The Long Road Ahead

Yesterday I had several close friends tell me they were worried about me. Several of you have expressed a great deal of concern and sympathy in the comments to my last post. Your concern and support are greatly appreciated. They're also very much warranted.

I'm not going to sugar coat things, ladies and gentlemen. I'm pretty messed up right now. I'm not self-destructive, and there's no need to worry for my safety, but I don't remember being this bad, ever.

Three weeks ago, there were a lot of things in my life that were up in the air, and those things were stressing me out, but I wasn't exceptionally worried. The breakup with F3 was a completely unexpected loss, and I'm still at a loss to explain it. I'm completely powerless to do anything about it. It's especially brutal, given that I was prepared to give her everything she'd always wanted from me, after a long, tumultuous relationship. At the point when the entire situation was supposed to come together, everything fell apart, and I don't even know the real reasons why.

When coupled with the fact that I need another job, and I need it with extreme prejudice, the uncertainty of world markets and American politics, being deserted or abandoned by friends, desperately wanting to avoid getting perpetually stuck in a local rut, and the fact that my CV doesn't even impress me, it basically feels like the world is caving in on me, and there's basically nothing I can do to stop it.

It's all compounded by the fact that I've got too much integrity, too much tenacity, and too much self respect to resort to the usual crutches. I'm not humping fat broads (I got the phrase from Norm MacDonald, let it go), I'm not drinking myself into oblivion, and I'm not taking drugs. I'm also not eating much, and I haven't slept straight through a single night in the last seven days. I'm on call this week, so the earliest I can have evening social time with friends to keep my mind off of things will be Wednesday; then I'll work Thursday and Friday evenings, and be on call the entire weekend. This week has the makings of being even worse than this weekend.

I know that I'll get through this, I know that it'll get better, and I know that I'll move on. Right now, though, things are pretty dire, and I'm feeling pretty wretched.

God still has my attention. I'm still waiting for that miracle.

Feeling Swatted

Our good friend Lycan Thrope commonly uses wolves/"wulves" as an allegory for his life. Well, if that's the case, then I feel as if I've been swatted with a rolled up newspaper.

I don't know if I've ever felt more pathetic in my entire life than I do right now. I know for a fact that God is listening, and God is watching me, and that God has a plan for me. I know that I have things to be thankful for, but they're overshadowed by the massive failings I'm currently experiencing in my life. I'm hoping and praying that God will do what He has a tendency to do: send me a miracle when I'm in my weakest moment.

I'm going to go to bed now. It's my Saturday off, and I'm going to go to bed at nine in the evening because I'm too tired to stay up, even though I accomplished nothing today. And I'm going to go to bed with a sense of despair, because I know for a fact that I'm not going to sleep all the way through this night, just like I haven't slept all the way through a night for the last five nights.

God, I know you're watching this. You've got my attention. A little help would be greatly appreciated.

Thus saith the Fly.

Fly Report: 29th October 2005

Good morning.

It's 54° Fahrenheit and fair in Kirkwall. In Cody, the forecast calls for a high of 49° Fahrenheit with rain and snow showers.

The average price of oil is $60.29 per barrel. The exchange rate is $1.78 for £1, or £0.56 for $1.

Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day is: (Cool)(Lame)

Today's scripture reading is Judges 10, because Fly slacked off again yesterday. The Fly is currently reading The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien and listening to Yourself or Someone Like You by Matchbox 20 and Nice Talking to Me by the Spin Doctors.

Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me.

The City of Profane Darkness: Chapter I

I boarded the plane without incident, my messenger bag fastened securely around me, the bulk of the weight resting square on my back. It was evident from the surplus of vacant seats in the terminal that the flight would be nowhere near full. I made my way to my seat near the back of the aircraft. The other passengers continued boarding as I settled in for the long flight; I pulled a worn paperback from the bag, then placed it securely in the overhead bin and took my seat.

I continued to watch as the individuals settled in for the long flight. There were no more than twenty passengers on the Boeing 737 aircraft. There was a soldier in the row ahead of me; a middle-aged priest sat three rows directly ahead of me. A young woman, no older than myself, was further up, and seated across the aisle from her was a tall man of about thirty, with a shaven head and a pierced ear. Two men who looked like brothers, most likely university students, were seated across an aisle from each other; and in a window seat, standing until the last possible moment, was a stocky man with a beard, wearing a baseball cap and a work jacket.

The two flight attendants, both of them women in their late twenties, finally closed the door and proceeded with the safety demonstration; I paid attention, which is to say that I watched without really comprehending what they had to say. The young woman, the priest, and the soldier appeared to pay close attention as well, while most of the others seemed to ignore the demonstration altogether. We taxied to the runaway, and the flight crew adeptly took us aloft. It was an inauspicious beginning to a bittersweet journey.

I immersed myself for several hours in my book, an increasingly obscure piece of Renaissance poetry; it had been assigned to me as required reading in two different courses I’d taken at university, and I’d almost instantly taken a liking to it. Having forgotten bits and pieces of the story during the interim, I’d decided to reread the first portion before continuing with the other volumes by the same author. Eventually I broke the tedium by getting up and using the lavatory at the back of the plane.

As I returned to my seat, the young woman got up and sat across the aisle from me. I smiled, and she smiled back.

"Good evening," I said politely.

"Hi. My name’s Christine," she said with a slight trace of Texan drawl. She extended her hand; I took it.

"My name is Luke Simonson," I answered. "Is this your first trip to Comarbis?"

"It is," she answered. "I just graduated from the University of Texas, and I’m meeting a couple of my friends there. What about you?"

I paused momentarily, considering how to phrase my answer. "I’m a writer, and I’m doing a story about the city. It’s my first visit there as well."

"A writer?" asked Christine. "What was your degree in?"

"History," I answered. "I’m from the West coast, but I went to school at the University of Wyoming."

"I was in Wyoming once. My parents took me to Yellowstone National Park when I was a kid. All I really remember are all the buffaloes." She saw me wince. "What’s wrong?"

"They’re actually called 'bison'," I answered. "Sorry, I’m sort of a stickler on things like that. It drives my friends crazy."

Christine smiled. "That’s okay, I don’t mind at all. I hate it when people mispronounce or butcher things about Texas. That’s something I’m a stickler for: if you’re going to say a word from another region or culture or language, you should at least make an effort to pronounce it the way they’d pronounce it. Even if you mess it up, you’ve still made the effort."

I smiled back at her. "It’s good to find someone who feels that way. My father always mispronounces things, even people’s names, and then acts as if it’s nothing to be at all concerned with. Well, at any rate, enough about that," I said. "You said you just graduated. What did you get your degree in?"

"My degree’s in accounting. It’s pretty generic, I guess; the way I figure, as long as I have the credentials, I should always be able to find a job, even if it’s just to help me stay on my feet. I actually have a job lined up for when I get back, doing accounting for a theater in Dallas."

"That's wonderful," I said. "Do you have a dramatic background?"

"Wrong kind of theater. This one does mostly concerts. Mostly rock and roll, but some jazz and blues, and even classical. I just hope I can still stand to go to a show once in a while after sitting in an office in the building all week." Her eyes diverted quickly to the seat next to me, then back up to my face. "I read that in college."

I looked down, and realized that she was referring to my paperback. "I'm rereading the first part so that I can remember the details when I go on to read the other two in the near future. I think it's just astonishing that we spend so much a year on printing, purchasing, and reading absolute rubbish when there are classics like this that are completely unappreciated."

Christine bit her lip. "Well, I see your point. I've read some great old books, but there are some great new books that I really enjoy reading."

I nodded. "Well of course. My point is just... Okay, I'm not an environmentalist or anything, but I believe in using resources responsibly. Some senator publishing a book about his agenda during an election year is a waste. Some psuedo-historian publishing another book about how Cleopatra is relevant to today's woman is a waste. But of course, there are still things worth printing... Books by C.S. Lewis, or Ian Fleming, or Michael Crichton, for example."

"Oh, okay," said Christine, smiling. "And I agree, people don't appreciate the classics like they ought to."

I grimaced a bit. "Sorry, I don't usually go off on a rant like that. I feel as if I'm being quite rude."

"No, not at all," she said. "The guy across the aisle from me was listening to some loud music, and those two brothers, or at least I think they're brothers, are jabbering on and on about some video game. I got bored with my magazine, so it was either you, or the priest, or the soldier. You looked about my age, so I figured I'd introduce myself."

"Well, I'm glad you did. We may as well continue, I suppose; it's going to be a long flight."

"What made you decide to write about Comarbis?" she asked.

"Well, there seem to be a lot of people fascinated with it, but most people don't have any context. They think it's this wonderful place, with a lot of opportunities, and my guess is that that's true; but the stereotypes about the gorgeous architecture, the instantaneous transformation of your disposition, the connectedness between Comarbis and the outside world... I guess I want to set the record straight, and I found an agent that was willing to facilitate the whole thing."

