The big cultural question of this generation will be, for better or for worse, "where were you on September 11th?" Much like the deaths of John and Robert Kennedy, this otherwise innocuous early autumn day has become an immediately recognized day of infamy and sadness, so much so that the corresponding year of 2001 is left to the shared assumption of the populace. To be more specific, then, where were you on September 11th, 2004?



In 2002, there was a solemn memorial held across the nation. The dust in New York City had settled or blown out to the ocean, the Pentagon had been repaired, and the burned scar in a field in Pennsylvania was beginning to grow wild grass in patches of dirt not too saturated with jet fuel. Similarly, the nation as a whole seemed to exhale a bit. One year later and at least two hours back on the Damoclean doomsday clock, America was still on the map. My own choruses of Barry Allen's "Eve of Destruction" had turned out to be premature, thank goodness.



In 2003 we lost our sense of humor. Coping mechanisms that had been the chic of the past two years became sources of shame and embarrassment. Overeating due to stress became the "plague of obesity" on the nightly news, reinforced with pictures of overstuffed children and anonymously photographed giant adult midsections, cropped in and blown up in hi-definition for the world to see and scorn. Stress in general became any number of "anxiety disorders" or even "adult ADD." However you feel, there's a pill so you won't. Rational discussion also fell out of favor, as often happens to groups of people under pressure. News programs degraded into gladiatorial shouting matches for the favor of the public and the patronage of advertisers. The extremes on both ends screamed world war III at anyone who would listen. Whether America falls to ruin tomorrow or miraculously enters an era of peace and prosperity, the pop-pundits will emerge from this period each with their own personal fortune to retire in luxury.



In the weeks approaching September of 2004, I began to wonder how this year should be marked. More quiet reflection with video montages on TV? Eat a lot and yell at someone who disagrees with me? Spending another day reliving the bloodiest day in American history and recounting two of the most trying years since the last big war era is not how I wish to spend the rest of my finite and chillingly precarious life. But to try to forget and pass the day like any other would be callous, and would require avoiding other people, lest someone self-consciously mention the date in conversation. After some thought on the matter, I decided on a third option.



In 2004, I smiled. With conviction. I woke up in the house I spent most of my life growing up in and came downstairs to my parents. Mom made cookies for me to take back to my apartment, Dad sat and drank his coffee from the same sacred ìDadî mug he's used since I was little, the dogs ran around barking at squirrels, and I was happy to be visiting home. I bypassed the front page for the sports section where I found that the Cubs won the second of a double-header, and I was happy to cheer for my team. I called my brother to ask where the spare set of car keys went, and, upon hearing that he was out on a Saturday morning with no foreseeable time to return, I was happy that he is happy and prosperous. I was happy to hear that my high school marching band started their season today with two contests in one day. In general, I was happy.



Upon arrival back at BSU, I spent much of the remainder of the day with my good friend Gerry. We laughed, celebrated another victory for the Cubs, and wandered around the mall with no real shopping agenda aside from a gift for his co-worker. In the later evening, I went to the Heorat to meet my fellow graduate students and see a band fronted by another of our classmates. We drank, sang along to raucous blues rock, and the whole bar smiled in the cloying atmosphere of dim lighting and thick smoke.



Allen Ginsberg posited the volatile question: "America, why are your libraries full of tears?" Ours is a tumultuous history, inexorably intertwined in the history of the world. The calculated actions of madmen who export fear and rigid obedience to the rest of the world are regular footnotes in the record of the centuries of civilization, but they have never defined or altered the course of history completely. This may be because the most fundamental defense against them is to smile, laugh, and remember why life is worthwhile in the first place- friends, family, and a belief in a better tomorrow.

I rented Taxi Driver last night, at long last. I'd tried in vain for years to get it at the Fort Wayne library and I think they lost the DVD at some point. It was a good movie, kind of like Catcher in the Rye with a lot more guns and drugs. What really impressed me was the editing. It's obvious that Martin Scorsese trusted his actors enough to leave the camera running during long exchanges between characters instead of editing every sentence back and forth between shots. The famous "you talkin to me?" monologue is one of these shots.

Back to class today. I'm current on all of the reading so far, so it shouldn't be a big deal. I feel a little like Harold Hill (or perhaps Lile Lanley). "Yes, digital storytelling, that's the ticket! Media convergence, narrative, paradigm, blah-biddy-blah-internet." I'll feel a lot better when I'm able to get back to actual video and animation work.

"If we were talking face to face, ... you would have heard me say just now to someone climbing the stairs outside my window 'Your pants are falling off, you retard.' And I guess saying that isn't very PC, but neither is walking around without really committing to wearing pants."

-My brother Michael

Today I was working on encoding videos for the teacher's college website at work. I've told everybody who asks that "yes, I know all about digital video editing." It appears some people take this statement at face value, because today I got to use Final Cut Pro, which I haven't really dabbled in since USF, to color correct these videos. It kept crashing, and this happens enough that the video guy here has this note below his monitor: EXPECT A CRASH. Yup. After a while, I started looking for other options. I ended up signing away my masculinity and self-respect by using iMovie, the generic Apple box video editor to fix the contrast and export video suitable for the web. It worked surprisingly well, albeit clumsy for multiple video file exporting. So, I got an important lesson about techno-hubris, and Apple got a fat stack of OS X crash reports to ignore.

Gerry and I ware going to the Football game tonight. We get in free, and the school gets to use the new lights for the first time. More importantly, we'll see our newly acquired friends in the band. That counts for something. Gerry also promises that we'll leave if they get blown out early, which is likely.

There used to be some concern, at least in my mind, that the things I write here are boring and repetitious, and void of any real content. That may even have been true while I was working retail during the past year. In light of the past hour and a half, though, I now feel much better about the things I used to write. I just spent a good size chunk of time reading a twelve page .pdf of a scanned chapter about narrative. The author had maybe three interesting points that could have been summed up in four pages. I wouldn't be all that upset, as twelve pages isn't normally very long, but I know that this probably won't be important in class Monday. The last reading assignment was a 30 page small print history of narrative, and I decided that I was going to read the hell out of it. I highlighted, wrote in the margins, and even made notes to myself about what I was going to ask in class and even made conjecture about what we might discuss as a whole. I'm a serious student now, right? No longer the aloof academic screw-up with a singular focus on animation that I was in undergrad, right? I read that damn thing for three and a half hours, fighting fatigue and my almost non-existent attention span, trying to make sense of the schizophrenic academic language that these damn things are always written in. My brother knows what I'm talking about; we've had this discussion about academic writing being needlessly complex and murky.

The discussion in class was focused around a powerpoint presentation of images pilfered from the internet. A dozen or so slides with jpegs on a black background as a (dubious) supplement to a lecture about symbols in history. We covered maybe half of what I had read for class. It was marginally interesting, but nobody else in the room really knew how to add to a possible discussion. I said something and one of my classmates, a card-carrying Superextrovert if ever there was one, said something, and that was it. These are smart people, too. Maybe things will get better, I don't know.

