The Bipolar Otaku

Yesterday, I finished reading Time's Eye by Arthur C. Clarke and Stephan Baxter. The premise of the book (the first of three) is that the earth gets splintered in such a way that small parcels of different times get glued together. The result is a UN peace-keeping helicopter crew from 2037 team up with a 19th century British Empire regimen and together find and unite with Alexander the Great's army, while a space capsule from 2037 land and join with Genghis Khan's Mongol army, both of which are moving to take over Babylon, at the height of it's power. Kind of interesting, enough to want to read the whole series, but I found it largely, for the lack of a better term, bleh.

Anyway, what struck me as interesting was a certain wrongness about all the characters, particularly the "Modern". The problem with them was that they simply knew too much. I mean, what are the chances that any given Lieutenant would know the biography of Rudyard Kipling? Who would remember how Alexander the Great dies, and where? Who would remember the names of major generals of armies millennia old, and how they would divide the empire when their superiors get killed? Who would actually know what the mongols did with royal prisoners? Who would remember what scientist discovered the tectonic plates of the earth, and would be able to figure out how old he is in relation to a 19th century captain? They can build steam engines, yet they can't create a DC power supply to recharge a cell phone, not even with all of the scraps of a 21st century helicopter and a 20th century Soyuz space capsule. It just doesn't make any sense. These are soldiers, not scientists, not historians, and not archaeologists.

Yup.  I was supposed to go home this weekend, but the boss called and offered to have me stay and make some more money.  I was planning on going home and go to a picnic for my sister's work (I think she's still trying to set me up with someone), but the picnic was cancelled a couple days ago, so I had no qualms about staying.  The only thing that I've got waiting for me at home, that I can think of, is more packages from online shopping.

Maybe now I'll actually find some time to go downtown and explore a little.

It's amazing what we take for granted, like having blood flowing through your fingers.  Not all my fingers.  Just my left hand, the index, middle, and ring.  Three fingers that I couldn't feel after I work up yesterday.  After about 8 hours at work, fortunately I was starting to feel them again.  I was starting to get a little nervous...  My left index is still a bit prickly, though.  Hope it wasn't a blood clot or anything like that....

Another thing I find interesting is how some people in my position (ie. spending weeks/months out of town) decide to spend their time.  Although, like everyone else, I certainly will sit around and talk with the locals that I work with, once I leave the building, I basically turn myself into some strange combination of tourist and hermit.  I shop, I try restaurants, I see sights, I spend time in my hotel room.

Some other people, however, choose a place they want to hang out, usually because of: 1) the women, 2) the food, or 3) the women.  They find apartments with people to hang out with.  They date strippers or bartenders or whatever.  They take vacations from work, but stay in town, so they can spend time with these people. They set up these little lives for themselves that they will carry for a few months, then presumably toss such efforts out, once the project is done. 

I guess I don't get it.  Or maybe I just know that I couldn't do it, and subsequently wouldn't want to try.

It amazes me that, despite it being 8 in the morning, people seeing me leave the plant will tell me "Good Night."  It's morning for christ's sake.  I tell them "Good Morning" because it's morning, not night.  It's fricking early in the morning, if you ask me, who has been up since 1 in the afternoon, but after being on afternoon shift or night shift for any considerable amount of time, anytime in the morning is way too early.

I've been reading this book lately, by Herman Hesse, called the Glass Bead Game.  I don't really know how to describe the book.  Basically, the Glass Bead Game was a game conceived by future artistic and scientific super-elitist to display harmony between all the different forms of culture, math, and science.  That being said, the book is about young man who eventually grows to be the Magister Ludi, the Master of Glass Bead Game. 

I'm two thirds of the way through.  At first, I thought it was satiring the socially elite and their unwillingness to accept any non-classical art forms.  But now I'm not sure what it's praising and what it's frowning upon.  Or maybe he's just saying that art, as an end unto itself, is as unbearable as life without ary. 