Christine hesitated. "Well, what do you think that it's like?"

I nodded. "That's a fair question. Well, I guess the first thing would be the connectedness. I'm under the impression, after studying the more reliable of the available sources, that the city is far more isolated than we'd like to think. Sure, we have indications, outright proof depending on how you look at it, that the Comarbis government is extremely powerful; but there doesn't seem to be any verifiable indication that the actual citizens have any interaction with or knowledge of the outside world. And when you think about it, why would they want to?"

"Well, why wouldn't they want to have contact with the outside world?" asked Christine.

"Well, think about it. If you lived in a city that was governed in such a way that you didn't want for anything, and the merest mention of the outside world conjured images of war, and pestilence, and poverty, and fear, wouldn't you want to ignore the outside world?" I asked.

"Well, I suppose I see your point. I don't agree with it, but I can understand it."

"Well, doesn't that just get back to what we both said earlier? It's not so much a matter of agreeing with someone from a foreign culture, but many of the world's problems seem to be caused by people who don't bother considering things from an opposite perspective. I don't like the idea of not having contact with the outside world either, but when I think about it, from their perspective, it makes sense."

Christine nodded. "Okay, what else?"

"Well, I won't find out about most of the other things until we arrive," I said, grinning.

Rachel yawned. We had already been on the plane for five hours, and we were less than halfway to our destination. I suggested that we might follow the example that the priest and the soldier were setting, and have a bit of a nap, then cotinue our discussion later. Christine agreed, and we each stretched out across the seats on our respective sides of the aisle. It wasn't long until the little airline pillow was busy leaving its pattern on my face, flattened against it.

Takei Gay

Wow. Just... Well, read for yourself.

LOS ANGELES, California (AP) -- George Takei, who as "Star Trek's" Sulu was part of the Starship Enterprise crew through three television seasons and six movies, has come out as a homosexual in the current issue of Frontiers, a biweekly Los Angeles magazine covering the gay and lesbian community.

Takei told The Associated Press on Thursday that his new onstage role as psychologist Martin Dysart in "Equus," helped inspire him to publicly discuss his sexuality.

I'll never watch classic Trek the same way again. Then again, it's once in a blue moon that I watch it anyway, so it won't be that big a chance in my life.

Unseen Power

From Exodus:

The LORD said, "I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering. So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey—the home of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites. And now the cry of the Israelites has reached me, and I have seen the way the Egyptians are oppressing them. So now, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt."

But Moses said to God, "Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?"

And God said, "I will be with you.["]
- Exodus 3:7-12a, NIV

Moses feared, and doubted in himself; and the Lord answered, "I will be with you."

So Gideon took the men down to the water. There the LORD told him, "Separate those who lap the water with their tongues like a dog from those who kneel down to drink." Three hundred men lapped with their hands to their mouths. All the rest got down on their knees to drink.

The LORD said to Gideon, "With the three hundred men that lapped I will save you and give the Midianites into your hands.["]
- Judges 7:5-7a, NIV

Gideon trusted in God, and with three hundred men, and an arsenal of trumpets, Gideon's three hundred trumpeters routed the great army of the Midianites.

"The son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.'

"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate."
- Luke 15:21-24

Sort of comforting, don't you think?

Descendit In Inferno

According to the book of Ecclesiastes (why a book in the Hebrew Bible is named using a Greek word, I do not know; same with Exodos), there is nothing new under the sun. Compare:

That day of wrath, that day
That day of wrath, that day
The trumpets wonderous calls, sounding abroad
He descends into Hell
That day of wrath
That day of wrath
- Pontifex Maximus

And...

"Through me the way is to the city dolent;
Through me the way is to eternal dole;
Through me the way among the people lost.
Justice incited my sublime Creator;
Created me divine Omnipotence,
The highest Wisdom and the primal Love.
Before me there were no created things,
Only eterne, and I eternal last.
All hope abandon, ye who enter here."
- Dante, "Inferno" Canto III

And now Bill gets hit in the face with a LaCrosse ball.

More later.

UPDATE: For those of you who haven't gathered, there's been some things really eating at me lately. I'm trying to keep a good attitude, but today's going to be another bad day. Thanks for folks like Sarah Canuck, M@, April, The Wife, Father Time, and sneaky_pete for helping me out. You guys are great.

I'm going to try to post something of substance today, because most of what I've posted this week has been absolute rubbish. Katie dared to accuse me of turning "emo" the other day, which is unacceptable. I'll work harder, I promise.

Fly Report: 28th October 2005

Good morning.

It's 57° Fahrenheit with partial clouding and wind in Kirkwall. In Cody, the forecast calls for a high of 53° Fahrenheit with few showers.

The average price of oil is $59.94 per barrel. The exchange rate is $1.78 for £1, or £0.56 for $1.

Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day is: (Cool)(Lame)

Today's scripture reading is Judges 9, because Fly slacked off again yesterday. The Fly is currently reading The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien and listening to X&Y by Coldplay and Monster by REM.

Arbeit macht Freitag.

Fifteen Rounds Later

When I was on the pistol team during my illustrious career with the Navy, I always marvelled at how a typical pistol team day would consist of each shooter firing between forty-five and seventy rounds. The poor schmucks on the rifle team, on the other hand, had to wear these ludicrous looking shooting jackets, and they fired a maximum of about twenty rounds a day.

Today I went out shooting. I took eight gallon juice jugs filled with water, and arranged them in four columns of two so that from my vantage point, I was looking at four jugs. The first round was a little high; the second round blew everything to hell.

For those who aren't familiar with rifle calibers, I was shooting an 8mm Mauser, the standard infantry rifle of the German Wehrmacht during World War II. It's a bolt action weapon with a five round internal magazine, loaded using stripper clips. The current standard American rifle, the M-16A(X), and the standard British infantry rifle, the SA-80, fire 5.56mm ammunition. The Russian AK-47 family of rifles fires a 7.62mm round, which is what the American M-14 service rifle fired before it was almost completely replaced by the M-16. This round is bigger than all of them.

So that second round hit one (or two?) of the jugs, and the tight cluster of eight jugs was blown all to hell. A single target somehow survived the first ten shots completely intact, so the entire final magazine of five rounds was focused on that single remaining jug. Let me tell you, folks, from any distance, a direct hit sends a plastic jug (or rather, pieces of a previously intact plastic jug) flying as far as twenty or thirty feet. This ain't your granddaddy's .22, my friends.

Did it relieve some stress? A little. It forced me to calm down and concentrate on something. It forced me to be slow, calculated, and precise. It also reminded me of one of the things that I'm really somewhat good at: near-surgical accuracy with two out of three rounds... On open sights. With a scope, I'm downright lethal. I've taken down a deer and an elk, each with one shot. The shot that took that elk (scoped) was damn near poetry in motion; Lycan and his Wulf Pack couldn't have been any more prodigious at a hunting if they were wearing little wulf running shoes by New Balance.

Now if I could just be a little less erratic with a 9 mil, I'd be ready to audition for the Navy SEALs. That's right, folks, I said audition. Knowing now just how talented I am with high caliber rifles, do you really want to call me on it?

Most Obscene Slogan Ever

I've been meaning to post this for a couple of weeks. There are a couple of new adverts out for a particular cracker, and I'm convinced that their new slogan is the most obscene one I've ever heard. And what is that slogan?

"When you love nips, it shows."

Dedicatum

For no real reason other than the obvious one, this one's dedicated to the Vatican Watcher...

In the locust wind comes a rattle and hum
Jacob wrestled the angel
And the angel was overcome
- Pontifex Maximus

Those angels are tough, let me tell you.

Early Withdrawal

Harriet Miers has withdrawn her nomination to replace Sandra Day O'Connor on the Supreme Court.

Anachronism could not be reached for comment, as he was taking a celebratory bath in a mixture of champagne and the blood of freshly sacrificed seals.

Fly Report: 27th October 2005

Good morning.

It's 59° Fahrenheit and fair in Kirkwall. In Cody, the forecast calls for a high of 57° Fahrenheit with afternoon showers.

The average price of oil is $60.09 per barrel. The exchange rate is $1.78 for £1, or £0.56 for $1.

Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day is: (Cool)(Lame) It's a picture of the launch of the last Titan rocket, after forty-eight years of service. The blurb below needs to be proofread, but the picture's great.

Today's scripture reading is Judges 9, because Fly slacked off yesterday. The Fly is currently reading The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien and listening to Achtung Baby by U2.

I think maybe I'll go shooting today.

A Feeling of Virtue

If I can type this all, I'll be thoroughly impressed.

I went on another walk tonight, after I got home from work. I spent about half of it talking on the phone with The Wife about life. An hour and a half latr, I'm back in my room, and my skin is still cold, and it feels wonderful. Hopefully between being up later and being tired, I'll be able to sleep through the night. I didn't think that much about life, but sometimes you need to just press on, even if it's as simple as putting one foot in front of the other, and then doing it again.

