William's Too Heavy Back-Pack

by Gladys Li
I helped my Mom with the first draft of this story in 1981. I didn't like how it came out. She never gave up on the story. She kept sending me new editions of the story until about 2005.  Really, she wanted me to contribute some effort to a draft. She kept calling it "our" story.
This is my first direct revision of the story in 28 years.

"What's the difference between a turtle, a tortoise, and a terrapin?" William demanded as he came charging into the backyard.

I smiled. "You're asking a good question."

He threw down his back-pack and sat himself down on the porch steps. I thought about Aesop's Fables and asked "Do you know that Grandpa used to tell me a story about the race between the tortoise and the hare..."

"YES! Heard it, like, a gazillion times already." interrupted William.

"And?" I prompted.

William continued, "The turtle is so slow that the rabbit thinks he has time for a little nap."

"That's right. The tortoise wins and puts the hare to shame."

"No. Wrong." William flatly contradicted me. "You see this back-pack?"

"Yes?"

"No, I mean, really check it out. It weighs a ton."

"Maybe I'd better move it before someone trips over it," I said,followed by an exaggerated groan and a "Heave Ho!"

William tried to supress a giggle by frowning. "Now you understand why it takes me so long to go anywhere when I'm lugging that thing around. Tortoise, turtle; turtle, tortoise. A rabbit is faster. Much faster" he said authoritatively, pointing his finger for emphasis. "Grandpa didn't tell you that story to teach you about animals, he wanted to teach you a lesson."

"Oh yes? What sort of lesson?"

"Don't be a lazy rabbit, or else you'll be a loser at life!"

"In that case, I proclaim it only just for the rabbit to lose and the turtle to win!"

William snorted, "Justice has nothing to do with it. Anyhow, it's a dumb ending to the story because everyone knows that a rabbit can run circles around turtles. At least if its a story, justice could come with a twist. Where's the twist? A story needs to have a twist, Mom. And, by the way, you still haven't said anything about the difference between a tortoise, a turtle, and a terrapin."

"Well, at least you seem to know the lesson of the tortoise and the hare." I said. William looked pleased by the compliment, then confused when I challenged him, "How about frogs and terrapins?"

"What's that now?"

"Oh, so you don't know the story about Miss Betty, a terrapin who lived in Old Quarry?"

William straighten his back a bit, and dropped his shoulders. He rested two relaxed foreams on his knees, and a smile crept across his face, like he knew a good joke but was keeping it a secret. Although he liked to talk, this was his posture when he was ready to listen. So I began...

*   *   *   *   *

Saturday turned out to be beautiful after all.

Everyone would go to the Beaver dam party at the left bank shallows.  Miss Betty Emydidae made her way through the stand of trees near the ox bow. She was wearing her favorite straw hat. It was held on by a ribbon.  The ribbon was in a diamondback pattern that matched her black and orange shell.

Miss Betty spied her friend Samantha up in the leaves and branches of the tall white oak.  Samanatha was lost in thought, acorn in her hands, mouth open, although her bushy Auburn tail twitched ever so slightly. More of a pulse, really.  Miss Betty guessed that Samantha got distracted during breakfast.

"Good morning, Sam," Miss Betty called up to her. "You are up early."

"You know me, Betty." Samantha replied, " I love the morning. So full of... possibility."

"I hope it is possible that I will see you at the Beavers' party?" asked Miss Betty gently.

Samantha startled, "Is that today? Thank you for reminding me!  I nearly forgot."

"You have plenty of time, don't worry."

"Oh... but which way shall I go to cross the creek? What's the water level? Can I take the stones? Maybe the branch bridge, if its not to windy. Is it too windy, Betty?"

"No idea, but here's how you can find out.  Just wait for the Cardinal Brothers to pass overhead.  If they are beating their wings, its calm.  If they are soaring, it means they are riding a wind.  Then you can make an informed choice." explained Betty.

"You sure know a lot about flying.  Are you sure you are not a flying Terrapin?"

"I'm sure," laughed Miss Betty. "But I appreciate the compliment."

Miss Betty entered the gap between the crocuses and soon was in the thorny underbrush.  She could no longer see Samantha but heard her cry out, "Oh look, there they go! Soaring. Thanks again, Betty. I'm avoiding high winds and taking the low route, in case anyone is looking for me!"

By the time Miss Betty emerged from the thorns to reach the large roots of the white oak, Samantha had set off on her journey. Miss Betty looked forward to seeing her friend at the party.

Clear out of the blue came Charles Grenouille. He was practicing his long-high leaps and jumps.  Miss Betty admired his debonaire moves, and the charming way that his eyes could non-chalantly move independant of one another. But Charles could be careless.  Today, he landed a bit too close to Miss Betty, who began to retreat into her shell for fear that she might get hit.

"Comment ca va?" asked Charles, with eyes wandering rakishly.

Although he was technically an invasive species to Old Quarry, Charles was not actually born in France.  His father, Gilles Grenouille had actually escaped from an expensive restraurant that served retro Indo-China delicacies, married Teresita LaRana, and to everyone's surprise had a son who was his fly-catching image. The point being: the accent was an affectation.  Some of the inhabitants of Old Quarry gently teased Charles about the way he spoke, but Miss Betty knew that Charles did not like this.

Miss Betty carefully answered, "Bon matin, Monsieur Grenouille. Je suis en pleine forme! Et vous, bonhomme vert?"

"Tres bien, Mademoiselle Betty. I see you have been practicing. It makes you even more... how do you say? Irresistable."

Miss Betty felt herself starting to blush, so she changed the topic. "Oh Charles, I wish you would be careful when you jump so high.  Do you know that you almost didn't clear the big root?"

Charles' eyes suddenly stopped wandering and focused instead on Miss Betty. Charles lashed out, "You think Charles is a silly French, too? Do not put at stake that I can not clear this or any obstacle. I am jumper par excellance!"

"No, no.. please do not be upset with me." protested Miss Betty,  "I only want you to be safe because...:"

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle.  They say frogs are cold-blooded. Mais, I feel such passion from time of the time." said Charles. There was an awkward pause as Miss Betty slowly trudged under the big root, so Charles spoke again. "Are you to go to Chez Beavers?"

"Oh yes. It will be such a grand event.  Everyone will be there. Why, just this morning, I saw Samantha Sciurini, who is going. And the Cardinals have flown by.  I am fairly certain that they are on their way to the party too."

This last bit of information made Charles think about how marvelous the Cardinal Brothers would look, with their brilliant red wings shining in the sunshine.  Like always, they would get all the attention and no one would notice his impressive leaps. He upset himself so much with these jealous thoughts that he jumped off without even bidding Miss Betty, "Adieu."

Miss Betty sighed.

"No matter." She told herself as she made her way around the white oak.  Her heavy shell, the pastron on top and the carapice on the bottom, protected her from falling debris. Finally, past the pine stumps, she spotted the brackish water of the ox bow portion of the creek. Here, the current slowed as the waters meandered around the largest part of a mineral outcropping covered in overgrowth. This was also where the diamondback terrapin (unlike her cousin, the freshwater turtle) was most comfortable. Although it took her a long way to make it from her nest to the water, she was used it. Many members of the Emydidae family did this.  Anyhow, she was confident that she had planned enough time to make it to the water where her webbed feet would propel her with great strength through the secondary flow, and then across the main current, to the banks on the left bank shallows.

By late afternoon, she was passing the pine stumps near the water's edge when she saw Charles asleep on a log.  The scene reminded her of a story about how another cousin, a fully terrestrial, thicker-shelled tortoise, had beaten a rabbit in a long-distance race.  Getting closer, however, Miss Betty realized that Charles was not asleep at all. Instead, he was passed out with a rather large bump on his head. Charles' breathing was weak and he looked a little less green.

Miss Betty's mind worked furiously as she walked along. By the time she got to the water's edge, she had her plan.  She untied the ribon on her hat, and took it off so she could use it as a little pail.  She scooped up some water.  Going over to the unconscious frog, she called him by his full name, "Charles Pablo Nguyen Grenouille!" She splashed him with some water from her hat.

"Ouch. My head. Mom is that you?" He moaned in his actual Middle-Atlantic voice.

"It's getting late, my friend," warned Miss Betty. "Can you get up?"

"My head is spinning," Charles croaked. "I guess I won't be able to go to the Beavers' party today." But Miss Betty had already had figured everything out.

"Of course you will," she consoled Charles in a soothing voice. "We are right by the water.  I'll give you a little push in, and then you can take a ride on my shell."

"That is so kind of you, Miss Betty.  But everyone will laugh at me, just like they always do." Charles complained.

