March 31th, 6:20AM
Didn't see that comin'
After a crazy-busy week, for which I'm happy to be so busy, I had a client totally misinterpret what I do and how I do it, resulting in that client's real dissatisfaction. I thought I was clear and I know I was honest up front. And yet here we are. A prickly little bush to prune, certainly.
What to do? I've not had to deal with this particular puzzle before. I suspect that's because I've always been clear (and was in this case as well). I am amazed and nonplused at this turn.
I will close my gaping mouth, and do what I always do - be honest. Be clear. Communicate. Care. Hope for the best outcome.
I would much rather have heard: "I love it! When can you start?" But uh, this... this wasn't it. Not yet, anyway.
March 24th, 4:24PM
A danger to myself and others
My brother says my car is cursed, and I believe him. That it's not safe to be a car in my direct vicinity is unquestionable. Consider the facts:
In the last 36 hours, I was:
- hit by a toothless old woman who launched into my direct path and was saved from a life-changing high-velocity event only by my white-knuckled swerve,
- witness to an easily avoidable (yet it occurred anyway) parking lot accident (in which my own car was miraculously not involved)
- and I hit a bird that leaped into my rural path, bouncing cartoonishly off of my bumper to flail and die in the roadway behind me.
The little old lady, for the record, was totally oblivious to my presence, and waited until nearly the perfect moment to obstruct my innocent path, such that I almost had no choice but to T-bone her Mustang (not a cool Mustang, but much like the crappy, wussy, 4-cylinder, early-80's model I drove for a long time), and at her age, you just don't bounce back from something like that. It was nearly her end. I am heartily glad that I wasn't up to my second knuckle in booger-excavation or diddling with the radio, because it woulda been her ass. I like to think I could shrug off an event where somebody loses copious amounts of fluids due to their own stupidity, but I'd rather not test that particular theory on my way to BNI, if I can help it. I have enough trouble concentrating at the meetings.
Run for the Borders
I stopped on my way outta Stockton at Borders bookstore and picked up some decent-looking readage. This was especially satisfying since I went to Barnes & Noble on Monday, and was disappointed not to find a single tome I couldn't live without.
Today, I embraced both my inner cheapskate as well as inner homo, and picked up a bargain-discounted "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," subtitled something about how to look good, dress well, cook well, and maybe something about proper lubrication. I didn't read the Table of Contents that closely, but I'll be exploring the index with attentiveness.
I also picked up "$30 Film School." I did pry this one open before buying, and try to determine whether it would be worth the price, looking up lighting techniques. I was disappointed when I found a cursory listing of lighting products, rather than a description of approaches and goals. I bought the book anyway, since it includes a DVD with audio/music and video resources, and other stuff that should help it pay its way onto my bookshelf. The decision was made easier by the fact that there were no other, competing books on the same subject. Everything else was of the "how to use digital video editing software" variety, and I just don't need that yet. I look forward to learning something useful, as my video production class wraps soon, and I have at least one project in mind.
March 21st, 12:59PM
Shamed into it
or
Hi, Greg! Update your website!
I was lucky enough to receive a reply from my buddy Greg recently. He sent me the valuable information I requested, and also a backhanded dig at the paucity and brevity of my blog entries of late. While I cannot discount the truth of his snide observation outright, I can point out that his own personal nest on the 'Net is decidedly unfeathered, and has been for lo, these several years now. It even bears the giggle-inducing promise that so many well-intentioned web projects bear: "Coming Soon..."
Indeed. I had the discipline and politeness not to hang this rebuke in a reply e-mail directly to him. On the other hand, he does read this space at some interval. He knows me well enough to know that my discipline and politeness are flimsy affectations at best, that I bear him no real malice, and that I assume he will forgive my petulant note at his deserved expense. He wanted a longer blog entry; he got it! :)
CSS and I view each other with mutual disdain
Now that I'm over it, I can blog about it objectively, without this entry sounding like a note smudged in blood at the scene of a murder/suicide.