I love this cold feeling. I hope it lasts.

Quo Vadimus

"Dana. I'm what the world considers to be a phenomenally successful man. And I've failed much more than I've succeeded. And each time I fail, I get my people together, and I say, "Where are we going?" And it starts to get better. And that's what you should do."
- Clark Gregg as "Calvin Trager", Sports Night episode 45

God has this habit. When I'm feeling a bit too confident, He knocks me back down a couple of pegs. When things are a bit too daunting, He knocks me down a couple of pegs. That's a steady habit of God knocking me down a few pegs, so that I know who's boss, and so that God has an opportunity to adjust the focus. It's only one of the reasons why I am an instrument of God.

I've had a rough week. I've accomplished very little, and I've been continually distraught over what is likely to be the abrupt, unexpected, and unreasonable dissolution of a very important relationship in my life. This is all occurring as I realize that in a short while, I will be somewhere else, probably alone; also, it occurs as I recognize that I no longer hold the important distinction in the lives of several people who I have come to hold very dear. I'm sentimental, and I'm a historian and archivist. I save things because they remind me of memories that I treasure, and I work to maintain relationships with people who I consider to be precious. When I'm forced to discard things that have been important to me, and when I'm forced to acknowledge the dissolution of relationships with people who have been and continue to be precious to me, it's about all I can do to hold myself together. I can do it because I have strength, and because I have focus; but it's difficult for me.

I don't like to avoid things, but at certain times, when my emotional attention to an issue isn't absolutely pressing, I'm not above a bit of distraction. The first signs of trouble in the aforementioned relationship occurred early last week; the first big indication of trouble was last Wednesday evening. When I got home from an outing with DHSM last Wednesday, I found that my long-awaited Amazon.com package had arrived, and among the items within it was the complete run of one of my favorite television programs, Sports Night, on six DVDs. This afternoon, only hours under the wire, I accomplished the unexpected feat of watching the entire run, two seasons, forty-five episodes, approximately fifteen and a half hours, in just under a week.

Normally, I don't much care for television. I watch far too much of it, and most of it's garbage. Don't get me wrong, there's some great stuff; MI-5, Battlestar Galactica, and even South Park are programs that are well worth the effort to watch. Even though it only ran for those two glorious seasons, Sports Night is one of those programs. It had intelligent jokes, intelligent plotlines, and warm, sympathetic characters. Ladies and gentlemen, Sports Night made Friends look like a drunken barn dance in Downtown Deliverance.

Having seen the series finale of Sports Night at least once before, I knew where the story arc was taking me. As I watched the final episodes, I knew the course; I knew the trajectory, I knew where the story was taking me. I'd attempted to translate the Latin phrase, "QVO VADIMVS" ("Quo Vadimus") with the tools available to me, but had received a very tentative translation due to the overwhelming number of things that "quo" can mean. As I continued to watch, it kept becoming clearer and clearer.

"Dana. I'm what the world considers to be a phenomenally successful man. And I've failed much more than I've succeeded. And each time I fail, I get my people together, and I say, "Where are we going?" And it starts to get better. And that's what you should do."

I realized at that moment, as the character of Calvin Trager, a fabulously wealthy man preparing to save an ailing corporation from impending doom, spoke to executive producer Dana Whitaker (played by Felicity Huffman, and sorry Lycan, she's married to Bill H. Macy) about one of the things that had made him successful, something began to dawn on me.

As I drove down to work a few minutes after the conclusion of that final episode, and listened to the City of Blinding Lights Single, things kept processing in my brain. It came to this lyric...

I've seen you walk unafraid
I've seen you in the clothes you made

Which reminded me of the following lyric from Trip Through Your Wires on The Joshua Tree...

I was broken, bent out of shape
I was naked in the clothes you made

And when you're thinking of U2 lyrics repeated or rearranged on subsequent albums, you can't forget these lyrics to Gone from Pop...

You change your name, well that's okay, it's necessary
And what you leave behind you don't miss anyway

Which were completed like a covenant in Walk On on ATYCLB...

Love is not the easy thing
The only baggage you can bring
Is all that you can't leave behind

[...]

Leave it behind
You got to leave it behind
All that you fashion
All that you make
All that you build
All that you break
All that you measure
All that you feel
All this you can leave behind

And it struck me, in that space of a half hour between the translation of "Where are we going?" and the memory of all those lyrics: I need to figure out where I'm going. As I've said on here many times lately, I'm barely getting any work, and the best work that I'm getting at this job is a frustration. I'm waiting on word about this NASA job, but that's up in the air at this point, mainly because it's taking a while to get any reply back whatsoever. I know that I'm not going to Indiana, because the standing invitation to visit F3 has been rescinded, and unless there's a drastic change, she's made decisions that will force me to close that chapter of my life. So what am I left with?

No job (essentially)

No woman

Nowhere to go

A bunch of stuff, some of it junk, some of it keepable

A friend roster that's as depleted as the Uranium slugs in an A-10 Thunderbolt II's gatling gun circa Gulf War I

So it's the perfect question: where am I going? And my honest answer at this point is that I don't know. The only problem with that is that I need to know. I need to start forcing myself to engineer an answer to that question, and determine where I'm going. Maybe it's just like salvation, or alcoholism: the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.

When there's more, I'll inform everyone; for now, this feels like a pretty major breakthrough in my life. It's a first step. You know what they say; the Spirit moves in Mysterious Ways.

Taking the Edge Off

One of the benefits of being only partially employed, working evenings, and having my days free is that I can get away with enjoying a bottle of Guinness while watching Sports Night during the middle of the day.

Back to it. More later.

UPDATE: I've urinated about three times in the last two hours. I think I'm about to reach a major breakthrough in my life, and it's all being facilitated by the last four or five episodes of Sports Night. I would have waited to watch the last episode until tonight at work, but I'm going to go whole hog and watch the last one now before going down to work for a short while to complete a couple of things.

Quo Vadimus, folks. Quo Vadimus.

Calling All Petes

If your name is sneaky pete, I need you to either leave a comment with your E-Mail address filled out in the appropriate box (don't worry, only I can see it), or find some other way to inconspicuously give it to me. To the best of my knowledge, there is no way that I can covertly convey my E-Mail address to you. This is for the purpose of getting you your prize from the "Women are Liars" thread.

If your name isn't sneaky pete, please repeat after me:

"We don't need to see their papers. These aren't the droids we're looking for. Move along."

In the Face of Adversity, Fly Gets Thankful

It's been a rough week. Here are a few things I'm thankful for.

1. I'm thankful for having finished five out of six discs of Sports Night; if I can finish the last one (about three and a half hours) by the end of the night, I'll have watched the entire series in less than a week. That's an accomplishment, folks. A very, very lame accomplishment.
2. I'm thankful that I have people like Father Time, Sarah Canuck, April, and Beckstraordinary, who take extremely good care of me. I also have great people like M@ and Manda to keep me humble.
3. I'm thankful that I have the weekend off. I don't have my paycheck yet, so I'm limited on my leisure options; but I've got plenty of ammunition, plenty of old jugs to use as targets, and some stress to work off. That's my idea of recreational productivity, and I'm thankful for it.
4. I'm thankful that I get to go pick up our puppy either this weekend or early next week. Puppies are swell.
5. I'm thankful that even after bills, I'm going to have more than three thousand dollars when the dust settles from my upcoming paycheck - and that's the conservative estimate.

Y'ever look outside, see the sun, and wish it was raining so you could go for a walk?

Right then. Time to do great things. More later.

Crime on the Left Coast

You've gotta be kidding me.

LOS ANGELES - The red and cuddly Sesame Street Muppet Elmo has learned a new lesson: ‘H’ is for handcuffs.

A man dressed as the character was one of three impersonators arrested last week for allegedly harassing tourists for tips after posing for photos on Hollywood Boulevard. Booked with him were people impersonating superhero Mr. Incredible and the dark-hooded character from the horror movie “Scream.”

The impersonators said they were taken into custody at gunpoint, handcuffed and paraded on the Hollywood Walk of Fame before stunned tourists and other impersonators. They were charged with misdemeanor “aggressive begging,” police said.

“With all of the crime in Los Angeles they pick on us?” said Elmo impersonator Donn Harper, 45, who makes up to $400 a day in tips.

When I was in Rome, there were a bunch of goofballs who dressed up as gladiators and legionaries and posed for pictures with people. I almost did it, but I was smart enough to ask what they wanted. Not surprisingly, they wanted money. I have no doubt that these knuckleheads that dressed up as Elmo, Mr. Incredible, and the Scream guy were in the same boat. What you probably had was a bunch of tourists who were too stupid to ask before they had their pictures taken, and once they had, they didn't want to pay up.

