Kinda Bummed

 Today, I have been waking up in my usual, day-off routine of coffee, cigarettes, mindlessly colorful tv and following links on Blogspot. I found a number of really cool blogs about stuff I like, comics, animation, pin-ups ... relishing in my inner geek.

From Steve Gaines' retro cartoon blog, I found a link to this site:

http://gobukan.blogspot.com/

It's title? Blah, Blah, Blog.

Damn!

I honestly had no idea that this site existed before about ten minutes ago!

I feel like a jerk.

I really don't want anyone to think I nabbed this guys title. It's a really cool blog, way cooler than my humble, little sprout of a blog.

I do recommend you check out this blog. I'm now a follower. Really, very cool stuff.

But what should I do? Should I change my title? I'm still not truly in love with it. I ruminated for a long time, but I've never been really satisfied.

On the other hand, it's just a freakin' blog title. In the Grand Scheme it's not really very important, is it?

damn

Okay, enough with the inner conflict. Resolve it later. I need another cup of coffee.

Which holiday is this again?

I work in retail. Hardware, to be specific. I think, as far as retail work goes, hardware has to be about the best. We carry products that people actually need. We get fewer browsers than other kinds of retail. People go to the hardware store because they have a need for something, not just trying to satisfy that innate human desire for something new and shiny.

This time of year, I try to end every encounter with a customer with "Happy Holidays." I do this for a few reasons. I do want people to enjoy this season as best as possible, considering it's cold as hell and dark for far too long every day. Winter is not good for people. It makes us cranky and depressed. It's obvious to me why every culture has some kind of celebration in the dead of winter. People need some cheering up this time of year.

Another reason for the "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" should be blindingly obvious; Christmas, Hanakkuh and Kwanza all take place in December. I can't, as a retail associate, risk putting one holiday above another. With the exception of Kwanza, I can't really tell who might be a Jew and who might be a Christian. No big deal, right? People know this, right?

Then why do I still get customers who reply with "You too." Quickly followed with "Merry Christmas?" Immediatly, I am forced to think of that living compost heap that calls itself Bill O'Reilly and his imaginary "War on Christmas." When this happens, I wish I had a really good retort that I can state my objection to the seemingly endless co-opting of everything by Christians, without being offensive. I want to say. "I'm not Christian" or "Io, Saturnalia" or "may the sun return after the Solstice." Something to let these white-bread suburbanites know that Jesus isn't the only religion out there, regardless of what Saul of Tarses has to say about it.

It bothers me, because Christmas really has become an insanely commercial entity in America, stuffed seam-rippingly full of all sorts of disparate imagery that has nothing to do with the birth of Jesus. It bothers me because nearly everyone talks about the "true meaning of Christmas" when they can't nail down what that really is.

But you sure as hell better not take Christ out of the mix.

Sometime, I wish I had a little Star of David pin to wear. Something barely noticed until the whole holiday/christmas thing comes up. Maybe it will stop them in their tracks. Maybe it might make them ... dare I hope, actually have to think about this topic. I won't though, because I'm not a Jew, and that would be demeaning.

Those who know me know that I am not a Christian. I don't have a problem with Jesus, I drank the Kool-Aid, but it didn't take. I have some issues with Christians, however. I agree with Ghandi (or was it the Dalai Lama?), when asked what he thought of  Christianity, he replied, "It sounds like a good idea. Someone should try it."

Maybe it's because northern European white people adopted it, and they are conquerors and despoilers by nature. Maybe it's the conversion/redemption factor of Christianity itself that is the root cause. I don't know, but the effect has been that Christians, for the last 2000 years, have rolled over other cultures with all the grace and tolerance of Army ants on the move. That which stands in their way will be consumed, absorbed or minimalized into extinction.

Which brings me to the twenty-first century and our fictional "War on Christmas." There is no such war, but there are those of us who are tired of having someone else's religion crammed down our throats. We don't necessarily want some manger scene, with a blonde Mary, and all white nativity cast (except for that one token black Maji) in our city holiday display. In short, THIS HOLIDAY IS NOT THE SOLE EXCLUSIVE PROPERTY OF WHITE CHRISTIANS! Get over it, you ain't the only game in town.

I guess the only real answer lies within each individual. Discover for yourself what this holiday means. Create your own definition of the "True Meaning of Christmas." I suggest you begin by reading up about Saturnalia on Wikipedia. Perhaps re-reading Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." It's a fine, inspirational story intended to get the reader to consider the less-than-humane aspects of their own lives.  O. Henry's "Gift of the Magi" is a wonderfully ironic take on gift giving.