Betty pushed Charles into the water.  The amphibian was clearly refreshed by the change. "Tell you what: Why don't I just swim along side you, for safety?  We can get to the left bank shallows together. And if anyone asks you about the bump on your head, just look at me and say 'Cherchez la femme.'"

And of course, that is exactly what they did.  Miss Betty smiled as Charles swam along-side her. Occasionally Charles would rest a webbed digit on her shell, in order to right his course, or to get a bit of a tow.

The Cardinal Brothers did arrive first. And once again, they were the life of the party; garnering the most attention and adulation for their fabulous plumage.  Nevertheless, Charles and Betty made it safely.

And everyone enjoyed themselves immensely.

* * * * *

"Charles was very lucky that Miss Betty came along when she did" was William's first comment.

"The lesson is supposed to be that friends help each other." And for good meaure, I emphasized "Two heads are better than one."

William saw it differently, "Charles' head was of very little use to him, and none to Betty.  I can't imagine why Betty would even want to befriend someone with such disgusting vanity."

"Miss Betty is brave enough to be kind, William. It is very easy to be mean to Charles, and many in the Old Quarry are. But Miss Betty appreciates that Charles has chosen to face the world in his own style. And she appreciates being appreciated."

William said nothing for a while. A distant neighbor's wind-chimes softly sounded a weird melody. The shadows from the afternoon light through the latticework on the porch grew progressively longer. I savored the moment. Finally, William stood and picked up his back pack. He was ready to move on.

"Thanks, Mom. I'll think about what you said."

"I know you will, my sweet. You're welcome."

a haiku by Dakota Li

Everyone can talk
Also, everyone can walk
When given a chance

New Months

I explained to Dakota that July through November was in honor of little boy because he is so sweet and likeable.

This drove Dakota into a Veruca Salt fit of envy. And because I am a super villian, I have done something that the Coopenhagen conference cannot: force all 193 to do something for ME and my kids.

Anyhow, just for 2010, you can enjoy some "special edition months"

• Awesomary
• Krapactulary
• October
• Tarch
• April
• June
• July
• August
• September
• October 2: The Squeak-well
• November
• December

Mark your calendars now. Or else.

Merry Christmas from William Li

Because nothing says "Christmas" more than a white tiger, at an aquarium/downtown restaurant, demolishing raw hamburger inside a cardboard box in front of an ersatz maharaja adorned with an evergreen tree that had been earlier torn down from the rafters and "marked" by said tiger, please consider this my personal Christmas card made especially for you.

Me Three Shirts From Mail Order Far

In typical William style, this is a post about avoiding writing a post about what I am thinking about, which is that I went back to my church.  I will proceed to say that I won't say anything about it other than I don't exactly know at this point why I stopped going. Basically, there was no good reason, but almost three years had passed. There is a lot that I could say about that, but it is private, so I won't.

I had a digression here that had to do with something I purchased at office depot my senior year, if you were there (Dave, AChen, etc.) then you will recall that you felt I paid too much for it, but I felt that because it was exactly what I wanted, it was worth it.  The point is (a) I still have it, (b) there is no longer any thing for which I will pay the "no haggle" price because its exactly what I want. In fact, I am not sure there even is anything that I would point to and say "this is exactly what I want."

I don't think this is a function of being any more mature.  I think its the times.  I am just not convinced that anyone wants a new Lexus or a big-screen TV anymore, even if they could afford it, which (of course) they can't.

So, I got myself a Christmas present.  I got two white shirts and a french blue shirt for work: two from Amazon.com and one from Lands End. Total price is something like $55.  If I am an indicator of the market (and I am) then we are in for a long winter.

Discussing the meaning of irony with Dakota

"Dad, do we have any Lays?"

"Check in there," I say, pointing to the Frito-Lay variety pak.

Cheetos, Fritos, Regular D'Oritos. The kids love the lays. I had purchased Pringles snak paks as a decoy but Jason, outraged, opened them all and stomped on them.

Dakota was disappointed. Consoling her I said, "Gotta stop Jason from opening the chips, eating two and then opening another. Jason can eat just one."

I looked up at the ceiling, as I often do when I am pleased with how clever I am to talk over the head of a child. That's when we both spotted the 6-pak of Lays.

"Hey!" we shouted in unison.

Opening it up, Dakota asked me, "Why did you put it up there?"

"Its my stash for when I want chips not broken up by Jason, I forgot about it."

"How ironic."

"Dakota, what do you think ironic means?"

"Very silly."

I paused, reflecting on how Eugene talked me out of saying "a keen sense of irony" was one of my greatest strengths on my Rice application. I thought about the nights I spent puzzling over my Swearingen's "Rhetoric and Irony" readings for Tyler's class, wondering if maybe I had the book upside-down.  I thought about how I was sent back to physical therapy because after finally completing physical therapy for my achilles, I decided to get some shorts at "sports authority" and I got whiplash and aggravated a herniated disc in my lumbar from being rear-ended in the parking lot of the "sports authority." I remembered the first time, as a senior developer, that I told an end user that a feature he hated wasn't a bug, but the correct and intended functionality; and the first time, as an IT manager, that I told an overloaded employee to work smarter instead of harder. I thought about how badly I wanted to have a real conversation with my father but how unbearable it was to listen to his spiel on any topic until we found that we could talk candidly and without acrimony about my career, then he died just as I started to have one.

. . .

While all of these thoughts and memories raced through my mind and Dakota looked at me, searching for approval: her big wide eyes, paired with a sly sideways smile.

"I can't think of a better definition that that. Enjoy your chips."

Chachews and shellfish

I pronounce the c in "cashews" as a ch and and the sh in "cashews" as a ch.

I smelled some pepper: ca ca cha-chews!

Dakota decided that the s in selfish should be pronounced as an sh. She found this to be hilarious. I just stared at her blankly, but inside I was ROTFLMAO.

I told her that shellfish people run the risk of being all abalone. She just stared blankly at me, as I laughed.



I wonder if she was laughing on the inside?

High Comedy

Thinking about the best family moments growing up, it was the high
comedy that just came from Mom, Eugene, and I taking a funny situation
and making observational humor. All great improv high comedy relies
upon the players catching each others' groove and keeping it going.
You know what I mean, right?

Haven't you ever thought, when you were with your family or friends,
"Wow, that could be on TV"

I have a segue here jealously against Bill Cosby actually putting that
experience on TV but anyway...

It makes me happy to see the kids crack each other up. In particular,
I can see how each has their own shticks and style of madcap humor.
Nevertheless, both do impressions, props, spit takes, prat falls and
irony. Dakota seems to also like puns and observations. Jason likes
funny faces. Neither kid goes blue.

--
Sent from my mobile device

Sketch - "Why The Monkey Fell Out Of The Tree"

Over Thanksgiving, I discovered that basically every piece of paper that I ever wrote and left at home was amazingly preserved by my Mom. I found a stenopad that I bought on clearance from W.H. Smith for 25p in the summer of 1995. I was working out a MMORPG. I had character classes, a combat system for fighters and a different one for Clerics. But at several points, I got distracted and wrote other things. I think I wrote this after the R.E.M. concert but before I went home.

To be clear, this is not the first revision of this idea, but its more or less the best sketch in terms of how the whole situation plays out.

Sketch

Old man - 72ish on his death bed. Makes a bet with the Devil. The rest of his days for a single day of his youth to re-live.

Chooses the day his 1st true love rejected him; late in his senior year of high school. He plans to change it, the bet is that whatever he does today will not change the outcome of his life.

At 1st he is thrilled. He is young and fit, and savors simple things like healthy kidneys.

Sees his mother and his childhood best friend, both of whom he has not seen alive in decades. At the Diner, best friend is making purposely dumb jokes; funny. Importantly, his friend tells the titular joke:

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree? Go, on ask me.... go on!"
"okay, why did the monkey fall out of the tree."
"He was dead."


He tells off the vice-principal.

He sees _The Girl_ and proceeds to fall in love all over again. With a lifetime of experience and confidence, things look like they might go better; at first. But he is overwhelmed by the combined weight of his past memories and a lifetime of his fantasies about what "should" have been. He forgets his age and what that means. The result, ultimately, is he's rejected again. Despite some superficial changes, The Girl, had made up her mind long ago about him, such that the time, place, and circumstances are basically the same as the first go-round.

He realizes that he now has not only lost The Girl, but also lost his soul to the Devil. He is very distraught. So much so that he makes a last desperate attempt to prove the Devil wrong by driving onto the railroad track.

