Not quite as much a nerd as Wee, though. Which is one reason I love him so.

I figure that since I've already committed to the x365 thing, I may as well take a stab at doing NaBloPoMo as well. There are prizes!

Including only bands who are still together (or solo artists who've put out a record within the past, say, 5 years) and whom I've never seen live before:

Cake
OK Go
Dandy Warhols
Beck
Stars
Andrew Bird
Death Cab For Cutie
Fratellis (I lie - I saw them live because they opened for the Police. But I missed half their set while in line for an ATM that ran out of money, literally, after the last person in front of me. I've never gone to a show where they were the headliners, and I like them enough to want that).
Madeleine Peyroux
The Vines

I'm sure I'll add more as I think about it a little. I've sort of rediscovered the fun in going to live shows again this year, so I'm hoping to see more.

We went and saw They Might Be Giants this past Saturday in a cool old renovated movie theater called the Rio Theatre in Santa Cruz. Awesome show (as if it wouldn't be). I liked their opening band, , as well - Bill wasn't too sold on them, but I thought those Irish lads sounded pretty good, especially for a two-man show. They're kind of like a cross between TMBG and Death Cab For Cutie. They were working their own sales booth after their set, and they signed the CD I bought from them. I hope they have a good run, these two.

So I guess the current "have nothing better to do" meme is to Google your name and the phrase "likes to", and seeing what pops up - here goes:

Tracy likes to go out with the girls and dance the night away.

Tracy likes to tell the story of John F. Kennedy's political rise.

Tracy likes to terrorize people for fun, but she doesn't want to get the blame.

Tracy likes to justify her behavior by pointing out what others have done to her.

Tracy likes to sing shuffles and he finally had a chance to record one called "Sawdust On Her Halo,".

Tracy likes to go first.

Tracy likes to serve her casserole with Mexican corn bread and a green salad.

Tracy's likes to show it off rather than cover it up.

Tracy likes to talk, and is interested in successful and unsuccessful conversations in Chekhov's plays.

Tracy likes to deflate my exaggerations.

Tracy likes to think that it is better to give YOU the choice of how your evening will go.

Tracy likes to envision a musical mandala.

Tracy likes to hang out a bit a talk to chums and to eat the candy we deny her at home.

Tracy likes to learn how to do a lot of things, but never sticks with just one.

Tracy likes to steal identities.

Tracy likes to think of herself as a lily of the field (although in reality she's more like a stinging nettle).

Tracy likes to take these photos and make them available on the Web to anyone who, for whatever obscure reason, would want to have a look at them.

Tracy likes to keep her thinking sharp with Taekwon-do and Ashtanga

Tracy likes to stretch her neck to allow maximum pony action.

Indeed. That's me in a nutshell.

Quote from Bill, just now:

"My new rule: I do NOT go to movies that have midgets popping out of coffins. Ever."

Wow, has it really been three months since I posted here? I guess Flickr has officially shanghai'd my blogging impulses. If a picture's worth a thousand words, however, I've been as prolific as Tolstoy.

Hmm, how about if I post the little review of the Police concert that I wrote over at the Flick? Redundant and lazy, yes, but at least it'll get rid of this sad blankness here at the M'Gumbo. Let's preface this by saying that I know nothing about musical critique beyond whatever seven years of being a teenage band geek taught me (that is to say, if they'd played a Sousa march, or "Pomp and Circumstance", I could've picked their performance to bits...). Also, I was completely biased to adore the Police regardless of how they sounded on stage - they could've performed "Every Breath You Take" with kazoos and cowbells and I'd still have swooned. But anyway, here's what I said:

OK, so they may not quite as energetic on stage as they were 25 years ago... But Sting, Stewart and Andy are all in great shape (Sting was, as usual, one luscious bit of cuddle, rocking his yogalicious chassis in a white muscle-tee and skinny black pants), and most importantly, they still absolutely rocked the McAfee Coliseum in Oakland last night. We were lucky enough to get field seats - pretty far back, but still better than swimming in the tide of people up in the stadium.

As promised, they band cast a new spin on some of the old songs, such as the great long version of "So Lonely" near the end of the show. Their spin on "Invisible Sun" was slow and poignant (on screen during the song, they showed scenes of 3rd-world war and woe - the social commentary portion of their set). They had a couple of songs with midway key changes that seem like they're still being perfected, and melding back together into a cohesive chorus after improv jags seemed like tricksy work a time or two - but the bumps were barely noticable and overall their sound was harmonious and tight for a band that's only been reunited for a few months after two decades apart. I would dearly love to see them again at the end of the tour to find out how their act evolves.

Andy seemed to be off in his own world much of the time with his generally low-key improvs (for which the new arrangements clearly provided him room). Bill commented that instrumentally, Sting seemed to stay pretty close to the original bass lines on many songs, saving his creative work primarily for vocals. He seemed to get pissed off at the little wood flute he used in the opening of "Walking In Your Footsteps". All through the night, he played the same beat-up old bass that I'm sure was his sidekick in the old days... For that matter, Andy stuck to the same gorgeous red guitar the entire time too. No mid-set instrument swapping for these guys, and we thought that was pretty cool. Stewart deployed an impressive little array of percussion toys, including some wind-chimey bells, a tympani, and a big brass gong. Of the three, he seemed to be having the most fun - and burning the most energy... Dude looked shagged by the end, but the huge grin on his face when Sting called his name during the wrap-up was endearing.