As for the rest of the tripe and trappings, you can have it. For me, Christmas is a gauntlet to run. An obstacle-course of bad weather, trite and cloying songs and the annual anxiety of gift giving on a dental floss budget. Just hunker down, get through the cold, unyielding darkness and hang in there until Spring returns.

While I'm doing that, in the immortal words of Rodney King, "Can't we all just get along?"

Chapter one draft

“Crystalhawk laughed…” began Jori, reading from a thick, leather bound book.

“Don’t most of the old Crystalhawk tales begin with ‘Crystalhawk laughed.” Is that he ever did? Laugh?” snapped Phineas Port, who liked to be called Fin. He was having trouble hiding his annoyance about his friend’s choice of reading material.

“If you’re not going to show respect for the classic adventure tales…” Jori began scolding Fin.

“True adventure tales!” interjected their quiet friend Ename.

“Oh you too now, Ename?” Fin gave her a slow shake of his head, concealing a slight grin.

“Well, everyone says they’re true…” she trailed off.

Fin, and his best friends Jori Zeopper and Ename Jolest had been shouldering their way through the morning crowds. This had been an ongoing argument with them of late. Jori had recently become enchanted by the old Crystalhawk adventure stories. This was a sore point to Fin, but he would not tell his friends the reason for his annoyance.

In fact, their friend Fin had a secret. His real name was Phineas Portamento Crystalhawk, heir to the House Crystalhawk fortune and trading empire. He was the next Lord of one of the most influential Houses in the world. He was raised on the old tales of his infamous ancestor, the dashing thief, the stealer of hearts and gemstones, the rogue of flashing steel and narrow escapes. Fin knew them all; he knew which were true and which were fantasy, as well as the lives of the entire line of House Crystalhawk. The biographies, adventures and conquests of his entire line of ancestors had been a large bulk of his studies as a child. The family saga was the most important part of his early education. First nannies, then tutors had instructed him on his lineage every day of his young life. Since there had been a lot of ancestors, and since his most notable First Ancestor had so many tales, Fin had no taste for the popularized Crystalhawk tales.

To Fin, his ancestor wasn’t the loveable rogue of swashbuckling adventure, he was just the first in a very long line of people Fin wasn’t a part of, didn’t want to know and would never be. Fin couldn’t see himself as an adventurer, a thief, an alchemist or a canny trader. He wasn’t any one thing. He liked thinking that he couldn’t be forced into one category or another. He had varied interests, though none of them to any real depth or expertise. What he wasn’t, and never wanted to be was the latest in a very long line of aristocratic rogues and greedy, power-mad merchant emperors.

At the moment, Fin was annoyed that his best friends had become enthralled by the stories of the First Crystalhawk, but he was more annoyed that his family was making even more money with the publication of the old stories. Most of them weren’t true, and the stories that were based in fact were far from accurate and polished up for dramatic effect. The old tales had become so popular, especially with the University age crowd, that there were now rumors of a radio series based on his ancestor. None of this sat well with Fin. Even the symbol of House Crystalhawk was chased in gold on the spine of Jori’s book. It seemed that his family was inescapable.

Fin wondered silently if there were anywhere in the world that hadn’t heard of House Crystalhawk? Are there any people who don’t know anything about the adventures of his greatest ancestor or the generations of noteworthy successors? Could such a place exist, and could he find it if it did? Could Phineas Portamento Crystalhawk disappear, leaving only Fin Port, nobody? Could Fin live somewhere for the rest of his life and never hear the word Crystalhawk again?

Ename pulled him from his thoughts with her typical, gentle “ahem.”

The three stopped in Square of Madame Dree. Jori was still intently reading from his book. He looked up only when Fin tapped his shoulder.

“I have to do some shopping,” Ename gently began while pushing her glasses further up her tiny nose. Her slightly droopy blue eyes were like two windows open on a summer sky. She brushed back a lock of her wavy, lavender hair. “Why don’t we meet up at the New Talisman Café at about… uh, maybe three?”

“Three? Ummm, okay.” Managed Jori, falling back into his book.

“Three’s fine, Ename, see you then. First one to arrive gets the seats, last one buys!” said Fin.

As Fin watched her slip through the morning crowd, he thought, “Why does she always make me think of a unicorn?” Without warning, Fin grabbed his friend by the shoulder of his blue coat; pulling him back he hissed, “Watch out, Jori.”