A few days ago, I had this little problem, partly in my computer, partly in my head. This little problem ballooned and mushroomed until all the faith that my good buddy Greg had instilled in me, about tables being the way of the past and accessibility the way of the future, all of that cracked to the core. I despaired, and seriously considered accepting defeat and going back to the way I used to make web pages, using tables for layout. I pictured Greg alone at night, staring out the window and weeping softly at the one-less candle out there to light the way to more intelligent, contemporary web design.
And I didn't care. Why should I? Clients certainly don't give a shit. "Don't know - don't care." Make it look good. Maybe even make it come up in a search engine. But the disabled? Screw 'em. View websites on PDA's and cell phones? Screw that, too. Nobody does that these days, and it's certainly not served me well as a marketing tool. People just don't get horny about standards and accessibility. Now I know how the marketing team at Volvo feels - their main selling point is a boxy cage that is less likely to crumple in on you, leaving you looking like a rat in a twisted soda can. People say they want safety, but all things being equal, they buy the fiberglass ass-rocket almost every time. Women say they want a nice guy who will rub their feet, but they stagger home with the inmate who couldn't pass 4th grade and wipes his crank on your good bath towels when he's done defiling you in a selfish and dirty-but-not-in-an-exciting way.
CSS is the Volvo. It costs (me) more, and is better for everybody than the easier alternative, but not in an obvious, evident way. XHTML is the nice guy who rubs your website's feet. But they're not getting laid, are they? Rarely, and even more rarely for their best qualities; more often by accident. They are chosen for ignorance of their finer properties, not because of them. No, they hold the hot chick's hair while she vomits, and try to keep her face out of the puke, thanklessly. Then it's off she goes, gallivanting with tables and spacer GIF's, all sloppy and stupid, unaware of the value she left behind, swabbing up her proto-gut-soup.
Somebody help me out - is this a really shitty metaphor, or really shitty analogy? I'm a little unsure. Anyhoo...
So who can blame me, for doubting, for nearly giving this "new paradigm" the finger, and doing things in a way I understand? No one, that's who.
Luckily for the Coming Wave, I returned to my challenge the next morning and had it resolved within five or ten minutes, largely thanks to a backup file that didn't contain the code gremlin that poisoned my mind the previous day. The more difficult path had won its reprieve, if only until the next time I can't figure out some seemingly simple code widget for hours on end, the failure piling up like so much garbage during a city strike. It drains me you know; the constant and thorough inability to do something that I know is not only possible, but often right in front of my face. It's like a chronic pain, wicking away the very joy and life force that seems in such short supply anymore.
I either need to get a better handle on the technology of my chosen profession, or get the fuck out of it. I've been struggling for years now. This is ridiculous.
Ulink buddies, where are you now?
I miss my pals at Screw-link. A chosen few have sent the odd e-mail now and then, and so have I. But not in a long while, for the most part. It's only reasonable - we were mostly work buddies. The few extra-work get-togethers were sometimes forced and awkward, no matter how much esteem I have for my buddies and their families. Add to that the distance between us; my propensity for social drinking, and their wiser inclinations to the contrary; and otherwise rarely compatible personal pursuits, and it's no huge surprise that we rarely commune at all, now that we run our rat races in entirely different mazes.
Hell, during my stint at the Laugh Factory, one guy even invited me to take Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior, and all of that program. It sounds funny to say it that way, but I absolutely loved him for it, and have rarely felt so fortunate. Anybody else, it would have felt creepy, like recruitment into a cult; not this guy. I knew he was doing it out of care and concern for my well-being and my eternal soul, if you can wrap your noodle around that. Since I have my own views about that, a culture of one, it seems, I turned him down as nicely and politely and appreciatively as I could manage. And I'm sure that it still seemed like the same awkward brush-off that every other pagan non-believer gives to every unwelcome, Sunday-morning evangelical when they stir some poor yutz out of his hangover stupor to wave the Good Book in his face. I was as sincere as I could be, which is the only way I could think of to respond to his sincerity, but I still felt kinda shitty. I should write him an e-mail, and tell him what I just blogged to you.
