A Christmas Tale

Listen up, children, and you will hear the great tale of the mystical gift-bringer who visits us all this time of year.

While the kiddies snooze away, this magical character soars high above their homes, coming to each to dispense goodies to those who deserve them.

I am talking, of course, about the Christmas Bird.

Every Christmas Eve, the great Christmas Bird wings his way into civilized areas, flying high above the world. The haunting melodies of his magical bagpipes carried on the crisp night air (kiddies in warm climates simply change that to “balmy” or some other appropriate adjective).

Of course, he really doesn’t make moral judgements, like the other guy, though. I mean, he is more about judging people on annoying behaviour. You know, that guy who was talking too loud in Starbucks on his cel phone? Or that couple who would not shut up in the movie theatre? They aren’t getting a visit from old Christmas Birdie THIS year. No sirree.

But that couple at the restaurant, the ones who kept taking their screaming infant outside to calm him down—I’m betting THEY’LL be heaing magical bagpipes this 24 December.

Likewise, good tippers—Christmas Birdie LOVES people who leave appropriate gratuities (the person who tipped me $40 recently…she’ll probably be getting a visit from a certain large avian in a couple of days here).

Now, the Christmas Bird doesn’t really have presents…not exactly...I mean, who's he gonna get to build them? He finds lost items, or fixes things around the home that were broken. If you’ve been careful to signal your lane-changes while driving and you find something you thought was gone forever—think hard—did you catch the sound of bagpipes? Or if you are the type who always leaves a tip for your barista, you may find that your car runs a little better after Christmas or your computer boots up faster in the new year.

The Christmas Bird even has a distinctive catchphrase—as so many great holiday icons do. You know, Santa says “Ho Ho Ho!”, the Saint Patrick’s Day leprechaun says “Erin go bragh!” and, on Valentine’s Day, Cupid says “Duck and cover, or I’ll arrow your ass!”

The Christmas Bird says “Merry Christmas, boys and girls!” Okay, I guess he’s kind of uncreative sometimes.

So now you know the story of the Christmas Bird. Next time, perhaps I’ll tell you about the Birthday Cacomistle, the Easter Frog, or the Hanukkah Kitten.

Or even the .. I dunno..the Arbor Day…Ape … or some darn thing.

Happy Holidays to all my friends!

Kellum, Suzi, Kenny, Cassandra, Ayumi, Nick, Jack, and, of course, Andromeda (who got left out of the picture, but I think she doesn't mind too much)!

I can't believe it's been so long since I've posted on here. I've had some crazy stuff happen...some good, some very sad.

I kind of lost my will to write for a little while, but I'm back. I have been working on Mythical Beings very hard, and the first printing of the Third Edition should be done within a couple of months. I'm very excited about it.

Oh yeah, and I flew Suzi to England to hang out with her friends there. But that's her story to tell!

I leave you with this little thing my friend John sent me...

It would take 10 Long Island Iced Teas to kill me

and also these little bits of good news

47%

67% Geek

Cleveland Dating

Heading Out to the Great Midwest, pt. 2

It was good to see Charlie. We used to spend at least one evening a week with our crazy friend, but as he’s been up at Purdue doing the PhD thing, we’ve had to make do with a phone conversation every Monday night. We caught up for awhile, Charlie treated us to a rather unpracticed (but incredibly adept, in my own opinion) rendition of Rhapsody in Blue. I tried to read the music and keep track of where he was. Once upon a time, I was pretty good at that (my High School girlfriend was quite a good pianist and I used to turn pages for her). I was pretty well out of practice, but it was fun to try. It was also really neat to get to see Charlie play. He’s quite amazing at the old ivories!!

The three of us went to see the Simpsons movie. While we waited, Suzi and I played air hockey. Now, in 25 years, I can’t ever remember beating her at this game…But I did! I guess the Jedi training is really paying off!

The movie was, contrary to what a young friend of mine had said, quite funny. Of course, the three of us are all huge Simpsons aficionados…so that helps

Spider Pig! Spider Pig!
Does whatever a Spider Pig does…
Can he swing from a web?
No he can’t coz he’s a pig!

After the movie, we went to our favourite Mediterranean restaurant in West Lafayette, then back to Chez Charlie for some more hanging out and talking.

The next morning, we hit the Route 66 Diner, a local landmark---always hearty fare. We then went to a coffeehouse and hung out and talked, checked email and all that. We checked the Urban Dead crisis (which wound up with about three people leaving our little group … it’s complicated) and chatted with Charlie. All day, I was staring at a place called Hot Box Pizza. I was getting hungry.

The Wolf Howls at the wolf park are one of the West Lafayette “things” … the wolf park has several packs of wolves that researchers and students can come and work with. On weekends, we humans pay money and the researchers show us how to say “howdy” to the beautiful lupines.

We sit in bleachers just yards from the wolves (there's a fence). We had a great time…the audience would go “Ooooooooooooooooo” and, when we quit, the wolves would all be responding in their beautiful, mystical voices.

After that, we went to Charlie’s, hung out, and ordered a pizza. If you’ve been paying attention, I’ll bet you can guess where we got it from. The menu was as suggestive as the name of the pizzaria!

