reasonably satisfying montage at the end. They could have done the whole story more effectively spread out over two episodes had they planned ahead and cut out some of their mid-season filler. The Angel finale was good, albeit bleak. We learn that our hero doesn't get to become human again after all, as he consciously signs away his destiny for the good of humanity. The abrupt end is open, but it implies that the main characters all die fighting a huge army of demons. This is particularly harsh for me, since I really liked this show. It goes to show how great TV can be from time to time. It also demonstrates why Smallville will never be as good a show- the outcome is set in stone, and come hell or high water, Clark will become Superman. I'm also still mad about Wonderfalls, but I feel my soapbox starting to creak.

I've come to the conclusion that I need a new job. The weekly schedule at work has my weekly hours in the single digit for next week, and no time means no money. No money means no comic books, movies, gasoline, or GRAD SCHOOL- which will require a boatload of money. So, in an effort to get moving towards eventual financial stability, I’m looking for a new job.

The first possibility is a storage shelver position at the library. My initial impression of this is something like being a goblin at Gringotts, but with books. It’s more money and 30 hours a week, and I like the library, so this could work well.

My other possibility is with a local technology company that has at least a passing interest in bringing in an animator to create some sort of informational animations for their proposals to the main office. It’s a little ambiguous to me right now, but landing an animation job in Fort Wayne is like being named Thane of Glamis and Thane of Cawdor all in one day.

Moving
A Blog Post in Two Parts

II
Moving Out

I woke up this morning to the rhythmic drone sound of my alarm clock, with no memory of why I set it in the first place. Rolling over, I dimly recognized the old issue of Wired I had been reading before I went to sleep the night before, though I had no memory of what I had read. Thinking back on this, a reverse montage of the previous day zipped through my mind, and I remembered why I had to wake up early again. Michael was moving home for the summer.

I wasn't quite as energetic this morning as yesterday, so I was a little sluggish getting ready. I would be driving one of two cars today, as that was what it took to move Michael in last fall. Technically. To be more specific, one of those cars was a Sea Wolf-class size Mercedes with a trunk large enough to support it's own weather patterns. This car is no longer with us, so two separate vehicles were necessary.

After loading up on music for the trip, I prepared to follow Dad in his GPS-equipped car. The trip isn't that difficult, I think there are something like eight turns to make over the course of two hundred country miles from Fort Wayne to the Kenyon sign.

"Follow me, I'll try not to go too fast," assured Dad, standing by his German-engineered Volvo. Bear in mind that he finds it relaxing to watch grown men go tear-assing down drag strips on TV, and bear in mind that he is on a first-name basis with most of the Lingenfelter shop crew.

Incredulous, I responded "If I'm behind you, I'm the one who gets pulled over."

Pause. "Oh yeah."

We hit the road, and I settled in for yet another drive through the land before Time/Warner. Three things make this worthwhile for me. First and foremost, I get to see Michael again, so I'll have someone to get my jokes and to tell me all kinds of obscure facts about things nobody else knows. Second, the Gambier Deli serves an amazing toasted onion bagel with cheese and red pepper open face sandwich that I can't get enough of. Seriously- sitting in that little deli is, to me, as great or better than the time I sat in the St. Mark's Cathedral plaza in Venice eating lemon gelato. Third, the ride includes a couple of landmarks worth noting.

The first point of interest is the giant statue of Uncle Sam that advertises fireworks just across the Ohio border. I've seen photographic evidence that if you stand at his feet and look up, he looks down at you menacingly and his left hand gives the finger. It's all in the perspective. The second comes much later when the road suddenly narrows down to one lane and all cars are forced onto an offramp. A sign directs highway travelers left across a bridge where, if you look to the right, there is no road coming out the other side. Road, then... trees. I've come to refer to this as the End of the World. The highway continues a little while later at an intersection with a little bar on the corner near the End. It isn't the restaurant at the End of the Universe, but it's the thought that counts.

So, in between landmarks and turns, I was left to listen to music and try to keep up with Dad. I've made the drive solo several times, but this was the first time I came close to doing it in twelve parsecs. Darn close. My speedometer needle went up and leaned to the right more often that the Wall Street Journal editorial page. All the while, stories of the Ohio Highway Patrol echoed in my mind. "They don't cut anybody a break." "Maximum fine every time." That, and reassuring myself that passing a tall semi truck on the inside of a turn was safe enough because if the truck tipped over it would fall away from me. I don't usually speed, and I've had a dull gnawing worry that now that I've been accepted to grad school I'm going to blow up in some spectacular and ironic car crash. By the way, I should also mention that I spend most of the drive coming up with clever metaphors for going fast, but most of them were terrible, so I'll spare you all.