The sound of train whistle turns into the sound of the Devil's laughter as the clock on the car dashboard reaches midnight. The light from the train becomes the light above the Old Man's death bed. The Devil's laughing fades away to the sound of Grandson weeping at the foot of the bed.

It's better without this next part, but if they make a movie, audiences will want a happy ending, so--

"What's wrong, kid?"
"Grandpa, the Doctor says you are not going to make it."
"He's right."

They have some sort of conversation that makes the Grandson change his mind about something established in passing before the Old Man made the bet. The Devil (who is disguised as a doctor in the hospital) drops his clipboard, to symbolize that the old man beat the bet somehow and can keep his soul.

Conversation finishes like this:

"I'm getting sleepy now."
"I'll get the Doctor"
"No, don't. I'm ready for the big nap."

Grandson starts to cry.

"A good friend used to cheer me up when I felt sad, Malachi. Malachi, come here. I want to tell you a.. something."

Realizing that he alone will hear his grandfather's last words, Malachi leans forward attentively. The Old Man starts to fade. Gently, Malachi rouses the Old Man, who finally says:

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"

The Least Original Idea Ever

I know this is supposed to be the epi(lady)logue portion of this blog, but for the sake of my childhood next door neighboor, I want to make fun of a movie that I haven't and won't go see. It's called "Brothers" and its the Least Original Idea Ever.

The movie is about a Captain who goes to fight in a war, leaving his wife at home. Thinking he is dead, the wife is accidently unfaithful to the Captain. The Captain discovers this and a lot of bad stuff befalls both the Captain and a family member named Tommy. I think there is also a drunk old man in the movie who does bad stuff. Wow.

The canonical rant about X-mass music

This is inspired by walking into the cafeteria at noon today and yesterday and hearing the exact same point (almost to the note) of "sleighride". Yes, its odd and scary that I had lunch at the same time two days in a row. Does that make me Kant?
Anyhow, I am not referring to Christmas or "Winter Holidays" but Xmas, the absurd post post post modern (modern modern.... Echo echo echo) holiday that Charles Schulz and even Dakota ("People think the X sounds like Christ? Who came up with that?") think are fake.
I got so sick of Xmas music that over the years I have purchased "a muppet christmas", "a twisted christmas" (d synder), "christmas is 4 ever" (boots e collins), and "aquatic vampyres battle dolphin paladins: a christmas opera" (not really, but wouldn't that be awesome?), just to cut the sickly sweet frappe of cheese (tasty) with something else; anything.
The epitome of this cheez is the movie "love actually" which involves a really "inspirational" cover of "(all eye) want 4 x-mas (is) U" originally ghostwritten for Mariah Carey. Its super easy to take pot shots at ol' Maraiah, and very clever, so let's focus on the cheez.
What's so great about that song? The lyrics? Sing it. Don't look it up. Now look it up. Did you get them right? If you did, you are excused to resume reading your dog-eared copy of "Us" magazine. But before you go... Your schmaltzy rendition of that yoddle without a< melody is what passes for a "hit"
In that spirit, I invite everyone to sing along schmaltzily to my Xmass hit:

Xmas comes at Xmas time
Xmas cheer with Xmas love
All around the Xmas tree
Merry Xmas--- you and me
(Refrain)
Xmas Xmas Xmas Xmas!
Xmas! Xmas-Xmas, Xmas.
Xmas! Xmas! Xmas!
Xma-aaaaasss!

;
How does the melody go? Do you pronounce the X in Xmas as X like X-ray or like the Charlie Crist? Do you want to sing other lyrics? Go for it.
IT'S UP TO YOU!!!! Just be schmaltzy

Sandwich Therapy Breakthrough

#12 Is a breakthrough in my Sandwich Therapy

 

The Thanksgiving Leftover Sandwich

 

Ingredients / Assembly sequence:

• 2 slices of stuffing bread. Jo gets unsliced sandwich bread, which I sliced thicker than normal but thinner than Texas toast. Place on a microwave safe plate.
• Spread mashed sweet potatoes on it.
• White meat, it's ok to show a little skin
• Cranberry dressing on topof that
• Dark meat on top of that
• Stuffing on top of that
• Spread mashed potatoes on the other slice of bread
• Cut chunks of brie and jam it into the mash potatoes

 

Put the brie-tatoe slice on the palm of an open right hand and in a swooping motion, flip it onto the pile of food on top of the other slice. Microwave 30 seconds... DO NOT TOAST

Flip over sandwich, don't be afraid to touch it. Put a piece of pumpkin pie next to sandwich

Microwave another 30 seconds

 

Cup you palm and push the whole thing down. The fillings will spread out and be mushy with odd hot spots. Cut into triangles and use a big spoon to help eat. Wash it down with hot apple cider or OJ. Something fruity and acidic. Delicious

Count Your Blessings

I admit that I don't often count my blessings. Part of it is fatalism: enumerating and explicating the good things in life is an invitation to have those things taken away. In part it is also because I often can be an ungrateful jerk who likes to complain about and expand upon the many hardships in life; big and little. But, Thanksgiving receives special dispensation from curses, so the first part is not a concern. And I'm working on the second part. Ergo:

 

1. My children. Every day with them is like gold.
2. My parents. They've gone on ahead, but are not gone. I am proud to be the link from #1 to #2 on this list.
3. Eugene. He likes brevity so...
4. Jo, my nieces, and the extended Li family
5. My sense of humor. Mom was right. It is really important for me in so many ways. Some guy yesterday said to me "You are aggressively smart, but you also seem like a funny guy and that makes you alright." If that could be the first impression that I make for the rest of my life, I'll take it!
6. Old friends. This trip has been like a mini-reunion, I've seen a lot of old friends. Its great to know that there are people out there who really get me, but they are spread all over the world. There are different ways to view that. I'll choose to say that they're inflitrating the collective unconsciousness, such that one day everyone will get me. I just read that over. Maybe I don't want the world to get me. "Ahhhh!!! The world's gonna get me!"
7. This photo of Cthulutu at carnivale (Thanks, Louren)
8. Being a lawyer. It was worth it. The point is not lost on me about how culture has really done a whole song and dance number on the profession on the profession in an effort to tarnish it's esteem. Nor am I blind to the proclivity of a few lawyers to live down to that dirtiness. But lawyers are like everybody else, and the system works to produce and maintain a competent group of qualified professionals.  The result of this effort is nothing less than the frontline of keeping this great experiment called the United States going. Many areas of law (I had a list here, but it got lengthy; lengthier than this parenthetical remark; and anyhow it was besides the point, so the list is gone) seem to draw out attempts to impeach the character of practioners in that area who are merely doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing, which is to diffuse power. I know I've gone on at length before about Federalist No 51 "if men were angels, there'd be know need for government" and whatnot, but the crucial vitality of our system of checks and balances matters. It matters as much today as it ever did. To quote one of my greatest law professors "People around the world are literally willing to kill and die in order to have a legal system as good as ours"
9. walking. Spend some time on crutches and it'll be in your list too
10. information. I said I'd get back to this topic a few posts ago. Here it is: Although law school has totally cured me of the desire (and means) to ever be a student again, my appetite for consuming and digesting raw iinformation lives on. Yay!
11. Holidays. I needed a break and this is that break.

 

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Louren Li <lourenli@hotmail.com>
Date: Tue, 24 Nov 2009 16:25:49 -0500
Subject: Chthulu at carnivale
To: William Li <william.li@gmail.com>

 

--
Sent from my mobile device

Kids, watch this!

My Thoughts About Thanksgiving (reprint)

The following was originally published in 1981 for Ms. Edelstein's first grade class. I suppose that makes it property of the Yonkers School System or perhaps its dedicated to the public domain because
its academic writing. Anyhow, its the sort of thing only your mom will keep:

MY THOUGHTS ABOUT THANKSGIVING
A long, long time in England there were Pilgrims. But they were not happy. They had no freedom. So they sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and they landed on Cape Cod thanks to the Mayflower. Some people, were still alive after the winter. They found Squanto. They had a party and the Indians got drunk and had the party for three days.

William
-----------------------------------------------
The point is not lost on me that if I were a first grader today, writing an essay about death and drunkenness would draw a big fat "letter home to Mom". I wonder how my mom would have reacted. No, I don't: she would have told the teacher to do her job and stop bothering her. She would have also given some sort of lecture about academic freedom.
--
Sent from my mobile device

William Li, for real not fiction

I named a RPG character "William Li, for real not fiction."

Dr.Mitchell once told E$ that most of his students' first plays/novels/etc. are a thinly veiled pantomime of their unfulfilled fantasies. OK, but that's not really a criticism. "Your fantasy world is boring" or "You are a d-bag who, unlike the Heezy, we can't root for." Now, THAT's criticism. But I digress.