----------========-----------

Bright and early the next morning, I set out for Bloomington Illinois. I got to the Flat Top Grill just ahead of the E2 gang. It was cool--my editor friend Joe was running this shindig, and, of course, his significant other Tom was there as well. I also got to sit at lunch between two of my friends and catch up on the latest with them.

We went back to Joe’s for some games, some beers and lots and lots of talking. I was really happy to get to spend a lot of time with Joe and Tom, who are two of the best friends I’ve made one E2. Additionally getting to know a certain Rogue Poet better and the video-game maven whose screen name is Passport. It was a wonderful time! (In the photo of us playing Chrononauts, Tom is the guy in the hat, to the left is Vandewal, to the right are Rogue Poet and Passport.)

Tom and I had some fun--he has an amazing steel-trap mind that can do some cool tricks. His thing is the Periodic Table of the Elements. He gave me a chart and I quizzed him, he could (at least 80% of the time) match up an element with its atomic number on the chart. Amazing stuff. He could do it in reverse too, I’d say a number and he’d have to figure out what element it was. He did that one almost as well!

To me, the friendships one can forge online are every bit as real as any that you can make in person. I think of the people on E2 who have gotten married, hooked up, or become lifetime best friends. I think of Suzi and her new British friends, Chris, Jess, Kat, and Matt. And I think of my own pals like Joe, Anni, Tom, Andy, Kevin, two Chris’s, Eric, and so many more. There are certainly some dubious sides to the newest technologies, but there are also some silver linings, and this is a big one.

Anyway, we got home safe, sound, and of normal size after our midwestern adventure. A splendid time was had by all.

(and I leave you with a picture of Andy and me!)

Heading out to the Great Midwest

Our trip to Indiana started out with one near-disaster after another. The night before the trip, we packed and prepared to sleep. A personality conflict in our group in the game Urban Dead had been looming on the horizon for some time. Tuesday night, it blew wide open.

Additionally, Suzi’s new (used) laptop is not working properly. She had it in the shop for repairs for over a week, and they scarcely touched it! So, we had to go pick it up so that we would have it for the trip.

Between the on-line drama and the computer, we had quite a time getting on the road.

You know those torn-up pieces of tire tread you see on the highway? Denise once told me that these are colloquially called “Alligators” because of their ability to bite onto your tires and never let go. There was a whole field of them littering a highway in Oklahoma. It was as if four or five complete tires had disintegrated into fist-sized bits all over the road. There was no dodging this minefield … we thought we had gotten away, though.

A few miles later, there was an awful, dragging sound under Suzi’s car. We pulled off of the road, got out and inspected the vehicle, just certain that it was going to be something horrible.

The rubber, molded plate underneath the engine had come loose and was dragging. Back when I was in high school, they called it a bash plate. I’m not sure what the real name is. I think the 'gator had torn the bashplate loose, at least it isn't a crucial part of the car.

I found some wire in the trunk and Suzi set to work. Head and shoulders under her Honda, on the shoulder of an Oklahoma freeway, vehicles zoomed past at 80 miles an hour. I heard her comment, “I am my father’s daughter.” No question about that. She got the bash plate secured and we were off down the highway again.

(photo by my friend RoguePoet)

Somewhere along the freeway was a big, friendly “speed zone” sign.

“Okay, self,” I told myself, “slow it on down.”

The speedometer read 60. The speed limit sign ahead said 45.

Do you ever have those times you can’t get yourself to do what you need to do? I just could not get it slowed down.

The police officer ahead turned on his lights instantly.

When he reached the car, I was almost laughing, I was polite, but not obsequious or servile. “You got me dead to rights, sir! I was telling myself to slow it down.”

The policeman took the whole thing in good humour, letting us off with a written warning and an admonition to “Slow it down.”

The Howard Johnson’s hotel in Effingham, Illinois was pretty nice, but the promised wireless-in-room did not seem to work. The Night Manager could not figure it out, so we had to wait to find out about how the Urban Dead drama shook down.

to be continued...

This Time I’m in it for Love…

When I was a little kid, I hated doing schoolwork. I mean, I guess you probably did, too – but you did it, out of pride, fear of punishment, or simply because it was expected of you. For whatever reason, you did the work and got the grade.

I did not. I mean, not very often.

I skipped school and frequently failed to do my homework out of lack of motivation. There was no reward if I got A’s and no disincentive if I flunked. Which I did, sometimes.

(click on this picture to get a closer look of me in fourth grade, also the evil teacher with the very bad taste in slacks)

Later on, I learned to balance my love of shirking, daydreaming and reading books with getting B’s and C’s and not skipping quite as much school. I bumbled through high school and college in this fashion. One time, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do better. I made straight A’s that semester. Immediately thereafter, it was back to the B’s and C’s.

My biggest motivation was always recognition. You can’t really show off grades, and I always wanted to hear how brilliant I was. And I genuinely believed that I was gifted, so I never cared too much for what the report card said.

I followed the same pattern with my jobs—I did my best, within reason, but I was frequently late, and often missed work. I worked hard out of a sense of pride, but I found it was pretty difficult to get motivated to care very much. As genuine recognition is pretty scarce in the workplace, I mostly worked for the paychecks and out of a fear of disappointing my bosses or summoning down their wrath if I screwed up.

Everything changed when I went to massage school.