God forbid Los Angeles police could find something better to do than arresting folks like this. Yeah, they're knucklehead, low-life panhandlers, but they're at least doing something to earn it.

Basically, nobody's right in this situation if you ask me.

Israel-Threatenin' Mullahs

For those of you who haven't quite gotten the picture yet, this is why Iran isn't allowed to have nuclear technology.

Can't Kick the Habit

You know it's true, even though for me it doesn't equate to anything illegal.

I can sing, but I can't sigh
I can barely breathe the air I need
To justify how I sink so low to get so high
I can't kick the habit
- The Spin Doctors

I lost another couple of hours of sleep last night. It was probably less than two; after having been awakened by a Sports Night dream that finished like an episode might, zooming in on a picture of F3 and playing "She Will Have Her Way" by Neil Finn (I bought that particular CD after hearing the song on the show, it's one of my favorite songs by the former Crowded House crooner), I tossed and turned, trying to remain calm and relaxed. After about twenty minutes I got up and checked the clock; 02:22 if I remember correctly. I tried again to lay in bed and relax, and it didn't seem to be taking, so I expedited the process by using the same relaxation exercise that eventually did the trick the night before. I restarted the Gregorian chant CD when I finished that exercise at 02:59, and I'm pretty sure that I was asleep before it was done, as I would have heard the clapping at the end if I hadn't zonked out before then. Not as bad as a work callout, but problematic nontheless. Once I was back asleep, I had a dream about the Mirror. I think I've had a couple about her lately, but that was the first F3 dream I can remember having.

I have a few things to occupy me today. I'll probably try to watch some Sports Night; I also have to take a lamp down to the dumpster at work, get the rest of the dog food out of the garage in preparation for the arrival of our new puppy in the coming week, and while I'm at work I need to scour the back garage in an attempt to find the door to a small kennel we're going to try to use for the puppy. I work this evening until 20:00, and after that I'll be home, and probably exhausted. Will we have an insomniac threepeat? If so, I should join the cast of Dave Attell's show.

Speaking of that show, did anyone ever see the one where Dave was in New Orleans, and he spent some time with the sniper unit from the parish sheriff's department in the back of a pickup hunting nutria along the New Orleans canals? Simply outstanding, I tell you what. Bloody vermin those things are. We have them here near Hometown, and you don't even need a license to dispatch them. At some point, I'd love to put an 8mm Mauser round through one of them. Am I cruel to animals? No; nutria in the Northwest are an unfortunate transplant from the days when they were looking for a substitute for the waning beaver population; unfortunately, nobody wanted a nutria hat, and they were just set free; now they're a bane on the environment, destroying waterways and forcing the natural beaver population out. That's right, folks: eight millimeters of environmental vengeance, courtesy of The Fly.

By the way, if your name is The Wife and you're reading this, thanks for the long chat last night. It was very therapeutic. You see, folks, The Wife has pretty much become my surrogate sister, and if I get to move down to Houston, she and her Longhorn Husband will probably become my "family" down there. The Wife let me blab at her about a bunch of stuff last night, we had a bunch of laughs as usual, and I felt better. Thanks, Wife.

Also, since I know he'll be reading this eventually, I'd also like to publically thank Father Time for the lunch and wisdom yesterday. I met Father Time when I mentored a class his son was in when I was a senior in high school, and though I was initially close friends with his son, the bond between Father Time and I has grown strong over the past five and a half years. I respect his opinion, and I value his friendship. Thanks, mate!

Right then, it's off with the horns, and on with the show...

Fly Report: 26th October 2005

Good morning.

The current temperature in Kirkwall is 50° Fahrenheit and mostly cloudy, with night-time rain. The forecast for Cody calls for a high of 60° Fahrenheit, mostly sunny.

The average price of oil is $61.20 per barrel. The exchange rate is $1.79 for £1, or £0.56 for $1.

Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day is: (Cool)(Lame)

Today's scripture reading is Judges 9*. The Fly is currently reading The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien and listening to Nice Talking to Me by the Spin Doctors and Achtung Baby by U2. For those of you who have been walking around life uninformed or ignorant, Achtung Baby is the finest album ever composed. I think Sarah Canuck will back me up on this one.

The Modern Prophet

I love this story, and I'm going to reprint the important part.

It happened at the moment in U2's Zoo TV show where Bono did his "Elvis-devil dance," decked out in a glittering gold Las Vegas lounge suit and tacky red horns.

As usual, the charismatic singer pulled some girl out of the crowd to cavort with Mister MacPhisto, this devilish alter ego. On this night in Wales, his dance partner had her own agenda, Bono told the Irish Times.

"Are you still a believer?", she asked. "If so, what are you doing dressed up as the devil?"

Bono gave her a serious answer, as the music roared on. "Have you read 'The Screwtape Letters,' a book by C.S. Lewis that a lot of intense Christians are plugged into? They are letters from the devil. That's where I got the whole philosophy of mock-the-devil-and-he-will-flee-from-you," replied Bono, referring to U2's ironic, video-drenched tours in the 1990s.

Yes, the girl said, she had read "The Screwtape Letters." She understood that Lewis had turned sin inside out in order to make a case for faith.

"Then you know what I am doing," said Bono.

For if we never glimpse the City of Profane Darkness, how much less will we rejoice in the City of Blinding Lights?

G'night, folks. I'll have a fresh Fly Report up for you in mere hours.

2-0-0-0

The death toll of American forces in Iraq has reached two thousand after two years and seven months. Here at TSTF, I'd like to put this in its proper context.

Guadalcanal - nearly 1,600 killed in six months

Tarawa - over 1,000 killed in three days

Okinawa - over 12,000 killed in three months

Iwo Jima - 7,000 killed in two months

Saipan - nearly 3,500 killed in less than a month

Normandy - 9,000 killed

Ardennes (B of Bulge) - 19,000 killed in a month and a half

Inchon - 222 killed in half a month

Chosin Reservoir - 2,500 killed in a matter of days

Ia Drang - 1,037 killed in three days

Tet Offensive - 4,324 killed in a matter of days

Two thousand American military personnel have died in the fight for Iraq, and that is unfortunate. However, when you consider that loss in a historical context, you come to realize that the casualty figures in Iraq are astonishingly low, particularly when given the amount of time we've been there. Size isn't an issue; Tarawa, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, these places were a fraction of the size that the nation of Iraq is, and their casualty figures were far more severe.

I mourn for those who have died, and I rejoice for the amazing things that have been accomplished. They knew what they risked when they signed up, and the vast, vast majority of service personnel and their familys understand the ramifications of those decisions and support the mission.

This is a war we cannot afford to lose, and it's a war that we're winning. Let's not lose sight of the context of these deaths, and what they have accomplished.

Thus saith the Fly.

The Fly Seeks Wisdom

One of the things I've discovered over the years is that members of my generation utilize the wisdom of our geriatric brethren on a minimal basis. Sure, there are some senile old whack jobs out there with Alzheimer's, or dementia, or whatever; however, there are many folks out there who are a veritable repository of useful wisdom and information. Maybe I'm ahead of the curve on this one single thing, but I've made it a policy of making copious use of this untapped natural resource.

Today I had lunch with a good friend of mine, who suggested in an E-Mail that if he were ever to comment on the blog (he reads it, by the way), he'd probably use a name like "Father Time" or something. At any rate, Father Time and I went to the local Hungarian restaurant and talked shop for an hour and a half or so. Women, banking, blogging... We covered a great deal.

One of the things that is going to stick with me from this conversation with Father Time is his insistence that before a person is ready to settle down, that person needs to know how to be alone. They don't need to like it; but they need to be comfortable with it. They need to be capable of standing on their own two feet, before they're ready to stand with someone else. This is something I used to tell CCG; she never listened to it, of course, but I told her. It's advice that I've given, but that I'd forgotten for myself.

I think that I'm going to be in a position, sooner rather than later, to be alone. I think that, at some point in the not-so-distant future, I'm going to be alone in a flat, left to my own devices. I've been wondering lately what I'll be like. Will I play my X-Box a lot? Will I read a lot? Will I burn candles? Will I spend my nights studying Latin and Arabic, or will I spend them watching Sports Night and MI-5? The point isn't what I'm going to do; the point is that I'm going to be in a position to be alone, and that's going to teach me about who I am, what I need out of life, and various other important things.

According to Father Time, I don't have to enjoy it, but it's an important thing to do. Sometimes, if you're patient, stop, and listen, you can learn from the experiences of others, and bypass their lessons by learning from them. That's a blessing, and at this point in my life, I'm in a position to appreciate even the smallest blessings.

Drosophilic Theory #2

Well, a couple of days ago I posted Drosophilic Theory #1 in which I posited that Rob Thomas of Matchbox 20 and Joaquin Phoenix are actually brothers. Now it's time for Drosophilic Theory #2. And what is it?

