| A warp in the weft |
[Sep. 24th, 2009|03:54 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  contemplative | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | "A Glorious Dawn" (Sagan & Hawking) | ] |
[He pauses for a while before speaking again.]
But even though there's a dark humour threading through "Repo," many will say that genetics is no laughing matter.
[He takes a deep breath, lets it out.]
What of the mutation known as cancer? Can one have a genetic tendency towards having it? Personally, I know far too many people who have died from it. And now, another friend of mine has recently told me that her father has been (almost certainly) diagnosed with it.
If we live long enough, we all become orphans.
Like Rotti Largo says, fame and wealth will not protect you. But money can sure help with the symptoms. Skiffy author Spider Robinson's wife Jeanne has been diagnosed with biliary cancer, and they could certainly use all the help that they can get. His books have done so much for me (want to see where the magic happens? -- go here and scroll down about 80% of the way) that I am trying to figure out how I myself can help.
What can one do when the world's on fire? Work towards a more glorious dawn? |
|
|
| Time for the fangirls to head to Seattle . . . |
[Nov. 11th, 2008|07:36 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  jubilant | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | rain swishing down | ] |
[The laptop is now off, and darkness fills the room, until the man opens the door. He goes to the pile on the floor at the foot of one of the two folding chairs, pulls out the "gun" and points it at the table in the middle of the mostly empty room, pulling the trigger. The fat candle on the table, which is colored like its scent -- orange -- lights immediately. He puts the gun back down in the pile, closes the door so that the orange candle is the only source of light, and sits down in the second folding chair.]
Ah, yes. The human genome. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.
Science, the law, and science fiction have had their way with this idea, of course, bending it one way or the other. Did you ever see the movie Gattaca? It was really good, so of course many people didn't see it . . .
[He pauses for several seconds.]
And now there's a new twist in the strand. Repo! The Genetic Opera. Zow! Not your parents' opera, indeed. I just saw the movie last night on its road tour; tonight, it will be in Seattle. It stars Anthony Stewart Head ("Giles" from Buffy), along with Alexa Vega, Paul Sorvino, Paris Hilton (??), Sarah Brightman (!), and many other folks -- and features a minor appearance by Joan Jett (!!). It's a sci-fi horror goth rock opera about organ repossession, maybe sort of Joss Whedon puts "Rocky Horror," "Sweeney Todd" and Andrew Lloyd Webber into a blender and then films what pours out.
It's also quite good. I found myself singing "Zydrate Anatomy" on the way home. Very catchy. They had a Q&A after the movie; I got to meet the guy who played "Graverobber." He managed to seem both down-to-earth and yet have a huge amount of stage presence at the same time.
The whole thing gives opera a good name, even to folks like me who generally do not like opera. Hide the children, and go see it. :-) |
|
|
| Disappears on Sunday! |
[Jul. 18th, 2008|02:48 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  amused | ] |
[The laptop screen changes, all by itself again. Now it's displaying:]
www.drhorrible.com
Go! It's a musical!
[In the dimness, a faint hum of machinery can be heard somewhere.] |
|
|
| The Book of All Species |
[May. 10th, 2008|05:15 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  calm | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | silence | ] |
[The laptop screen changes, all by itself again. Now it's displaying:]
The Book of All Species
[In the dimness, a faint hum of machinery can be heard somewhere.] |
|
|
| popping the pusher |
[Apr. 25th, 2008|04:29 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | calm | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | silence | ] |
[The laptop screen changes, all by itself. Now it's displaying:]
Animator vs Animation
[In the dimness, a faint hum of machinery can be heard somewhere.] |
|
|
| I've felt the rains |
[Mar. 17th, 2008|06:25 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  drained | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | whispers of some quiet conversation | ] |
[A creak suggests that the door is opening again, but no light comes in from the hall to verify it. Footsteps are heard, then a couple of thumps. The man's voice speaks out of the darkness.]