Sting's tongue-in-cheek, hands-up shrug when he sang the line "You consider me the young apprentice..." seemed to sum up the band's comeback in general: They're not young anymore and their vibe reflects that to some extent (which it should - I think there's nothing sadder than old rockers trying to act like they're still 20-something punks); they're three seasoned solo artists juggling the complex dynamics of being a symbiotic band again; and they're still working out the best ways to infuse a vintage catalog of songs with fresh perspective. Musical purists, and fans who want an exact rendition of the old songs without creative interpretation, will unfailingly find something to bitch about... But the upshot is simply that, against all odds, The Police are back - they're amazing musicians no matter what direction they take the music, and they sound as awesome together now as they did two decades ago.

For their fans, it's a dream come true. I never dreamed I'd get to see The Police play live, and leaving the Coliseum, I had this odd feeling of satisfaction, as if I'd ticked off a life goal I didn't even realize was on the list. Had I but tickets enough and time to see them again... *sigh*

Because Neil G. requested it, and he and the subject are two of my favorite entertainment luminaries anyway, I'm posting a link to an entry he wrote about Penn Gillette's radio show (read the entry to find out why he wants people to link to it).

I do actually have a half-assed review of the Screen Actors' Guild awards pending; I've just been sick for the past week and in no mood to do the typee-typee. Besides, the show was pretty dull, so that's not too inspiring. It's been kind of a bum year for awards shows, truth be told. Regardless, a pledge is a pledge, so expect a recap soon...

Do you like "Blade Runner"? "Twelve Monkeys"? Dystopian sci-fi? Or just awesome movies in general? Then you really should go see "Children of Men" if you can find a theater that's showing it. Absolutely kick-ass movie. You won't come away with the warm glow of happy in your heart, but it's a hell of a well-written and well-filmed flick.

First of all, CoM is one of those rare future-fiction films, like "Blade Runner" or "Aliens" or even the original trilogy of "Star Wars", where an exquisite attention is given to the small details of a world to come. They aren't shoved in your face or over-explained or precious - they're just there. The logic and effort that were put into evolving current technology and culture into future forms are clear; the result is so subtely rendered, however, that the net effect is the exact opposite of calling attention to the effects. Rather, it just made me believe absolutely the world into which I'd been dropped, and in doing so drew me that much more into the story itself. I want to see it again just to pay more attention to the background details.

The movie was filmed with that same sense of pulling the audience right into and through the moment. It's filled with long, single-shot takes that create a sort of embedded reporter perspective. The camera tends to stay close to the main character, like the viewer is looking over his shoulder or sitting next to him much of the time instead of watching him at a distance. There is a lot of violence - blood and bullets a-go-go - but it happens so matter-of-factly and as part of a larger plot progression that it simply underscores the hard realism of the story; essentially, it's the sort of thing that you might see on the streets of Baghdad today. There's an ambush in one part that's one of the best-filmed action scenes I've ever seen.

Aside from the amazing setting and cinematography, however, the story itself is compelling and believable. The plot made me think about how quickly a modern society already under pressure from elements like religious conflict and racism might well implode from the impact of one final catastrophic event - in this case, a universal plague of infertility. I was consistently struck by the jarring contrast between the high-tech trappings of a Silicon-Age society and the base behaviors of its stressed-out, aging citizens, reduced to chaotic survivalism as humanity's final days slowly but surely approach. The movie definitely has some suspension-of-disbelief moments, especially toward the end; but Clive Owen's performance in particular goes a long way toward carrying the audience through the less plausible moments and making them work somehow. He renders the cynicism, repressed anguish, and lapsed-idealist heroism of his character with perfect pitch. There's a definite Humphrey Bogart quality to his performance, in all the best ways. I'll admit by way of disclaimer that Owen's been my moviestar-crush since all the way back to "Gosford Park" when he was unknown outside of the UK - but he absolutely owns this part, and if he doesn't get heaped with awards for this one, the sky may in fact fall from sheer injustice. He made the right choice in making this movie instead of taking on the baggage of James Bond (incidentally, I think Daniel Craig is the best Bond since Connery; so everyone wins).

Anyway, I could go on raving, but there are a lot of reviews out there that do a better job than I do of describing why this movie rocks... I'll simply say that it's the best movie I've seen in a long time. Why it's not in wide release yet, I can't fathom. It's one of those movies that's really best to see on the big screen rather than waiting for the DVD - so, if you can find it, you should definitely think about checking it out.

- The noises she made around the house; the click of her toenails on the floor; her sigh when she laid down; the tap of her paw on the door (used to be the click-clack of her dog door); her unearthly howl when sirens went by; the little chompy sound she made when she was tired; the good-morning yowps she used to wake us up with.

- Being greeted by her when we came through the front door – whether we’d been gone 3 minutes or 3 days, she was always just so damned happy we were home again.

- It’s weird to cook in the kitchen without having her underfoot, laying around in the most inconvenient spot possible.

- When I lock the door at night, it’s hard not to wonder if she needs to go out one more time.

- At bedtime, she usually followed me and laid down on the floor at my side. When I awoke, I always had to dodge her when stepping out of bed (unless she was awake first and stamping around the bed trying to get us up).

- The feel of her head under my palm – the shape of her head, the soft little divot between her eyes, the texture of her coat. Rubbing the insides of her ears and hearing the little grunts of bliss she’d make. Scratching that exact place on her butt that would cause her entire back to quiver in happiness, and the spot near the bottom of her ribcage that would make her back leg kick.

- After she got a bath and was all dry, her fur would fluff up and almost seem to glow in white and pale yellow – you could definitely tell when she was fresh out of the tub.

- She used to sling her front leg over your arm when you petted her ruff or belly, like she was holding your hand.

- When she first got a new squeaky ball, she’d run off to some quiet private corner with it, and for a long time she’d just sit there and squeak it in different cadences, like she was composing music. When she was playing, she liked nipping at the ball really fast and staccato, imitating how we’d squeak it. Once she tired of a toy, though, she disabled it by biting the squeaker right out of it with an almost surgical precision.