I believe that Julia Roberts, the largely talentless actress whose "good looks" don't actually exist, is a relative of Akhenaton, the deformed Egyptian pharoah who carried out the Amarna Revolution and temporarily took Egyptian religion away from worship of the corrupt pagan pantheon, and toward worship of one god, Aten. He's widely believed by historians and Egyptologists to have suffered from Marfan Syndrome, a disorder of the connective tissue that results in elongated limbs and face.

Julia Roberts has elongated limbs and an elongated, deformed face. Also, she has a massive mouth that she can't seem to keep shut. And if you're looking for bona fide deformity, you don't need to look any further than her ex-husband, Lyle Lovett. Interestingly enough, Lovett guest-starred on an episode of one of my favorite sitcoms, Dharma and Greg.

At any rate, I think that the resemblance between the deformed, unattractive Akhenaton and the deformed, unattractive Julia Roberts is more than evident by the image I've posted. At the risk of sounding like Maddox, if you disagree with me, you have a high probability of being wrong.

Comments? Thoughts? You know what to do. Oh, and for what it's worth, April (AKA "The April") thinks that Julia Roberts is beautiful, and that I'm crazy. That's what I get for presenting a serious historical theory to someone whose November highlight will be front row seats at a Clay Aiken concert.

(She's going to get back at me for that last comment, I just know it.)

Archaeology Watch: Ancient Death Ray

Hachi machi, this one is totally cool!

SAN FRANCISCO - It wasn’t exactly the ancient siege of Syracuse, but rather a curious quest for scientific validation.

According to sparse historical writings, the Greek mathematician Archimedes torched a fleet of invading Roman ships by reflecting the sun’s powerful rays with a mirrored device made of glass or bronze.

More than 2,000 years later, researchers from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and the University of Arizona set out to recreate Archimedes’ fabled death ray Saturday in an experiment sponsored by the Discovery Channel program “MythBusters.”

Their attempts to set fire to an 80-year-old fishing boat using their own versions of the device, however, failed to either prove or dispel the myth of the solar death ray.

The MIT team’s first attempt with their contraption made of 300 square feet of bronze and glass failed to ignite a fire from 150 feet away. It produced smoldering on the boat’s wooden surface but no open flame. A second attempt from about 75 feet away lit only a small fire that burned itself out.

Mike Bushroe of the University of Arizona’s Lunar and Planetary Laboratory tried a mirrored system shaped like flower petals, but it failed to produce either smoke or flames.

If you enjoy stories like this, and you hae a little bit of money, you might enjoy Catapult: Harry and I Build a Siege Weapon by Jim Paul. I picked up a copy a couple of years ago at a used book sale, and have yet to read it.

Screws Come Loose

You'd think a 05:30 wakeup and a three and a half mile walk yesterday would have exhausted me sufficiently, so as to guarantee a night spent in near comatose sleep. At least, I assumed as much; I was incorrect.

I woke early this morning. I figured that it was probably around 04:00 or so, maybe later; I decided to stay in bed and attempt to go back to sleep. After trying relaxation, breathing techniques, and counting the ticks of one of my clocks, I finally got up and checked the time on my alarm clock.

03:16. Bollocks.

I got back in bed, and tried again, realizing that I had sufficient time to spend tossing and turning, and would probably fall back asleep long before my (now-set) alarm would go off. Finally, figuring it must be after 04:00 at least, I checked the clock again.

03:48. Bollocks.

So, figuring that I could at least get something done, I got up and turned on the computer and the television. They were talking about favorite movies on Fox and Friends; not a problem, but not what I'm interested in listening to as background noise when I'm frustrated with life and can't sleep. I turned that off, checked a couple of websites, and then decided on a relaxation exercise that requires some exertion, but usually works better than concentrating on progressive muscle relaxation, counting clock ticks, or focusing my breathing. Once it was done, I turned on my Gregorian chant CD again; I eventually fell asleep, after the CD had ended, which must have placed it at least beyond 04:45. When my alarm went off at 06:00, 06:30, and 07:00, I reset it each time for half an hour later. Finally, at 07:30, my brain told me something about needing to get up to go serve pancakes or something (April will like that one) and I finally got up. That was forty minutes ago.

Interestingly enough, between 06:30 and 07:00, I had a fascinating dream in which I was at the office building occupied by The CCE*. I didn't see The CCE*, but I saw Michelle in an elevator. Then, as I was walking, I met up with a girl who I'll call Brianna. Brianna was a couple of years ahead of me in high school, and her sister and I were classmates. Early on in high school, I was part of the group that Brianna belonged to, and remained in that group as it changed over the years to eventually include her sister, who I'll call Angela, after Brianna had graduated. At any rate, Brianna was pushing me through the building, reminding me of the last time that I'd called her, which had apparently been on the first day of that particular job in that particular building; I want to make it clear right now that I have never spoken to Brianna on the phone at all, and even if I had, it would have been in high school, within the phone network of the high school. Back in the dream, as Brianna was pushing me through the halls of the building, we were basically discussing that she was going to take me somewhere in the building, and she was going to score with me.

It's now 08:21 on the second day of the week. I'm listening to the original release by Lifehouse, which came out during my freshman year of high school while I was working at the CD store, lamenting that the best legitimate offer of scandalous sexual action I've gotten in months was in a dream about a girl who was two or three years ahead of me in high school. I haven't met a girl in months, I'm mostly jobless, and I'm not accomplishing much beyond watching the entire run of Sports Night in roughly a week and a half, which I am sixteen episodes from accomplishing.

I am the Fly. I call this Tuesday.

UPDATE: I meant to say this earlier, but lost track of myself. The asterisk (*) after CCE was meant to lead to a note differentiating CCE from CCG. You have been notified.

Fly Report: 25th October 2005

Good morning.

The current temperature in Kirkwall is 54° Fahrenheit, with incoming showers. The forecast for Cody calls for a high of 62° Fahrenheit, and it should be mostly sunny.

The average price of oil is $60.24 per barrel. The exchange rate is $1.77 for £1, or £0.56 for $1.

Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day is: (Cool)(Lame)

Today's scripture reading is Judges 8*. The Fly is currently reading The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien and listening to No Name Face by Lifehouse and Chant II by the Benedictine Monks of Santo Domingo de Silos.

* A note to sneaky pete: I wasn't slacking yesterday, I did my scripture reading. I even updated the link; I just forgot to update what the link claimed to be pointing to. My apologies.

Suckoon

I'm not even sure if I've got the title spelled write; then again, it's Arabic, so the transliteration is up for interpretation. That's why when I'm translating Arabic to English, my initial transliteration into English winds up as "Birout", instead of "Beirut". Just ask Mohamet, Mohammed, Muhammed, Mohammad, and Muhammad.

At any rate, "suckoon" means, in Arabic, "tranquility". There's a mark that's used when a letter is to be used only as a consonant, and not with the standard following vowel sound. I'm not using it in that context.

Lately, I've noticed that I say very stupid things. Not on here; or at least, they're not as stupid, and far more trivial on here. No, in interpersonal and professional systems, I jabber on and on and on, and say nothing. I sound like a total lunatic, or a complete jackass, and I offend or confuse people. I gum on and on about stupid things. I whine about Democrats, or I blather on and on about Sports Night or MI-5. I recommend How the Irish Saved Civilization to just about everybody (M@, if you think that this means I'm going to let up on you, think again).

I'm in the process of entering the professional world, so now is the time for me to establish good habits and make positive changes in my personal demeanor; so I'm making a conscious effort to speak less. At work, currently, if it doesn't need to be said, I'm making a concerted effort not to say it. Also, I think that when I finally land that real job, I'm going to establish a protocol to prevent mixing my personal life with my profesional life.

The net result? I'm setting myself up with a plan that can't win, and one that probably kills my chances of meeting both friends and women whenever I finally wind up uprooting myself. I think that the core of it, though, is good: if I speak less, I'll be less embarrassed in the long run.

Ugh. This is what I'm reduced to. I'm going to bed, folks.

Another Kind of Pain

When you can't control something, sometimes the best solution is to take control of something else. I walked the mile and a half (or so, I'm not sure the exact distance, but it's a fair hike) down to the post office to mail a couple of letters. Then I walked back. Now I'm dealing with two kinds of pain, but only focusing on the lesser of them.

I'm going to go recover by watching television, with the knowledge that I have accomplished something today, and will continue to do so. Stay tuned.

Haloscan Returns

Haloscan is back, as evidenced by the accusatory comment I just posted about Lycan Thrope on that last thread. Time for some first class habberdashery. And no, I don't know what that word means, I heard it today on Sports Night.

UPDATE: Also, I've been having a bit of difficulty with Blogger during the past couple of days. Hopefully both of these issues are both little more than an electronic hiccup.