As I've been writing this, the squeaky-voiced guy I mentioned before sat down about thirty feet from me. I have my earphones in, and his little muppet voice still cuts through the live recording of the Smashing Pumpkins song "I am One"; roughly eight minutes of distorted guitar crunch and screaming vocals. This is no match for his super-sonic warblings, though. For some reason, I keep seeing him around this big campus, a place where it's possible to never see a good deal of the student population. Of course I see him, but for the life of me I can't seem to run into the cute Bulgarian artist with whom I discussed Christo and pop art for the better part of two hours the other night at the Hoarat. Insert irritated sigh here.

This whole grad school thing is a pretty strange endeavor. I think I'm getting the feel for it, but that could be because I took an allergy pill that put me in a stupor. From my antihistimine haze, this all looks pretty well possible to accomplish, but that could be because I'm incapable of panicking until the medication wears off. I set my work hours for this semester today. I had to distribute them around my already haptic schedule, but it should work okay. I do four hours a day, give or take, and most days I do two blocks of two hour shifts between classes. My office (yeah, office)that I share with my boss is right across the street from the comm building with all of my classes and a place to eat. It's all quite convenient. I'll often have only scant minutes to make it from work to class, but I scheduled plenty of time to eat lunch and dinner on most days.

The library here has a great collection of Kurosawa's movies here, so I checked out The Hidden Fortress, the movie that inspired Star Wars. I might even have time to watch it one of these nights when I'm not too tired.

I'm sitting in the BSU library right now with a clear view of a large gray cement pillar behind my monitor. Behind that the view is better, though, with many shelves of books and periodicals.

I moved the remainder of my stuff into my apartment last night, and to mark the occasion, Gerry and I went to the village to celebrate. We had a beer at the Bird, formerly a Buffalo Wild Wings franchise, followed by a stop at the Martini Bar across the street. It's a swanky little establishment, with cool lighting and reasonably clean couches. He had a fruity concoction, but I opted to wait for some time when I didn't have the overpowering flavor of Guiness in my mouth. We talked about all the usual stuff that we've talked about for years, and then chatted with the bartender for awhile. She was cool, but then some guy started trying to get into an argument with Gerry about how BSU's journalism program isn't as well respected as Notre Dame. I don't know what his problem was, but he had thick glasses, a hearing aid, and a high squeaky voice. Those disadvantages coupled with a bad attitude made arguing with him rather pointless and dull, so we left.

The graduate development conference this morning was actually worthwhile in a big way. It turns out that my old high school friend Jessica is a grad student here too. We caught up with each other during breaks and over lunch. I also met a couple of people from my same area of digital storytelling. Media geeks aplenty. I talked to one of my co-workers, and she said that my work computer is awesome. I get a GB of RAM.

After the conference I went and took a walk through the art museum here. The collection is pretty nice, with a couple of Ansel Adams prints and a Degas statue, among a few other names I recognized.

I got my student ID picture taken. If you can imagine me as Andy Kaufman, that's what it looks like. Kind of crazed, but fortunately not at all like the passport photos of the 9/11 highjackers. That counts for a lot, I think.

My stuff is still mostly scattered and in boxes and I need to go to the store to buy food. I haven't any orange juice, and I fear I may succumb to the scurvy.

Last night was honored to attend the wedding of my former roommate Todd and my friend Christa. Wedding reception, to be precise, at the botanical conservatory. The wedding was a smaller family and cameraman only affair before the meal. I arrived a little late after cleaning up from moving my stuff to my apartment earlier, and dinner had already started. I was pretty sure this was the right place. All wedding parties look the same until you recognize someone you know. In this case, Andrew, my friend and conscience during college spotted me and called to me from where he was sitting. I hadn't seen him in a long time. His hair was always long in college, then he cut it short a while back, and now it's getting longer again. This may sound rather pedestrian, but it's significant to me. We were the two long-haired art students, you see.

The wedding reception was outdoors in a tent on a beautiful evening. It was idyllic, really, not a cloud in the sky. It's what you get when two artists get married. There were little girls who I assumed to be her cousins wearing wreathes of orange leaves who were darting around laughing as little kids are prone to do. A band was playing acoustic music, sometimes featuring a seven-year-old fiddle player who was really good.

I went to drop off my wedding present on the designated table and then to congratulate Todd and Christa. They were both much cleaner than I had seen them in years. Todd was clean shaven with a neatly trimmed goatee, and Christa didn't have any paint on her hands. Other people at their table looked more familiar, though. Marlon had his Canon XL-1s with a big shoulder-rig and eight-inch digital display. James was alternately using Todd's 16mm Bolex camera and Super-8 camera. He handed me the Super-8 for when the bride and groom danced together and with their parents. All was right with the world, then. Just like in college, Todd was directing, and James, Marlon, and I were shooting footage. I can't wait to see the final edited product. Rachel, James's wife and professional photographer, was shooting still images with a professional digital camera that made me quietly drool with deadly-sin level envy.

James pulled me aside and told me that Todd was going to play a song that he wrote for Christa as a surprise, and I needed to film that too. Armed with the Super-8 I filmed Todd playing his guitar and her reaction to the song. It was one he wrote back when we lived in an apartment. I remember him staying up all night writing and playing, and a couple of days later the apartment office gave us a notice that we'd been too loud because of the guitar sound all night. I slept through it, so it wasn't that loud at all, but the lady next door didn't like it.

We all sat around talking and catching up on everything we'd done at and since USF. I got to talk to Christa's Mom briefly, too. I always had oddly spontaneous conversations with her, like the time she called Todd and I's dorm room looking for Christa. She was out with Todd, so we ended up having a nice conversation about art history and things to see in Italy. I also saw Todd's lifelong friend Russell, to whom I am forever indebted because he got me a Smashing Pumpkins ticket back when they were at Purdue.

It was an enjoyable wedding reception. I like those two together, and I can only say that about a certain number of people. I know some couples who I don't think will last more than ten years, but I'm confidant that Todd and Christa have a long, crazy life ahead of them.

I have a cell phone now. It's a big step for me, as I generally don't approve of the devices. I think they're needless gimmicks, toys of affluence, arrogant, and rude. I despise classical music ringtones especially, and most other cellphone noises in general. I don't like the feeling that I'm always available with this, either. So why, then, can I not put the thing down? I'm enamored with it. I've fiddled endlessly with the little features, trying various display color schemes and wallpapers. Currently I have a little cartoon bomb icon in the back, though I'm strongly considering changing to the black pumpkin icon. There doesn't seem to be a cool skull icon, but if there were, I'd use that. I check obsessively for missed calls and voicemail messages, though this has yet to be an issue, as only three people have my number. I don't know what I would say if someone would call me, though. I'm not really a talkative person. The phone is a little smaller than my iPod, but I have yet to decide of that is significant. I suppose it won't be that bad to have, but if I ever leave it on during class or in a movie theater and it rings I'll have to commit seppuku.

I got my first look at my apartment today. In a way, I signed the lease sight-unseen, but I had already seen what it would be like when I took a tour with Gerry and his kin. The walls were freshly painted white and the electricity was on and powering the refrigerator. My brother filled my ice cube tray, so at least it's doing something somewhat constructive. Also, for some reason www.apartmentsguide.com/ gave me a $50 discount on my first month's rent. I've never been to this site, but if they're footing the bill for part of my rent, I'll give them a plug here. It probably means that one of their admins reserves the right to crash on my floor for a couple days, though.