Suddenly, I was doing something I wanted to do, I’d chosen it, I was paying for it with my own money…as a result, I was never late for class, not even one time, not out of pride or fear—but because I wanted to be there. I studied really hard, and aced every test—I was number one in the class, and yet, while I was (and am) somewhat proud of that, it was never that big of a deal. It just felt … natural somehow.

That was about six years back. Now, having been at Massage Envy for almost two years, I’ve only been late one time (it was unavoidable, an accident had shut down the freeway), and only had to call in sick a small handful of times. It’s funny, I’m not even proud of that. Maybe in a sort of detached way, but really it is just the way things are supposed to be. I’m not late because my clients depend on me … it is where I want to be, need to be … it is where I am meant to be.

I don’t even take criticism personally. Sure, it’s no fun if someone doesn’t like my style, but for some folks it just is not a good match. I’m not the best therapist in the world, not even the best therapist I know, and that doesn’t really matter to me. I know I am doing my very best, and feel so damned good about it! I love what I am doing and it is actually fun to go to work—I know that sounds absurd, but there it is!

When I was young, I dreamed of being a big-name author or research writer and seeing my name in the book stores. When I started Mythical Beings, it was because I had visions of becoming a big-shot mythology expert. Everything2 was about dreams of glory and accolades and people telling me what a jolly good fellow I am.

The thing is, the more I write, the less I care about all those things. Don’t get me wrong, it felt absolutely great when Paul Grushkin put my essay in his book. And I love to hear from people on E2 that something I wrote touched them in some way. And the gals at my writers’ group seem very keen on my work (all the while never letting me get away with anything). But I would do it even if those things weren’t there. I’m finally doing it for love.

I once told someone that I was an “avid amateur” writer … totally forgetting that not everyone uses that word the way I do. The word is derived from that Latin word, amare, where we get words like ‘amorous’ … amateur means lover. And that it why I’m doing it these days. I’m doing the writing and the myths out of love.

And, I guess, in that sense, even though I am a professional massage therapist, I’ll always be a bit of an amateur there too.

Mythical Beings, Third Edition

Way back in 1989, I dug out a list of mythological characters that I had put together in college, taking Dr. Nancy Tuana’s Women in Western Thought course at UTD. I wanted to put them into the computer so that I could remember who is/was who in classical myths and keep them all straight when I read Joseph Campbell’s the Hero With 1000 Faces.

After reading Campbell’s book, I was hooked on expanding this little file and adding all the characters I could find in books. Later, I went back and added references and more. The thing grew out of control!

So, anyway, as most people reading this know, I’m doing a third edition of Mythical Beings this year. I’m not sure what I did to deserve all the positive feedback and acclaim that I’ve gotten, but I certainly do appreciate it! I’ve been working very hard, adding some fun stuff to the new one, revising and expanding, checking sources, and otherwise just working on my favourite hobby. I'm up to doing almost an hour a day on the silly thing. I’ve even put a few mythical characters up on Everything2 as I’ve revised them for the book.

As any of you who have ever perused Mythical Beings know, I have a lot of crazy, popular-culture stuff in there. Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, and other characters from the Star Wars films sit next to Loki, Hanuman, and other gods and heroes. In edition two I even added Torgo, the Master, and Roland (the Headless Thompson Gunner).

So, for my Third Edition, I was persueded by a certain (handsome, blond, Plano-living) gentleman of my acquaintance to add some of the wonderous characters from the mind of the late, great JRR Tolkien. Several of my dear friends are helping me out, because the last thing I need is getting called on the carpet for using a name incorrectly or some such thing.

I have also found a self-publishing house. This is distinct from a “vanity press” in that I do not pay them anything at all up front. My work is printed on demand (and at a very reasonable price---copies should retail for about $22) and shipped to people who order them. It all looks very classy, perfect bound (flat spine) trade paperbacks … good stuff.

I spoke with someone I know who is in the legal biz (a couple of someone’s, actually) and they are of the considered opinion that the inclusion of Star Wars, Ghostbusters, and JRR Tolkien characters should not be a problem so long as I add a statement to the copyright page to the effect of:

‘fictional characters are included with humourous intent and no copyright violation is intended …”

bla bla, characters are property of their respective copyright holders.

I’m not too worried about that. Apparently, about the worst thing that they could conceivably do (because my potential profits, a couple bucks a book, are so miniscule) is send me a C&D (a cease and desist notice) and tell me to take their characters out of the book.

But, when I started thinking about it, I thought, "what if a bunch of copies of this sold?"

It would just be my stupid luck to have a success and have to revise it at the last minute because the estate of the Late Professor Tolkien decided they wanted a cut of the action.

So I came up with this solution:

First, I create my third edition as planned. I order copies and my friends order copies and all the people who want one get copies.

Immediately after that, I can make a Third Edition, Second Printing, which would contain a wee bit more serious stuff and none of the silly stuff. That can be the one which I tell clients and E2 people about. Also, not telling E2 people about the first printing means I don’t have to hear about how “all Star Wars movies were so puerile and stupid and bla bla bla bla bla…”

Any of my friends who would say that, already have. And I’ve already stuck out my tongue at them!