When we stopped for food at a gas station, Dad told me that there was one turn that he didn't remember that well, so if we took the wrong one, flash my headlights. We got back on the road and he suddenly turned off at the very next offramp, a good deal before the one I take as prescribed by Mapquest. I flashed my lights frantically and fumbled with the cell phone trying to dial his number. We pulled over and he told me that his GPS had told him to turn, and that we'd still end up on the same highway to go south. It made sense to me. The problem was that, many miles later, the GPS instructed us to take a ramp that was closed for construction.

Gps: "Turn here... Turn here... Come, brave Odysseus, and crash your ship into these rocks so that we may eat you and your crew... Turn here... Turn here..."

Remember when Obi-Wan Kenobi tells Luke to switch off his targeting computer and go with his instincts in the Force? Remember how that worked out? When in doubt, trust the Trilogy.

After a detour through the pleasant town of Ontario and a turn onto the highway we wanted in the first place. I listened to the Doors Greatest Hits and he Smashing Pumpkins Adore, which are great because they put me at ease for an otherwise tedious drive.

We came upon Kenyon College at last, and made our way up the hill to the campus and onto one of my favorite streets in the world. An idyllic little brick building and tree lined road with sidewalks. And women. ("Women sir?" "Aye." "Pretty women.") Confident, well-read, cultured women as far as the eye can see. The kind of young women for whom the line "what's your favorite Nick Adams Story?" would work. In my mind, anyway. I can't actually try this, as I always smell like a three hour car ride.

We parked and met Michael as he was coming out of his room. His hair looks longer, and his stride indicates an end-of-semester fatigue, though he smiles the same as always. I already described the bagel at the deli, and it was every bit as good as I expected. Michael informed Dad and I that he will be learning Anglo-Saxon next year, and I think we both had the same confused expression on our faces.

His dorm room is surprisingly clean and his things are ready to be carried to the cars. Laundry, books, computer, and issues of the Collegian that he has input in all get crammed into trunks and back seats. One item gets special treatment, though. I place a small lamp with three monkeys carefully behind the front seat to protect it and all of it's inherent coolness. In the process of carrying a defunct (stress the FUNK) refrigerator to the trash pile, I got to meet Michael's room mate for next year. He seems nice, the poor soul. We bade a manly farewell to Jay the RA and drove to the bookstore. Courtesy of Michael's seemingly bottomless account, we loaded up on goodies. I got a cool punk rock magazine, Dad found a sweatshirt for Mom (she will wear it in this weather, just watch), and Michael bought a CD by one of the campus vocal ensembles.

Departing Gambier, Michael and I always speak back and forth in excited bits of sentences until the outskirts of the small town of Mount Vernon, where he promptly falls asleep. I listen to noisy punk music and psyche myself up for the distance to the gas station stop when I can get a Frappuccino for the rest of the way home. We passed through a torrential rain storm; a squall so fierce that Dad slowed down to the speed limit. Michael slept through most of this, until I swore and narrowly avoided a semi in the right lane swerving to avoid a truck by the side of the road. Thankfully, I've played Starfox 64 enough to escape these tight situations.

We arrived home to a vegetarian chili dinner and two manic dogs, happy to see Michael in particular.

I got a message that Todd had called, so I went over to his apartment to watch The Last Samurai with a bunch of other people. It was cool, but not as much as Kurosawa's work. Todd also showed me his new G4 iBook and worked on loading it with all sorts of goodies. James lives there now too, and we all played with his GI Joes and laughed our twenty-ish arses off. These are the things I really miss about college: sporadic GI Joe fun and listening to Todd talk as he installs software.

All in all, this has been a great couple of days. I think I'll go collapse.

Moving
A Blog Post in Two Parts

I
Moving In

This morning I got out of bed early enough to warrant noting it in this space (7:00 AM), with good enough reason not to curse and go back to sleep. Aside from the almighty dollar, there are precisely two people I gladly get up that early for; Gerry or Michael. Today was for the former, the Fool®. Gerry has decided to return to Ball State (stop me if you've heard this one) to earn his teaching license for journalism education.