March 19th, 6:27AM
Crawling out of the woodwork
While spending time at two cafes that offer free wireless Internet access, I've been positively assaulted with opportunities to do website design. It's nice to finally see some movement; and now, I have a shitload of work to do. I better get movin'.
March 16th, 2:02PM
Better than expected
I've had two meetings in the past week that I found intimidating for one reason or another. I chilled out, saw them through, and they both ended up better than expected. Way cool.
Affirmations
I deserve to be happy. I am a good guy, possibly a great guy. Thanks to Paula for helping me to see that.
March 13th, 6:16PM
"the last thing we heard was: 'a-DAH!'"
I have tried to avoid writing too much about my family in this blog, and that is sensible in a few ways. Respecting their privacy is always smart, especially for those old enough to realize that they have privacy. On the other hand, I have a son who is blissfully unaware that he has privacy or a right to it. This son does many a joyful and wonderful thing, which deserves to be immortalized somewhere, and this shitty journal is better than nothing.
Although our pediatrician has declared that children of my son's age know and recite a gaggle of real words, my son has a defined-yet-limited vocabulary, which are definitely words in his mind, but which mean little else to the uninitiated. His latest escapade, which can only interest his family (and often not even them), involves racing around the house and declaring one of these pseudo-words: "a-DAH!" This exclamation is apparently a declaration of outright war, and puts any within earshot on notice that a tiny battle-monger is on the loose, bent on havoc and the upset of beverages. I don't know what "a-DAH!" translates to in any language, but most certainly it corresponds to some gut-twisting woe from the darkest corners of a dwarf-spawned invasion.
Learn this, if you learn nothing else: if you find yourself alone on a dark and quiet path, and the night air is broken by the spine-tingling and misleadingly childlike cry of "a-DAH!!" -- then guard well your precious shins, and run for your very life. No good can follow this gleefully mischievous cry; certainly, no good ever has.
March 12th, 3:53PM
For the record
Let me get something off of my chest - I am proud of the fact that I have earned a degree in computer science. It was a lot of work, and although the mountain seems smaller now that I'm on top of it, it was a goal that I persevered to secure.
The point is, I am not a computer genius. I am handy with computers only insofar as any native English-speaker would be, had he taken a moment's effort to click "Help," or Google his trouble, and read the answer to his query. No more than that. So when people look to me for help with arcane networking, hardware or Windows registry complications, it is reluctantly and with a heavy heart that I dive in and try to carry the pointy wizard's hat that San Joaquin Delta College has bequeathed to me for my several part-time years of both learning pertinent details from the good teachers and suffering the wooden-headed blowhards long enough to garner a grade that I earned through more self-restraint more than academic improvement.
So if your trouble is not related to how a web page works or looks, try a different geek. I can try to help, but will stink at it, and unless you're a really good friend, I'll simply tell you without shame or pretense that I just don't know. And if I were ultimately able to help, I would resent you anyway; because if I can do it, you could have too, if you weren't so Goddamned lazy.
I'm glad we had this chance to talk.
March 12th, 7:25AM
"Pray, fair maid - mightst thou holdeth my staff?"
My daughter and I were generously treated to a trip to the Calaveras Celtic Faire yesterday, by my brother. From the moment we entered, we were treated to the gowns and garb of professional entertainers and fairgoers alike. Many of the fairgoers were more enthusiastic and authentic than the compensated entertainers, which is testament to the fairgoers' efforts. Best of all was the cleavage - ah, the gravity-defying bodices must have been what carried the Celts through the Black Plague. It didn't hurt my spirits any, either.