- We used to turn away and whisper to her ball when she was waiting for us to throw it, and that drove her nuts – she couldn’t bear having us commiserate and tell secrets with the ball.

- She loved bringing a ball up to the hot tub just to, you know, show it to us – she’d nudge it along the rim for a few minutes, doot-dee-do, until it PURELY BY ACCIDENT dropped in – oh no! - so we’d have to fish it out and throw it for her .

- Sometimes I’d dunk the ball underwater, fill it up with water, and squirt her in the nose with it from beneath the surface. Man, that drove her nuts, but she loved it.

- When we’d dance around, she’d go crazy, barking and jumping up at us like she wanted to join in. Sometimes we’d catch her paws and dance with her for a few seconds, while she snapped at our hands all half-happy, half-annoyed.

- You could have her all wound up play-fighting, her huge strong jaws and sharp teeth snapping like mad; and yet right then you could stick your whole hand right in her mouth, and she’d always be able to pull back her bite enough not to hurt. She had amazing control. As soon as you were done tussling and told her, “nice girl”, she would mellow out and be sweet again.

- When we watched TV, she liked to lay under the coffee table and sleep on one of our feet.

- That look in her eyes that said she’d love us no matter what.

I think every pet-owner always ends up with at least one that embodies all the best reasons why we put up with the mess, the hassle, and the shock-and-awe vet bills that are part of having animal companions. Over the past 10-1/2 years, Indy has been the one for us - truly, our best friend.

We had neither the money nor living situation for a dog when we got her… But we went to "just go look" at a litter a coworker's dog had - Bill took one look at her and said, “Hey, that one looks just like Midgie!” – the legendary dog from his childhood. Well, that was it; the Midgie clone was coming with us. On the drive home, laughing at my coworker's explanation of the puppy's convoluted lineage, we decided she could only be described as being of “Indeterminate Origin” – “Indy” for short.

Where can you start describing what an awesome dog she turned out to be? Her supermodel looks - huge, dark eyes; sweet, expressive face; fur that after baths was downy, glowing white and pale gold... Even her goofy ears were cool, whether sticking our from her head like a Gremlin or folded back into "high-speed" mode.

She was so well-behaved – after puppyhood, she never chewed anything that wasn’t hers (well, aside from the occasional trash-diving for paper products; tissue was her chewing gum). She didn’t dig. She didn’t even bark until nearly a year old – the first time she busted out a big “WOOF!”, she scared herself and hid under a table. From then on, she only used that fearsome bark when she had something important to report (sometimes that was a poodle walking on the sidewalk below our back deck – but to her, any border infiltration was a critical security issue). Once we accidentally left the back yard fence-door open; for most dogs, that would be a mandate to roam the earth… But when we came home, there was Indy, just waiting for us as always. She loved going out for walks - but the place she most wanted to be was simply wherever her people were.

Anyone who wonders whether dogs have personalities would be convinced by spending a week with Indy. Indy was a sweet girl, but with moods of near-human complexity. She smiled in joy, frowned in anger, sighed dramatically in boredom or frustration. If we came home to her squinting at us with a submissive, “please-don’t-yell-I-didn’t-mean-to- and-hey-did-I-mention-you-look-fabulous-today?” wag, we knew somewhere we'd find a shredded pile of paper towels and tinfoil - she had no poker face whatsoever. One hint that she was part Malamute was that she loved to talk. In the morning, she’d wait silently, her face inches from mine, until I cracked an eye - then she’d start chatting in soft little yowps; after that she’d pace around the bed, spewing a Chewbacca-like rant of growls and groans until we gave in and got up, already.

Indy didn’t warm up to everyone right away; but we liked that she was a dog who took time to suss out new people rather than one who'd welcome any old stranger. As soon as she vetted someone, though, they totally became part of her pack, and upon their next visit she’d be all dancing and wags and “Where have you BEEN?!” When Bill was out of town, Indy was both my best alarm and the best weapon against unwelcome visitors. Strange noises were only important if Indy thought so. Her career was in home security, and she was always on the job.

Indy’s favorite vacation spot was Club Rhodes in Arizona -swimming in the pool, and most likely steak (or smoked salmon, or caviar!) for dinner. She gave the ocean a try, but couldn’t stand how a ball wouldn’t stay put long enough for her to get to it. She loved visits from my parents, with the daily walks and constant stream of snacks. She adored a thrown ball, but never bought into the notion that fetch involved actually having to give it back. She composed songs with her squeaky toys.

Indy was so smart . She worked things out, and she seemed to understand what you were saying to her a lot of the time. She was funny as hell. I could say a million other things about her... But what it all boils down to is that, for us, she was the perfect dog. Oh God, how we'll miss her.

I just remembered that I woke myself up laughing this morning from a dream in which I or someone else declared, "Group hugs do NOT include box-kicking!" Avril Lavigne sense, mind you, not extreme-sport dyslexic.

What? I don't know. Twelve?

Like, me, I'm sure you've spent many an anxious minute wondering to yourself, "Self? Where can I find pictures of dogs in bee costumes? Lots of them? Like, fetishistic quantities of bee-dog pr0n?"

Well, rest at ease, my apicaninophilic darlings. Here they are.

I heart the Internet too much. And Indy? When Halloween rolls around? So screwed.

Wee's is 98%, so I guess I married up.

Yeah, I know the frames are screwed up. I must have messed up a tag somewhere when I was trying to add a link to the sidebar for my new Flickr account. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Anyway, if you want to see the pics I've added to Flickr (mostly of our going-away party a couple of weekends ago), go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/tessenwee, or .