Of course, none of this stuff is lost. I keep it all in the main notes, it is just that I can expurgate anything I want before something goes to press. Then I can pull the first printing off the site when the second printing is put to bed, so to speak. I think this solution should keep everyone happy, and if someone decides (by some crazy miracle) to order a couple hundred copies for their college mythology class, then I don’t have to worry that I’ll have Christopher Tolkien’s barristers ringing me up at four in the morning to tell me that I’ve made a mistake.

I may just leave in the Ghostbusters stuff … having Gozer the Gozerian in my myth book is way too fine.

Hey, my friend Wendy found this fascinating little "About me" site. You pick pictures that describe your ultimate things and then it sort of psychoanalyzes you. Check it out.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Bumper Sticker Shock

I’ve always enjoyed customizing my stuff. When I was a kid, I would trick out some of my Hot Wheels cars with paint or stickers. I wasn’t all that creative at that age, so mostly it looked pretty crummy, but still … this was not just some toy out of the box, this was my own – mine alone, no one else had one just like it.

As a grown-up I enjoy bumper stickers. I don’t want to be one of those kooky people with fifteen stickers on his car, a few well-placed and presumably clever ads, slogans, esoteric symbols, or obscure quotations will do!

Three and a half years ago, Carl (my younger brother in all but actual genetics) gave me a wonderful bumper sticker as a stocking stuffer: “What Would Cthulhu Do?” Cthulhu, the mad and nearly omnipotent monster god from the wicked and weird worlds of H.P. Lovecraft --- I’ve always had a soft spot for the guy. I put it on my car with pride. That bumper sticker helped me out of a jam one time. I ran out of fuel and a young pagan rescued me, “If that had said WWJD, I’m not sure I’d have stopped.” He said.

I can’t blame him. I’ve been “witnessed” to a few too many times myself.

But Cthulhu’s bumper sticker was looking a bit ratty. I finally removed it, or, more accurately, it just sort of … fell off. Anyway, it left my little white car looking a bit naked, I’m afraid. I have an E2 oval (like those country things GB for Great Britain, SWE for Sweden, that sort of thing…), my Homestar runner window decal, a triple A thing … A couple of bumper stickers would look nice!

Now, I have certain rules about what I will put on my car. Not just any old sticker will do for my little car Jidosha (Japanese for “automobile” I call him “Ji” for short). First, no politics…For one thing, my political beliefs are a death sentence in my hometown. My sister had her car vandalized for putting a Mondale/Ferraro sticker on it. If a relatively mild-mannered dweeb like Fritz Mondale can provoke that kind of response, I shudder to think what they might do to a car with a sticker that supports John Kerry or John Edwards or some other person whom Dallasites fear might usurp the White House.

Also, I would like my bumper sticker to be legible. I love bumper stickers. I love to read them, and I always feel sad if I can’t make out what they say because it is too small, too low-contrast, confusingly rendered, or too complicated. This always fills me with a sense of sadness.

Dear Driver:
I would have loved to read your witty quip, infuriating political statement, silly aphorism, or fun trademarked phrase, but I couldn’t make it out.

Signed,
Kellum

Also, as a former graphics professional, I really want something with at least a bare modicum of taste and design sense.

That brings us to CafePress. Once upon a time, in the bad old days, finding an appropriate bumper sticker, button, or t-shirt required hours of wading through badly-photocopied catalogues full of incredibly geeky fare (I heart James Doohan! I heart Airwolf! My Other Car is a Tardis!). Now, with the Intarwebs, you can type in a word or two and voila! You are transported to a world of wonders!

But what to search on? I really don’t have many hobbies that aren’t so esoteric that no one would have heard of them. What good is an Urban Dead bumper sticker? The Kingdom of Loathing ones are funny, but I just gave one to Suzi (“I stole your accordion!”), so that might be doubling up.

Perhaps I will try mythology. Ahhh … a wonderland! Apart from the “Follow Your Bliss” and the inexplicable “Global Warming is a myth” (people still think that, even after 99% of the scientists on the world have confirmed it? Oh right, there are still people who think the earth was created in seven 24-hour days …), there were many wonderful ones. I selected one that says “Eat. Sleep. Mythology.” … and then I found the MythBusters bumperstickers.

Have you seen this thing? The Discovery channel’s Mythbusters is hosted by two special effects experts tho take urban myths and subject them to some scrutiny: If you talk on the cell phone while pumping gas, will you set yourself on fire? If you are underwater, are you safe from bullets? If you throw a penny off the Empire State Building, will it have the power of a rifle bullet when it hits the pavement below? Are people with piercings human lightning rods? It’s been compared to if JPE and I had a show, although it is sometimes hard to tell which of us would match up with which host.

The Mythbusters team doesn’t “ just tell them myths, they put them to the test” – and very amusingly! They crash things, burn things, drop things out of airplanes … thir stalwart crash test dummy gets electrocuted, burned, dropped, and mutilated a lot of times – but no Mythbusters actually get harmed. Okay, that’s a total lie – host Adam Savage winds up, often through his own fault, getting hurt regularly. They blow up stuff – a LOT of stuff: a cement mixer, a Chinese throne, a pair of pants, a jet of flame, and even a Civil War vintage rocket powered by meat (you think I am kidding???)!!!

So anyway, Suzi and I have gotten into this show. They had bumper stickers, T-shirts, and buttons with every conceivable quatation from the program. They also had the obligatory “I (heart)…” and every member of the cast.