Speaking of Spirits
One of the best parts of the faire was the unfortunately-overpriced alcohol and the encouragement to drink when and where you like. Although my brother sponsored my imbibery, I still hate to see any attendees bilked for an unconscionable amount for refreshments. We should have tailgated. But once I got over my fear of price tags just on principle, I was treated to a Scotch-tasting table. Fear not, it wasn't a stand allowing patrons to lick under a Scotsman's kilt. We tried several half-shots of Scotch whisky, and although my palette is fairly inexperienced, I was able to identify my favorite, The Glenlivet, without any effort at all. Others were varying degrees of thin, sweet, bitter, light, etc. I have to say that of those presented at the table, The Glenlivet is still tops. That's encouraging, to know that I haven't been drinking an obviously inferior from the start. And it's also unfortunate - one would hope that a Scotch tasting would be the ideal time to pick out a new favorite. Ah well; I like nothing so much as being proven right all along.
Finally, I got some good photos and video for a little project I have coming up. It'll be nice to see how it turns out.
March 9th, 12:45PM
And up again
I feel pretty good today. I had a great day with my wife yesterday. We decided that we should take advantage of some of the additional debt available to us, and purchased a shiny new tack room (read: Tuff Shed) to accommodate our equestrian needs. The larger picture is that I spent a carefree day with my wife, and even if I return to my gloom n' doom, it was a great day. I'm lucky to have her.
Those wacky Frenchmen, at it again
Holy merde - a French teacher took a roomful of students hostage, apparently despondent over his unemployment. Wow. A glimpse into the future? Not likely. I'm not that bad yet.
Levi rocks
Levi Huffman has a great song out called "Summertime;" a soothing, funky groove that is my favorite from his album, "Full Circle." And I'm not known as a huge jazz fan. You should check it out.
March 7th, 3:30PM
And down again
Ach, what a day. And the days begin to run together, and that ain't good. The first three months of bein' freelance, the main difference was the amount of wine I had with lunch. Anymore, I'm feeling like this isn't a good fit, either. I've been experiencing the same existential angst that has stuck with me like a case of psychic B.O. for as long as I can remember. I wonder and worry whether I'll ever find a place where I fit; a place where I can succeed in any fashion; whether such a place exists for me, or am I just broken. That kind of shit. Eesh. I need a drink. Or an answer - I'd prefer an answer.
I had a conversation with my wife about hitting open mikes again, and got a mysterious and distinctly discouraging response. I may try again when she isn't premenstrual. Then again, stand-up would likely turn out like all the other semi-aborted pipe dreams that trail my life. Eck.
I used to think that I'd really kick some ass, if I could just hit on the right pursuit. Now, my faith in that belief wavers badly. I doubt.
The near future
Lots of stuff on the horizon:
- A BNI shindig is coming up which I am required to attend or my precious Vice President position will not be "compensated" (meaning that I won't get six free months for helping to keep the trains running on time at a meeting where I already pay them for the privilege of attending). Is this making any sense? I guess I'm just feeling angry today. Bullshit. Anyway, my former supervisor is still in a regional chapter and will attend, and I am having an internal debate about whether it makes me bold and irreverent to suggest he go fuck himself when I shake his hand, or if it makes me the bigger and more mature man to avoid the whole thing. Keep watching this space as events unfold, as I am sure that even I will be surprised at the outcome.
- Unless the weather clears up, my wife will never ever go back to work, and we'll have to eat our horses for food. Then again, if the weather doesn't clear up, somebody will have to build an ark, and I'm sure not pious enough to get on that list, so fuck it anyway.
- I am right at the halfway point in my video production class, and now that the end is coming into view, I wonder just what I'm doing there. I can always see such wonderful possibilities until something becomes real, and then things quickly recede and evaporate like a late-morning mist. Follow-through appears to be my undoing. Somebody just hit me with a fucking hammer, and let's get this over with.
- I've renewed my interest in stand-up comedy and begun to do so in the French language as well. I figure if I'm going to waste my time on something, it might as well be something I give a shit about. So I've started reading local comics' blogs again (I never stopped reading John's), and started reading SheckyMagazine.com again, too, which is a blog, come to think of it, but I'm not going to rewrite the last paragraph just to suit you, and who the Hell are you, anyway, to demand it?
What's my problem? Hard to say. If you figure it out, let me know. I just know it feels really good to bitch and say the F-word for a change. Ahhhhh.