Jori, snapped back to reality, looked up to see he was about to be overrun by a small group of Steam Alchemists. As the group strode through the crowd, people pulled back to give them room to pass. There were five total, four were dressed in their usual tan, one-piece work suits. One of those carried an oversized wrench, balanced on one shoulder. All wore the dragonhead symbol of the Steam Guild on shoulder patches. Fin could see that it appeared to be the escort of a Guild Ambassador. The ambassador was an older gentleman, with his gray, receding hair pulled straight back and tied. He wore an elaborate blue overcoat, worked with gold, silver and some small gemstones glittered at his sleeves. One hand held the head of an obviously expensive walking stick, topped with a silver dragonhead. No wonder people were giving them room.

“I am always impressed, and a little surprised that the people give the Guilds such respect.” Said Jori.

“Not so surprising, really,” began Fin. After all, the Alchemist Guilds have done so much to make everyone’s lives better; provided necessary technology, establishing and maintaining the major trade routes, and making peace for about a thousand years…”

“I studied the histories of the Alchemical Guilds too,” muttered Jori. “But, it’s still pretty impressive. All that respect…uh, thanks for saving me, by the way. I half-believe they would have trod me down.”

“Look,” interjected Fin, “I’m going to see a person or two before we meet up with Ename. Don’t forget, the New Talisman at three.” He called over his shoulder at his friend. “More than friend,” Fin thought. “more like sidekick.” Since they both entered University, and since graduation they were rarely apart. Fin felt a tiny pang of guilt at being relieved to be away from Jori and Ename for a few hours. All this Crystalhawk stuff must be getting to him.

“And Jori,” Fin called to him “Don’t follow any skirts!”

As Fin turned back, he heard over his shoulder, “Ambassador Franklin! It is an truly an honor that you and your entourage should choose to visit our humble …” but the rest was lost in the ambient sounds of a city square on a warm and sunny late-morning.

 

Of course, this is original, copywritten material, dated 2009, and is owned by the author. The characters depicted represent no actual persons, and any resemblance is purely coincidental. 

Blog Action Day 2009

I've become aware that today is Blog Action Day 2009. Well, it still is for me for about thirty-three more minutes. This year's topic is global climate change. As most of us thinking people have become aware, we humans are adding to the problem of raising the average global temperature. We also realize the need for all of us to help to alleviate this problem before it's too damn late.

The biggest contribution I have made was donating my car to Volunteers of Minnesota about five years ago. I thought that perhaps some single mom would have a greater need than I for a car, so I gave it up. I have not regretted the decision since. I live about a mile and a half from my work, so I walk. Many of the incredibly nice people I work with offer me rides home nearly every day, so I walk to work, and usually get a ride home. Anywhere else I have to go, I walk, ride with someone or take the bus.

It's amazing that you can get along without a car, and living in Minneapolis, it's absolutely great not to have to scrape snow and ice from a car, pour gasoline into it or pay insurance for it. Not to mention all the greenhouse gases that have not gone into the air because of me in the last five years.

We have been using compact fluorescent light bulbs for four years, which save electricity, and therefore money and CO2 emissions. Each cfl bulb can help to keep up to a ton of carbon from going into the air per year.

I also don't eat much meat. Once or twice per week on average. It's not a vegetarian thing, just that I don't eat much at all, including meat.

Finally, I haven't flown anywhere for several years. Air travel is a huge contributer to greenhouse gas emissions, so I don't travel much either. Not that it's a noble decision I've made, I'm just too poor to travel.

So, I know there is a lot more I can do, but it's a good trend. Just what are you doing to help the climate change problem?

Worldbuilding

Well, the writing is going slowly, I'm afraid. But that's okay, since there are always real-life intrusions to blame. Work, sleep, other projects, and sheer laziness all play a role.

One thing I have been working on is a world in which those stories may or may not take place. It all started with a blog. Valerie D'Orazio's Occasional Superheroine blog to be exact. In a great series of posts wherein she describes her trials within and without the comic book bizness, she mentions a name generator. Not one in particular, just that they exist.

So, of course I hit Google, and found Seventh Sanctum. This is a site with numerous and helpful generators for a number of gaming and writing needs. Especially for someone like myself, with a comics and gaming background.

Seventh Sanctum lead me to this fractal world generator.

That's where I generated the above map of my new world. It doesn't have a name yet, just a designation: 1535565268_28_28. If you visit the site and are at all curious to see better images of my new world, simply type 1535565268 into the random seed field and set the water and ice levels to 28 each. You can view the world as a flat map, as a hemisphere or even rotating! That's a really cool feature. Sometimes I just set it up and watch the world rotate.