Well, on Easter, my wife and I and little Boo are headed to the coast to see my wife's family: my mother-in-law, father-in-law, sister-in-law, and the sister-in-law's two kids, Princess and Dervish (not their real names). (My sister-in-law's ex-husband, the Neuticle, is not living in this state anymore, for which we're all grateful.) We'll be there for about 4 days, and then return home.
My wife's parents pass through our city from time to time, but the other three have not seen us since Boo was born. Spring break is too good of an opportunity to pass up, and my sister-in-law really deserves to see her little niece that she's never met, so we're going. Since Princess is 5 and Dervish is 6, I'm not sure how they'll react to a little baby cousin, but we'll see.
All of them live together in the same house, and there's no room for us to stay there, so we're getting a hotel room. This is for the best, since (a) I do not want Boo waking them up in the middle of the night, and (b) Dervish often wakes up at 5 am and wants to get everyone else in the house up, so I'm happy to skip that part.
I have mixed feelings about the trip. The in-laws can be lovable, but I guarantee you that there will be at least one major fight while we're there, and it won't be because of me. Maybe I can spend some quality time with Dervish -- he could really use some more male attention, now that the Neuticle (may his beard grow up his nose) is off far away. And of course, they're another tributary in the Great Baby River; I've lost track of how many of Princess's old clothes Boo has worn.
But every time we visit, I find myself at least once having the thought, "How do you get someone else to stop being self-destructive?"
I don't know. Other people still have free will, even the ones who seem bent on proving that it should be taken away.
[Footsteps are heard again, then the sound of the door closing.] |
|
|
| . . . you would have wished you still had a radio. |
[Mar. 14th, 2008|03:16 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  thankful | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | voices babbling | ] |
[The man takes a few deep breaths, inhaling the scent of oranges that is beginning to permeate the room.]
Come with me.
[He turns and leaves the room. Out into the hallway he goes, around a corner, past another door, down a flight of stairs into a room that is much better lit. He pauses for a moment to look at a clock, then heads into another room, and opens up a door to the outside. He steps out onto a long skinny side porch, and leans on the sturdy, waist-high wooden railing.]
Look at this.
[He points to a wide, slow-moving river that appears to be about a hectometer away.]
The Great Baby River. You don't even know it exists, and then one day you discover it goes right by your house.
You go out to look at it, and a car seat floats by. It's the wrong size for your daughter, so you ignore it. A few days later, there's a box of clothes coming from somewhere upstream, so you haul it out and go through it. You find pants, a shirt emblazoned with X-wings, but half the stuff fits your daughter (or will soon), so you keep that half and pack the rest into a smaller box, and put it on the river. Maybe attach a flashing beacon to it.
Then another day, a box of toys. A bassinet, a Pack'n'Play, a stuffed dog that barks when you squeeze it. All of it for the taking, all of it eventually headed out into the great unknown, whether it passes through your hands or not.
[The man's shirt pocket starts to hoot.]
I'd better go blow that candle out.
[He heads inside, reversing the trip upstairs, back into the candle-lit room. He turns the intercom back on, blows the candle out, and leaves. The scent of oranges fills the darkness.] |
|
|
| If this had been an actual emergency . . . |
[Mar. 14th, 2008|02:53 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  accomplished | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | the sound of rain evaporating | ] |
[Darkness in the room. It has no windows, and no light seeps under the door when the door is closed. Once again, the man opens the door. This time he's humming. He goes to the pile on the floor at the foot of one of the two folding chairs, pulls out the "gun" and points it at the table, pulling the trigger. The fat candle on the table, which is colored like its scent -- orange -- lights immediately. He puts the gun back down in the pile, goes to the intercom on the wall, and presses a button.]
Testing, testing. 1, 2, 3. ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) jrtom is a bat as big as a house.
[He waits in silence for a second or two, then the intercom starts to squawk. He clicks it off.]