Last Saturday at 5:56 PM I shelved my last book at the library. Feeling a strange sort of giddiness surge through me as I stood up, I wheeled my big wooden cart back to the employee elevator on the fourth floor and proceeded to the basement where I removed my ID tag and walked out for the last time. No more books in bulk for me, just one book at a time now. An oil tanker full of rolaids and preparation h couldn't match the level of relief I felt as I made the two block trek back to my car, past the bank buildings, through the alley with the Cthulhu graffiti, and across the freshly paved road to the library lot. Even the mundanity of the local radio stations couldn't quash my good spirits.

I stopped at Books Comics and Things and picked up Ultimate Nightmare #1 and the new Batman 12-cent Adventure. Ultimate Nightmare seems interesting, and it's written by Warren Ellis, so I expect good things, even though most of the pages are ads. The Batman 12-cent stories are always cheap springboards into longer story arcs, which serve as a great preview of things to come. This particular issue wasn't particularly interesting or well-written, but for 12 cents, it was a decent read.

Last night, as I was practicing my guitar, I accomplished something significant (for me). I was practicing the song Jennifer Ever by the Smashing Pumpkins, which uses the F chord often. Normally, I can't hit this chord at all, but last night I did.

So, thus begins a week of preparation for moving to BSU. I'm going to do as much laundry as I can while I'm here so that I don't have to worry about that later, and so I don't smell funny as I introduce myself to new aquaintainces. I have a decent hodgepodge collection of amenities and brickabrack from my previous college experience, except for a dish drainer for the sink. It seems an odd item to be lacking, but I never had one when I lived in an apartment my senior year, so I didn't know that I needed one until someone told me.

I've been really boring for the past week. Just dull. The next few weeks will be much busier as I pack and move to BSU, so I've allowed myself some downtime. Yeah, that's the ticket.

I've been reading The Smashing Pumpkins: Tales of a Scorched Earth by Amy Hanson. I ordered it at Barnes and Noble and it came in a month ahead of the scheduled release date, much to my surprise and delight. It's a little bit challenging to read, though. I'm pretty sure the author did all of the editing herself, judging by the unusual amount of cliches and egregious similes. The book is really well researched, though. I mean really well researched. The author gathered information from sources so obscure that even the most devoted fansite wouldn't have on file. Even personal interviews with producers who remember the band from back in 1988. It was at least twenty-five pages before the first Metro concert was ever mentioned.

I went to the eye doctor this morning. My eyes are fine, even though I got them dilated. When I left I needed sunglasses for anything brighter than indoor lighting, and my peripheral vision was so wide I could almost see my ears. I looked pretty cracked-out.

This is my last week at the library. I'm not especially sorry to leave this job, even though I like some of the people I work with. I am going to miss the cheese bagels from the food cart in the entryway, though. Those are amazingly good.

I got the call about the web content job at BSU today. I got the job, and apparently I get more money for it than I originally thought. In addition to this, I think I get a newly renovated office space to work in. I also know I like my boss, whom I've spoken with a couple of times. She's nice and competent, and I don't imagine she'll ever tell me that I need to work harder to sell reader's advantage cards.

This hasn't been the case for a long time, but I've been so busy this past week that I haven't blogged. I've been doing things.

Last Monday I was in Muncie for an interview about a web content producer grad position. I think it was a good interview, and I'll hear if I got it or not in the next few days. After that, Gerry and I went and drove to downtown Muncie to find dinner. If I ever need photo-reference for the city at the end of the world, I'll know where to go. I thought certain parts of Toledo were depressing, but this might top that. We did eat at a good restaurant, though. I had a grilled sandwich that I anticipate eating again sometime in the next few months. And there were boats hanging from the ceiling, in the eventual case that Muncie is wiped from the landscape in a flood.

Tuesday through Thursday, work, yadda-yadda.

Friday night after I left the library I went to Cebolla (pronounced seh-boy-ya) for dinner with several of my college friends. It's the second best Mexican food in town, which is still quite good. I ate cheese enchiladas and caught up with two of my old forensics comrades, and life was good. I came home and later my brother and I watched Duck Tales at three in the morning, and it was every bit as cool as I could've hoped.

Saturday evening was my last day at Barnes and Noble, which is both good and bad. I'm happy to be closer to leaving for grad school, but I'm going to miss my co-workers. I went to Henry's with three of these guys after work and they gave me a proper send-off. We talked about books, mostly. These are some freaky-smart guys with literature, which is why I like them, because it gives me something to aspire to and they recommend really good books. We toasted to my success in continued education, and then to The Da Vinci Code and mediocrity.

Today my brother and I went to dinner at Taco Cabana- the highlight of this outing is in his blog. After this, we went to check out the new Mitchell's bookstore that opened where Million Story Books used to be. It is only the second day of business for them, but I wasn't all that impressed. The books were scattered and disheveled, even though we were two of maybe four customers in the store, and the staff were just standing around. Also, it isn't the most efficient use of space. The science section is right in the front, and for some reason they sell luggage. And the fiction wasn't even alphabetized right, and biographies were mixed in all crazy-like. In short, I don't know what they hope to accomplish with this store, but organization really ought to be a priority. I kept feeling that it's just not Million Story, which made the place feel sad, like a dead bird. That sounds dramatic, but it really was a somber feeling in there.

I'm going to turn in my resignation at the library this week. It's not at bad job, but I don't think I'll miss it as much. I'm not all that attached to it.

I had quite a night last night. As per the mission statement of this blog, every time I do something interesting my small but distinguished audience gets to hear about it.

When I got home from work last night, my brother informed me that the Three Rivers Festival's most essential Junk Food Alley would not last for the duration of the festival, but only half. We had planned on going on Tuesday, but all we would've found then is an empty space and a few bloated carnie corpses (they always leave a few). Our goal was to find something fried and delicious, and this year did not disappoint. First, though, we took a walk through the carnival.

This was the first bright shiny novelty to catch my eye. Most carnival rides are titled "serpent", or "racer", and are painted to reinforce these names. The theme here was film. Apparently, sitting in a teacup and spinning around is just like being in the movies. I think "ciak!" is Italian for either "action" or "motion sickness".

I liked this shot with the lights and the sunset and the helicopter. There was a similar scene in Apocalypse Now, so of course I had to pay homage. There are always helicopter rides every year, but the ride is really expensive. I think Gerry went on it one year, and I didn't want to so I sat on a bench and got to know Wes. Good times.

I hoped I would get a cool tracer effect here, but no such luck. I include this image anyway because Michael dubbed it the dumbest ride there because it holds you upside down for a long time. I agree, that is pretty lame. "Metal fatigue" spelled upside down still means the thing. After I took this picture, some peasant did a slurred impression of someone asking me for fifty cents. Ahh, carnivals.

At this point, we made our meandering way to the food. Last year, we ate Milky Way candy bars dipped in funnel cake batter and fried and covered in powdered sugar on a stick. If your religion doesn't include some mention of this, you're being seriously gypped. After solemn consideration and perusal of the various fried-dough-capable neon trailers, we decided on...

Fried Oreos.

Served hot and delicious, these were our fried indulgence of the evening. Even as they lay cooling on my lap, I could smell how sweet they were.