Fiction is a construct that can never be made real. I've spent a lot of time thinking about the ontological status of fictional universes. And trust me: fiction is always fiction. Naming a character with your name and adding the suffix "for real, not kidding I mean it" doesn't change it.

Neither does slavishly recreating it in real life (a la the first "Harry Potter" movie).

"What about the fact that the same images, characters, plots, feeling, etc. that you have... can also exist in someone else's head?" Good question that I've asked myself as a rhetorical device. Here is the answer:

•  "Abraham Lincoln"
•  "The mystery of the Adam Walsh kidnapping"
•  "The Challenger Disaster"

Get it? It is the ontological status of semiotics and memory, not of fictional characters. To illustrate further, you can also make fiction that is totally unsharable for those who didn't already have the necessary keys to decode the signal.

• While visiting Palette town town, Ash saw a Chimchar evolve into Snorlax.
  "Impossible!" he shouted.

Where am I going with this?

The topic that originally made me write about this at Rice (a few times, actually) and which still puzzles me is reality television. Starting with the 1970's PBS series, "An American Family", which featured The Loud family, and which was supposed to be mundane television about an upper middle class family but turned into juicy voyeurism, reality television seems to cast doubt on my ideas about the ontological status of fiction. To explain further: The Louds themselves were somehow freed by the presence of camera crews... The eldest son got a whole lot less closeted, the awkward daughter got a whole lot more bulimic, the bemused wife kicked out the overbearing jerk-face husband, and EVERYONE in America hated on them.  Big time.

Today, The formula remains is basically unchanged.

But the format itself did not re-surge until the 90's with MTV's "The Real World." The original rationale for "The Real World" that Bunham and Murray had for using real people without scripts was to improvise a soap opera rather than pay writers.  The essence of the genre is now various attempts to perfect this formula. My personal impression is that reality television is often a tautly-paced contest between real people trying to do an unscripted and grotesque hyperbole of what they think are the most interesting aspects of themselves, and the producers trying to keep the cast members drunk, tired, hungry, cut-off from any means of emotional anchoring, and under duress.

So at precisely what point, in this reality tv circus, does the fiction begin? My best guess is that fiction begins immediately. It flows from the bare lie of the whole contrivance.

But! There is a major difference from fiction. Notwithstanding, the fact that non-professional actors are merely pretending to be themselves, the real people who are on these reality tv shows can actually hurt each other; psychologically. The producers can really hurt them, too. And, as we saw with the Louds, pundits can really really hurt them (far more so than a TV critic could ever hurt an actor playing a character)

Most of this reads like a big "well... Duh." And I'm not satisfied to simply leave the issue there. Why should there be this dichotomy between the artifice that gives rise to fiction in reality tv and the very real human suffering? The answer has got to be "intent."

For a good demonstration of this, I recommend (no kidding) "Pauly Shore is Dead"

What, you say? You say Pauly Shore is really low brow and that he has no talent? You are so wrong. The movie is hilarious cringe humor with the sensibility and pacing of "Curb your enthusiasm" but with a much more likable protagonist.

Pauly is keenly aware of his meteoric rise and fancies himself to have had an F Scott Fitzgeraldesque fall. On this conceit, the movie milks the idea that Shore faking his death would be the ONLY way to revive his career for many laughs. (In real life, I believe he eventually went back to his family's business of running a big LA comedy club.) Stylistically, the movie stands out for the unrelenting stream of highly personal put downs and humiliations that Shore endures.

But, he is also the director.

That means, "the wee-zel" can yell "cut" whenever he wants.  Moreover, all the actors are keen on making "Paul Shore, for real not just a character" as funny/real as possible. Big difference from reality TV, which just scoops up hours of footage and then plumbs it for the depths of human depravity.

 Pauly Shore... solving life's mys-teries BUUU-dee

Dakota and Dad's recipe for Thanksgiving Cranberry Sauce

People think that havinga a recipe for Thanksgiving cranberry sauce is
very important because of tradition. Here is ours:

Step one: get money
Step two: go to store
Step three: buy a can of canberry sauce
Step four: for Thanksgiving dinner, open the can and pour it into a fancy dish
Step five: put dish on table
Step six: say "Look we have cranberries"
Step seven: ignore the dish for the rest of dinner
Step eight: throw cranberries out

--
Sent from my mobile device

My idea of what poetry could and should be

I
A Guy
A Guy who Buys Pies

Hi.

The Forgotten Joke about Moses

I had something funny to say about this picture that I drew on MS Paint, but I started it months ago; well after I thought up the joke and then I forgot to finish the picture. Then I finished it a few weeks ago, then I forgot I had it.  Now this is the sad end to a really funny joke.

This was a joke that was so funny, it would have made Angels cry tears of joy and deamons wet themselves.  It would have united Yankees fans with so-called fans of baseball who do not love the Yankees.  It would have turned cat people into dog people and dog people into fish people.

Such is the nature of things that don't come to pass.  They are awesome beyond all get-out.  We'll never know by how much my absurd hyperbole isn't so because I forgot.

But Will, you can't do that! You can't claim to have made up a funny joke and then when asked to tell just say "I forgot." That's even worse than stealing someone else's 40 year old punch line.

Well excuuuuuuuse me.

Duets (the Karaoke movie)

I'm in the cafeteria, so I can't remember if I have already posted
this, but in any case, there ought to be at least one post about
Karaoke.

I re-watched "Duets" on cable the other day. As much as I'd like to be
more like Huey Lewis (and to sing like him too) the fact is that I am
more easily identifiable as Paul Giamatti. I think most working
professional men are, so its not a particularly stunning insight.

That said, there are many things the movie gets right and more that
the movie gets wrong. So in no particular order:

1. Karaoke contests are a rarity. The movie depicts a pro-am
underground of karaoke singers akin to "the color of money" (not akin
to "the hustler") but so far, I have only been in one Karaoke contest,
although I missed the Halloween "scary-oke" contest. Which brings me
to my next point:

2. Karaoke is extremely corny and the people who sing regularly are
nerds, like me. Except for Huey Lewis (who has made it hip to be
square) and Maria Bello, the movie is very accurate on this point.

3. The crowd is mainly indifferent unless you are awesome or
extremely terrible. Most people eek out an unimpressive middle. Paul
Giamatti on beta blockers getting the rock star treatment just doesn't
happen.

4. If you don't jump up on stage when you are called, you get skipped.
Maria Bello puking in the can... would get skipped.

5. True dorks bring their own CDs. Except now its a USB thumb drive
and the KJ kinda doesn't mind because it increases his catalog, but
Huey Lewis gettin his a** kicked for being the jerk with his own
special personal version of "Lonely Teardrops" is accurate in spirit.
Most places are not alright for fighting, not even on Friday nite.

6. Its better to have a friend. You don't need to know them all that
well either. So, a hitch-hiking escaped con, your newly discovered
illigetimate daughter, or a down-on-his-luck cabbie will definetely
fit the bill. Your local meetup.com group or the regular gang at the
watering hole will fill in those blanks, and that brings me to the
point of this post.

7. Singing is what you do for about 8 minutes of a 2 to 5 hour
evening. Most of the night, you will be working the nerve up and then
waiting. Have something else to do, preferably talking to your friends
and not getting fubar.

Here are some afterthoughts not related to the movie:

8. I think its ok to watch the TVs at a bar, not just special sports
events like the NCAA tourney. Its there and its on for a reason. You
don't have two or more TVs set up next to each other in your house, do
you? So relax and enjoy the Rockets, a re-run of "The Practice",
Jackie Chan and american sidekick buddy movie, and sham-wow commercial
all at once. You aren't being rude to the person singing.

9. But you can't play the jukebox during Karaoke.

10. If you are going to get up and dance to someone singing, the time
to do it is right before the first chorus. That way you know the
singer isn't butchering your song but there is still enough song left.

11. Karaoke night does not make a bad place better. But you and your
group taking over karaoke night can make any place fun... For you and
your group.

12. A good KJ can run a fun karaoke with even a bare minimum of songs
and the equivalent of a home boombox with a B and W monitor. A bad KJ
can destroy even the best setup.

13. The bartender likes tips. The KJ likes drinks. If its backwards
and the bartender drinks and the KJ has a cash tip jar: leave.

14. Caveat on #2, karaoke is sometimes also enjoyed by really really
old people. Its nice to have one person much older than the rest of
the crowd to be colorful, but a bunch of old people together means
you've walked into an old person bar.