You know, I've been slacking a little on adopting a lot of the most current tech trends that have emerged over the past year or two; however, between recently acquiring a camera-phone and an iPod Shuffle and setting up a Flickr account, I feel like I've finally narrowed the expanding gap between me and the young urban geek (Yuggie?) zeitgeist a little. Since soon I'll be moving into the red beating heart of Internet/tech culture, I think it's good to work on getting my urban-geek groove on so I'll fit in. Not like it's much of a stretch, but I'd been lazy about taking on new things lately.

The past three weeks have been so great in terms of me being able to slow down and de-stress. I mean, there's still stress with getting ready to sell the house and move, and that's going to be the case for a while - but so far it's been mostly positive and totally managable. Indy's doing well, the house fixing-up is going great, and while I miss having Bill here a lot and wish we weren't apart, I've never had a problem spending time alone, so it's been a nice, peaceful transitional time.

I'm looking forward to when the house is all spruced up and just needs to be kept tidy for showing, so that I can give a little more time over to visiting with friends and exploring San Diego while I still can. When you live someplace as beautiful and touristy as San Diego, I think it's easy to put off checking out some of the sights to be seen, because you figure you can do it whenever, or you want to store up activities for when visitors come. Now I'm hoping to knock some off the list before I leave - like hang out at the beach, go to Julian, revisit the museums in Balboa Park, check out some of the little places I've always meant to visit... I'm so grateful to have this sort of transitional time here. I wish Bill could have had more of a chance to say goodbye to San Diego too - I feel a little guilty about being able to be here and enjoy our revamped house while he's stuck in a temp condo (albeit a nice one)... But there's so much stuff to see and do in the Bay Area that hopefully we'll be able to do some fun daytrips once I move up there.

Anyway, off to post some more pics on the Flickr site...

Brat: (brât) n.
1) A child, especially a spoiled or ill-mannered one.
2) A child of a career military person.
3) A small pork sausage.

Adult humans may be pests, teases, jerkoffs, assholes, etc. - but they cannot, by definition, be brats. Most of all, "brat" ought never to be used as a self-referential term. Usually, the person doing so means, "Yes, I know I'm being a pain in the ass, but aren't I also kinda cute?" 99% of the time, the answer to that question is, "No. Actually, you're just a knob."

I'm just saying.

Last week, when I was getting into bed in my old room at the parents' house, I felt a big solid lump in the very middle of the bed under the fitted sheet. At first I was afraid it was something living, but when I poked at it, it was hard and perfectly oval. I pushed it to the edge of the mattress until it fell out onto the floor.

It was a bar of fancy soap.

Hmm.

Maybe Mom was testing for princesses, but just got a little fuzzy on the details?

The risk of coming up with a clever blog name is that some not-so-clever person might one day steal it and pass it off as his own. Naughty fratboy!

So let's say you take a fish oil capsule in the morning. About an hour later, you drink coffee with eggnog-flavored creamer in it. And then you burp. Really unique experience, that.

Pamela Ribonfrom pamie.com is, for the second year in a row, holding a book drive - last year her readers donated over 650 books to libraries in the Oakland area. This year the lucky city is none other than San Diego... Please take a moment if you would and visit her site, and consider donating books to a good cause.

If you prefer to donate to one closer to your home instead, you can go to amazon.com and do a wish list search - just put in "library" for the name, and the city and/or state (example: library + "oregon" will get you a whole list of Oregon-based libraries that have created wish lists).

Ever wondered what the Chernobyl area looks like today, nearly 20 years after the meltdown? One Russian woman on her motorcycle (the daughter of a nuclear physicist who's been doing research in the "dead zone" ever since the accident) has been cruising around and taking pictures of what was left behind. I liked reading her commentary too - she writes in pretty good English and with a wry wit.

"...on asphalt things not bad, but if I step 10 meters forward, my dosimeter will run out of scale, if I walk few hundred meters towards reactor, then I will find 3 roengen. If I keep walking all the way to reactor, then at the end of a journey I will glow in a dark. May be this is why they call it a magic wood. this sort of a magic when one walk in in a biker leather and coming out like a knight in a shinning armour. "

Aw, man...

OK, so the site MusicPlasma is kind of cool if you're looking for suggestions about new music to check out, based on which musicians you like already...

Reverend Horton Heat? Squirrel Nut Zippers? Dance Hall Crashers? Black Keys (for Wee)? Check check check check. I'm sure some of you out there will be able to stump it. Still, a useful tool when using iTunes or eMusic... Cool interface, too.

Need a good distraction?

- Go to http://www.googlism.com
- type in your name, or a friend's name, or any person, place or thing
- hit the "Googlism!" button
- enjoy
- share the best results in the comments section of this entry, por favor...

...humbug.

Do y'all ever take a look at Monkeygumbo's search term referral log on the right side of this page? Because I often forget to check it. Then I do, and I see that some people find our site by way of quests for knowledge of such worthy topics as "england's nastiest pub", "scratch 'n' sniff farts", and "wished me to the cornfield".

Is it just me, or do those three phrases seem to flow together in a strange way? "I visited England's nastiest pub during my last visit - the sort of place where the bathroom wallpaper could be peeled and used as scratch 'n' sniff farts, and the rheumy glare of the bartender made it seem as if he'd just wished me into the cornfield for asking for a mixed drink instead of a draft lager."

I hope you'll take some time to go over and read the blog Iraq Now, written by 1st Lieutenant Jason Van Steenwyk of the Army National Guard. (Not sure how he's updating, but I think he emails entries to a friend who posts them for him).

Van Steenwyk is a good writer with a fine sense of dry wit; he offers some really intelligent, thoughtful, pragmatic insights on the war, the media, the Iraqi people, and the practical and personal challenges of daily life as a deployed soldier. If I were in the Army, this is the guy I'd want for a CO...