Inside view. Michael commented that for the price we paid, they could've at least used double-stuff. They're still good, though.

One of Michael's cookies actually fused together in the frying process. This is dangerous science, here; not to be trifled with. When we were standing in line pondering what we were going to eat, we heard somebody call the various fried cookies and candy bars "heart-attack on a stick." As we were eating, Michael responded to this: "I've had a heart attack, and it kind of sucked. These are awesome." We made our way back to the car as it began to rain slightly, our stomachs full of fried dough and lard cookies. It's bliss, I tell you what.

After we got home, I remembered that one of my co-workers at the Library was having a party. I've known her since middle school, and she said that there would be live DJs there, so I figured I ought to give it a go. After all, the premise was lucrative in of itself- an outdoor party at night in the middle of nowhere with live techno music. I'm no socialite, but I am a sucker for novelty.

I exited the interstate by the General Motors plant and drove east into the uncertain lightless void that is rural Allen county. My invitation said to take the second exit and turn left, putting me in increasingly unfamiliar territory. Still, I pressed on through the directions and pulled into an unassuming farm driveway. There were cars parked on the grass, indicating I had found the place. Still no sign of a party, though. No lights or music, just a quiet farm at ten o'clock at night. There was a grass path with tire tracks on it and a sign advising against driving on the muddy grass. I took this as an indication that the rest of the trip would be on foot.

The walk back was dark and quiet, with a field to my left and eventually trees to my right. The clouds overhead obscured the moon and stars, so the only light I had to navigate by was the ambient light from the GM plant two miles away. I could feel that the soft ground under my boots was grass and occasionally mud, so I took this as a good sign. Tire tracks lead to people, or so my theory went. After about ten minutes or so I came upon a pond dimly illuminated by the industrial light bounce off the clouds. On the far side I could see a bonfire and a lantern, and movement that looked like people. The way around the pond was shrouded in trees. To quote my wise Grandpa, it was "darker than a sack of assholes."

I reached the bonfire circle of partially visible strangers and scanned for a familiar face. My co-worker Levon was the first person I could recognize, so I sat down in a chair beside him and we talked about stuff and idle chitchat. I knew a few people, including the host. This was all well and good, but the real fun started with the music.

Two DJs were standing at a table under a tent. Their equipment was laid out in front of them like something at NASA. Like funky NASA, to be specific. Each had some sort of drum machine with blinking light buttons to indicate which beats and parts were playing. Each was linked to a larger control box in the center with sliders and lights that shifted the sound in different ways. I stood watching as they worked, listening to the thumping music and studying how each guy changed the music every now and then. Though the beats and sounds were pre-programmed, the whole thing came off as one continuous jam session. The free form aspects of it came from the DJ's improvisation and ad-lib. I kind of felt like Mr. Rogers, visiting an unfamiliar place and learning all about it. Like the aforementioned sage, I felt hopelessly square among the cool people around me, but I watched enthusiastically and nodded my head to the beat.

People would periodically get up and dance when the DJs were doing something interesting. Not the lame-ass R&B club dancing that keeps me away from dance clubs, but cool crazy dancing. This is often accompanied by people waving various colored lights around with varying degrees of success. One guy had two glowsticks tied together, but every time he'd swing them around one of them would fly off and he'd have to go chase it. That was kind of funny, but the really cool thing was the girl who was swinging two wires with clusters of LEDs on the ends. Each strand twirls opposite the other, and in the dark with the music it looks really intricate. The lights illuminated her as they swung past quickly with red, blue, and yellow light. I can't help but think that Degas would have absolutely loved this dancing with weird light. Her next feat was holding the lights close to her hands, standing in front of people and moving the lights in front of and around the person's head in a dizzying display. She turned to me and asked if I'd like to try. I gave an affirmative and she introduced herself. Then, lights in hands, she rapidly waved them around in a random pattern, sometimes in opposite ways so my eyes couldn't follow both. It was quite something. I watched the DJs for a little while more, but I had to leave early because I had to work for eight hours the next day.

Like an Orc peon with four trees left within reasonable walking distance of his Orc encampment, I'm getting close to being done with my work at Barnes and Noble. It's funny, because different people have all said "so, I hear you're leaving us" in the same casual way. This leads to me telling them that I'm going back to school at Ball State. Inevitably, I then have to explain what Digital Storytelling is. It feels pretty darn good to be working behind a counter and think about how I could break out in a dance like Christopher Walken in that Fatboy Slim video. Coincidentally, I found this list of things that people ask in bookstores. I've heard most of them, often more than once. I recommend perusing the other lists on the site, too.

Well, wonder of wonders, the computer is fine. The guy at A-plus was able to install a new drive and even recover all the data from the old one. Looks like I can keep all of my digital ephemera.

Now that I have a fully armed and operational machine again, I want to try something a little different with this blog. Since blogger hosts images, I plan on doing more photo blogging. It's something to do as I kill time until/ prepare for mid-August. The only subject I can think of is the Three Rivers Festival's annual Junk Food Alley. That ought to be worth taking pictures of. That, and there are a few places around the city that I want pictures of. There's a really great side-street alley that I walk through to get to the library that I've always liked. Todd and I filmed part of Courier there.

Here's a site that made me laugh. FU-H2. This is good therapy after working at Jefferson Pointe for so long.

I got a call about the computer today. It turns out that my big 120GB drive is kaput. That means I lose a ton of cool stuff. 20+ MST3k movies, seven or eight Smashing Pumpkins concerts of varying quality, and most of the 2D computer art I’ve done in the past few years. Fortunately, I’ve been saving my 3D files on another drive. There’s still a chance that some of the data can be recovered, but things don’t look good.

In better news, I’ve turned in my 2-weeks notice at Barnes and Noble. I like the store and the staff, don’t get me wrong. I’ll probably still go there for books I wish to purchase that I can’t find at Hyde Brothers. I also have an interview (or something similar) next Monday at BSU to find out about being a content producer for the BSU website. So not only is this a substantial financial windfall, but I might get to do something that will count as real work experience.

It’s been quite a week. I worked quite a bit over the weekend at both jobs, so I was already worn out when I got home on Sunday night, when I could feel myself coming down with a cold. My two days off, Monday and Tuesday, I get sick. Then, to add insult to injury, the computer crapped out on me, so I had to drive across town to get it repaired. They’re backed up right now, so it will be Monday before they call with an estimate. Call me Okonkwo, because my things are falling apart.

I’m blogging from my Mom’s laptop now, which is kind of odd. I’ve used it before for blogging, but now I’m faced with a week or more of being a “Mac Person.” I wonder when the mindset sets in? When does one become a full-on Mac enthusiast? If I find myself trying to sell anybody on the many features the Mac has, and the many great games that will eventually see Mac release, I’m going to jump into the St. Mary’s.

Well, one feature does warrant mentioning. When I plug in my iPod, the Mac reads it as an external drive. It even charges the battery through the firewire port. Kind of cool, right? Well, no. For some reason, iTunes is incapable of playing songs in the intended album order. It even goes so far as to rearrange the songs on the iPod. I used iTunes for MS to rip the songs, too, so I know that the track order is all correct. Maybe when Steve Jobs gets done hula dancing in a skirt of money in front of Michael Eisner’s house he could get somebody on this problem. That would be great.