15. There are a lot of great country songs to sing, and if you hear 5
in a row... You've walked into a country bar. If you hear 5 songs in a
row either in spanish or an asian language... You've walked into a
latino or asian bar. You will not get the same indicators for Celtic
themed bars.

16. Use your smartphone to lookup the lyrics before you go onstage.
Really you should do that even before you pick the song. You might be
surprised at how you only know one line to "I want you back (abc 123)"
or "come on eileen"

--
Sent from my mobile device

Whatever is the opposite of self-doubt

This is how my kids see me. I was going to post this a week ago, but I got bronchitis. And the cat ate my homework. And gentrification, let's blame gentrification as well. Ok, back to the story. This is how the kids see me.

I was going to rent a costume at the RenFest, but Dakota had a very clear idea of how I should look and couldn't articulate it. But at the "House of Dra" as I was talking to the shop wench (chortle) Dakota jumps forward with the green tunic. At the "haberdasher of doom" (not the name, I just forgot what the other shop was really called), Dakota picked out the Robin Hood hat, which I was skeptical of because it is too small for my giant noggin. But Jason liked it too, and the kids begged me to get it. So I say, that's how they see me.

A few months ago, I was out with a friend who told me that my problem was that I aspired to be my family's "White Knight" and how that wasn't realistic or healthy. She observed that White Knights are chaste, delusional, violent, and ultimately suicidal. (Nice!) Her advice was that I needed to change the story; be something else; see myself as something else.

"Maybe I could be a rouge, like Han Solo?"

"Great choice, but I just don't think you're Han Solo."

Maybe not. And at 265 lbs, I am a bit more Little John than Robin Hood, but I certainly can be a "Merry Man."  Somehow, that term always makes me think of Mermen, then Ethel Merman. But, I digress.

Maybe I could be the portly Robin Hood, the Howard Cunningham Robin Hood (think about it...) Anyhow, I wasn't going to post this one either, but after 2 AM Walmart shopping this morning, I watched "Robin Hood" (the one with Uma Thurman) on cable and saw the movie as a sign (yeah, a sign of bad sleeping habits!)

Actually the sign, or signs, are the two "blessings" that my kids picked up from the vendor who sold me the tunic. There was a stack of cards ("Imbued with magick... pick one m'lord") But because, I feel fairly cursed with when it comes to inanimate objects that predict my fate (I once got a fortune cookie that said "You suck!") I told the kids to each pick a blessing. And this is actually the point of this post, as each picked the perfect blessing for them.

Dakota picked:

When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than my talent for absorbing positive knowledge.
-- Albert Einstein

Jason picked:

If there is any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now and not deter or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.
-- William Penn

Self Doubt (Halloween Style)

Decrypting Life's Mysteries

It escaped my attention that Soupy Sales passed away.  As far as comedians go, Soupy Sales is who I am most trying to emulate. This is a strange statement to make given my age, and perhaps deserves more consideration.  Not for Sales, but for the person who is really fascinating: me!

I discovered that Sales died when I read an article in the NY Times that a new Yankees tradition is now to get a pie in the face when the Yankees win a home game on the last AB. If you are wondering who Soupy Sales is, click on the link, which is his Wikipedia article. And also: boo on you.

Anyhow, our own forgotten past and the effect it has had on our attitudes is one of life's mysteries to decrypt.  This blog has helped me solve one of them.  Why am I so fond of:

Soupy Sales
John Ritter
Dick Clark


Of course!  When I was in elementary and there were no cartoons on TV, I would watch  "$25,000 Pyramid" because it was a game show that I could understand and play along at home.

Deep....

Birthday In Hell

A man, whose birthday has passed without remark for years, is thrown a surprise party on his 36th birthday, so surprising is this that he immediately dies and goes to hell-- unbeknowst to him. The deamons, look exactly like the party guests and begin with some insensitive remarks dressed up as birthday party sentiment.

Then the eternal tourture begins:

They sing the birthday song. Followed by

"How old are you now?
How old are you now?
How OLD ARE YOU no-ow?
How old are you now?"

To which he involuntarily responds in the format;

"I'm thirtysix years old now.
I'm thirtysix years old now.
I'm THIRTYSIX YEARS OLD no-ow.
I'm thirtysix years old now."

Complete with singing "thirtysix" faster in order to cram the sylables into the song like a bloated middle-age man into his varisty letter jacket.

But then, it doesn't end, they sing:

"So cut the cake now,
So cut the cake now,
So CUT THE CAKE no-ow,
So cut the cake now.

"I'll cut the cake now,
I'll cut the cake now,
I'll CUT THE CAKE no-ow.
I'll cut the cake now." He repliess gamely, not yet fully aware that he's in hell

"May I have a piece?
May I have a piece?
May I HAVE A  peee-eece...
May I have a piece?"
Sings his demon-as-friend, Bob

"That's really funny, Bob." he sings, eyes widening as he continues,
"That's really funny, Bob."
And straining not to he nevertheless sings, "that's REALLY FUNNY Baaaaa-aaaahb! That's really funny, Bob."

"What's funnyaboutwanting cake?
What's funnyaboutwanting cake?
What's FUNNNY'BOUTWANTIN cay-ache?
What's funnyaboutwanting cake?"

"What's going on here?
I cantstop singingthis song?
Is THIS SOME KINDA jo-ke?
What's going on here?"

"No, you are in hell,
No, you are in hell,
No, YOU ARE IN helll-ellle,
No, you are in hell." Chant the deamons, revealing themselves in their true form and chaining Bob from the hang-down flourescent lights and commencing to rend his flesh with cake cutters and char his sinnew with birthday candles as Bob screams (in format, for a little counter-point harmony)

Then the entire cast turns to the blog audience and sings:

"Now its in your head,
You'll do it all day!
Every THING THAT YOU sa-ay!
Will be sung this way."

Sandwich Therapy

At UHLC, there was a Subway that I ate at lots of times. (If this were spoken word, I would loop "ate at" and put it into the background as a hook. Get back!) I got really burned out on the food. Everyone is quick to blame it on being a bad location, but in all fairness, it was like any other Subway. I actually got burned out on the food itself: Sandwiches.

Strangely, the runner up restaurant, Popeye's Chicken, actually has a lasting place in my heart as a sentimental favorite. Probably also a place in my heart requiring statins, but nevermind...

Dakota, tragically, really likes Subway and I never want to go. But the Subway problem goes deeper. I find that I have acquired an antipathy to cold meat sandwiches. I mean, I can still eat a hot Panini sandwich melt, or one of the cold mayonnaise sandwiches (egg, chicken, tuna), or grilled cheese, or cheese and pickle, and marmite soldiers are still ok too... But the mainstay of sandwiches: a delicious stack of three types of meat on a hearty bread or hero loaded up with veggies cheeses and spreads, simply no longer appeals to me.

What made this really hit home was this crazy dream that I had last night. A mysterious old woman asked me to fly to London and prepare proper a sandwich (one without butter on the bread, and the correct sequence: slice of bread, lettuce, meat, tomato in the MIDDLE, cheese, more meat, lettuce, even coat of mayo or mustard, bread, push down with a clean hand until the lettuce crackles, cut into triangles, and served with a water-bath chilled crudite of julienned carrot sticks, cucumber, pitted black olives, celery with the strings pulled off, and asparagus spears) and deliver it to the niece of the old woman. Naturally, the whole thing was an elaborate ruse devised to draw me into the heart of an internecine conflict between irreconcilable factions of a secret society (witch-fighting spies who can phase matter and cut and cook food with their minds) where the object of the struggle was to control a mystical winged giraffe/camel/cow (very very very hungry pet with many stomach) creature.

Anyhow, while evading agents from within the secret society, I was put into harm's way and had to battle witches and their familiars by fixing them sandwiches, but none of the sandwiches in my dream looked yummy to me.

Today, I went to the deli and got a panini. Nothing on the menu looked good.

I think I need to really dedicate some time to rediscovering what I like about sandwiches: different breads, cold cuts, vegetables, spreads.

I still only like Helmann's mayonnaise and get violently ill when I think of Miracle Whip... So that part of this journey is over.

Also the "TV knife" that Eugene got me, is still just as sharp as the day I first used it. It's amazingly versatile. Light, thin, made of surgical steel.  It slices, it dices.  Sturdy enough to saw through a lamb shank and yet tomato after tomato comes out beautifully. Once I set the whole thing on fire by accident, the handle got a bit morphed, but the utensil is still in great shape.  It proudly shares my knife block with my Henckles set.  I might need 5 more knives of different shapes and varieties were it not for this beauty.  And did I mention it never needs sharpening?  How much would you pay for a knife like this? I DONT KNOW IT WAS A GIFT!
--
Sent from my mobile device

Peristalsis

AJ Webster once posed a thought problem to Dave and I, thinking the answer was obviously "Sleep."

