September 2007 Archives

Throughout my life I have striven to avoid becoming a cliché. I haven't always been successful (black-haired, eye-linered, pierced-ear goth phase, anyone?) but I am always mindful of the forces in my life that seek to pull me into categories that allow a simplistic definition or label. I'd rather be misunderstood than summed up in a word.

So, despite having spent the last twelve years of my life working in IT, I have steadfastly avoided reading science fiction or fantasy, drinking Mountain Dew, or getting into MMORPG's, Star Trek, or comic books. I can't deny there is a part of me that's just a bit drawn to those things (well, except for Mountain Dew ... nasty shit), but just as a bartender needs to watch how much he drinks, I need to moderate my exposure to and consumption of geekery.

The one chink in my armor is my unadulterated and unwavering love for the movie Blade Runner, and I am all aquiver with nerdiness over the news that the 5-disk "Ultimate Collector's Edition" of the film will be released in December.

Amy loves pigs. Just adores them. She'd have a pet pig if she were any less practical-minded (or if we had a fenced-in back yard).

As a direct result of her porcine preferences, we, as a family, don't eat pork. Never touch the stuff.

It really wasn't too hard for me to give it up when Amy and I got together; I was never a big pork eater. I disliked chops, was indifferent to ribs, and didn't much go for bacon except on the occasional club sandwich.

The other day, I was invited by some co-workers to an afternoon Mariners game. The game day ritual, they explained, consists of grabbing a salami sandwich at a place called Salumi Salami, eating it at a nearby pool hall over a pitcher of beer, then traipsing across the street to Safeco Field.

I was a bit leery of the premise given the pork ban, but there had been a few relaxations of it lately and this was a Guy Trip, so I wasn't about to be the pansy-ass non-pork-eater sitting in the corner munching on carrots. I made up my mind: I was going to have a salami sandwich with the guys. And maybe I'd tell Amy.

Coincidently, earlier in the day, Salumi salami sandwiches were served (among other varieties) at a meeting I attended. I spoke to a co-worker about my impending trip down to the Salumi mothership and she began waxing enthusiastically about the sandwiches. I have never had anything like them, she assured me.

And, indeed, she was correct. Salumi Salami is a narrow, wedge-shaped eatery squeezed into the lower vertex of a triangular building where 2nd and 3rd Avenues intersect in Pioneer Square. Upon entering, you are nearly knocked to your knees by the aroma of spices and meat. Great cylinders of salami hang overheard, and the buzz of the meat slicer rips through the air.

Samples are free; I tasted the Oregano and the Mole salamis before settling on the Hot Sopressata for my sandwich. The Mole (chocolate and cinnamon, not small burrowing rodent) was incredible and rich, but I couldn't image eating an entire sandwich of it. The Oregano was also quite yummy, but the kick of the Sopressata is what got to me.

After I got home, Amy told me that she had rented Charlotte's Web and watched it with Ray. I fessed up and told her about the sandwich. She considered it for a moment, and then said: "Oh, so you ate Wilbur."

The UW (where I work) recently acquired the Safeco Tower, a 14-story building on the outskirts of campus. Along with the purchase came a number of auxiliary building and parking lots surrounding the Tower. Plans are afoot for my organization to move into one of those outbuildings.

I recently learned that this little architectural gem was included in the purchase.

That's right; it's an abandoned International House of Pancakes!

I am lobbying now for my office to be in the old IHOP. I can imagine my desk being a corner booth. My computer would share space on the formica table with the caddy of colorful syrups! There'd be a never-ending supply of pancakes at every meeting!!

Rumor has it they're planning to tear the building down, but I'll chain myself to the door if I have to!

The other day, in [DebtFree], I reported that I had finally paid off my student loans. In our debt-ridden, spend-happy, bankruptcy-erupting world, the act of achieving a zero balance on a debit sheet is, in my opinion, an event to be celebrated.

It was with this mindset that I excitedly opened a letter I received yesterday from the Federal Direct Loans program. What sort of praise awaited me behind the frosted pane of the windowed envelope? Did the modest parcel contain a certificate, suitable for framing? Would it be personally signed by Margaret Spellings herself? In fact, is that a hint of perfume I detect on the flap??