A Ballad to the Children of the '80's

If you thought this was written by Sixpence None the Richer, you haven't been paying enough attention; also, Leigh Nash of said band is gorgeous, and if she wasn't married, I would lust after her.

There is freedom within, there is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're travelling with me

Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in
They come, they come, to build a wall between us
We know they won't win

Now I'm towing my car, there's a hole in the roof
My possessions are causing me suspicion but there's no proof
In the paper today tales of war and of waste
But you turn right over to the T.V. page

Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in
They come, they come, to build a wall between us
We know they won't win

Now I'm walking again to the beat of a drum
And I'm counting the steps to the door of your heart
Only the shadows ahead barely clearing the roof
Get to know the feeling of liberation and relief

Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in
They come, they come, to build a wall between us
Don't ever let them win
- Neil Finn/Crowded House

Crowded House, essentially a one-hit-wonder, was an absolutely underrated band if you ask me. There's no excuse for that many "hit" singles out of the gap-toothed Kabbalist whore, and only one major hit out of Crowded House. Once the band broke up, Neil Finn went on to have a solo career; the only time I ever heard a Neil Finn was on this episode of Sports Night, probably back in 2003 when it was rerunning on Comedy Central. Good stuff. Check it out.

A Sick Question

Okay, here's another question for you, and then I have to get ready to run back home from the garage once I've dropped my car off for a minor repair. Is anyone who reads TSTF at all concerned about avian flu? Furthermore, is there any good reason to be concerned about it? Aside from the fact that it doesn't appear to have affected the United States at this point, isn't it just a slightly tougher strain of the influenza that everyone ignores?

I didn't get a flu shot last year. I don't intend to get a flu shot this year. I'm a tough brute man, and I take good care of myself. I'm don't have "risk factors" like recent surgery or anything like that to bog me down.

And have a look at this article. It says that avian flu has killed sixty-one people in Asia in the last two years. Let's remember, ladies and gentlemen, that many countries in Asia have education and health care systems that are almost as bad as Africa's. Let's also remember, ladies and gentlemen, that Asia is the most populous area of the world; between China and India alone, you've got roughly two and a half billion people.

Seriously. Is anyone concerned? I'm not. If I should be, please, enlighten me.

Haloscan Hosed?

Has anyone else been having trouble with Haloscan? I've been trying to post the following comment to Manda in the thread about lying women:

Manda: I'm cynical, too. Can I buy you a drink?

... since last night, and it still won't take. I'm not sure what the issue is; if you're having problems with Haloscan, you can try to post a comment in this thread, or you can E-Mail me, or a select few of you can let me know on Instant Messenger.

UPDATE: I just tried commenting on another thread, and it wouldn't work. Then I tried on another blog, and that wouldn't work either. I'm sure they'll have it back up to speed at some point today.

Fly Report: 24th October 2005

Good morning.

The current temperature in Kirkwall is 48° Fahrenheit, and it's partly cloudy with wind. Cody weather calls for sun and a high of 61° Fahrenheit.

The average price of oil is $58.78 per barrel. The exchange rate is $1.77 for £1, or £0.57 for $1.

Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day is: (Cool)(Lame) It's a close-up picture of Martian sand. Sand. I mean, it's amazing what we can do with the technology, but when I go to APOD, I don't want to see magnified sand. If I wanted to see magnified sand, I'd take a wrestler to the beach and accuse his sister of being a whore.

Today's scripture reading is Judges 6. The Fly is currently reading The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien and listening to Duran Duran (2)/"The Wedding Album" by Duran Duran and Try Whistling This by Neil Finn.

The Gospel According to MSN

Look, folks! Finally something good to come from my weekend! I'm not a slob with too much crap in his room! I'm a "compulsive clutterer"! I fully expect, nay, demand my disability check to come in the mail any day now!

"Unprecedented material wealth"? Try "complete lack of self-control or discipline". Hear me now and believe me later, as I slowly gear up to move out of my current home, I'm looking forward to getting rid of all sorts of junk that I won't need, ever. That Mission Impossible 2 poster? Gone. That model of the USS Defiant from Deep Space Nine? Toast. That Seattle Mariners baseball signed by a couple of lameass base coaches? History, and not the interesting kind. The kind that makes sure that we get our money's worth out of the garbage bill for that particular month.

Compulsive clutterers. Next thing you know, they'll invent a medical term for being a drunk, or for screwing off in class.

Women, Truth, and Fly

In the end, you always figure it out. Or at least, I do.

I'm getting more and more disgruntled with women lately. First, there was the thing with The Lobster, which I'm sure she still has absolutely no clue about. She'll call again; it may be a week, it may be a month, it may be tomorrow, but she'll call again, and because I'm tired of the empty chase, I won't answer. It's as simple as that. Of course, The Lobster is the least of my worries; she's at least consistent, and I know that when we talk, she's not lying to me. Same with ladies like April and Sarah Canuck.

No, the issue isn't females who I can rely on. The issue is females who I can't rely on... To be honest, that is. I'm getting sick and tired of women who either tell me lies, or withhold information. Let me give you a couple of examples.

In late 2003 I went on two dates with a girl who I met on the Internet, who lived in the Metropolis area. She showed a very strong interest in me, and while she wasn't a centerfold, she was fun to be around and had various favorable assets. Both dates were exceedingly friendly, though she was fairly liberal (and dumb as a brick to boot), so I made sure that she didn't get the wrong idea. Her stories were fairly impressive to begin with, and kept getting more outlandish leading up to the second date. After the second date, it became increasingly clear that the stories weren't adding up. Between being life-flighted from her university to Metropolis for routine surgery because she, for some reason, had some medical issue precluding transit by automobile; to claims that her mother had died in Montana, and her father several years earlier; to questions of where to come up with a lot of money in a short period of time, followed by claims of having bought herself a big, flashy ring, this girl's stories finally pretty much fell apart when no money and a somewhat immobilizing injury turned into an away message heralding a trip to the Midwest for Spring Break. She also stood me up once, and claimed that she was transferring to [Generic University], then never showed. I cut this person completely out of my life, because if she could lie to me about things like a leg injury and having sex on top of a parking structure in Metropolis, who knows what other lies she could tell to other people.

Another recent one lives in Michigan, and I've been talking to her for a couple of years now. Although some of her stories hadn't quite made much sense when put together before, I finally caught her recently, even though she didn't admit to it. There have been extreme stories before; her mother's attempted suicide, the time she went to visit one of her dad's friends who was "like an uncle" when she was twelve or thirteen, only to have him molester her, the claim to have finished an entire plate of ribs (this girl's short and skinny as a rail, there's no way that she finished that plate of ribs). She told me at one point that she used to run constantly, several miles a day, but that a doctor had diagnosed her with knee problems and told her she couldn't run anymore; she repeated this story several times. Now, the standing story for a couple of years has been that A) she was skipped ahead a year in school, and B) she's now in her second year at a community college, on a track to become a chiropractor. Well, she asked me a couple of weeks ago for advice, because she was thinking about joining the Army or the Air Force. I did my best to dissuade her, as I really don't think that an eighteen year old girl should be joining the military at this point in history if her primary goal is to pay for college; however, I pointed out that if she joined the military, she would have to run, repeatedly, continuously, and throughout her career. Her answer was that she understood that, and that it was one of the things that the recruiters said that they'd need to talk about with her at their next meeting. I didn't exactly call her out, but we both knew that I'd caught her.

There's been another incident, nowhere near as serious, but every bit as disconcerting. A girl who has always been brutally honest with me, to the point of arguments, appears to be giving me the runaround, presenting excuses, and generally giving me reasons for a recent policy change that don't make any sense. You must remember, folks: your friendly neighborhood Super Fly is a historian, adept at remembering and processing sequential historical data, and noting when the sequence doesn't make sense. At the very least, the situation is unnerving, even if she's telling me the truth; the sad part is that if she just told me straight up what the situation was, I would have been upset, but the issue wouldn't have escalated to the point where it currently stands.

This, of course, begs the question: why do I tend to end up being involved, in one way or another, with women who aren't straight with me? Ask The Wife and she'll tell you, flat out, that I'm honest to a fault. The honest girls that I've dated, or attempted to date, haven't exactly turned out to be all that I'd hoped for, which a couple of notable exceptions.

It's times and attitudes like this that drive me into sexual camel, confirmed bachelor mode. Somewhere, some woman, or even a sorority full of them, is missing out on the legendary Fly charm, wit, and sexual potential, all because women tend to have severe issues with telling the truth. Until I find that right woman, I'll continue to enjoy a tall, smooth pint of Guinness with my mates, who are also declining in numbers.

If you've read to this point, please post a comment. If ten people comment, one of them will get a prize.

Drosophilic Theory #1

Beginning now, and ending soon, I will be proposing two theories. My first theory? Matchbox 20 frontman Rob Thomas is actually the long-lost older brother of actor Joaquin Phoenix.