The problem was to consider our biological functions. If we could chose one to make somehow unnecessary, what would it be?

To me the obvious answer was to replace peristalsis with some sort of internal vacuum to push food through our GI tract, although because this was a pressure based solution, it would make digestion in space and air
travel more complicated.

My runner up idea was to replace walking as the method of ambulation with some sort of cilia + air cushion "ground effect"

The obvious answer was not "sleep"
--
Sent from my mobile device

The Pirate and the Unicorn

Daddy can we watch TV? No. Got to bed. One more show? No. Go to sleep now. Be asleep! Daddy we not tired, please read us! Naughty children, sleep! Daddy tell us a story, please? We love you!

Ok. I will tell you a story. Yay! Once there was a pirate. Yar!!! That's right, he was mean and evil and his name was Blackbeard. We heard about him on PBS. No, this is a different one. Blackbeard was so mean that he punched a shark in the face! Then the shark bit his fist off, so he put a hook at the end of his arm instead. Daddy this story is too scary and I will have nightmares.

One day Blackbeard was looking for people to be mean to, but he found an island with a Unicorn instead. Pirate poke unicorn eye! Well, he certainly tried to. Like I said, he was very mean and evil, but the Unicorn had a horn on his head and was a skilled duelist.  The Unicorn easily parried the pirate's hook. Then the Unicorn used "Rainbow Magic" to turn the hook into a pineapple.

The other pirates were very hungry and tried to eat the pineapple at the end of Blackbeard's hand.

"Avast ye scurvy swabs! First of ye to lay mitts on me pineapple shall 'ave 'is 'ead bashed against the mizzenmast! Arr arr arrr"

"Um, beggin' your pardon cap'n, but as a matter o' fact, we do 'ave scurvy. It is why the delicious tropical fruit that the unicorn transformed your prosthetic limb into looks so... delicious."

What do you think happened next Dakota? Then they found lots of fruit and nobody had to be eaten. Ok, I can work with that.

"Look o'er thaRRRn ye swarthy devils"

I don't like the Devil. Dakota, Blackbeard calls his own crew names because he's so mean. Maybe he's just sad. Yes, I am sure the pressures of being a villian make him lonely and unhappy. Let's get back to the story.

"Look o'er thaRRRn ye swarthy devils... Thar she boughs! ... Laden with fru-its"

"Oh yes, it will be much easier to get fruit from defenseless trees than to try to wrestle a single pineapple hand from our sociopath captain"

So the crew got rum from the ship and had pina coladas and coconut daiquiris. They felt so happy that in the evening, they had a clam bake and sang sea shanties until they all fell down on their booty and went to sleep.

Zzzz. Zzzz.

The end.

Coinstar is now free

As long as you are getting the money to buy an amazon gift card or itunes gift certificate. Actually, this seems pretty fair to me, but a few things come to mind:

1. Whenever I see coinstar, I think about Trav's favorite snl commerical. I don't know for sure if it's his favoirte, but I'll say it is.

2. Something about the death of thrift being overblown.  I saw a TV show (Community on NBC), where the smart-alec character says "All money is spending money"

Home

About two years ago, I lived in Sugar Land, Texas. I went across the railroad tracks to live next to the prison farm. How very bluesman.

On Memorial day this year, I let some of the blues out of my hohner pro harp with the blown reed at a biker bar's open mic jam session. That was so blues, it could be metal.

This weekend, I excitedly went to the grand opening of a new Kroeger. Its not just a grocery store. They also have an in-store starbucks and they sell a lot of home decor. I bought some eggs and drove home.
Passing the entrance of my subdivision, I waved to Officer Mac, who patrols our neighborhood. He was in his hiding spot by the tennis court.

I also passed the undeveloped and undevelopable part of the subdivision; under the raised power lines that run back to the power substation transformer. Seeing it always makes me think back

When Eugene and I picked a final resting place for my Dad, it was on a hill next to the same power line structures; like the bones of giants, all of whom struck dead at once by a wizard, while they were reaching up to the sky. Eugene said "I am not sure about leaving him here, its peaceful and green but I don't like the power lines."

"That's so funny, this is the first place I like and its ONLY because of the power lines"

And of course, I grew up with a power substantion transformer behind my back yard....

Back at the house, I made a salad and listened to Ben Folds.

Later, I heard a joke "What's a pirates favorite type of sock? ARRRRgyle!"

"I used the same thinking to pick my model toyota..."

No response.

I stayed up late chatting online with the Kongai crowd. My main deck no longer leads with CC equiped with Necromantic Tomes, does this mean that strategy is played out? Does it even matter with series two now in late beta? One of the more experienced players typed, " Srysly! o.O"

(Carmelo's)

Today, I am having an early dinner at "Carmelo's", a tacqueria, and one of four places where I am greated with "Hey, Mr. William! The usual?"

When I was a sophmore at Rice, I decided to try to write fiction. I used an old manual typewriter and tried to start stories before the beginning and end them after the end, as if watching drama unfold at a
subway or bus stop; people watching rather than narration. Good in theory, but I'm not Uatu.

More accuarate is that much of my narrative does not have much point. For example, the point of this post is that I feel at home. As per usual, I have made the point after a painfully long build-up.  Now I got two choices: end this post abruptly or trail off.

Before I make the choice, I want to let you know: the painfully long build up is not on purpose, I swear. Its just a product of that part of me where I lack self-awareness. Once I realize that it's happened again, then the sudden end or trailing off

3AM at Walmart

I have a confession to make: I like to shop at Walmart at 3AM on Sunday morning when the kids are with Louren. I buy kitty litter, biscuit dough, fruit roll ups, milk... stuff like that. I got really crazy last time and bought a light fixture that doesn't work.  I admit, in this time of no shame, that's not much of a confession. But it's not nothing, I suppose.  I am supposed to be a snob, right? I'm supposed to not like Walmart because they don't sell brie and their customers are fashion victims?  To hell with that.  At 3AM, the store is brightly lit and busy with restocking activity.  The ratio of employees to customers is about 8 to 3. I can alway find what I am looking for, which is usually kitty litter, biscuit dough, fruit roll ups, milk... stuff like that. More importantly is that, I should be tired, but I'm not.  I can't sleep.

Recently, Eugene gave me the brilliant advice "lay in bed and breathe deeply". Its like telling an illiterate person to sound out the words.

There is actually a decent episode of Family Ties about insomnia. Elsie ultimately tells Alex to try to appreciate that its a time to be quietly enjoyed rather than merely endured or vainly fought.

I learned all about not sleeping in college. Not sleeping was actually pretty good for certain COMP classes. Not sleeping also allowed me to cover a double-shift at KTRU with Andy Chen.  This lead me to London, which had its offies (I almost certainly went to one of these on Calloway Road mentioned in this article) and its casinos (Can you bring me a double scotch and a pickle and Leicester sandwich?), dubious raves in warehouses under bridges, or you could just wander the empty streets until the tubes re-open (weren't you worried about getting mugged? if a mugger wanted my London A-Z, he was welcome to it), or there was always the cyberspace stand-by in the form of the VT220 terminals in the refrectory that I had the Uni turn on so that Chewy, Big I, and Duncan could play Nanveant ("Pass the felix, I'm going to smoke a fag while Cheeselord completes the Lily quest, again."). And not sleeping lead me all over Europe on trains that ran all the time and went various places.

What I learned about not sleeping is that night turns into day. There isn't anything mystical about staying up.

I also learned that sleep is important because the one of most powerful forces in humanity is narrative, which likes to be episodic. You can't roll credits on the day unless you go to sleep.

Also not sleeping makes you tired.

To be continued....

Super Personnel Person's Universe

Super Personnel Person is similar to my other cartoon, Commuter Notes and Parables. Both deal with the anxieties of urban middle class professionals who find themselves in a world where their elite skill is only sometimes useful. Meanwhile, there are other hostile and indifferent forces to reckon with like: crime, magic, the military, disease, nature, aliens, ghosts, and robots. More to the point, all of the superpowers are surrealistic; none of the superheros do traditional comic book superhero stuff like... fly, turn invisible, or erupt into flame.