I feel I would be remiss if I didn't pass this link along to the few people who check this site. How to disable autorun. It's a pretty significant security measure, and if you scroll to the bottom, you can download a little applet that will do it for you. Disabling autorun will also defeat the current spyware and anti-copy crap that comes on some new CDs.

As of this writing, I’m reclining on a hotel bed at IUPUI blogging in Word in the hope that I might encounter a wi-fi hotspot at some point tomorrow.

Today I visited BSU to get my schedule straightened out. I’ve been paranoid about missing deadlines, but apparently I’m okay in that regard. It’s kind of nice that I can get into any class in my course of study with no problem. I also paid a brief visit to Gerry, who was in the middle of something of immense importance when I wandered in. Things are looking good for this Fall, very good indeed.

I had dinner at Maggiano’s Italian restaurant. The interior design is really nice, I dare say nicer than the eating establishments featured in the Godfather movies and on the Sopranos. The cheese ravioli was amazing, as was the tiramisu.

-------------------------------------

Back home now. I meant to write more last night, but I was pretty tired. As a matter of fact, I'm still tired, so if my prose has the rhythm of a squirrel eating a coconut, there's a reason. I got maybe four hours of sleep due to the three glasses of tea I had with dinner. It turns out that when a restaurant bothers to actually brew tea from scratch (instead of mixing tea-flavored koolaid with tap water) it retains a hefty measure of caffeine. I never learn. All of this was supposed to be blogged and posted from somewhere with Internet access, but that wasn't an option.

I managed to pick up a few useful items for the coming fall. The reason I mention this is that I feel like making a bulleted list.

• iTrip: The iTrip is an FM transmitter for the iPod. It sits atop the iPod and a little red light glows to assure you that it is properly draining the battery power of the iPod like a little plastic lamprey. Once I got it working, though, it actually did broadcast to the radio. The added value of this is that Orrin Hatch hates this sort of gadget with a venom he usually reserves for mixed-race marriages.

• Bathrobe and two pairs of pajama pants: It ought to be glaringly obvious what this is. The bathrobe is a thick black material similar to Emperor Palpatine's robes. Perfect for contemplating stuff, or watching movies. The pajama pants are a lighter material with plaid checks. I doubt the proud clans of old Scotland meant for their fabric heritage to adorn my Ent-like legs.

• 32MB USB drive key chain: My computer won't be on the university network next year, so I need some way of moving data to other machines. For big things, like large .tif sequences, I have my 10GB iPod. For anything smaller, like papers and medium-res images, 32MB is plenty. And it has a little clip on it, the international symbol of usefulness.

In a scant two months, I'll be up to my eyeballs (6' above sea level) in cool tech and like-minded people at BSU. I'm very excited about starting school and a new job. I haven't really felt like this in a long while, this anticipation of something good and meaningful. There isn't a whole lot of that to be found in this town.

One bonus to this is that I get a new mascot. You see, for four years I grit my teeth under the yoke of being a "Cougar." Other Catholic universities get cool mascots, like the "Fighting Irish", or the "Saints." They get thematic monikers, we get an endangered species of cat that preys on weak livestock and gets caught in traps set by dairy farmers. I did my best to avoid any merchandise with the mascot logo on it, as it looked like something a high school would put on a gym floor to hide water damage. I bought a Franciscan cross in Asisi so that I would have an appropriate symbol of my alma mater and not an athletic logo. Besides, the actual school seal has two hands with stigmata. That would look pretty hard-core on a football uniform, don't you think? Imagine this on a field:

Visitor: "We're the Bulldogs! See this logo? We're the Bulldogs! What's that on your logo?"

USF: "We're USF- our logo has the divine blood of the saints flowing from hands crossed over an old Roman execution device that became the religious icon that our school is founded on."

Visitor: "You guys are messed up. We're gonna get killed."

No, alas, "Cougars" won out. But how is a Cardinal any better? Well, to it's credit, it is the state bird. It isn't particularly frightening, unless directed by Alfred Hitchcock, but it's loads better than some of the alternatives.

I haven't focused on this blog too much recently, as I've been kind of boring. I haven't been lazy, but working at the library and housecleaning aren't all that exciting. I'm planning a trip to BSU in the sorta-near future and a much longer stay this fall that ought to make for more blogfodder. In the interim I'll probably just make little posts with links shamelessly stolen from Fark, Slashdot, and Boingboing.

Speaking of which, here's a link to a story that made me mad. I've been boycotting RIAA releases for over a year now, and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon. I still happily buy music from non-RIAA labels and artists, such as Epitaph. You'll also notice the RIAA radar link in the right-hand column of this site.

Check out this page if you've got some time to kill and you like great photography. Commute NYC.

Here's an update from yesterday's post about the home renovation project. I got the wall anchors out and found that they were made of cardboard. I guess this is the way things were done in the 1970's, before people had been properly warned about Abba. Anyway, I caulked the holes in the wall and my brother and I hung up the shower curtain. Take a look at it to fully appreciate the novelty.

I'm currently in the middle of a project, but I wanted to post this. My brother and I took out the shower doors in our bathroom because they leak beyond repair. The doors are gone, but before I hang up the shower curtain, I need to put caulk in the holes in the wall where the screws were. The thing is, there's some sort of mystery substance in the holes that kept the screws in place. Not regular plastic wall anchors, but something from the "other" category. But the point of this post is that when I was searching for guidance with google, I found this guy. I think he's my id.

Everything's Coming Up Milhouse!

I'm geeked out over this trailer in a big way. I'm not sure how it fits into the Final Fantasy VII story proper, but in this case, I really don't care. This movie completes the trifecta for coolness- Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children, Star Wars Episode III, and Serenity. If my head explodes next summer you'll know why.

This past weekend I got the very good news that I have been offered an assistantship job at Ball State. I'm not clear on all of the details yet, those are coming in the mail, but I'm positive I'm going to take them up on the offer.

Yarr! Look over tharr! It be a leviathan! If you have time to kill and a desire to learn about Cedar Point, check it out. I wonder what it is about driving through Ohio that makes he and I want to blog about it in great length?

It's been a good day today. I got enough sleep last night, indicating that I may be acclimated to my new schedule. I had been waking up after three hours of sleep no matter how tired I was, and I usually can’t get back to sleep. I’ve gotten a lot of reading done this way, though.

I went to the Mill this morning before work to get a little something to eat. As I stood in line with a smattering of pastel-clad hand wringing southwest matrons, I decided on a large butterscotch chip chocolate chip scone. (They’re real, and they’re spectacular.) The credit card machine broke when I was about to pay, so I got a free piece of bread for waiting. I was still on time for work, so the point of the story is the scone.