Electronic Debit Account Suspended

Electronic debiting of your Direct Loan payment is being halted temporarily because we granted a deferment, forbearance, or other type of suspension of payments on your Direct Loan(s).

We will send you a Notice when electronic debiting is to resume for your monthly payment.

We require no action from you at this time.

I guess I didn't so much pay off my loan as I was granted some "other type of suspension."

I feel so ... left behind.

A number of years ago, I read an amusing story in the New Yorker ("The best magazine in the word; perhaps the best magazine that ever was....") in which the author used uncommon positive forms of commonly negative phrases (e.g. "gruntled" for "feeling happy"). I was reminded of the story while watching The Office last night in which the Michael Scott character explains that he's not "superstitious," he's sometimes just "a little stitious."

After a bit of Googling around today, I found a copy of "How I Met My Wife" by Jack Winter from the New Yorker, July 25, 1994.

Excerpt:

It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.

I was furling my weildy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her standing alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a woman in a state of total array. Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and she moved in a gainly way.

I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I’d have to make bones about it, since I was travelling cognito. Beknowst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn’t be peccable. Only toward and heard-of behavior would do.

Oratory has a long and noble history. In ancient Greece, oratory was considered a necessary part of the study of rhetoric and was a required part of a well-rounded education. The British parliament has famously placed a high regard on the skilled delivery of speeches from the floor. And even some our own politicians of the past have inspired their fellow Americans with stirring speeches and linguistic flourishes (though not, of course, our current idiot of a President).

But nowhere is oration more alive today than in the vast megachurches and evangelical temples of our nation's embarrassingly large Christian population. As a subgenre of oratory, preaching can turn even the most contradictory, head-scratchinging, mind-numbingly silly passages of the Bible into powerful theater with the ability to brainwash weak minds.

And though there are a number of eloquent atheist writers enjoying a higher profile these days (e.g. Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins), they can hardly be described as "charismatic." Dawkins is easily disregarded by believers who simply object to his perceived arrogance and snarkiness, and the acerbic Hitchens is generally entertaining, but again, only when he's preaching (sic) to the converted (sic).

I generally regard Sam Harris, author of The End of Faith and Letter to a Christian Nation (and discussed on this blog [EndOfFaith|here]), as the most level-headed and persuasive of all the big-name anti-theists out there today. Sure he goes on a bit much about "spirituality," but he not overtly offensively and mocking.

Recently, I found a podcast (fancy word for "MP3 file that you can download") of Harris' talk at something called the "Aspen Ideas Festival." (Listen!) In it Harris explains very patiently and convincingly explains why he believes religion and theism do more harm than good in the world.

He's exceedingly logical and articulate.

And boring!

Would it hurt the guy to use some intonation? I'm not asking for any "Can I get a 'Hallalujah!'" or anything, but maybe a bit more range to the volume would be nice. The guy even had some pretty funny lines, and then steps all over himself when the audience starts laughing.

We atheists need impassioned, powerful speakers. What has happened to the Clarence Darrows? The Bertrand Russells? Where have all the atheist orators gone?

I really respect and admire Sam Harris, and I think the speech he gave was spot on, and may even possess several points that would make actual believers stop and say: "Hmmmm. I never thought of that." But I doubt any of them would get past the first 5 minutes. I only did because I was on an elliptical machine at the gym when I listened and if I tried to change the channel on my MP3 player, I would have strangled myself.

Again, this is not to dis Mr. Harris' arguments. This talk contained some of the most reasoned arguments against theism and religion that I've ever heard. It was well-organized. It was exhaustively researched. It was also as dry as a nun's gusset.

Nevertheless, I do recommend it to all believers and non-believers out there who happen upon this infrequently-updated little patch of teh internets, and I would welcome your comments on it.

(Again, that link is: http://download.publicradio.org/podcast/wordforword/2007/09/070914_wfw_64.mp3

Last night, I played in a poker tournament organized by the Seattle Poker Open, an amateur poker league that arranges games at various local drinking establishments around Seattle.