Just to review and flesh out the characters thus far mentioned, we have:

Super Personnel Person: Tremendous force of HR competence, and the hero protagonist.  His most impressive power has to do with never forgetting, misspelling, or mispronouncing anyone's name -- ever.*
Bad News Monsters: Nickname for the shock troops and space craft crew of an alien extra-terrestrial invasion force.
Good News Guys: Nickname for a USAF unit of interceptor fighters whose mission is to shoot down extra-terrestrial invasion craft. The interceptor fighter aircraft have a very very high altitude limit
Michaels Dipetrillios - Works in IT. Is excellent at "Halo". Until Super Personnel Person fixes the situation, he is constantly getting both correspondence and other documents intended for Michelles DiPetrelleous.
Michelles DiPetrelleous - Works as a purchasing agent at a molybdenum solube recovery facility, was recently promoted to be the commodities family manager for solvents.  Secretly huffs ammonia. As an added joke, he has shaved and waxed his head. For whatever reason, is never mistaken for Michaels Dipetrillious, but did know a person named Creighton who worked at the Crate and Barrel.
Captain Bombastic - Foreman of a private security subcontractor assigned to protect a corn processing plant that produces high-protein feed for cattle, microwave popcorn, and a biofuel slurry.  Wears a cape all the time, has an absenteeism problem because he dreams that he is off "fighting crime."
Dr. Obvioüs - Provocative college professor forced to take a sabbatical after his derision of Lakoff & Johnson gets too personal.  Tends to insult people with ironic euphemisms.
Unnamed companion to Super Personnel Person, an attractive female with little or no dialog, and whose relationship to Super Personnel Person is never explained.
Colm Meaney. "I'd have to license the name and likeness rights. Anyone know his agent?"
The Joke Ex-plainer.  A cable news commentator who ruins the plots of a "gallows humor"-based criminal terrorist through painfully dull explanations of why particular jokes are funny.
*Crabby Aunt Whatshername.  Neutralizes Super Personnel Person's powers.
Likely Supreme Court Justice Nominee.  A jurist so concerned about avoiding controversy in her expected Supreme Court nomination that for years she has hidden behind erudition and circumlocutions.  "Eschew obfuscation!" she proclaims with unintended irony during an oral argument .
Isomniac - when you don't sleep, its always "me time"
The Sudukoan. A super-villain whose schemes combine the elements of the portmanteau after which he is named.
Hackney Cliche aka The Arch-nemesis An enduring stereotype of the former super hero turned criminal mastermind
Jargonizer. A robust, proactive, results-driven, facilitator-challenger with an outside the box vision of incentivizing productive synergies by task-orientatating best practices from lessons learned and gap analysissies to achieve total quality in a collaborative workflow without borders! I find this villain to be especially horrible.
Morris Bergeron aka Bergeron Morris aka Cartaphilus .  From Houma, was visiting New Orleans when Hurrican Rita struck.  Was mistakenly relocated to Wasilla by Red Cross hurricane relief workers after FEMA transposed his first and last name.  He has been trying unsuccessfully to get back home. Morris Bergeron, it turns out, has been relocated a lot, and has changed his name many times.  The oldest name he can remember is Cartaphilus, he had "like, maybe 20 other names before that."  He was "the man carrying a jar of water" outside Jerusalem and essentially was the caterer of the Last Supper. Like many caterers, the significance of the dinner and the diners is totally lost on him. When the Romans rounded everybody up for arrest, he truthfully said, "Jesus? I can't seem to recall anyone by that name" because his only direct interactions were with Peter and James.  As the buzz went around Jerusalem, he ultimately is able to put 2 & 2 together, such that he realizes who Jesus is, and actually ends up the on the Via Dolorosa with his water jug, trying apologize to Jesus. Jesus, who at this point is really tired (and had just fallen), drinks some water from the jug, and realizes that he hasn't been listening to the apology. But because he's Jesus, he's catches the general drift (Jesus is a sharp guy) and says, "Listen, I forgot your name, too. Its not important. Anyway, its not a problem, and I am certain that people will forget all about this." Cartaphilus makes an anxious face, so Jesus says to him "Look, I really have to finish up what I'm doing here.  I can see that you are anxious, so just to give you some perspective, by the end of the day, you'll come out of all this with eternal life, how does that sound?" "Good, I guess", Cartaphilus replies with some confusion.  Then, handing the jug back and patting him on the shoulder, Jesus adds in a rare show of biblical sardonic pique, "You guess? Ok, Great! Thanks for the drink. I'll see ya at the end of the world..."  [take that, Dan Brown, you two-bit hack]  Super Personnel Person unfolds this story over many episodes.  Aspects of this story which are not critical to human resources work are not uncovered through Super Personnel Person's superpower. So for example, when Super Personnel Person looks at Morris Bergeron's personal information form and knows that the Red Cross messed up by transposing the surname and family name, or that Bergeron is mispronouncing his own name... that's superpower. But when Unnamed Companion realizes that Morris converted from Judaism to Christianity "a long time ago", and asks why Super Personnel Person didn't know that, Super Personnel Person replies, "I don't see how that's important. Oh... am I being culturally insensitive?"

Super Personnel Person works for the business services division of a company that makes Mecha. Like all people in the business services division of a company that makes hardware (e.g. HP), his mission is ambiguous.  Some episodes find him managing HR for an external client, sometimes he resolves labor or employee problems for an internal business unit, and sometimes he finds himself in a non-HR function but applying his HR superpowers; Basically anything to put Super Personnel Person into an absurd business setting where absurd people work and absurd problems are only fixable through absurd solutions.

My inspiration for this comes from The Flinstones and The Jetsons. I watched these shows a lot before I was in 2nd grade and was subsequently disappointed to find that no cartoons since have taken on the workplace so often or in such a loony way. I even like some of the later junk, like that Flintstones movie where Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm are preparing for their baby ("Hollyrock-a-Bye Baby"). That's the one where Bamm-Bamm is under pressure to give up being a screenwriter and to instead go back to his old job in construction. Meanwhile, Pebbles must prevent the office sycophant from stealing her position (as the VP of an advertising agency) while she is on maternity leave. Seriously, that's the plot.

Although The Simpsons and King of the Hill take on workplace humor (sort of), I find them both to be deficient as workplace cartoons. The obvious contemporary standard-bearer of workplace humor is Dilbert. However, Dilbert is often deeply and deliberately unfunny; I don't like that.

The Mecha thing is because I like fighting robots. Although not just used for fighting in Super Personnel Person's universe, that's their plurality use. I admit that I have a certain amount of "disarmament agenda" here. In the story universe, a triumph of free-market capitalism has enabled very affordable personal robotics, but mainly because of mass production.  As a consequence, the Mecha industry requires there to also be a big the consumer demand for robots. This drives a lot of corporate and cultural ideology. This "robot consumer" mentality is coupled with a culturally conservative civil-rights perception of Mecha as a hybrid of personal property and firearms (i.e. an important and inalienable individual freedom). As such, the proliferation of armed Mecha is an unstoppable social force that has resulted in a diffusion of geopolitical influence that has severely disrupted and eroded the ability of the traditional "superpower" nations to project force or impact economic markets. Rich individuals become recognized as de facto nation states based on a combination of the their Mecha-created wealth, the sheer military strength of their Mecha armies, and their ability to produce more Mecha. The protect their supply chains and production capabilities, there are ongoing private wars between the Mecha industry players. Like all wars, this causes much collateral damage and general misery.

I haven't tried to draw this comic. After the disappointing failure of "The Inside Joke" I would rather write it.

And of course, I can't think of any series or episode main-line plots, which is why I've only done characters, subplots, settings, and general premise.

Dermabond, America

It is 11 PM. The kids and I are at the 59 Diner on Kirkwood. Dakota and Jason split a plate of Mac n'Cheese, and a vanilla shake. I had a Buffalo Burger -- all the way Texas style, and a black&white shake. We all split my fries.
Jason is talking to me. I can't focus on what he is saying because I am looking at the purple sparkly Dermabond that has sealed his Harry Potter scar. Earlier this evening, I had the idea to have the kids actually help me clean the house, so that they'd be tired before bed. That lasted about 3 minutes before Jason managed to lacerate his forehead on the kitchen counter like Leland Palmer possessed by evil Bob at the end of season 1 of Twin Peaks. My smallbig boy was crying and holding his forehead. When I pulled his hands away to inspect the cut, he started screaming from the blood on his hands, but I was calm. At least I was in the house. Driving through the inky blackness of 99 at night, the humidity and the darkness just feels like uncertainty. Somehow I got to thinking about past medical bills and about the mendacity of the insurance system. Nevertheless, my anguish and trepidation dissipated as I pulled up to the ER entrance.
When I was just a bit more than Jason's age, I cut my chin on the water slide at Sprain Ridge pool. They shot me a local and gave me a stitch that took several weeks to heal. I have a sweet scar; still visible. I was calm in the kitchen because using a butterfly closure to staunch the dripping from the fresh roast beef sandwich on my son's forehead brought back familiar memories. But medical technology has improved a lot in 29 years. Dermabond is essentially a skin glue with scar-preventing properties, and that's all they needed.
Jason looks at me and smiles "This shake is so yummy!" He rubs his belly through his "Woodsie the Owl" t-shirt (give a hoot don't pollute) and laughs because he is tickling himself.
Dakota is coloring in Disney princesses. When we got to the ER, she drilled the intake personnel with the facts (thisisjasonheismybrother. thatsfirstnamejasonlastnamelispelled "L-I" andhehithisheadonthekitchenisland AND I AM REALLY WORRIED!) And truly, she was trembling. Her eyes were wide like saucers; becoming moist as she fought to maintain her composure. The hospital staff seemed genuinely touched by this sincere and sincerely smart big sister. So they gave her some crayons, some pages to color, and they reassured her.