Update on the unfortunate Roy Horn - turns out that about 1/4 of dude's skull is currently MIA from his head. Where is it, you may ask? Get this - it's No, really. Gestating his own brain-lid. That's just... I don't know what that is. Some people are just destined to have bizarre fucking lives, apparently.

And then there's the 6-year old boy in Florida with a left arm that was paralyzed after he was hit by a truck, which meant that, while he was sleeping the other night, he simply didn't realize that his pit bull puppy was eating his fingers. Kid should get someone to buy lottery tickets for him, because Fate owes him one heapin' slab of good luck after all this.

So I was bitching about a sore throat, and restless legs? Uh, yeah. Never mind...

Anyway, these little news items provide some perspective, but they aren't exactly helping to restore my appetite. I'll be back in those size 8's in no time!

/huge crawling heebie-jeebies

In keeping with our recent habit of lurking near of the rich and famous, the Saturday before last we went to a book signing for Neal Stephenson, whose latest novel, "Quicksilver", just came out on 9/23 (three days later it was ranked #6 on Amazon's bestseller list).

The signing was at Mysterious Galaxy, which isn't a large store - so it was a little strange, in a good way, to see such a well-known person in such close quarters. NS mostly focused on answering audience questions - he said he'd felt that past readings were a little cumbersome given the nature of the book (lots of dialogue, he isn't very good at doing voices, etc.), and he preferred to cut to the chase and try to answer some questions that might come up during individual signings anyway. He strikes me as a profound introvert; intelligent and confident, just not particularly outgoing. Fair enough; it's not exactly an uncommon trait among authors. He just seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but on a book tour, and I felt a bit sorry for him. Still, he seemed to honestly respect the people there and their interest in his work, and he took part in the process as gamely as he could.

One interesting bit of trivia which came up was that he wrote the entire 944-page volume in longhand - using a fountain pen, no less. This book is only the first of a trilogy, which means he's knocked out something equivalent to 3,000 printed pages by hand over the past few years. Dude must be able to crush rocks with that hypertrophied mitt of his by now! Given that he's one of the pre-eminent names in modern techno-fiction, this fact was just surprising to hear - kind of like if Wee were to declare that he'd decided to correspond exclusively by snail mail instead of email.

A comment that I found even more interesting on a personal level, though, was a response to a question about how he'd changed as a writer over the course of his career. His reply led tangentially into the time when he'd first decided he wanted to be a writer, but realized that he had no idea how to go about it. After writing and rewriting a couple of initial pieces, he found himself getting bogged down in editing, trying in vain to untangle the unworkable bits from the good ones. Eventually, he realized that the best way to hone his skills was not to start with just one project and rework it to death without ever being able to declare it finished, but rather to heed the advice of Jerry Pournelle... "You must be prepared to write and throw away a million words of finished material". In other words, just write for the sake of practice, as well as you can, but don't expect it to necessarily be your Great American Novel/short story/article. Determine what worked and what didn't work in what you wrote, and why, and apply what you learned toward the next effort. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I've read similar advice from other writers; but because writing has been on my mind recently, I was struck by the fact that someone whose writing and intelligence I admire so much had had a very similar sense of "How do I go about this?" when he began as I do now, and that his solution - essentially, practice makes perfect - was at once so simplistic and so logical. I guess it's always strange when an internal question you overanalyze to the degree of becoming a psychological proof leads to a solution that's so basic that it is, in fact, a cliche... Still, understanding why in specific the cliche rings true is useful.

A few people have told me that I "should be a writer", by which I suppose they mean someone who writes things for compensation. I'm flattered, and I appreciate the encouragement. At the same time, I lack the strength of their conviction. As someone who actively avoids ventures that might result in failure or rejection (I couldn't even sell Girl Scout cookies successfully), I'm a little scared of investing energy and desire into writing something with the goal of having it published, only to find that I don't make the cut. Do I need that kind of angst? And always I'm aware of the flaws in my writing from which I can't seem to wean myself - my tendency toward overly stilted phrases, incredibly long sentences, overuse of adjectives and ellipses and semicolons. I read the work of people, including other journallers, whose writing I admire and I can't help but be humbled because my writing doesn't seem as fluid or vivid or funny or personable as theirs. It's easy to become insecure and wonder what people think when they read what I write. Am I coming off as well as I think I am? Will anyone make fun of how I phrased something, or think I'm trying too hard, or used some ten-dollar word because I want to sound all intellectual and superliterate, when actually I'm more often trying not to use a big word when a diminutive one will suffice? (heh) Is this entry itself not in fact the most boring navel-gazing wad of words I've ever written, and probably something better kept to myself - and as a corrolary, will I seem to be fishing for more validation by posting it anyway? I'm not, honestly. But is it weird to say that? Etc, etc, ad nauseum.

Beyond the mechanics of writing, though, an even bigger source of challenge to me is that of the creative element - how to come up with and develop solid, interesting, original ideas for stories to write. I keep scraps of inspiration in my mind, a bag of mixed patterns, none of which seem to yield sufficient material to make anything useful once I examine them. Is this due to an attention deficit, or just sheer lack of imagination? Sadly, the strongest inspiration I've had for a story in a while came from my difficult jury service. But I wonder if I have nearly enough skill and stamina to write a story that would help explain to people the intellectual and emotional challenges that led to the decision I had to make. I should probably make some notes now for memory's sake, and set them aside - and then just work on my million words until I come to a place where I can sit down and tell that story, or another one, and actually feel like it's worthy.