And I wound up ordering this one, a comment from host Adam Savage, who had just been confronted with video evidence that he’d said something he claimed he had not.

"I Reject Your Reality and Substitute my Own!"

Now I can customize my toys to my heart’s content.

(Suzi pointed out that a blog about bumper stickers is kind of a one-two punch of underratedforms of communication! I love them both!)

A new kid in town

The ferret rescue shelter was a whirlwind of little fuzzy creatures when Suzi and I went to visit. How were we to pick one? All the little dancing weasels were so cute it seemed like an insurmountable task.

From a hiding place, a ferret popped up like a snake charmer’s cobra, wanting to get a look at these new humans. His coat was the deep brown of roasted coffee beans and little white stripes on his face gave him a distinctly badger-y appearance.

The lady told us that his name was Cosmo.

Sometimes you pick the pet, sometimes the pet picks you. Cosmo kept his eye on us, played with us, never strayed far from us. We had been adopted.

It’s pretty common to rename pets after you adopt them from a shelter. We try to keep their shelter name as a middle name or nickname. That is why Cassie-cat’s middle name is Annie and Jack is “Jack Casanova” --- a fitting name for our Cajun lover-boy.

Ferrets are extremely skillful thieves – Davey loved bagels and twizzlers (as well as lighters, treats, silverware, and almost anything else that wasn’t tied down), Indiana would make off with any empty Starbucks cups that were in the house. The name Rob was a bit of a subtle pun --- it’s a name, but also a verb. The word “nick” means to filch something … so:

Thus, Nicholas J. Cosmo --- latest entrant into the Eberhard-Johnson household.

Ayumi wasn’t so sure about this new chap. We’d had a bit of bad luck with one from the shelter who was way too rough with her (he had to go back, but I’m sure they’ll find him a nice home!).

She seems to have changed her mind. Looks like little Nick is here to stay!

Pity Party (and a really good movie)

So, apparently I have bronchitis.

I’ve been coughing for years, the result of allergies to pollen and house dust. It comes and goes, as allergies will, with the season. But my cough for the last few weeks has been different.

The cough has been painful, persistent and unrelenting. After I heard from DL that bronchitis was ‘going around,’ I suspected. Thursday night, I did not sleep much, coughing my head off until the muscles of my chest ached.

So, Friday, I went and got looked at by the doctor. After he did some chest x-rays and listened to my lungs extensively (“Inhale deeply…” *breeeeaaathhheee coff! Coff! Exxxhaalll—coff! Coff!), he realised that I was right.

So, I’m having to stay home from work today, which is good, I don’t think I could do a lot of massages today.

But I'm gonna miss the money!

=======--------------=======

My mother died two and a half years ago. Her passing was not entirely unexpected, but still painful.

Mom was many things, some of them good, some of them not so good. After her death, I have spent some time re-evaluating her life and forcing myself to admit that Mom was a real pain in the ass quite a lot.

A reformed alcoholic, she had many of the flaws stereotypically associated with that group--- she could be selfish, short-sighted, and given to fits of unreasonable anger. She hated most of my friends, particularly the ones who were the best to me in a pinch, and she never believed in their good qualities. She would often think anything that happened was about her and, of course. someone was always out to get her, out of jealousy, of course.

But she was my mom, and I loved her. And I miss her. Like many good moms do, she gave really good sympathy.

When I feel this crappy, I want nothing more than to call my mommy and hear her say “You poor thing. Now make sure to take your medicine and get lots of sleep and go to the store and get some orange juice…”

=======--------------=======

Last night, we saw Taxi Driver for the first time. I’d always heard it was a classic, but I’d skipped it repeatedly, as I suspected that it isn’t my kind of thing. Big movies, important movies often leave me flat as a flounder. This is particularly true of Movies With Something To Say. They leave me scratching my head going “huh?”, so I skip them.

But, being a fan of DeNiro and Scorsese and that crowd, we got Taxi Driver from Netflix and watched it. I have to say, it was remarkable. Despite knowing the whole plot, or so I thought, the ending still surprised me, and DeNiro’s performance as the socially awkward and freaky loner Travis Bickle was every bit as good as people seem to say.

Despite it being A Big Important Movie that Grown-ups Like (I tend to favour kids movies, or things where CGI mosters terrorize people ... that type of thing) I still enjoyed it. And, it was weird to see some of the actors so young! Baby DeNiro! Baby Harvey Keitel! Baby Albert Brooks!

A very interesting and thought-provoking flick.

Everything2, too!

I never seem to get tired of telling the story of how I first found the website that would turn into an obsession and ultimately change my life for the better.

It was late 1999 or maybe early 2000 – the Internet was new…well, it was fairly new to me anyway. I used to love to randomly wander the backroads of the electronic frontier, never knowing where my virtual perambulations would land me. To that end, I would type words, phrases, names, whatever … into a search engine (I think I used Alta Vista at the time) and see where the magic would whisk me off to.

I remember typing ‘cat’ into the search engine. Among the countless hits was cat@everything2.com “What’s this?” says I.

At first glance, it appeared to be a rather comprehensive survey of the cat command from UNIX, which is a command to connect files (concatinate them) together. I’m not much of a fan of UNIX, it reminds me of a job I once held for a year, despite being gossly underqualified for the position. I almost moved on … but “What ho?” There was also a description of the domesticated animal. And a mini-review of B. Klibin’s immortal cartoon book Cat. “Just what exactly is this site anyway ….?”