Gambling is illegal within the city limits, so this is a "fun" league intended to provide a venue for those who want to play the game at a serious level without all that added stress of real money being involved. In this league, all players are allocated about $2,500 (or so) in chips. Betting levels go up every 20 minutes, and the game is played until all players but one are cleared out.

I enjoy a good game of Texas Hold 'em but I haven't much real life opportunity to play in a serious environment. So-called "card rooms" are legal in many communities that surround Seattle, so there are plenty of venues to find a game. But I've been intimidated having never played with strangers and with real stakes.

I happened on the Seattle Poker Open web site a couple months ago, but I only got around to signing up to play last week, around the beginning of their autumn season. The Wednesday night locale is a bar just a few blocks from my home, so it's quite convenient.

The people were largely friendly and very patient with newcomers. I was initially seated at a table with two other rookies, and we all made little gaffes and breaches of protocol that in a real game with real money probably would not have been met with too favorably.

I lost two rather large pots early on; only one was due to bad playing. I calmed down and wised up as the game progressed and managed to make it to the final eleven (out of 36) before my stash was finally chipped away by the ever-increasing blind bets.

Overall, I had a really good time. I felt welcomed and comfortable and look forward to playing again next week.

If Amy lets me.

Apart from a crushing mortgage, I am now debt free after paying off my student loans this past week.

I was lucky enough to get through college without taking out loans, but graduate school was another story. After having been told that my program didn't admit students they didn't have funding for, I signed up only to then find out that my particular year was "exceptional" in that two of us were out of luck money-wise. I didn't have a job lined up and I had already signed a lease, so my only option was to suck at the teet of the federal government.

Student loans were remarkably easy to obtain, and so I did ... often. They enabled my relatively extravagant (for a student) lifestyle, and the convenient payback deferral meant I didn't have to worry about it so long as I remained enrolled in courses. I ended up finding a decent-paying graduate assistantship after a while, so I gradually became less dependent on aid, but by that time I had already dug myself into the hole.

But now, just over eleven years after bidding adieu to my life as an academic, I am officially "Paid in Full."

I'm contemplating taking fencing lessons at Seattle's Salle Auriol. I'm undecided about this, but yhe beginner class starts Tuesday so I need to make up my mind.

I took fencing lessons when I lived in Iowa. What with all the rogue highwaymen prowling the Midwest, I felt I needed to be able to defend myself. I only managed to attend two classes before my interest levels (and thigh muscles) petered out. I'm not too sure why I think this time, a dozen years hence, will be any different.

The sport itself holds interest for me on a number of fronts. It's played indoors, it involves cool gear (swords!), and it's suitably anachronistic. On the other hand, it's the kind of hobby that might attract the sort of person who engages in historical re-enactments and enjoys role-playing games.

Since I don't make a move in my life with consulting teh Internets, I Googled "fencing" today to help me decide if I should take up this hobby or not. Among other things, I learned that Neil Diamond attended NYU on a fencing scholarship. Also, it seems, fencers have their own jokes. Here's an example:

How many epeeists does it take to change a light bulb?

Two, but they have difficulty getting both bulbs in at the same time.

At this point, I'm really struggling to find marks to put in the "Pro" column.....

My beloved unmarried partner, Amy, is a somewhat reserved person. Few people get to experience her dry, quick wit. Getting to experience her sense-of-humor is one of the many reasons I consider myself lucky that I get to be around her a lot of the time. I have been half-kiddingly encouraging her to get involved in sitcom writing, which I think would be the perfect venue for her creativity and humor.

Last night, for example, we had a conversation that went something like this:

Amy: Your hair looks all greasy in the back.

Jim: It's probably because I haven't washed it in a couple days. I think it makes me look rugged.

Amy: You can't be "rugged" because you wear product in your hair.

Jim: So maybe I'm more "metro-rugged."

Amy: I'd say "homeless-sexual."

That's comedy gold, right there. A-list material.