Shelving books was everything you might expect, but there was one point of mild excitement. I was shelving a car repair manual when I noticed someone making strange noises on the other side of the shelf. I ignored it, as I often do to pretty much everybody save for co-workers. Then I heard a hissing sound, followed by a quick inhalation, followed by a low grunt and a hand grabbing the shelf. I could smell some kind of gas, too. It was one of the indigenous bums huffing gas, like, four feet away from me. He walks around the corner and looks at me for a second, as I squat down where I was shelving. I don’t look up, as I’m not quite sure what to do here. “D’hew-hur-eer” the now visible noise says. I look up at him, doing my high school drama class best to look like I hadn’t known he was there. He was a stunted little rodent of a man, with old clothes and a blue bandanna, the type of garb that the destitute welcome wagon gives out. “What?” I honestly had no idea what he said, his eyes focused on anything but me. “Do you work here?” he successfully vocalized. I nodded and said yeah, and went back to what I was doing, and he did the same. After a bit of thought, I decided to tell security. This seemed like the kind of thing they ought to know, that the business and technology section was being used as a crack house annex. I snuck away to the desk and told the guard at the front desk what goofball was up to. He said he would send a guard back to check it out. You’d think that this is where things would get cool, right? You’d expect a Cops-style bust where the grey shirted hardass would chase the bum across the whole building before tackling him and hosing him down with pepper spray. I wanted something cool to happen, but he just went and looked at the guy, who went and sat at a table to read. Well, as well as he could, all hopped up on goofenthal. What kind of security guards are these? The guards in Metal Gear Solid investigate if they see anybody, for crying out loud. And don’t let the blue bandanna fool you, this guy wasn’t Snake. His voice was all slurred from his last two brain cells rubbing together, so I kind of wanted to offer him a dollar of he’d say “Hey- the sheriff is a ni___r!” like the crazy old prospector from Blazing Saddles. That would’ve been sweet.

¡Libros para Libre!

Fair warning about tonight's post: It's about work, a subject I usually avoid because it bores even me.

I've completed my first week at the library, where I push carts and shelve books in near silent solitude, which I enjoy. The repetition makes the time pass quickly, and all the squatting and standing is giving me a great workout. It’s like cardio for nerds, where instead of an aerobics instructor chirping instructions at me, I have the Dewey decimal system, so I move to where the book goes according to the number like some kind of alpha numeric DDR game. The library is quiet, too. Not ninja-quiet, per se, more like Calvin Coolidge-quiet. No annoying music, and what few slack-jawed yokels find do their way into the building mostly behave themselves. My new co-workers are all very nice, too. A group of people who choose to eschew sunlight for books are my kind of people indeed.

For now, I probably won’t leave Barnes and Noble. I work with some really great people, some of whom I may even call friends. I get tired of the BS sometimes, like trying to sell the membership cards and working on a cash register for seven hours with no place to sit. Every time I think I might call it quits, though, I have a great conversation about Tom Waits with another bookseller, or I get to listen to Dave the history buff manager discuss American history, or I get to go out after work with a group of people, and the job is worthwhile again. It’s only a few hours a week, but that’s enough.

Two days this week I worked both jobs, which amounts to close to an eleven-hour day, including lunch break. That’s a long day, but I make a pretty good amount of money on those days. This sort of thing is when I just have to keep telling myself “if I can’t do this, I can’t do grad school.” That’s been my mantra since I first started at the bookstore.

Here's something everybody can enjoy: The Robot. My brother got this in a sudden IM, and I got a good laugh out of it.

I found something funny last night when I did a Google image search for "fighting cardinal."

I've been telling Gerry that I would make a fighting cardinal for a while now. Here, at least, is a cardinal picking a fight. I don't have any particular enmity or allegiance for either team, and I somehow doubt that any BSU athletes would ever give me the time of day. The white-trash aesthetic of a pick-up truck decal seemed fitting to Muncie.

Obviously, I Haven't blogged much lately. I haven't blogged because I haven't really had much to say. In the past week I've worked, played Knights of the Old Republic, and read books and magazines. I did get to see Gerry, and we watched all kinds of geek TV and sporadic bits of the Cubs losing on Saturday. It's been a rough season for the Cubs so far, having an injured list comparable to Valley Forge.

So, in the absence of things worth driving to, I've been thinking about the public figures and closer friends I admire, trying to figure out what I should be doing in my life and if I went wrong somewhere. Without getting too self-absorbed, I do feel that at some point in high school or college I was mislead. Not by any person or institution, per se, but by the dot-com-era ideal that I was assured wealth and success directly out of college because I was majoring in something computer related. My unconscious and unerring belief in digital entertainment as the land of milk and honey was my driving reason to get through college. I scoffed at anyone who questioned the validity of computer art, eagerly pointing out that innovation was the key to revitalizing the increasingly irrelevant art field, much like photography had done a century before. In hindsight, though, I've come to realize that the computer art program at USF was a little recruitment sham that the school started when it was facing bankruptcy that, through the nurturing dedication of a communication professor and an animation pro, evolved into a legitimate study program. I ended up with what I think might be a great education, but as the job market evaporated, I never got a real chance to test this.

Thus, my present dilemma. In examining different people whom I admire, I've noticed that there are curious blank spots in each of their biographies. Without using Google, tell me what Matt Groening was doing when he was twenty-four years old. What about Jack Kerouac? Neil Gaiman? Douglas Adams? Tom Waits? What about prestigious people I don't like so much, like John Ashcroft, or most of the cast of Friends? At some point I got old enough that I stopped hearing "when I was your age" stories. This could be because there comes a point in every life when you just sit in the ocean on your little dingy of dreams waiting for something, anything, to happen. Case in point:

Before the Smashing Pumpkins, Billy Corgan spent his early to mid twenties as a chunky, depressed, writers-blocked wanna-be rocker. He spent a little while in Florida with a little Cure knockoff metal band called the Marked. Nothing much came of this back in the era of decadent wuss-rock, and he ended up back in Chicago where things finally started to work out for him.

Conan O'Brien graduated from Harvard with all kinds of high honors and accolades, moved to the west coast, and promptly got a job in a leather jacket store. His first few TV attempts weren't even noticeable, and even when he eventually scored a job as a writer on Saturday Night Live he was still largely invisible.

Try this: think of five people over the age of forty, famous or familiar. Can you determine with certainty what they were doing in their mid-twenties? Was it at all glorious or rewarding beyond the satisfaction of hard work?

So, here I am, full of promise in the quarter-century quagmire. This is my main motivation to go to grad school, to get out of this town and out of this funk. BSU seems far more oriented in the practical application of my knowledge, which is exactly what I want. Perhaps in two years time I'll be able to say with certainty that I really did do something constructive with my young professional life.

Here's a novelty. As you see below, Blogger now supports image hosting. I think it gets re-compressed, though. I saved the image in the same resolution as it is currently displayed, and it looks fine on my end. On the page, though, much clarity is lost. It is a free service, though, so I won't complain too loudly.

What happens to a pre-fab poser model when you export it as a .rib file and render it as-is in BMRT? The same thing as everything else. 

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.

I've been really boring. There's really no other way to put it. I work, I sleep, I eat, I play video games and watch movies in my free time, and I read a bit. Not much of the above is really blog-worthy. I think I'm in a sort of a funk, which happens periodically. No idea why it happens, but it's often followed by a surge of creative energy, so I look forward to that. In the interim, though, I probably won't blog much because I won't be doing much.

I've starting reading American Gods by Neil Gaiman. I'm not far into it, but it's really good so far. A co-worker recommended it to me. That's one of the perks of working at a bookstore- I get to hear about all kinds of good books and music.