I spent a little while on my animation this morning, just so I wouldn't feel guilty for neglecting my work, and then I set out to meet Gerry and his family to travel to BSU for the great American move-in day, also accompanied by BSU alum and fellow amateur mover Jason. There was some discussion on how to divide up six people among two vans, four in the family minivan and two in a white rental. Standard twenty-something logic said put the four college-age guys in the minivan with the small items and put the two responsible parents in the expensive rented van. Infallible Mom Logic said that the roads were wet and neither of her sons ought to be driving the van in those conditions. Sensible (and impatient to get on the road) paternal logic said (paraphrase) "You four boys in the minivan, we'll take the big van. Follow us." This worked out well. With Gerry at the wheel, I in the passenger seat, and the back loaded up with lamps and laundry, we departed.

The ride down I-69 was mostly dry and filled with talk of comic books and Fort Wayne television news gossip, underscored by a booming rap mix CD compiled from the Indiana University fraternity digital music collection. Four white boys in a minivan listening to loud rap was the 3rd place selection for the Indiana state quarter. At about the point that we ran out of music we reached the iconic Big Jack statue that marks the correct Muncie exit and the way to Gerry's new apartment; a spacious single bedroom luxurious enough to have carpet that had been replaced since the Teapot Dome Scandal.

We were joined by Gerry's longtime sidekick and temporary neighbor Moses*, another volunteer mover. Seven people may seem a tad excessive, but it worked out for the best as the vans were emptied quickly in the rain. Once the futon, TV with stand, desk, and bed were in place, Gerry's brother Steve and I set ourselves to the task of assembling Gerry's new furniture. Steve and I worked on a kitchen table with stubbornly uneven wings, while Moses took a box full of abstract plastic components and built a vacuum cleaner out of them. I snapped together a wire modular shelf kit in all of three minutes. Steve assembled a curious neo-modern nightstand with a drawer, four different handle color choices, and precious few straight right angled pieces to make any kind of sense with the directions. Jason and Gerry pushed furniture around in a game of Feng-Shui Tetris until a satisfactory setup was attained. Meanwhile, the parents set up the kitchen and hovered around making sure we had the right tools.
[*Marvel style footnote- see 4-14 for his first appearance, true believers! -LV]

We all went to Pizza Hut for lunch, collectively opting for the meager lunch buffet. For some reason the kitchen staff had decided this was the day to clean out the refrigerator and dump odd ingredients on the doughy half-baked pies, and nearly everything had mushrooms. There was one with just mushrooms and cheese. There was rumor of a plain cheese pizza coming soon, so we sat and waited, vowing that we would beat the four year old at a nearby table to the pizza. We were hungry, and Gerry is never one to let little kids push him around.

After Lunch, Gerry needed groceries, so we all took a trip to the Muncie Wal-Mart. I know I've waxed poetic/ sarcastic about this establishment before, but seriously, you have to see this place. Ed Wood couldn't design the experience any stranger. Gerry gathered food with his parents while the rest of us perused the toy aisles and mocked the carnival sideshow selection of discount movies and music.

Back at the apartment we waited for the cable company to come hook up the digital cable and internet. Gerry dealt with the tired and gruff internet installer while Jason calmly explained to the TV installer how to hook up the cable to the TV and the VCR separately. I sat on the couch and twirled a pair of pliers in my hand because I was tired. Once everything was reasonably well organized, we locked up and left for home.

Tomorrow: I go deep into the heart of darkest Ohio and the idyllic Kenyon to bring my brother back to Fort Wayne. He'll thank me for this someday, he just doesn't know it yet.

As of the beginning of this writing, frame promo_r1.0144.tif is rendering in a series of 430. It isn't anything especially exciting, merely a flashlight moving around. The larger purpose of this is that I'm applying to a company that wants to maybe/possibly/hopefully add an animator to their staff to make animated promo type things for their project proposals. I needed something that didn't have anything to do with dancing monkish, bumper cars, or robots menacing the countryside. I chose to make a little promo animation with a Mag-Lite flashlight to demonstrate how good I am at pretending to be serious and professional.

The render finished, BTW, and it looks okay so far. Hopefully I'll be done tomorrow night. I recall Todd lamenting once about the need for sleep. I quite agree. If I didn't have to sleep, I could get so much more done. Even if some of that new time awake was spent playing video games, I could use the rest to do constructive things and still come out ahead.