Rob Thomas was born on 14th February, 1972 at the American military installation in Landstuhl, Germany. Joaquin Phoenix was born on 28th October, 1974 in San Juan, Puerto Rico. To the best of my knowledge, the two have never met, lived together, exchanged Christmas or birthday gifts, or enjoyed a fine cup of English tea together; of course, that's mostly speculation, and I can't back it up with solid evidence.

However, the pictures don't lie. Was one of the two separated at birth from his real family? Does this prove that talent runs in the family? Maybe not, but I'll be damned if those two don't look very similar to each other.

More later, including Drosophilic Theory #2.

The Sword of Orion

Lyrics? Not U2 lyrics? Wow...

We come on the Sloop John B
My grandfather and me
Around Nassau town, we do roam
Drinking all night
Got into a fight
Oh, I feel so broke up
I want to go home

So hoist up the John B sails
See how the main sail sets
Call for the captain ashore,
Let me go home, let me go home
I wanna go home, yeah yeah
Oh, I feel so broke up
I want to go home
- The Beach Boys

God bless Sports Night. It's the perfect distraction after lousy news.

Fly Report: 23 October 2005

Good morning.

Kirkwall weather is 48° Fahrenheit and partly cloudy. Cody weather calls for sun and a high of 54° Fahrenheit.

The average price of oil is $59.41 per barrel. The exchange rate is $1.77 for £1, or £0.57 for $1.

Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day is: (Cool)(Lame)

Today's scripture reading is Judges 6. The Fly is currently reading The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien and listening to More Than You Think You Are by Matchbox 20.

One Final Note

Just for those of you who care (which will be only Lycan due to his desire to hear the screams of Felicity Huffman bouncing off the walls of the Den), I have spent nearly six hours since Thursday morning watching the first sixteen episodes of Sports Night. They are wonderful, and they cause me to be exceedingly happy.

Right then. Off to bed. More in the morning.

Contrary Discernment

This post is dedicated to M@, who will adore it if he reads it.

Today I had occasion to do something that I do far too seldom; I sat down for a lengthy chat with Super Dave and Mrs. Super Dave, two of my absolute favorite people in the world. The conversation was repeatedly permeated by their two daughters, aged (nearly) five, and three months.

During the course of my visit, Super Dave at one point picked up his guitar and began strumming, and I noted that I would like to eventually, when I have money, I'd like to learn how to play the bass guitar so that I can be cool like the Cardinal of Rhythm. This inspired a discussion about the relative merits of Bono and his representation of Christianity. As you will all have gathered by now, I have a particular amount of emotional capital invested in this issue, as I consider Bono to be my Pontiff. Super Dave, on the other hand, is very skeptical of Bono.

As I attempted, in vain, to provide evidence that Bono's the real deal, Super Dave made frequent references to scripture, most of which I felt to be taken somewhat out of context. Being almost wholly (and admittedly) ignorant of the subject, most of Super Dave's objections stemmed from a single incident: Bono's defense of the "F" word when used as an adjective, vice its use to describe the act of coitus.

Super Dave is a person who I respect immensely; he's a former United States Marine, a devoted father and husband, and a dedicated academic. In the things that he does in his life, he makes the utmost attempt to be a discerning individual, and to live his life in as Biblical a way as is humanly possible. However, Super Dave is also precisely the kind of person who drove me out of the church (his church, as a matter of fact) when I was in high school. Dave went on and on today about how we're not to judge those outside the church, but how the Bible simultaneously admonishes us as Christians to be judgmental of those who claim to be "regenerate" in Christ. I realize that he's well-intentioned; unfortunately, his attempts at caution and spiritual protection amount to little more than condescension.

Super Dave is the kind of person who frustrates me. He's absolutely obsessed, to the point of being pushy about it, with the notion of getting me involved with a church; because as far as Super Dave is concerned, no one's spiritual existence can be complete without affiliation with a congregation. Super Dave, who has no problem himself with consuming alcohol, avoids it because he wouldn't want to send the wrong idea to non-Christians, or even to other Christians who are too narrow-minded to realize that consumption of alcohol does not equate to apostasy. He's also the kind of Christian who gets intensely skeptical, and sees someone as fraudulently faithful, if that individual says a "coarse" or "harsh" word. A Christian can sing a song that's the modern version of Job or Jonah, but that's not good enough for Super Dave; and that's especially frustrating to me, respecting him, and thinking that he's closed-minded to the degree of cutting himself off from the wonders of God's power in people's lives.

Super Dave even went so far today as to criticize Bono for trying to improve this world. I will freely agree with Super Dave's point: the world is going to come to an end, and we should not be complacent. However, would Super Dave criticize Christian missionaries for building houses, or establishing hospitals, or teaching people English? Would Super Dave criticize those faith based organizations that are involved right now with rebuilding the lives of those in the Gulf Coast region? I think that he would not.

Christians get criticized enough for "having their heads in the sand" about legitimate issues like homosexuality and humanistic propaganda. We don't need to look like a bunch of nut jobs by not drinking, or by avoiding man-made words like "fuck" and "cock" and "damn". When someone blasphemes the name of God, then we have something to be upset about. When someone gets piss steaming drunk and puts themself in a position to hurt themself or others, then we have something to be upset about. When someone drives others away from God's love by holding them to some sort of extra-Biblical, legalistic standard over something as asinine as a word, then we have something to be upset about.

In the meantime, when I go out with my friends, Christian, pagan, or heathen, I'm going to enjoy a pint of Guinness like a normal human being, because its wonderful taste and various nutritional qualities are a blessing to me. When I have a conversation with a friend, and a coarse word slips out, I'm not going to worry about it; after all, what I should really be worried about, and avoiding, is the sin of blaspheming the name of God. And Christian or not, I'm going to do what I can to avoid judging people, because the only thing that accomplishes is to harden my heart, and not in a way that's at all productive.

As I said before, I immensely respect Super Dave, and I feel that I can learn a lot from him, and enjoy his role in my life; but I refuse to allow his paranoia to rub off on me, and I will continue to leave myself open for the Spirit to move in Mysterious Ways: around me, through me, and within me. In fact, this attitude will prove to be one of the things I've learned from Super Dave, even if it's as a result of being contrary to his example.

Thus saith the Fly.

Killin' for a Livin'

I'm not sure how many of you are hunters; I am, at least casually. I'm a gun owner, and when I have money I'd like to put together a bona fide pair of hunting rifles: something for deer and smaller, and something for elk and bigger, possibly a .223 or .22-250 and a .300 Winchester Mag.

At any rate, tonight I was researching English Bulldogs, and was somehow reminded of my desire to go wild boar hunting at some point. Aside from wanting a gorgeous set of tusks, I'd really love to try that wild ham. In my day I've shot a full-grown male deer (three-point, or "six-point" if you're from the East Coast and have to inflate your ego by cheating) and a juvenile elk. I got my first rifle when I was twelve years old; a friend of my dad's bought it for me when I was born and gave it to my dad to give to me at an appropriate age, and that sucker's never getting sold.

At any rate, I'm curious: any hunters in the group? If so, what have you taken? Any big goals for the future? Poosh is, of course, excused from this particular question on account of the British position that hunting is not a real sport.

Freedom in Black and White

In my continuing series of shared images from my travels and photographic expeditions, this is a picture I took in 2001 or 2002. It was taken at a local federal government installation that's a couple of blocks from my home. The landscape no longer exists as it did; in 2003 or so, as a result of the security gear-up of federal installations after 11th September, the place was completely fenced in, and in the process they moved the flagpole out into a field.

It's one of my favorite shots, and would be a sure prospect for any Fly's Photographs greatest hits reel. Even though you can't see the colors in the flag itself, the way I framed it, and the stark contrast between the light of the flag and the darkness of everything else always leaves me in awe. Absolutely one of my best shots ever.

The Fly versus The Bank

For those of you who revel in seeing my exacting control over my finances, here's a story for your reading enjoyment.

I have never overdrafted from my checking account, but I came close once, when I bought my utilikilt; luckily, they were away from their home base for a few days and didn't draw out of my account until I'd been paid. My general philosophy for years has been that insofar as my account was full of far more money than I'd need, I wouldn't worry too much about it. The first time I started paying extensive attention to it was probably last Summer in England, when I would sometimes work on my budget several times a day, partially for something to do during slow times at work when I should have been finishing coffins. The point, though, is that, as you know, I now pay more attention to my finances.

My goal for September was to finish the month with at least $1800 in my accout, and I finished with just over $2000. My September paycheck was very friendly, as I noted at the time. With more than $3100, only a couple of expenses (including the pair of Carhartt jeans I'm wearing for the first time as I type this), and an entire Summer of economic prudence, I went piglet wild (that's less than hog wild) once I had my September paycheck. Frequent readers are, of course, familiar with the various purchases I've made in the last few weeks. My goal was to finish October with at least $2700. On Wednesday, picking up the tab for myself and Dark Horse Sandal Man ($19.95) dropped me to $2699.66. In order to replenish my account, I took several books to a couple of used book stores in downtown Hometown to sell, and after unloading them and checking with the remains of my wallet, I went to the bank to deposit $10.65. I asked for a balance and left.