I really want the Cliff Notes version... but there isn't one!  There was a Monarch Notes version, but it seems to be out of print.  Eek.... I think this just might be a book that I never get to understand.

I've just started to acclimate myself with the works of Akir Kurosawa.  That is to say, I just started watching Seven Samurai, the concept of which, incidently, was made into the American film The Magnificent Seven, recently remade into a video game Seven Samurai 20xx, and also woven into Stephen King's Dark Tower series in The Wolves of Calla, and I have no doubt that it influenced Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill.  Being familiar with the recent incarnations, I figured it was about time to see the original.

Besides, I wanted to see some samurai fighting...

Yep, another week in Canada, eh?  At least this time, thanks to Cindy's advice when I was leaving, I know that the Monte Carlo's Do Not Disturb signs have Please Service My Room signs on the back of them (hence why room service always walked in on me sleeping).

But I've been up since 8am (note, it is 7:30am now - do the math) and I'm tired.  But more importantly, I'm hungry.  Just came back from the grocery, so I'm good to go.

Anyway, g'morning.

In general terms, I'm a sucker.  At least I think I am.  In my mind, I'm what con artists would call me an easy mark.  I like to help out when somone is down on their luck.  That isn't to say that I throw money around, but when somone gives a convincing point of why I should help, then I help as much as I can, and when it's a friend, they have a much easier time convincing me.

But sometimes, it is unnerving, being this helpful person.  On the onset, it can lead me to thinking badly of myself for allowing myself to be suckered into situations in which I could be uncomfortable.  Uncomfortable situations could generally include anything in which money or business interact with friends and family, which exhausts my time and patience, or which restricts personal freedom.  This tends to linger on as I continue to follow through with whatever help I promised, be it driving a roommate to/from work every day for an extended period of time, editting an essay, loaning money, or helping someone do their work. 

Worse, however, is that it sometimes becomes more unnerving in the long run.  Like when things become more uncomfortable than they had initially been.  A  one week repair to a roommate's car turns to a one month repair, leaving one with a longer term obligation that what was started.  A friend starts complaining about how nitpicky one's efforts to correct his work is.  Also, after some time, the assistance could be taken for granted as a necessary and obligated duty.  But, I think the worst would be if one is told something that is pointedly meant to make them feel guilty while they are trying to help.  In such a situation, it would no doubt make me wonder why it is I'm helping at all.

Accidents happen.  To-do items slip. Stupid things get said.  But stabs, no matter how jokingly or innocently they might be stated, are still stabs and still hurt.  Quiet pains lead to bitter friendships, and bitter friendships feel like no friendship at all.

I really must stop allowing myself to feel a sucker.

Last time I went to Canada, I took my car to a dealer, because (among other problems like my CD player) my check engine light was on... and it's all gone downhill from there.

I got my car back from the shop, they said the O2 sensor was replaced.  I was a bit leary about that, because I personally think the O2 sensor is all too often wrongfully blamed for other failures.  Anyway, the car started up, no check engine light, no problem.  They didn't replace my CD player, because they had to order it.  Oh well, I drive off.  30 miles later, the check engine light is on.

So I bring it back it back to look at the light again while they replace my CD player.  3 hours (waiting in the lobby) later, they CD player is in (yay!), but they still haven't figured out what else could be causing the light.  Well, I need to get to work; it's a Friday, I'll bring it back Monday. So they close up, give me the keys and I drive off in a car with a check engine light on.  20 miles latter, the airbag light turns on.  And turns off.  And turns on.  And shuts off.

I bring it back, describing the new problem.  They dig into it again for the rest of the day, while I'm out in a rental (a minivan... ewww).  They call me, tell me the magic fix is: replacing the oxygen sensor.  They tell me they drove it for 21 miles.  I get the keys back today, no lights, no problem.  I drive 10 miles: check engine light.  I get to 30 miles: airbag and all shifter positions, followed by empty gas, followed by ABS and no oil temperature, followed by 0 mph and 0 rpm, and "No Bus", then everything comes back up.  In 8 more miles, it happens again.  In 6 more miles, again.  2 miles, again.  4 miles, again, but this time A/C is blowing warm air.  It stays warm air until I get to work, park, shut the engine off, then restart the engine.