Although I struggle with the details, I guess I've finally admitted that the nagging compulsion to write has grown in me over the past few years, and having this journal has helped satisfy that urge a little. (And in that sentence lies the final proof that this has become, irredeemably, a meta-entry.) Updating Tessnews is a painless way to practice using words, albeit it in a nonfictional format. I think I've benefitted from the practice; God knows I've written more here over the past year than I probably had the previous 5 years combined. I think I'm getting OK at putting words together. Not great. But better than I was.

Anyway, this went from being a story about seeing Neal Stephenson to an exercise in journalistic onanism. If I keep it up, I might go blind. Or get hairy fingertips. Something.

Right, so enough of that. In conclusion, seeing one of my favorite authors really rocked. And, as a bonus, what he said inspired me a little and got me doing some thinking about the process of writing. So we'll see where that goes.

Tomorrow night we get to go see Eddie Izzard's new show, "Sexie", at the Wiltern Theatre in L.A. Soooo excited!! Anyone who hasn't watched the DVD of his 1998 show, "Dress to Kill", needs to do the right thing and go rent it. Otherwise, how would you ever know that babies taste of chicken, or that you can get almost anything you want through the cunning use of flags?

This high-school freshman may be a girl, but she sure has some balls in proposing a certain new high school club.

I'm wondering what activities this club would have... "Dancing: It's About Rhythm, Stupid" classes? "Melanomas and You" seminars? Crackers and Milk socials?

Mind you, I think she has a point. It's just debatable as to why she's choosing to make it.

Wow, I'm looking out the window to the southeast and still seeing blue sky - yet I hear thunder fit to rattle the windows out of their frames, and we had, like, a 5-second downpour... This is some weird-ass weather all of a sudden - yes, right here in SoCal, strange weather! It's madness, I tell you... madness!

Design change, woo! Tess poke-n-hopes her way into figuring out how to alter stylesheets! =)

It's brighter, anyway - gotta give it that.

Also, I realized that I've been referring to our male frog by the wrong name - Instead of his proper name - Freewheelin' Franklin Freak, Esq. - 've been calling him Freddy, which was in fact our dearly departed algae eater's name. Frankly (heh), I doubt he cares, but I thought I'd set the record straight.

Heh... so I did my first Fark Photoshop entry... I'm so proud of it, I could weep.

I had to post my pic under Wee's name, because I was... well, sort of banned from Fark for posting an offsides pic. Dumb newbie mistake, really - who knew that a image of someone's brain getting eaten by maggots would be considered excessively offensive? It was on-topic, at least...

Anyway, to help you scroll down to the right place, mine was posted at this time: 2003-06-22 05:52:49 PM

I am teh Funny.

So here's my first effort at a TrackBack...(or possibly my second - not sure if the first one worked so I deleted the entry and started over). How exactly this blog feature works is kind of confusing to me; I feel like such a wannabe geek... albeit that, according to the official Geek Quiz... , I'm at least a "Major Geek" (my score was 36.68639%. Give or take.).

At any rate - just wanted to say that I'm gratified that the hookup I offered up for the "Dancing Barefoot" promo effort seems to be a source of some excitement.

So there's some song you've heard a bunch of times, and sometimes you sing along, even though the words don't always seem to make a bunch of sense - at least, the words you think the singer is singing... and then, one day, you read the actual lyrics, and you realize you've totally misheard one of the lines and were singing something totally different, and probably kind of bizarre. My friend, you've created yourself a .

Some of the ones that spring to my mind first are not radio songs, but songs from commercials... If you grew up west of the Rockies, you might remember commercials for Cal Worthington car dealerships? "If you need a car or truck, go see Cal? If you need a car or truck, go see Cal? Buy a new car for your wife, she will love you all her life, go see Cal, go see Cal, go see Cal"? These commercials featured Cal himself, resplendent in his signature ten-gallon white hat and matching white suit, posing amidst his cars with "his dog, Spot", the latter of whom was represented by a variety of exotic animals. For this reason, I believed he'd incorporated animals in his song as well. So, where the song went "go see Cal", I thought he was singing... well... "pussy cow." As in that's what he was calling the customer to whom he was singing. Like "pussy cat", see, but with a cow. "Buy a new car for your wife, she will love you all her life, pussy cow, pussy cow, pussy cow..." Yeah, I know... but let's bear in mind that I was only, like, 7 years old, and my mind had yet to sink to its current gutter level. "Pussy cow" seemed like a perfectly reasonable term of endearment to someone growing up in a cowtown like Klamath Falls.

Another one was the "Transformers" commercial - "Transformers, more than meet the eye/Transformers, robots in disguise"... I heard "disguise" as "in the skies". Transformers, robots in the skies! It was kind of a scary image, like the scenes from the future in Terminator, or War of the Worlds. Robots in the skies - run for your lives!

So let's have it - what are some of the songs you've created your own mondegreen for?

Here's a great article by some guy who knows his classic philosophy, explaining some of the possible theological/philosophical underpinnings of the "Matrix" storyline. (Warning: there are spoilers there, as well as in what I have to say below. If you haven't seen it and want to go in fresh, don't read this entry or that article).

God help me, now I actually kind of want to read Baudrillard, and brush up on Gnostic theology. My brain is a little scared - I haven't asked it to do any hard propellor-whirling in a long time... Damn you, Wachowski Brothers, for making philosophy actually seem intriguing!

The W.B.'s are doing pretty much the same thing that Lucas was trying to do with the "Star Wars" series - but with more concerted intellectual effort devoted to creating the backstory, and without being derailed by notions of "making it for the kids" with the likes of Ewoks and f$cking Jar-Jar Binks. Even though they also are not exactly the Masters of Snappy Dialogue, they're still better screenwriters/filmmakers than Lucas is now. He lost the mojo a long time ago in a galaxy not so far away...

