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!

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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…”

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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.