Speaking of wine, I had a bottle of "Little Boomey" Merlot, and it was pretty good. I'll have to make sure it gets on the next grocery list.
March 5th, 6:47AM
Having some fun for a change
A good friend took me out for a few hours of music, conversation and the ever-powerful Glenlivet/Heineken combination. I didn't know how bad I needed all three. I woke up the next day with a mild hangover and still feeling better than I have in a long time. Friends rock.
I scooped up my daughter yesterday and dragged her out to Hogan Lake for a largely unplanned picnic. The early part of the day was sunny and warm, so I thought we might swim and cavort, but by the time we got there, it was overcast and windy. We barely stayed warm, but we managed to charcoal-barbecue (I haven't done that in forever, it's all been propane) some steaks. They came out surprisingly good, and although we didn't exactly ruin our dinner, we damaged it pretty good. We had one of our drawing contests like we used to, and it was fun. I challenged her to draw a pirate in a hot air balloon (that's right), and she challenged me to draw our horse Rocky. We both did very able jobs of it.
March 1st, 9:37AM
Taste of Brittany
A few days ago, my wife and I finally made the trip to "Taste of Brittany" restaurant in Stockton, at 20 N. California Street. I note the address because I never can remember it; hopefully now that I've been there, I'll better recall it.
Anyhoo, I've wanted to go ever since I read about their grand opening in The Record. Their fare is largely crepes, and the fillings they contain. You got'cher buckwheat crepes with sturdy meats and cheeses and other foods as an entree, and yer sweet crepes for dessert. I've had both now, and it's no surprise that they're good, but what was a surprise is how filling they are! This little flat dish put both my wife's and my fuel needles on "FULL," such that we both had to strain to fit in dessert. We managed; we're a hearty pair.
Anyway - this isn't a commercial for the joint, but I'm jazzed to be in a place with authentic French food and people. Puts me in a good mood.
I met the owner's young brother-in-law. His name is Kristian, and I was wrong to guess that he is French. He is actually Hungarian, moving here only seven months ago. I was suddenly and inexplicably thrilled to meet a European foreigner, and immediately grilled him on what he's thinks of what we've done with the place.
He said it is very different, so I asked him what the major differences were. He stated that although youths are technically restricted from drinking and partying at a club at 13 or 14 in Hungary, it's largely generally as no big deal, whereas here, it's certainly a big deal. Also, he noted a different emphasis is placed on education, specifically geography and knowledge of other countries. I've seen this difference pointed out often myself. I can't argue with it - my geography and history suck.
He seemed like a great guy. I got his e-mail addie, and hope to talk to him more in the future.
March 1st, 9:37AM
Scripted action
I attended my video class last night, and we were all to bring a script, about one quarter of which we would shoot. About half the attendees brought this homework, which made the selection process for shooting much less competitive.
Among the three which were shot during the class, I was surprised at which stood out. Mine was a short interplay between a couple, with the subject of their heated discussion revealed only at the end. It did not suck too terribly, considering the circumstances. I was very happy with my classmates/actors; they were better than I expected.
March 1st, 7:25AM
A taxing time
We went to file our taxes recently, and found out that someone had already filed and claimed my daughter for 2005. Since only one entity can do that, that being the entity who had her in their care for the majority of the year, and that entity was me, there is fraud afoot.
So, we set about righting this wrong, and I sincerely hope with every gob of my being that whoever tried to bone me out of the writeoff I so richly deserve takes it square on the chin for trying to dick me and the government. It's about time the skulking and skulduggery cause their purveyor the same inconvenience that have plagued me.
Let's go
Expedia will ship my doughy ass to Paris for a cool $414 today. Which we could have swung, were we not required to use extra funds to settle some debts. Ah, well... I pays me bills. Hopefully there is a slightly better seat in Heaven for those what do, compared to them what don't. Why is I talksin' like Popeye? I doesn'tsk rightly knows. Comes alongs, now, Swee' Pea.