Heh heh heh . . . I still remember how this works. |
|
|
| Pit stop |
[Mar. 13th, 2008|01:37 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | busy | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | clickety click click | ] |
[The door opens, and the man enters again, bearing a fat lit candle that gives off the smell of oranges. He closes the door behind him, lights the green candle on the chair with it, then places the fat candle on the table and sits down in the second chair.]
My pocket will probably start hooting any second now. Ah, the magic of Dead Week.
Spring break is coming, and I am going to Lincoln City to see my in-laws. We're headed out on Easter. This will no doubt be . . . stimulating, as my mother-in-law is . . . a bit self-centered, and my young nephew has not-yet-fully-diagnosed behavioral problems. Still, it's only for a few days, and my wife's sister has never even *seen* Boo yet, so it has to be done. We'll see how it goes.
[The man lifts his left foot, displaying a hole in the sole of his left shoe that is easily visible in the candlelight.]
Hope the new shoes I ordered get here first. When you're me (as so few of us are), ordinary shoe stores don't carry what you need. These babies are ~$100 a pair. I do not know how much the rest of you pay for shoes, but that seems like a lot to me, and my name isn't even Imelda.
[A hooting sound fills the room. Without bothering to switch it off, the man blows out the two lit candles and leaves, closing the door.] |
|
|
| Creak. Boot! |
[Mar. 12th, 2008|12:35 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | cheerful | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | something somewhere is humming | ] |
[The room is dark, as before. The scents have dissipated, except for the smell of warm unvarnished wood. Then there is a creak, followed by the sound of the door getting kicked. As it flies most of the way open, light streaming in from the hallway beyond illuminates the man from earlier, who is having a difficult time carrying some sort of small table. He staggers in with it, and places it in the center of the room, near the two chairs he brought in last time. Then he sits down and wipes his forehead.]
Woooo. I hate lifting things, but little Boo means I have to do it more often.
[He takes a small boxy device out of his pocket and puts it on the table he brought in.]
All right, I have a bit of time before I have to go wheedle more free baby formula out of Boo's pediatrician, on the way to the pharmacy.
So. More news? The responses tell me that the transmitters are working -- I heard from folks all over.
One thing that has changed this school year is that I now have more students with developmental issues: ADHD, Asperger's, dyslexia, etc. Plus, more students who lack any motivation. I need to go to the right 826 store -- perhaps the pirate one in SF -- and get a whip to crack over them. While I am waiting for that, I should just play TMBG's "Minimum Wage" on a repeating loop. I'm sure that they would all find that . . . inspirational.
The silver lining is, this is excellent training for being a father, especially for the phases that come later. By the time that Boo is old enough to give me an excuse for not having done her homework, I'll have heard them all. [The man grins hugely, running his fingers through his short brown hair.]
Next time, I'll--
[Suddenly, the sound of an owl hooting rhythmically fills the room. The man reaches over to the device on the table, and clicks a switch. The hooting stops. The man gets up and leaves, closing the door and plunging the room back into total darkness.] |
|
|
| ...creak. |
[Mar. 11th, 2008|12:44 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  rushed | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | the sound of . . . | ] |
[The man returns moments later. He walks over to the wall, where dimly can be seen something like an intercom, a tiny green light on it barely visible in the flickering illumination from the two candles. He stares at it for a moment, then returns to the chairs and resumes his seat.]
My wife is also doing well, but has far less time to spend talking to the rest of the world than I do. This is especially true because I am often working, with a schedule that allows me to do things in the Swiss cheese holes, whereas her job is very part-time, and she spends most of her hours at home with Boo. Throwback to the 50s.
Hmm. What has changed? What's new in my life since June 2007?
Hmmmmmm.
[He looks at the pocket watch in the candle light.]
Our computers are slowly dying. This is another thing that we are saving money for, and it is another thing that hampers our contact with our far-flung friends.
The . . . things that I am doing to improve my anger management are working, slowly. I do not want to pass on to Boo everything I learned from my father.
Only the good lessons, or at least the helpful ones.