And after work, 10 miles out, the dashboard crash again.  40 more miles, and no more problem... 

Well, I'm bringing it in again on Friday, when I go back to Canada, but this time I going to a different dealership.  I'll give them the entire history of this stupid problem, and if they tell me it's the oxygen sensor, I'll tell them to kindly shove it up their ass. 

My visa got denied again, this time at a gas pump, so
I called them and they restored my access. They should
congratulate themselves- now, for the first time in
years, Im carrying their competitor again.

I think my Visa card is cutting me off.  Well, it still works in the store, thankfully, but it doesn't seem to work anymore online.  They haven't called me, though, to actually ask if I want to approve of such and such charges, so I'm not really sure why they won't approve anything...

Well, I think I've posted about this before, but I'm not sure and I can't find it.
 
Anyway, lately I've been feeling stupid.  Not "I've done something wrong and now I feel stupid because I did it" stupid, more like "I used to be smart, but now I'm no where near that anymore" stupid. 
 
Well, I guess I've felt that way since my last semester of college...  I only had 3 classes (as opposed to my normal 6), but worked harder that term than any other.  I drank more that term than any other.  And when I couldn't drink anymore or smoke anymore, I tried to find someone to smoke with.  Tobacco, usually, but not always.   And when I was done, I just felt stupid, like I killed the more active brain cells, and only left the lazy ones there to decide what to do.   I was burnt out, fried, my brain was cooked, I was lobotomized...  Something must have happened to me, but I missed it.
 
And it has gotten worse... As I talk to people and stumble as I try to remember the most obvious of words, as I look at my finances and try to remember where I blew them, as I look at my stuff and wonder which stuff is mine, as read a sentence in a book and struggle to remember what the last paragraph was about, as I talk to someone on the phone and forget why I called them, as I stare blankly at the computer screen wondering what I was going to look up, as I frown while staring at an empty space trying to remember where I needed to go, the only thing that I always seems to come to mind is "I wasn't always this stupid, was I?"

We went to dinner at the Alibi, a local pizzaria/restaurant.  It was my family and my future sister-in-law's family, since we were celebrating both our birthdays.  Yesterday when I talked to my mom, she asked who was paying, then started complaining that she shouldn't be the one paying, that she doesn't want to pay.  So, what's the first thing she does when she gets to the table?  Hands her credit card to the waitress and tell her that she'll be paying...  I just don't understand that woman.

Earlier today, while I was at work, Blu and I were talking about swords, about how we wanted real katanas and masamunes.  I kind of already had this plan in my head to buy a couple of wooden ones, something to goof around with until I actually found the finances to buy real ones.  I had thought about ordering them as soon as I got home, actually, but got pulled off to go shopping with my sister.
 
Meanwhile, my brother and sister-in-law came over, with my birthday present.  They would have given it tomorrow, but they didn't think they should go into the restaurant with it.  It was a long slender cardboard box, unwrapped, with no bows or anything, but who cares.  What was inside is all that matters anyway, and what was inside was a katana.  It's so cool.  It's a little sharp (I wouldn't press my finger into it), but could be much sharper, so I'll need to work on that.  But it's cool.  I've never picked up a real katana before, so the weighting was quite unexpected, though it took some effort to adjust.  But did I mention how cool it is?
 
Anyway, I decided to buy a couple practice swords anyway, along with some sword-care materials, shapeners, a stand, and such. 
 
Oh, and I found the present I'm giving tomorrow, under a big bag of toilet paper.

Well, I was planning on wrapping my brother's fiancee's birthday present... We're going to be celebrating it on Sunday, along with mine since we really didn't manage to get together for mine.  But anyway, her present... seems to have disappeared.  Kind of surprising, considering how heavy it is, that it could have grown legs and walked away, even in this house...  And I was sure it was there just the other day, because I put her second gift in the same bag... I hope it turns up some time tomorrow...