I saw the movie The Punisher yesterday. It's a good thing I like the character and Garth Ennis's comic writing that was the basis for much of the action, because otherwise this could be a hard movie to sit through. It clocks in at a full two hours and change, and it seems that much of the movie could be edited and pared down to about 90 minutes. The test market screenings must have been really interesting, because I get the impression that the audiences weren't familiar with the comic book. Some genius along the way must have complained long and loud about a lack of nice, sympathetic characters. As a result, Garth Ennis's three neighbor characters (who were little more than scenery in the comic) are given more attention. With three social misfits and a psychotic loner all sharing a rathole apartment building it sometimes seems like Andrew Vachss directing a very special episode of Friends.

The script and visual design were peculiar as well. Some tinkering with the character's origin was perfectly acceptable, some of the changes were incomprehensible. Glaring foibles aside, though, there were some subtle touches added in that showed real intelligence and regard for the character's cinematic roots. The title sequence was inspired by the animated introductions to Sergio Leone's westerns. There are other great Leone scenes, too. One scene in a diner with an assassin who plays a guitar to Frank before attacking him is strikingly similar to the scene in Once Upon a Time in the West where the mystery protagonist "Harmonica" plays his trademark instrument to the men he intends to kill. Other more obvious elements are the high-noon style standoff in the bank lobby (guess who wins), and the way that all the nameless thugs are given a certain amount of individuality. There are even intentionally added nods to Othello. This could have been a better movie, but I'm satisfied with what I saw.

In other brutal-revenge-by-bloody-killing-spree news, I've just discovered that Sweeny Todd is now available on DVD. I don't buy very many movies, but I may end up owning this one before too long.

I'm in. First and foremost, I must post the good news that I have been accepted to the Ball State University Graduate School; to the Digital Storytelling program. This is thanks in no small part to the knowledge, support, and unwavering encouragement from Gerry. He's a one of a kind fool.

Now that that's out, let me back up a ways. I woke up unnaturally early this morning (sin-against-nature early) in order to tag along with Gerry and his family to BSU. We were going to peruse apartments, as Gerry has imminent need for a place to live while working at the college during the summer. I went along to get some idea of what I might be paying, assuming that I would be accepted for the fall. The van ride down to BSU was pretty much what I expected. Gerry and I sat in the back seat like a couple of eight year olds while the adults drove. Appropriately enough, we discussed comic books and cartoons, gazed out of the windows into the vast expanses of Hoosier corn and soybean wasteland, and lazily counted the exits until the iconic figure of Big Jack loomed on the horizon, marking the turnoff to go to Muncie.

Pulling into Muncie, Indiana is sort of like flipping through Dante's Inferno like a flip book animation in reverse. You start with nothing but more fields, then eventually come up on the fringes of the town marked by a Meijer and a Menards near the highway; two of the huge corporate megastores responsible for squashing and supporting almost every small town in the America. Within minutes, the remaining semi-independent businesses are revealed- a greasy steakhouse and a see-it-to-believe-it Goodwill store. Across the street lies a Wal-Mart Supercenter that is equal parts John Steinbeck and Steven King. Further on and a few turns later, at last, is Ball State. A misfit collection of drunkards and scholars, dullards and geniuses, and a diverse enough minority population to repopulate Epcot five times over. Everyone seems really friendly, though. It's the kind of mix of people that every good college should have.

The apartments we looked at were pretty much what one would expect for off-campus housing. Some were too large, some were too small, but one or two were just right. I'm not sure where I'll live, but I have time to talk to a few people I know to find out what the best deal for me will be.

After a morning spent exploring living options, we convened to the atrium dining area on the ground floor of the Journalism building. I had a grilled cheese sandwich, a familiar staple item from my previous college experience. While I was waiting in line, a young woman was talking to Gerry about something or other. Then, seemingly in mid-sentence, she turned to me and started telling me about how she uses Softimage (3D program) and how they're merged with Avid and how [sic] like everybody in the industry are using Softimage. She told me about a new 3D class in the architecture school that is trying to attract art students. It sounds like something I might get a kick out of if it fits my schedule. I also got to meet the legendary Moses, the Robin to Gerry's Batman for many a Halloween party. I feel like I should've prepared a little something to say for when I met him, but a hearty handshake seemed to suffice.

After lunch the whole group went on a little walking tour of the building, and on the way we encountered the very professor I needed to talk to in regard to grad school. He told me that he had everything that he needed from me and that I was accepted as far as he knew. Perplexed, I ventured off to the grad school office with Gerry as my Cardinal sherpa to find out what the heck was going on. I found the right office and explained my situation as best I could to the person on the other side of the desk. I failed to make any kind of sense, so she entered my social security number and figured out what the hell I was trying to say by looking at four different variables. All that was needed was written confirmation from the aforementioned professor. A ten second phone call later he had e-mailed an affirmative that I was accepted into the program. In less time than it takes to beat world 1-1 in Super Mario Brothers I went from confused to elated.

We departed for home after taking a nostalgic look at Gerry's old apartment complex. Not much to say there, really. We got back in town and made a spur of the moment decision to go buy comic books. Crazy fun indeed. Then I went out to a celebratory dinner at Biaggi's and stuffed my face with torteloni al forno.

In summary, today I got a new purpose in life, comic books, and good food. w00t.

If you're like me (which isn't likely) you've often wondered "how big is an Imperial Star Destroyer compared to, say, a 747, or the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man?" Even if the thought had never crossed your mind, this is still a good and valid question. I've been to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and now I know the relative size of the big ship in Close Encounters. Check out this site for the comparative sizes of all sorts of sci-fi craft and Earthly structures.

"The monkey has shifty eyes."

Movies, movies, movies. That's been a theme for me this week. I watched Scarface and Vanilla Sky over the past few days, and I enjoyed both. I won't say anything about Vanilla Sky, just in case there are people in my small audience who haven't seen it.

I would like to say a little about Scarface, though. This movie is over the top; excessive. The whole movie is about excess. The colors are bright and garish, the music is loud, the profanity and the blood are equally flowing, and even quiet dialogue is delivered with gusto and force. My personal favorite line: "All I have in this world is my balls, and my word. And I don't break them for no one." The movie is all about the rise and fall of Tony Montana, whose final scene involves a mountain of cocaine, a Heston-class assault rifle, and the phrase "Say hello to my little friend!" As the credits roll, I got to thinking about how rich he was, and how I live at home under a mountain of student loan debt, and how diametrically opposed I am from this character. I'm kind of glad that I'm so boring now, given the alternative.

Tonight I went to the Cinema Center to see The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. It's an old German silent film with some of the craziest and creepiest visuals ever committed to celluloid. The set design has a cool cubist style, and you can actually see the brush strokes in many of the scenery pieces, so the whole film is like a painting. The really cool part about the movie tonight, though, was the music. All of the music in the movie was performed live by three musicians. They had keyboards, guitars, drums, almost anything that would make a cool sound. The violin would play a sinister little tune every time the mysterious Caligari would come on screen, the sound effects were all instrumental, and everything fit the action perfectly. Apparently this is a touring company, and tomorrow they'll be in Chicago doing this show and a silent western too.