So yeah, I admit I'm still sold on the Matrix. I don't really care if others were disappointed by "Reloaded" for whatever reason. I've read some damned bitter reviews by fans who hated-Hated-HATED it, who think it's suffered the same fate as the "Star Wars" series by being too CGI-orgiastic and favoring spectacle over substance, or just that there's too much talk, not enough whoop-ass. I can see their points. Maybe I just don't care enough in that I can overlook its flaws and still enjoy what is good about it, and I think there is plenty of good there. Sure, there are some things about the movie that bug me, such as:

• I'm a little annoyed that they're fabricating some plot-development tension between Morpheus and Link and Niobe via a very cliché "torn between two lovers" subplot.

• Speaking of lovers, I think the Neo & Trinity/Zion-Loveshack sex scene I mentioned in the previous entry dragged on way too long - yeah, we get it, they're celebrating their humanity and the ability to sweat profusely, it's nice to see Neo getting some after all he's been through; now let's move on...

• Some of the fight scenes seemed repetitive and gratuitous, although I don't agree that they added nothing to the plot; I don't necessarily think every ass-kicking in the movie needs to signify Major Plot or Character Development any more than every battle in a war needs to be the Big Decisive Battle. I think these scenes were about demonstrating how the power of the characters had changed from the first movie (note that even characters like Trinity and Morpheus can now kick Agent ass instead of just running like hell, underscoring the fact that the power of the Zion rebellion as a whole is reaching critical mass in terms of the Matrix's ability to contain it - which ties in with what the Architect tells Neo about Zion).

• The W.B.'s could definitely take some lessons in engaging, believable character development and dialogue from James Cameron (the "Aliens" and "Abyss" Cameron, that is, not the "Titanic" one). This fact doesn't make "Reloaded" a hell of a lot different from the first movie, though. How many times did people squawk, "He is the ONE!" in the first movie...? Even more times, I suspect, than the phrase "It is your destiny!" was used in the Star Wars series. Many a DVD-watching drinking game has been based on this fact, I'm sure of it.

• The CGI's slip was showing a couple of times, which was distracting and took me out of the moment. Mind you, 95% of the shots were seamless and really of amazing quality in terms of realism of detail and movement. It's worth seeing just to see where they've taken the technology of CGI. Just isn't perfect yet, is all... And it still seems sometimes like the best effects are often still the ones created not by pixel manipulation but by clever traditional FX artists using real props and camera tricks to create the illusion of reality.

• The storyline itself can be hard to follow - in fact, I think almost anyone seriously trying to get the plot will need to see it several times to grasp all the details. There were moments that seemed to be setups for a major plot point but turned out to be disappointingly anticlimactic, like Persephone's kiss and the Oracle's candy. Watch and see, though, how many of these seemingly small distractions pop up again in "Revolutions" and make us say, "Oh, so THAT's why that happened!" (Without doubt we'll be seeing that little red candy again, and will maybe even find out why the Oracle ate hers right away and Neo did not).

• Who built all that machinery that runs Zion? No, really. Think about the scope of it. Certainly lends credence to the theory that Zion is really another Matrix...

So yeah, there are flaws. So what? I still enjoyed it a lot. I have to wonder if at least some of the detractors might, upon either seeing it again or thinking more about what they saw, get past the disconnect between the movie and their expectations of what they wanted to see, and find they actually don't hate it as much as they thought. That's how I usually feel about new records by artists I love, especially if they've shifted musical styles - I have to listen to the new stuff a few times to get beyond the "this isn't what I expected" stage and really know if I like it or not. I hope they give the movie another chance to grow on them, because I have faith that once "Revolutions" comes out, a lot of plot points from "Reloaded" will make more sense and the whole will satisfy at least some of the current naysayers. If not... well, poor fortune. The story's working for me just fine. Bring on #3!

No, I'm not having a fit of existential angst. At the moment, anyway. The reference is to the website of this Scottish/American guy, Hugh MacLeod, who does kick ass sarcastic works of art on the backs of business cards. I'm verklempt.

So it appears that there's a notify list available for TessNews - I had no idea, actually, but somehow one clever little monkey has made his way onto it. (You know who you are). Anyway, if anyone wants to be added to it, I believe I can make that happen. I know how you all (all four or five of you, anyway) hang on my every word, and don't want to wait any longer than you have to to get your fill of Gumbo goodness. Right? Ahem. At any rate, it's an option... just let me know.

Dese be mah words, yo - check it:
Aw, yeah.

Oh, yeah - we switched weblog systems, so welcome to the New and Improved TessNews. As an added bonus, you can leave comments if you want now. w00t!

Hello, strangers. Yes, I've been dismal at updating. Anyone who knows me knows that expecting anything in the way of regular communication from me is futile and confounding. It's not that I don't want to stay in touch. It's just that it's hard to rely on my good intentions, when I miss so much that requires attention. (Name that band). I get distracted; time passes; I think about people, and forget that it's not enough to think about them but that sometimes you have to contact them to let them know you're thinking about them. I think about my journal, and write little proto-entries in my head, and then forget or let myself be too lazy to refine them and post them. More time passes. I assume that people forget about me when I'm not around; it honestly does not occur to me that anyone might miss me or want to hear from me more often. (Aside from my parents, but they're sort of obligated in that respect).

In the same vein, it's hard for me to believe that anyone checks this journal regularly enough to care if I haven't updated recently. Mostly I think of it as a purge valve for clearing out random thoughts that swirl around in my head, or for saving the memory of a moment where I laughed or was sad or felt strongly about something and wanted to codify my thoughts about it in written words. It's also a place where I can feel relatively comfortable using a word like "codify" simply because my brain thinks it's the right word for the job and not because I'm trying to be all snooty and hyperliterate, whereas if I said it out loud, there'd be a decent chance that I'd get mocked or that the person who heard it wondered why I'd want to turn my thoughts into a salt-water fish.