At the bottom of the page were links. Lots and lots of them, linking the page about cats to other things on the weird site --- fiction, essays, factual pieces, humour … all sorts of strange stuff.

I was hooked.

As the years rolled on, I kept looking things up on Everything2. Anytime I would read a factual book or if I wanted to know about something, I’d go to E2 first --- the writing was consistently better and more entertaining than Wikipedia or the other online resources. It was frequently more interesting than looking in an encyclopedia.

I particularly enjoyed watching VH1 Classic with JCP and Suzi --- a cheesy Heavy Metal video would come on and I would look the band up on E2. The articles were usually written by people who employed phrases such as “I know they’re mostly horrible, but…” and “…guilty pleasure…”

About two and a half years ago, I started writing articles for E2. I did some good work --- I did some not-so-good work. I met some nice people who helped me improve my writing and my self confidence. I learned the arcane lore of Everything 2.

About two weeks ago, the supreme honcho of E2’s day-to-day operations, Lord Brawl (coolest. Screen name. ever.) wrote to me.

“You’ve been well-recommended for the Content Editors team. Are you interested?”

Wow.

I told him to wait, then I wrote to some friends.

In 2 ½ years I’ve made a few friends on E2. Some of them I’ve even met in real life. As they answered my questions and addressed my concerns, a picture started to emerge.

As one friend pointed out: it is not so very different from what I already do on there --- I read, evaluate, write notes to encourage or correct the writer. It’s just that now, I have the tools to really do it: I can hide or remove writeups, I can give rewards to writers as often as I wish (formerly, I could only do this one time per day). But most importantly, I have access to the Editors’ Forum. This allows me to participate in the discussions that will shape E2 in the upcoming times.

Thanks Lord Brawl, I won’t let you down!

Robert Roy McFerret 2001-2007

Sunday morning, sometime around 7:15, our ferret Robbie died. I thought I’d get that out of the way first thing.

In 2001, our first ferret, Davey, died and by summer, we were ready to bring another little friend into our happy household. It was to that end that we stood in a pet shop in Richardson. Six pairs of eyes examined us---twelve tiny perfect jewels behind six little bandit masks. They were the biggest ferret kits I’d ever seen at the time, bigger in fact than Davey had been when he was full grown. The big baby ferrets were the colour of lightly burnt toast, with little pink noses that twitched adorably as they sniffed our hands to try to locate treats.

One of the kits, a gregarious male, had an odd white blaze on his head, shaped very much like a sword! As we had recently enjoyed Liam Neeson’s turn as the eponymous Scots hero in Rob Roy (for about the fifth time), the name seemed ideal for a huge, charismatic rogue*. That little sword really cinched it.

The word ferret derives from roots meaning ‘thief.’ You can see vestages of the Indo-European root (meaning ‘to carry’) in such words as pilfer and filch---it’s appropriate, because ferrets will make off with just about any damned thing in the house.

Robbie started his career in a big way---he started with our hearts.

*In the event that my estimable reader saw, and did not (for some incomprehensible reason) enjoy, this magnificent movie, he or she is cheerfully invited to pretend that I am talking about the 1953 classic, Rob Roy, the Highland Rogue (starring a young Michael Gough, no less!).

There is an axiom among the aficionados of small, domesticated mustalids that the “perfect number of ferrets is always one more.” The old timers call it ‘ferret math’ – that tendency to keep adding one more ferret to the household. We have never succumbed to the lure of four or five ferrets running all over the house---two is a pretty good number for us. Robbie had a chocolate-brown playmate named Indiana (named for Indiana Jones, of course) and later, a little scamp of a ferret girl named Ayumi.

He grew big---really big. Until I saw some ferrets who had been crossbred with polecats (their wild cousins), I had never seen a ferret as big or fit as Robbie. Turns out Rob Roy was indeed a good name for him, even though his little sword faded into a tiny pinstripe over time.

The word that comes to mind when I think of my little mustalid friend Rob is affectionate--- he was a gentle giant in the truest sense of the word. I never saw him bite anyone, unlike Davey, the juvenile delinquent who developed ridiculous nicknames like “Bitey McNibbles” and “Sir Bitesalot” … or tiny Ayumi, for whom play bites are her favourite way of saying “hello.” Robbie’s preferred greeting was licking, nuzzling, and cuddling. He was hard not to love.

In the span of a ferret’s life, six years is a long time---there are some health problems that plague older ferrets.

Monday night, a week ago, Robbie became weak. Past midnight, my stalwart best friend and platonic life partner, Suzi and I had to race down unfamiar freeways to an emergency ferret vet many miles away.

The diagnosis was not particularly cheery: insulinoma. Insulinoma, not rare in older ferrets, is a type of pancreatic cancer. The insulin-producing cells of the pancreas (beta cells I think they’re called. I’m too worn out to go look it up.) grow out of control, flooding the body with too much of the sugar-regulating hormone and leading to a blood sugar crash. It is treatable, but not curable.

Robbie seemed better for a few days, but this was a lot of strain for his little body to go through. Saturday night, he was very weak. We’ve had enough pets to know that this could be the end, we hoped not, but we tried to be realistic.