Once I had finally settled on a randomly generated world that pleased me, I set about to deduce some of the major features of the world. By altering the water level to about 90%, I could locate the highest mountain peaks and ranges. By using the green portions, I could mark where the major rivers might occur. With mountains and rivers, I can determine where the major cities might crop up. There is a wealth of information to be created using this wonderful generator.

At the same time, I had found the great online Steampunk comic Girl Genius. This was to prove vital to providing the main inspiration for the overall setting that any stories might find themselves growing within. If you haven't read Girl Genius, I urge you to do so right now. It is one of the finest stories I have read in the genre of comics. Brilliant writing, beautiful coloring. I can't rave enough about the story. But I won't anymore right now. Just go read the thing!

What I have mainly settled on is a world in which the primary technology is created, maintained and controlled by nine very powerful Guilds of Alchemy, which on this world, is the catch-all term for any form of science. It's a combination of technology and carefully guarded arcane knowledge. Each Guild has it's own particular form of Alchemy; steam, electricity, rocketry, flight, healing, mechanics, motors, minerals and forces. These Guilds operate independently of any government and provide their technology to all fairly. But the Guilds control the technology, and they all co-operate with each other. They have successfully kept any country or region from practicing the art of war for nearly one thousand years. They simply have all the technology, and the battle robots of the mechanics guild ensure that no war is waged.

Another reason why war has been dropped is that the Guilds ensure that trade is maintained from region to region. They tend to keep banditry and piracy to a minimum and most people at least fear the Guilds and their representatives, if not outright cheer them for their gifts of the technology that makes their lives better.

Hey, it's my world. If I don't want war, then there will be no war.

Probably.

Another aspect that I fully admit that I stole from Roger Zelazny. Gunpowder will not work on this world. Period. As well as the fact that no one has figured out that this black, smelly sludge that has been pumped up from the rocks is good for much of anything except machine lubricant.

That's about as far as I've gotten, except for having some fun generating various characters that are intended to be periferral at best, and some of the minor characters who might be involved with the main characters. People like the fellow who calls himself "The Secret Horror in the Shadows of Society," Ben Franklin's Steam Knight Corps, the Rocket Motor Legion and the Buckminster Fuller Quintet.

It's been a fun distraction, and I have always loved creating characters, scenarios and settings. I don't know how deep this well goes, but I will draw from it as long as the cool water of inspiration lasts. I will post here with any progress.

Thanks for reading!

Writing

    Writing has to be one of the hardest tasks in the human world. I remember staring at blank pages in my old, orange Sears typewriter, waiting for that magical moment of inspiration to strike. Quite  a long time ago, when I thought I was a songwriter. All of those songs have been destroyed. I remember giving it up. I thought to myself, "Until you have something worthwhile to say, stop writing songs. They're not that good."
 
Staring at a blank space on a screen is no easier.
 
A couple of weeks ago, a good friend gave me a copy of the documentary film Harlan Ellison; Dreams with Sharp Teeth. Ellison has been a favorite writer of mine almost as long as I have been able to read. If you're familiar with the man's work, or his legend, you'll know he has a reputation for ,,, shall we say, not suffering fools gladly.
 
This is a marvelous documentary, which I highly recommend to anyone who has even the remotest interest in writing and writers. Seek it out. Buy a copy. Buy another for a friend.
 
This film got me thinking about another good friend. He has a brilliant mind, and is never going to run dry of opinions. Never. However, he isn't really happy in his life situation right now. Well, in my mind, somewhere this friend and Harlan drew a parallel. I realized, this is a man who is a writer and doesn't know it yet. So, of course, when we next met, I went on and on about the movie and how much I thought that my friend is in fact, a frustrated writer. Maybe I went on a bit too much, but I couldn't help it. I wanted this nudge to take.
 
Which brings me to this blog. Hey, if I think my advice is good enough for a friend, why the hell shouldn't it apply to myself as well. I've been thinking about doing this for a bit, and my time's a wastin'. I turn fifty-one in a few days and there are probably more summers behind me than ahead now. If I want to try some writing (something I've held secretly to my breast since childhood) I better get to it. So the intent is use this as a forum to develop my chops. To get the rusty machine lubed-up, on the track and moving forward. I have no idea if I actually have anything significant to add, but we'll see. This will be a place for essays on topics that tend to loop through my head, and through conversations with friends. I want to write about things that should be, hopefully wry observations on normal life, and the occasional hard-learned life lession. I'll try to stay away from the politically inflammatory. I have grown tired of the current hack-and-slash political discourse on the internet. I will welcome all constructive responses. I will read every one, and will post any polite responses. I'm grateful for any eyes who scan these words. Hang in here with me, and you just might see a writer emerging.


Thank you in advance.