In unrelated news- how do we, the human race, surpass the great pyramids or the moon landing? This is a good start.

Times, they are a-changin'. Blogger just got an internal overhaul and now you can all comment on my posts here. You have the option of posting anonymously, but anyone who does please sign your name. I'll see if this is one of those things I want to keep.

I made pancakes this morning. Normally, this wouldn't be blogfodder, but for three things: One, I got up more than an hour and a half before I had to clock in at work. Two, I had a breakfast that isn't readily available to astronauts. Three, these pancakes were from scratch. Real butter in the recipe and everything. Things went smoothly for the most part. The eggshells didn't crack without a fight, suggesting that chickens are now being fed calcium supplements. The food processor was built during the bygone era when "intuitive-ease-of-use" was not yet part of the popular vernacular. I ended up holding the lid down with one hand and pressing the recessed button with a pencil, and if that sounds awkward then you have some idea of what I looked like doing it. Pouring the batter into the pan proved daunting, and most of the pancakes came out looking like the clocks in Dali's Persistence of Memory. The pan smoked quite a bit too, irritating my eyes. The end result was worthwhile, though, as they tasted pretty good and now the house smells like pancakes. The haphazard stack was split among three people including myself. If I ever do this again, though, I think I'll try to get more than two. That'd be sweet.

Now that I've conquered pancakes, I think I might try the Filipino boxspring hog.

Here's something funny I just learned. This is the new 2004 US nickel, marking the bicentennial +1 of the Louisiana Purchase. This is the logo for the Socialist party. Click on both links, I'm relying on visual comparison here. Notice a similarity? One of my Mom's fourth graders saw this and showed her.

I saw something today that blew my mind. The kind of thing that takes everything I know about conservation of mass and tosses it in the woods like so much grass clippings. I stopped at a local Shell gas station to put air in my tires- not just because it's cool, but because it's responsible. I was pulling in to find the air hose when I saw one of those gigantic humvee limousines driving through the parking lot. It lumbered around and began to move toward the entrance to the carwash a few feet from my position. I couldn't see very well as it entered, but I was right by the exit when it came out, much like the huge long spaceship in Spaceballs.

I also saw my buddy's newly acquired hernia scar, complete with stitches, bruising, and bloating. I was a bit taken aback, but I expected to see what I saw, given my proud heritage of hospitalization. A hernia to my family is like first communion to a Catholic.

Those of you who know me know that I have a thing for gadgetry. It's kind of a James Bond/ Batman/ Inspector Gadget sort of thing. I like to have various tools and implements with me, for necessity as well as the childish glee of having pockets full of stuff. My brother adopted a term for this collection of gadgets: the inventory. This comes from the Final Fantasy game series and the classic Lucasarts adventure games of a decade ago, wherein the inventory is a menu full of important objects and ephemera collected and used throughout the game. Some of these virtual items are useful no matter what, like healing potions (Final Fantasy), whereas other items serve a singular purpose, like a rubber chicken with a pulley in the middle (Monkey Island).

My typical inventory varies, depending on what I'm planning on doing. For example: a normal day at work requires substantially less than a weekend roadtrip across several state lines. While it is true that I never know what I'll need on a daily basis, I have a sort of loose priority system for what gets carried. Here, now, is a look at my inventory.

Item: Gerber Multitool
Description: Collapsible metal pliers with various tools in the handle segments.
Use: When things break, I fix them.

Item: iPod
Description: 10 GB digital music player loaded with everything from Verdi to Thug Murder.
Use: Daily, whenever I need music.

Item: Black Bag (geek chic man-purse)
Description: Black cloth bag with several pockets and ample storage.
Use: Whenever I need to schlepp stuff.

Item: LED pocket light (green) with chain
Description: Compact illumination with minimal ambient light.
Use: In lieu of cursing the darkness.

Item: Moleskine Notebook
Description: Classic black notebook with acid free sketch paper, storage pocket, and an elastic band.
Use: Storage of half-baked ideas and important memos.

Item: Pocket Watch
Description: Round metal watch on a chain.
Use: To remind me that I'm late.

Those are the things I typically carry around, depending on what I'm doing. Feel free to copy the format and post your own inventory on your site if you wish.