I’d love to leave this on an optimistic note, or say something clever and creative, but I really don’t feel like it. I’m a little numb. At least it was a quick end, something I guess most of us hope for. At least he had a good long life (six years is not a world record or anything, but it is pretty good for a ferret and the longest any of our four have made it so far). At least … at least … at least.

As with so many pets (and humans too), who have ‘gone before,’ he is gone from this life, but Robbie lives on forever in our hearts.

I close with a quote from a distant acquaintance years ago:

“You don’t own pets. You just pay rent on them until it is time to give them back to God.”

No Love Lost

A Tuesday---my day off. Cold, grey, windy … the perfect weather to make a pot of tea and spend the day playing Kingdom of Loathing, catching up on my friends’ blogs, and reading webcomics.

Oh yes, and there are hours of happy time that I can spend on Everything2, which has just done some improvements and is blazing along at relative lightning-speed right now. I have about four pieces that I’m about ready to ‘put to bed,’ including a history of Tarot cards, a bio on American beat poet John Giorno, and a … rather off-colour short story.

Oh, sure, there is laundry to do, bills to pay, catboxes and a kitchen to clean, but those are easy chores. A simple matter to fit them between fun tasks.

With my damnable enthusiastic optimism, I forgot to factor in Time Warner Cable Internet and their frightening unreliability. Silly me.

My housemate, best friend and platonic life partner is Suzi. She is the veritable Calvin to my Hobbes, Jim to my Artie, Ernie to my Bert … So Suzi has to work an extra-long day (she’s a floral designer, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, ‘nuff said), she appeared in my doorway to awaken me with bad news:

“Time Warner has been called. With any luck you’ll be online in a few hours.

I slept another hour.

As I write this, I have been awake for about nine hours. The net was up for about three of those hours. Just long enough for me to get a few things done, then it went right back down, like some evil undead monster which only rises from the crypt for a brief time, then returns to its sarcophagus.

But, yeah, enough of such silly imagery!

Some months ago, after suffering through a horrible spell of having almost no Internet connection at all for over three weeks, Suzi wrote a letter to the local head of Time Warner Cable. It is as funny as it is acid, and I would like to share it with you. So here it is:

Mr. C----

(This is a long letter. I hope you read all of it, I'd like to hear a response. Or I could just post it on a series of public internet consumer sites. Your call.)

I want to share a bit of customer history with you.

Back in the summer of '06, we had Comcast cable and internet service. Our friends would gather at our home on weekends and we would watch Something Weird On Demand, TV Time On Demand, or just leave video music station The Tube on in the background while we talked. We were complimented on our digital cable television. The internet was steady and reliable, with only an occasional hiccup in service. During the week, my partner and I would peruse Discovery On Demand or any number of the wide variety of channels offering such service. It was a simpler, easier day. People laughed more then.

It was before the dark times. Before Time-Warner.

The changeover would be swift, painless, they said. Why, we would not only have the same quality, but it would be better! What marvels of customer service we were promised! Then, as I watched, my beloved digital cable turned into a stranger. I asked Something Weird on their website if they were to be included in this new regime. They thought they were. Alas, no. Also gone were TV Time, Discovery, The Tube and at least half of the On Demand channels.

What was left was a shambles.

Aside from incorrect listing information and uninformative program descriptions, what paltry remains of the On Demand service there were stopped updating. From, what was it? September? until now, there has been one update to the On Demand content I still use---Cartoon Network and Adult Swim. One. In nearly four months. Last I was able to check (did I mention that On Demand has gone down with my net service.. again?) Adult Swim Comedy was down to four single programs that have been listed since the summer. On Demand is now relatively useless to me and that makes me sad.

But I knew nothing of true horror until what has become known as "The Upgrade."

Junkill notes: Cue scary music, wolf howl, evil cackling, and thunder crashing!

It was a Wednesday back in October. The notice on the door announced that the service in our area was being "upgraded." This seemed wise, at first, because despite it supposedly all being the same equipment, since the Time-Warner takeover every time it rained our net service would go down. The flyer said that the work should be completed by that evening. Fine.

Of course, it wasn't.

The digital cable TV came limping back after three days and 5-6 calls to customer support. It was almost amusing how one person would tell me to switch the cables around in the back and then another would tell me I needed a technician. Yet another just had me turn it on and off a lot. I think he was new. A tech did eventually come to the house and fix the converter box. Then it only took 2-3 more calls to customer service to get it loaded properly. Finally, I could go back to taping a show I had already missed two episodes of due to the disruption.

The internet service, on the other hand, had just begun its nightmarish plunge into a hoary netherworld of equipment failure, miscommunications, tech appointments and incredible frustration.

After the start of The Upgrade, it was a full week before net service was restored at all. I believe there were two techs in a couple of days that time. One dutifully checked the modem, replaced the cable indoors and checked everything before saying it was "a line problem." I already knew that. Everything had worked before The Upgrade. The second tech did something about the line problem.. I think... I'm not sure I even saw him. The only people giving me reliable information at that time were the subcontractors doing the actual Upgrade. I attempted to speak to Time-Warner supervisors twice, but they never called me back when they said they would and, hard as it may be to believe, I do have to leave the house from time to time.