A couple of weeks ago I noticed that my account was two dollars less than I had expected, but figured that I'd made a mistake. Yesterday I noticed again, at the time of the transaction, that things seemed to be exactly two dollars light; $2699.66 plus $10.65 should equal $2710.31. Then, on the way back to work, it hit me: they've been charging me a two dollar fee, either for depositing, or for seeing a teller. Whatever it's for, it's crap, it's unannounced, and it's probably going to cost them my account.

About three years ago, my bank, a small independent bank with a few local branches, was bought out by a regional bank. They've slowly edged out most of the original employees, replacing them with anonymous automatons. In this case, it's no longer worth the few benefits I get from remaining there. I'm going to be moving eventually anyway, so I think I'm going to do some research with a friend of mine who's a retired bank manager, and move to a bank that doesn't pull the hidden fees bullshit, possibly the new independent bank in town.

Not to make a point of something somewhat trivial that pretty much just happened, but this is yet another element of what makes the free market better than a planned economy. If a big company or corporation, like Microsoft or Wal Mart, can do it better, then they deserve to get my money. In this case, consistency, local identity, and not being charged two dollars to deposit money is worth more to me than the supposed perks that the big chain can offer. That two dollar charge loses them $2700 of my money.

Anyway, I'm going to head out. I have to get my hair cut, which will once again take me below $2700, and run a couple of other errands, then hang out with Super Dave for a while. More from the Fly later, folks. In the meantime, read this.

Fly Report: 22nd October 2005

Good morning.

Kirkwall weather is 50° Fahrenheit, partly cloudy and windy. Cody weather calls for sun and a high of 52° Fahrenheit.

The average price of oil is $59.41 per barrel. The exchange rate is $1.77 for £1, or £0.57 for $1.

Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day is: (Cool)(Lame)

Today's scripture reading is Judges 5. The Fly is currently reading The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien and listening to Monster by REM.

A Psalm of Indifference

What do you feel when you feel nothing at all?

Don't move, don't talk out of time
Don't think, don't worry, everything's just fine
Just fine

Don't grab, don't clutch, don't hope for too much
Don't breathe, don't achieve or grieve without leave

Don't check, just balance on the fence
Don't answer, don't ask
Don't try and make sense

Don't whisper, don't talk, don't run if you can walk
Don't cheat, compete, don't miss the one beat

Don't travel by train, don't eat, don't spill
Don't piss in the drain, don't make a will

Don't fill out any form, don't compensate
Don't cower, don't crawl, don't come around late
Don't hover at the gate

Don't take it on board, don't fall on your sword
Just play another chord, if you feel you're getting bored

It's like... I feel numb, I feel numb
Too much is not enough, I feel numb

Don't change your brand / Gimme what you got
Don't listen to the band, don't ape / Gimme what I don't get
Don't gape, don't change your shape / Gimme some more
Have another grape / Too much is not enough

I feel numb

Gimme some more, a piece of me, baby

I feel numb

Don't plead, don't bridle / Some more
Don't shackle, don't grind / Gimme some more
Don't curve, don't swerve / I feel numb
Lie, die, serve / Gimme some more

Don't theorize, realise, polarise / I feel numb
Chance, dance, dismiss, apologise / Gimme what you got
Gimme what you got / too much is not enough, oh yeah

I feel numb

Don't spy, don't lie, don't try, imply
Detain, explain, start again / I feel numb

I feel numb

Don't triumph, don't coax, don't cling, don't hoax
Don't freak, peak, don't leak, don't speak / I feel numb

I feel numb

Don't project, don't connect, protect
Don't expect, suggest

I feel numb

Don't project, don't connect, protect
Don't expect, suggest

I feel numb

Don't struggle, don't jerk, don't collar, don't work
Don't wish, don't fish, don't teach, don't reach

I feel numb, too much is not enough

Don't borrow, don't break / I feel numb
Don't fence, don't steal, don't pass, don't press
Don't try, don't feel / Gimme some more

Don't touch / I feel numb
Don't dive, don't suffer, don't rhyme
Don't fantasize, don't arise, don't die

I feel numb

Don't project, don't connect, protect / I feel numb
Don't expect, suggest

Don't project, don't connect, protect / I feel numb
Don't expect, suggest

I feel numb
- The Prime Cardinal

It's the ultimate frustration when too much is not enough.

Oh, and by the way... Lycan, yes you can have interns, but you gotta share the wealth, mate.

When the Sky Falls, Get Thankful

Remember this? Well, it's been a rough week, between the end of a two year involvement with Fyffe for Fighting (F3), dipping below my planned budget for the month (temporarily, I assure you), and seeing Dark Horse Sandal Man, the last holdout in College City from my year group, move back to Metropolis. Aside from a couple of solid working days earlier this week, I feel like I've been spinning my wheels a bit lately. What does Fly do when he feels like moving to Orkney, digging a hole, and living in it like a hobbit? He makes a list of the things he's thankful for.

1. I'm thankful that I've watched eight episodes of Sports Night and the second season premiere of MI-5 since yesterday morning, and I'll be watching the next episode of the latter (starring Alexander Siddig, Deep Space Nine's "Dr. Julian Bashir") by the end of the day, in addition to a rerun of Battlestar Galactica.
2. Before taxes, I'll make a minimum of $274 this week. It's not spectacular, but it will be money well saved, and a great complement to the rest of my paycheck, so I'm more than happy with it; for money, I'm thankful.
3. I'm thankful that oil prices have inched below $60 a barrel, and appear to be slowly dropping. Let's hope it continues.
4. I'm thankful that I've got sneaky pete keeping me accountable to do my daily scripture readings. Really, I'm thankful for sneaky pete in general.
5. I'm thankful for specific friends: Sarah Canuck, April, and Dark Horse Sandal Man, and Paje-e. I'm also thankful that various other individuals, F3 being the most notable, have shown their level of dedication; I won't rule out reconciliation, but the load is now lighter, and I can deal with that.

Just for the hell of it, here's a couple more.

6. I'm thankful for this, this, this, this, and this, all of which I acquired this week. I'm also thankful that this is being released.
7. I'm thankful for my job opportunity with NASA History, and I'm thankful that I have a standing offer in England in case nothing else pans out.
8. I'm thankful for Medved.
9. I'm thankful for Guinness. It's delicious.
10. I'm thankful for Leatherman tools, made and invented in America (take that, Victorinox!), high quality, highly versatile.

If you're still reading this, I'm The Fly alongside Lycan Thrope, you're reading Thus Saith the Fly on Blogger. Stay with us.

Walking On Coals

* BBC * CNN * Fox *
Let's assume for a moment that a handful of American soldiers "desecrated" a couple of Taleban bodies by igniting them. Let's review, folks.

Taleban officials stoned women if they were followed by men

Taleban officials murdered anyone who didn't follow strict Sharia law

Taleban officials sanctioned and offered sanctuary to Usama bin Laden

Islamofascist terrorists desecrated Nick Berg's body by beheading it

Islamofascist terrorists have repeatedly beheaded their hostages, a desecration of those bodies

Islamofascist terrorists repeatedly ignite the bodies of Jews and Muslims through murderous bombings throughout the world, including in Israel and Iraq; apparently, this is desecration

This remark could come back to bite me someday, but as far as I'm concerned, the Taleban can go fuck themselves. These people are murderers who will blow up (thus burning) small children and defenseless women and call it martyrdom or legitimate warfare against a legitimate enemy.

Do I condone the desecration of bodies? Of course not; but let's please be realistic here. Islamists threw an absolute fit when a false report was published a few months ago by Newsweek claiming that Gitmo guards had urinated on copies of the Quran, completely ignoring the frequent mosque bombings that also damaged the Quran, carried out by the murderous hooligans they support. Now they're going nuts over two bodies being burned, just like bodies are burned when those same murderous hooligans set off bombs in mosques, or cafes, or buses, or pizzerias, or police/military recruiting stations.

How about all of those bodies that were burned when planes rammed into the World Trade Center? What about that desecration? Where was the outrage from Islamists then? What about the desecration of bodies being mutilated when they hit the ground as a result of people choosing to jump out of windows instead of staying in the fires? Where was the outrage there? Oh yeah, I forgot, none of those Islamists said a word complaining about those bodies being burned. They were too busy praising it. You'll excuse me if I'm unwilling to get too bent out of shape over their protestations.

When these Islamists are ready to condemn terrorism and the premeditated murder of innocent women and children, and civilian men as well, you all know where to find me.