And I love my little Boo. More than I ever would have thought possible, sometimes. Speaking of which, on her account I have to leave soon, very soon.
But I'll be back.
[He looks again at the pocket watch, then puts it in his pocket. He then stands and blows the candles out, and leaves, taking nothing with him but the pocket watch and some small dustballs that swirl out the door in his wake. The room, now silent and dark again, smells of something new. Is that vanilla under the scent of pine and sandalwood? Or is it just the Earth, breathing up through the floor?] |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 11th, 2008|12:24 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | calm | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | the sound of . . . | ] |
[The door opens again, wider this time, and a man appears, holding a folding chair under each arm. He puts them down in the center of the dusty room, and unfolds them, shifting them until they are upright side by side. He leaves, and returns a few minutes later with some candles, something that looks like a gun, a pocket watch, a notebook, and a few other objects. He puts two of the candles down on one of the chairs, points the gun at them, and pulls the trigger. Both of the candles light. He puts everything but the two lit candles and the pocket watch on the floor at the foot of the candle-chair, then sits in the other one.]
A certain Verin the Brown has asked for news of me. It's a piece of luck that I tied the wiring in this room into the household alarm system, because I never would have heard her voice coming from the baby monitor in here.
[The man stretches his legs out in front of him. Something creaks, either his legs or the chair, or possibly the ancient knotty floorboards. Or all three. One of the candles, a thick cream-colored one, suddenly pops and hisses, its flame darting sideways and snapping back. The other candle, green, moves silently in time with the cream one, like a dancer who has lost her voice.]
News. What of news? The Earth turns beneath my feet, as it does for all of us. What makes me special?
Still.
My daughter Boo (not her actual name) was born on 6/29/07, earlier than expected, with the low birth weight of 5 lbs. So my wife and I were concerned. At first the weight gain was slow, then after a few weeks it started to speed up, and now at 8+ months she is plump and happy and saying "Mama!" My wife would like this more if Boo weren't saying it to everyone, including me, my mother, and the occasional babysitter.
We have many things that we are saving money for: a house, a trip to my cousin's wedding, my medical bills. So money is tight, but nobody is starving, and business -- the same job as before, we're coming up on the 20-year mark here soon -- is good enough but could be better.
[A baby's cry is heard. The man stands and leaves the room, without bothering to put the candles out.] |
|
|
| Creeeeaakk... |
[Mar. 11th, 2008|12:16 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | calm | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | the sound of other people's keyboards | ] |
[a dark room, the only light coming from a barely-cracked-open door]
[Creaky-creak!]
What's in here? [coughs from the dust] Ah. There's no furniture, unless I can sit on a dustbunny the size of a cat. Hold on.
[The door closes again, enveloping the room in darkness.] |
|
|
| Have we learned nothing? |
[Jun. 21st, 2007|04:35 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  pissed off | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | the TV news in the background | ] |
I'm linking to this from a link posted by karjack. Like she says, don't read this if you don't want to get angry, then sickened, then furious.
I'm not sure what else to say. |
|
|
| Threads: the Gathering |
[Nov. 10th, 2005|10:20 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | contemplative | ] |
I am reading the Dune series right now, having only read the first one before. I must say, if one aspires to the title of Conversation-sensei, these books suggest interesting theories and make excellent practice. Especially the fourth one in the series.
Hmmm. So we have books about the intersections of
(a) psychology and religion (e.g.)
(b) physiology, religion and politics (e.g. the "Dune" series)
(c) politics and economics (e.g.)
(d) philosophy and consciousness (e.g.)
(e) neuroscience and consciousness (e.g.)
etc. etc. Overlap overlap overlap.
How do we put this all together to make healthy decisions in our own lives? |
|
|
| Insufficiency, part 2 |
[Nov. 8th, 2005|07:10 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | curious | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | something classical I don't recognize | ] |
Hmm, I wonder how long an LJ account has to lie unused before it gets deleted? |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