Anyway. At this time I'd like to issue a blanket apology for any inconvenience or inadvertant ill-will my neglectful communication habits engender... coupled with an advisory that I doubt I will ever change. This is the last time I will apologize for not updating more regularly. So there! =)

In other news: it turns out that we're going back to London for Thanksgiving. We did the same thing two years ago, and it was excellent. Rainy and dark and cold as hell... why, yes it was, and we expect nothing different from the weather this time. However, we'll have warm coats, and brollies, and there are plenty, plenty of dry and adequately-lit places to be - the Tube and the museums and the pubs and the churches and the stores (Christmas shopping at Harrod's!), and the lovely hotel where we ended up by happy accident the last time, which has showers with actual water pressure (a rare commodity in England) and big bathtubs, and towel-warming racks... These things make the weather quite bearable. The fact is, fares to England are outstanding at this time of year, especially at Thanksgiving, for obvious reasons. We're getting the room at a decent price as well - not great, but it's in a great location just north of Hyde Park, and we've stayed there before so we know it's a great place to stay. So we're going to London. Fish and chips, mind the gap, bangers and mash, queueing up, jolly good, roundabouts, lager and lime, pence and pounds, Bakerloo Jubilee Piccadilly Waterloo Victoria... Here we come.

I used to have a reference here to something Wee wrote, about some really misguided and piteous individuals. Time has passed, and we've decided that it's better that we remove references to these people from the site, as well as our brains (damn, some sights are definitely better forgotten...). So there it is... or isn't, or whatever.

Welcome to everyone who's visiting via referral from Wee's "Linux on a Cash Register" site. Yeah, I'm Tracy, the main lady of Wee who carries obsolete RAM modules in my purse. Why exactly was I toting RAM around, you may ask, and reasonably so... Well, partly because I am indeed pretty geekish and couldn't see wasting good albeit obsolete memory, so I tucked it away to bring home and just forgot it was there; partly it's just because I'm a packrat, so anything sufficiently small and proximal to me has a fair shot at ending up in said satchel at some point, until the bag becomes unreasonably cumbersome and cleaning ensues. Whatever the reason, I'm happy to have helped Wee's dream of a programmable LED-on-a-Stick become reality. Although his follow-on vision of cutting a hole in our kitchen counter in which to mount the LEDOAS for household viewing applications is one for which, sadly, I cannot throw down any support.

So anyway, now that you're here, feel free to have a look around... bearing in mind that this site mainly exists to let my friends know what's up with me when I'm too lame to update them individually (which is most of the time). Therefore, I'm not expecting anyone who doesn't know me to be overly interested by what I have to say here, and any inquiries about why I'm wasting precious bandwidth by posting this inane personal drivel will be personally and tenderly deposited by yours truly to the Trash folder for safekeeping. So, that being said... Enjoy!

I made a new 404 page for my site tonight. I'm very proud of it. Hee. Go see it! Come on, you know how... (Although if you're using Internet Explorer, you may not be able to see it - IE defaults to its own boring 404 page when I try to look at it at work. Bloody Microsoft gits...).

Also, many thanks to my ever-lovin' Wee for setting up the new framed format of this site, with monthly archives. Much better! (If'n you can't handle framed sites - um, sorry).

Here's another (and less tongue-in-cheek) innovation I just thought of that would be good… Some sort of electronic Personal Verification Service. This would be an organization to whom you could send all of your important personal documents - everything from your birth certificate to your college degree to the title on your house - and they would verify the authenticity of each and keep them in safe protective storage for you (and also scan them and keep secured electronic copies). Then they would provide verification to anyone to whom you'd usually need to submit those documents, like employers, loan officers, the DMV, etc. Your permission would be required to authorize the verification, so no one could get your personal info without your permission - but it could all be done online over secure channels.

Wouldn't that be a much better solution than having to keep all your precious and easily damaged/lost/destroyed documents in a safe deposit box, and dragging them out and toting them around every time you need to provide proof of something-or-another? Of course, the verification service organization would need buy-in from the entities requiring the verification - banks, government offices, etc. There would have to be a ton of safeguards to prevent forgery or fraud, hacking, etc. But I think it's feasible, and would be an extraordinarily handy service, especially for those of us who are not, shall we say, extraordinarily good at keeping track of documentation.

Anyway, I think it would be a very cool business (and potentially very lucrative one, if the company in question charged a yearly subscription, either per document or a flat fee for unlimited documents). Note: I've just published this idea in the public domain, so if anyone takes it from me and develops it, I expect royalties!! =)

I've thought up a breakthrough invention waiting to happen. I think Wee and I should develop it and get a patent. Envision, if you will: charcoal filtered underpants.

Charcoal, as I'm sure you know, is very effective at trapping and eliminating odor-causing particles. The briefs would simply feature a pocket in the rear, suitable for insertion of a thin, comfortable charcoal filter liner. For those unfortunate individuals afflicted with the heartbreak of excessive flatulence, and/or a prediliction for eating meatball subs, these undies could be a social lifesaver.

One could offer combo pants as well, with a changeable scented sheath going over the filter pad, allowing the emission of a lovely alternate odor, like lilacs, or Old Spice.

I could eventually offer a whole line of charcoal filter products for personal use, such as seatcovers, chair pads, and t-shirts (handy filter pockets under the arms, you see). I could contract with airlines to outfit airplane seats with the filters (ever been stuck behind a gassy someone on a plane? Then you can see the potential here).

Yessir, charcoal pants. This could the start of something big.