The internet worked for us for a few days before conking out again, and again, and again, and again. If you look at my service history, you will see that we went to the office and got a new modem, which worked briefly until the switch over to the RoadRunner service. Then *pause to chuckle bitterly* the modem we had just gotten the week before was no longer compatible! So a tech came out on November 2nd, and replaced it. Yay. For fun, I started trying to keep track of the number of different people I had spoken to at your company. About then, it was up to fifteen.

Keep in mind that during this time, both my partner and I were attempting to conduct business over the net. As the weeks progressed, my partner was growing increasingly furious as he missed client emails and therefore meetings. I was having a hard time sending graphics to a new client. We spent forty dollars on T-Mobile service at Starbucks, just trying to keep up. I forbid my partner from speaking to Time-Warner representatives numbered 16-23, as he was beginning to froth at the mouth.

Junkill notes: Those of you who’ve met me will have a hard time imagine me that angry. It doesn’t happen very often. You shoulda seen it. Or, y’know, not!

I, myself, was close to snapping. It was the constant having to phone, wait on hold for ten to forty five minutes and restate my situation to a new, clueless rep (my name, address and last four digits of my social just started coming out as a stream). It was the inconvenience of having to try and scrounge net service at other places—not to mention paying $45 a month for the privilege.

Junkill notes: We have since found a wonderful little Mediterranean café in our neighbourhood which has free wi-fi, but the point is we should not have to do this at all!

Eventually, even though I was trying not to take it out on the poor saps who answer the phones (they didn't make the decisions), after being told that the soonest a tech could come out would be five days from then, my tone must have spooked someone around representative #27. She "escalated" the issue and, despite it being a Sunday, said someone from the administrative offices would call me back by 3 pm that day. When 3 pm came and went and we packed up the laptop for Starbucks, I called Customer Support. Rep #28 told me that those offices just aren't open until Monday and I had been misinformed. At Starbucks, we looked over satellite dish brochures. While we were away, Representative #29 from admin DID call and left a message at 5 pm. My partner wanted to ask him if Time-Warner would pay for us to install a competitor's DSL line, but I grabbed the phone.

Monday, November 20th, I eventually spoke to Admin Rep #29 and he said he would take care of it that day and customer service would give me a month's credit for net service. At long last, a "super tech" came out in the evening. He checked up and down the lines and finally located a problem in the ground block. He replaced it and both the tech and I, weary from each of our long battles with The Upgrade, wished each other well.

The two weeks that followed seemed blissful. Oh, sure, the digital cable service was still awful, but at least the internet service was working. Maybe it would stay that way... maybe it's not so bad.. or maybe I was just fatigued and hallucinating.

The Upgrade would not give up so easily. The Upgrade will not die so quickly. The Upgrade merely waited, lulling us into a false sense of security until a weekend neared, rubbing its allegorical hands together and cackling. I like to imagine that it also twirled its moustache.

This past Thursday, December 7th, the internet became intermittent. Okay, alright, no need to panic. It came back in the evening. Its not like that. It won't happen again. It can't!

Friday: The net works sporadically. The Upgrade waits until I am talking with someone about a banking issue and checking my account online to flatline. It comes back in the evening. A migraine begins to roost behind my right eyeball.

Saturday: I call Tech Support and speak to #36, who passes me to Tier 2 #37, Andrew, who obviously knows what he's doing, but finds the diagnostics "puzzling." He says I need a tech there and transfers me to #38 who tells me that it will be next Thursday before a tech can come out. Perhaps I could go to a local office and replace the modem? Oh. They aren't open on Saturdays.

That evening I determine that it isn't the modem. On Demand, for what little it is worth, is also out at the same time, giving only an error message. I call Customer Service back and attempt to get the name of Admin Rep #29 and his phone number. They can't find it in my customer history and tell me someone from the records research department will call me before 10 am Monday morning. Sure. Sure they will.

Sunday, December 10th, 2006: I sit here, writing to you. The modem blinks the ready light at me impudently. Later, my partner and I will go out to a local Arabic cafe that offers free wireless.

My partner has decided that Time-Warner internet service is a contender for the most shoddy product he has ever paid money for. (Keep in mind that the closest competitors are a 1975 Toyota Corolla he got for $200 that had the ceiling stitched back on with leather cord and a $10 naughty video tape he bought in college that was so bad it now travels the world as an absurdist party favor.) Myself, I'm trying to think of any product or service I've ever dealt with that has been this stressful, slipshod and unreliable.

So, at this point in my saga of the War Against The Upgrade, out of a month and a half to two months, I have had uninterrupted internet service from Time-Warner for two weeks. Tell me, would you pay for a car that only started one third of the time? Would you be happy with electrical service one quarter of the month?

Would you pay over a hundred dollars a month for all of this? Would there be any reason to stay with such a company? Any redeeming feature to the service at all?

Tell me.

I'll be here. Waiting.

Only, don't try and email me---my net service is kind of unreliable.

For the record, he never got back to us. Maybe we were a little slow, but SWB, came out today and installed a DSL. It is marvellous!!!!

Their other competitor, DirectTV is coming out next Wednesday to install a satellite dish.

I think I’ll send Mr. C. another copy of Suzi’s letter. I’m going to attach a Post-it Note that says “DirectTV and SWB DSL thank you for not responding to this letter 2 months ago.”