"Daddy, may I be excused to play the jukebox?"

"Knock yourself out, princess. It's free"

After selecting "the big bopper" she comes back and neatly finishes Cinderella's ball gown. The other dining patrons are diggin' the tune, too. All around us are high school kids, these are the clean cut ones who don't drink and who went to the football game. Apparently some of the high school games are also on saturday night. They are also enjoying burgers fries and shakes.
We could only be in America.
When I was young, I would watch "Happy Days" and dream about an America that cynical adults said never was and didn't exist. Here it is, though. An actualization in the present of a past that never was. And I am living it.
Its not a place without its problems. Behind Dakota's touching concern for her brother are the beginnings of the unhealthy anxieties of a divorced kid. This phenomon is now decades old here and I would have recognized even if I wasn't myself a divorced kid, but as I am, it's quite plain. And speaking of unhealthy, if the cholesterol in my food, speeds a fatal heart disease, apparently I will be part of the plurality. All of which inevitability points me to the class tensions and racial tensions lurking in the background; a legacy of ancestral evil that stubbornly refused to be extricated from heritage and thusly endures.
But these problems are also somewhat evidentiary of the conclusion that, ultimately, this really is a good place. Not because America is perfect but because of how it aspires to be all the right kinds of better. Cynics can rightly observe that many of the measures enacted to realize improvements are baby steps or two steps forward mixed with one step back, but I'll take that.
The kids see both their parents almost every day, the menu boasts "no trans-fats!", delicious moderately priced food is egalitarian, and tonight in this simulacrum of a late 1950's diner, there is mosiac of different races and ethnicities co-existing thanks to a veneer of friendliness and hospitality which forces an indifference to whatever tensions still exist today. All of this combines to make this place that never was, much better than any place that actually could have been in 1959.
As I share a meal with my family, and appreciate America, these patriotic lyrics play in my head:

These days are all, happy and free.
These days are all, share them with me.

Dermabond.

Eulogy revisted

Dear Mom,
Its been a month and I miss you. I listened to my old voicemail at work and there was one from you. I listened to it over and over again.
In our time together, I complained to you about my circumstances a whole lot. In listening, you never really offered me any good advice; though not for a lack of having something to say. It was amazing. To summarize, you had great confidence that I would somehow figure it out, you were more worried about how hard I took things, and you felt that I needed to laugh it off more. "Find the feather!", you'd say.
I'm working on it. You should see my facebook status updates; funniest material in years. You know how much Grandma loved those sad scary clowns! Are you and she together? I hope you two understand each other better now. I know how much you and she loved each other.
If souls _are_ reunited in the hereafter, I am sure you are happy to see Granpa again. It is not lost on me that he died when you were the same age that I am now. I had his books shipped to me, they are a fascinating collection. I thought I had something else to say about that. I guess not.
You did a great job, Mom. I feel prepared for this time in my life. I understand the sort of strength it took for you to persevere; balancing parenthood and career on your own. I am amazed at the determination that you showed to face your own mortality: your physical strength shattered from illness, and even your faculties began to betray you, but you did not waiver. Nor did you shy away from the humanity of it all, there was no false stoicism. You stated matter-of-factly that "all things break down" and that sometimes you can't help crying about it. You warned me that people spend too much time being afraid that they will feel sad and trying to avoid it. Then you said "boo-hoo hoo!" to mock those people; classic.
But, I take your point: Sorrow is appropriate now, and grief is a state of being that is necessary in the fullness of life. It hurts, but I can complain. Here's my complaint: my grief, hurts. Brilliant, right?
Or our other great strategy; changing the topic. The passage from scripture that I chose for your eulogy, Phil 1:9-11, really was based on a memory. You often seemed to be impressed by my recall. In candor, Google certaintly helps out with the precision. But it isn't a trick or a put-on. Nor was it a random connection, just a circuitious one. How appropriate for you and I!
I wonder if you ever really believed me about becoming a Christian. I think most people who know me find it to be something of a puzzle: They can't quite place their finger on what (if anything) is different about me. I never said that I appreciate how you were encouraging me to find a church home as a means of re-rooting my life after my divorce. In fact, my response to your suggestion was sarcastic and far less than appreciative. I'm sorry. I also appreciate that you were, nevertheless, uncritically accepting of my assessment that being a member of some congregation somewhere (with ceremonies, and the coffee hour, and the pancake suppers, etc.) was neither the most important part of being a Christian nor of getting my life re-rooted. "Ok," you said, "You'll figure it out."
But anyway, it wasn't random that I chose this scripture.

And it is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve what is excellent, and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruits of righteousness which come through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God.

First of all, its a prayer. Prayers are always a good way to go. Superficially, its a prayer about leveraging knowledge in order to live a sincere and righteous life. Meh.
The larger theme of the prayer (only gleaned from reading the whole epistle, but nevermind) is about living a life full of Joy. In fact, the only reason I was even sensistived to the topic was that we did as a Sunday School class at Southminster, and I found it struck a chord with me. The study was somebody's home brew, not a Cokesbury series (or Zondervian or whatever is the brand name)and so it was more of the sort of personal testament that you always found moving; me too. The main point from the study leader was that Joy was neither the fullfilment of pleasure-seeking nor the unrealistic expectation that God's role in your life was to make you happy all the time. It was more like a relief; a comfort in the knowledge that no matter what, God still loves us. A love stronger than anything, stronger than illness or misunderstanding or tragedy or fear or death. Stronger than a dangling participle.
I know that you always loved me, no matter what. And that you love me now. And I love you too. I closed with these words:
"...there were adventures, there were hardships, but mixed with laughter and togetherness made all the difference. May God bless the soul of my Mom"
Love,
William

Time Verge Love Triangle Plot Matrix (click on post title to view better)

. Alex Bob Caroline Dead Alex . 1950 Born Born . 1970 Exverges from 2010 Gets engaged to Bob . 1971 Meets Bob Meets Alex Falls in love with Alex . 1972 Sleeps with Caroline the night before her wedding to Bob. Leaves Caroline at the alter after catching her and Alex in flagrante Sleeps with Alex, is left at altar. . 1975 Transverges his birth and the obvergent period since his advergence to 1970 to 2015. Birth Heartbroken and freaked out when Alex transverges before her eyes. . 1980 Rejects Caroline's effort to reconcile. Gain time travel insight Spurned by Bob . 2000 Commits suicide. . 2001 Kills Alex . 2010 Adverges to 1970 Dead Alex doesn't adverge to 1970 . 2011 Loses memory of meeting Alex Suicide Caroline does not call in love with Alex Dead Alex doesn't meet Bob. . 2012 Loses memory of Caroline's infidelity, but retains memory of remembering and wanting revenge. Remembers marrying Caroline. So here it can be said that from 1972 to 2012, Bob and Caroline were not marries but from 2012 on, Bob and Caroline have been married since 1972. Suicide Caroline does not sleep with Alex, marries Bob. Remembers memories from 1972 to 2000, but those memories start to disappear at present-time. Memories from 2000 to 2012 start to re-appear at present-time pace Dead Alex doesn't prevent Bob's wedding. . 2015 Exverges from 1975 . 2016 Tries to reconcile Caroline Caroline cannot remember Alex but remembers her memories of Alex after 1976 and is confused, rejects Alex. . 2040 Loses memory of suicide but has all memories of 2000 to 2040 both with and without memory confusion . 2041 Has a nightmare, doesn't know about what. Loses memory of killing Alex, but remembers memories of killing Alex Dead Alex not killed . 2049 Tries to reconcile with Bob Bob forgives Alex, but is confused. . 2050 Remembers being killed in 2001 and dies. Loses all memory and gains it all back. Has heart attack. Remembers commiting suicide in 2000 and dies Dead Alex reverges with Alex to 1970 .