It's back to work for me tomorrow. It's been a little weird for me lately. I've befriended a Gap employee who comes into the store a lot. The other night we talked about Hellboy for a couple minutes. She likes my name and asks intelligent questions about good books, thus completely disrupting my hard and fast reasoning for not liking the Gap. Elsewhere in the mall, Victoria's Secret is offering a free Bob Dylan CD single. I'm not a huge Dylan fan, but it would be cool to get the free CD. This is foreign territory for me, though; a complete no-fly zone. When I walk past the store I always feel like a South Korean staring across the 38th parallel, not fully knowing what lies on the other side. If I could figure out a way to retrieve the item with a fishing pole, a la Wile E. Coyote, I'd be set.

Still no reply from Ball State.

Not every movie I watch is light-hearted, you know. For every happy action movie I see, I try to ballance with a less than jubilant selection, like Once Upon a Time in the West, or The Seventh Seal. I love having a comm minor- I get to be a card-carrying film snob whenever I want.

I'd like to recommend the movie I watched last night, The Man Who Wasn't There. It's the Cohen brothers take on film noir. The whole thing is black and white and the lighting is amazing. It also has almost every cool actor currently working- Billy-Bob Thornton, James Gandolfini, Scarlett Johanssen, and Tony Shaloub, just to name a few. Without giving too much away, the movie reminded me of The Stranger by Albert Camus. My brother would get that, but I don't know about anyone else.

The following is a joint blog post from Gerry and I. I can't guarantee that it will make any kind of sense, but it was a labor of love.
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Your two favorite bloggers, in one entry together!

It's been a little while since we hyped our joint blog…okay, it's been more than a little while. But at last, get ready for Gerry and Loyal's summer comic book movie preview of "The Punisher" and "Spider-Man 2" a.k.a. "Sony makes a hell of a lot more money."

For the past few years, Hollywood has maintained a precarious grip on the fervent and profitable fanboy audience with a series of comic book and literature adaptations. The most successful movies are the ones that stay true to the author's original vision. The Lord of the Rings movies, both Harry Potter movies, and most of the Marvel comics movies have been faithful and high quality. With such an unnaturally high rate of success, there is an unnerving feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. History shows that any time a genre enjoys a boom in its early years; it often crashes hard in the waning years. The American western, the old Hollywood musical, and other popular styles have bitten the dust in a significant way. Bearing this in mind, what does the future hold for the comic book genre? This summer will be the litmus test for the future direction of science fiction cinema.

So, enough screwing around playing in the street. It's time to preview two films that will capture America's attention and become water-cooler fodder—okay, maybe not. But work with us here.

Gerry: Actually, if Spider-Man 2 is anything like its predecessor, it will claim America's undivided attention. The original Wall Crawler flick not only generated more money than the national debt, it also received rave reviews and spawned a new era of Spidey merchandise. The new film features another baddy from the comic books, Doctor Otto Octavious, affectionately known as Doctor Octopus, or Doc Ock. Unlike the Green Goblin's Power Ranger costume in the last film, Doc Ock looks very sharp in his moody trench coat and four metal prosthetic arms, which would no doubt make him a great bartender. Of course, Doc Ock won't be serving up drinks, he will be serving up a healthy dose of mayhem, evil, and all-around annoyance for Peter Parker.

Peter has more to worry about than just the supervillain of the week—ol' redhead Mary Jane is causing our hero all sorts of romantic problems. It appears MJ is moving on to J. Jonah Jamison's son, who is an astronaut. Gee, I don't know why a girl would rather date an astronaut than a journalist. What a crazy way to go.

Loyal: Ah, Peter Parker, when will you learn? The double life is surely a rough one. Is it worse to be thrown off of a building with a bomb strapped to your head, or to discover that your camera will be in the shop for a week? Either livelihood is fraught with difficulty.

Gerry: You know, my computer, not camera, has been in the shop for about a week, and I can't scale buildings to burn off steam.

Loyal: Yeah, life is hard that way. Of course, there are worse ways to deal with problems. You could always forsake your current identity and go on a mad homicidal rampage against anyone with even a slight criminal bent. This would be the theme behind The Punisher, another comic book coming to the movie screen this summer. The title character is a grim fellow with every reason in the world to be angry, but no real moral justification for his methods. The Punisher movie will be loosely based on the recent comic book run written by Garth Ennis. I haven't read too much in the way of the movie plot, but I do expect a cool movie.

Gerry: Screw the Punisher. I wanna talk about Spider-Man. Is that okay with you?

Loyal: Of course, proceed. The world waits on pins and needles for your opinion of Spider-Man.

Gerry: Pins and needles? Sounds painful. Speaking of pain, I'm in agony waiting for Spider-Man 2 to be released. This flick is going to rock. The first film set up the characters nicely, and this will allow Spidey 2 to hit the ground running. Director Sam Raimi tells us to expect more humor, drama, and action, and I believe him. Doc Ock looks incredible, and everyone is anxious to see what develops between Peter and MJ. One just gets a sense this film is going to top the original.

Loyal: I'm looking forward to seeing a superhero movie without an origin story. The pacing of the movie will be better without having to explain everything to the audience. I've been looking forward to this movie since the representative from Sony Digital Imaging at the Siggraph convention two years ago promised more web-slinging action like the finale of the first movie. Spider-Man 2 will be one of the highlights of the summer.

Gerry: I can't say with confidence that The Punisher will be a summer highlight. I still have bad memories of the straight-to-video Punisher flick--

Loyal: La-la-la! Not listening! Never happened!

Gerry: --and John Travolta as a villain? Come on. The Punisher's popularity in the comic books tends to rise and fall. I don't know, something makes me nervous about this film. Maybe it's shipping our favorite black-clad gun-toting vigilante to Miami. What's he gonna do there, attend Marlins games?

Loyal: Agreed, it's never a good thing to monkey with continuity. It might work in this particular instance, but I'm afraid of what this could mean for comic book movies as a whole. As a genre, each summer's batch of releases lives and dies by the previous summer's successes and failures. With a questionable Catwoman title on the horizon—

Gerry: Questionable?! Questionable?! Catwoman will be terrible and you know it! Warner Bros. should be fined for making a mockery of the character, and…

Loyal: Yes, yes, I know. I reserve judgment until it comes out and I don't see it. Anyway, speculation aside, this summer is looking good for geek entertainment.

Gerry: And geeked out, we are. I am giddy with anticipation for Spider-Man 2, and I suppose I'll give The Punisher a shot. Until next time, make sure your utility belts are tight and your capes are pressed.

I discovered a couple of mildly interesting tidbits about the internet recently. One: my blog is finally a blip on the google radar. I tested this out of curiosity and found that there's even a cached version from a few months ago. Two: some photographs I took almost a year ago are up on a promotional website for the SACS music booster carwash.

A little follow-up from the other day's pants post. I decided to scratch my apparel buying itch and venture into the Buckle to look for something good. It turns out that there was a sale rack in the back, so my preternatural spider-sense for clothing sales wasn't just misfiring. I found a pair of pants that didn't look good on me at all, but I did find a shirt that I like, and I got it for %25 off. It wasn't the greatest deal I've ever gotten, but it was the only thing in the store I could see myself wearing with an ounce of self respect.

I'm still waiting for word from BSU. I know it will take awhile, and everybody tells me not to worry, but I'm getting a bit nervous.