In college, I took a class called Music Appreciation. While I would have rather taken a music theory class (after my music background in high school), but this was about the closest GMI would have to offer. Assigned reading for this class was "Concerning the Spiritual in Art" by Wassily Kandinsky. A short book, under 100 pages, but at the time, it was much too dry for me, and I couldn't in the least figure out what this had anything thing at all to do with music. Kandinsky is a painter; he talks about painting. So of course I didn't read it.

But the professor's discription of it was stunning. What I didn't get to (or completely missed), was the point where he starts describing how colors were instruments that the painter composed with. This color meant this instrument, playing this kind of tone. I took careful notes (though I still never read it), and went on with life.

Until my friends and I, in one of our many road trips to Chicago, went to the Art Institute of Chicago. Walked around. Enjoyed the art. Closing time came and they ushered people out. But then I saw a Kandinsky. It must have been Improvisation 30, though I seem to remember it differently. And I just stared at it, jaw open, and remembered back to that lecture. This instrument, that instrument. I listened to the painting, hearing the symphony come together in my head. Then I get ushered out, and when I caught up to my friends, who had been outside for 15 minutes already, they asked me where I disappeared to. "Listening to the Kandinsky," I said. Some sort of headphone thing? they asked. So I had to describe it.

So, I'm reading the book, some 7 years after it was assigned to me. Surprisingly easy to read this time. Why would I want to read it now? Well, because I think I've decided that one of his pieces will have to be the centerpiece of my house. In large poster form, of course, or perhaps even a painted re-creation, framed and hung above the fireplaace. It will probably be Komposition VII [see it here], as it seems to have the closest resememblance to what I thought I was listening to, back then. Plus, it also seems to carry a number of religous references (the resurrection, the last judgement, etc), although I haven't quite picked up on them myself.


Yeah, I know that it completely doesn't fit with the traditional furniture I've been picking out, but I sometimes think that's exactly the reason I want it.

So, I've lost another 10 lbs... only 10 lbs from my supposed target. I look at my belly and ask myself how that much fat could possibly be only another 10 lbs. In other words, I might have to take the diet further, maybe to 150 lbs or less, unless I suddenly get the ambition to start working out. In any case I'm still in Phase 1 for a third (or fourth?) week, mostly because I had too much sugar and processed carbs over the past weekend. And I'll be doing it again next weekend too, I think, so I might be here a couple more weeks. Then I think it will be safe to move on.

Went to go see my sister after work; she's housesitting and dogsitting for my brother and his wife. I was glad to finally get out of there. Although I didn't actually do very much today, I did have to stand around and just watch people work on stuff, until they finally got everything back up and running, in other words, for the entire night.

I did finally get a chance to talk with my brother's fiancee and with my sister. And I did get a chance to check all my 401k stuff. And... um.. I don't know what else I should be saying. I'm tired. It's my birthday. I should sleep. So much stuff I say I want to do tomorrow. So few non-aching brain cells. I think I'll sleep on the couch again; that worked out pretty well yesterday.

Despite the tone of that last post, I guess part of
me, no, most of me, was hoping dearly that tonight at
work would be another boring lonely night with a half
finished book. Instead, I get a phone juggling, run
here run there series of to-dos with all levels of
management staring at me... Now they want to give of a
radio, so I can jump faster... Sigh...

An omelet, a shower, and a thai salad later, and im
wide awake, and of course, at work. Im having these
minor panic attacks any time Im given a moment alone.
Am I manic? Am I depressed? Or just having flashbacks
of both feelings at once? I need to see my family,
hang out with friends. Screw the $1000 weekend pay;
sanity first.

So, I'm back at mom's place. I got here at around 4am. I just finished unpacking the car, after taking a couple hour nap. Of course, I'm back in the U.S. of A., and the visions of kilometers is quickly fading and the concept of miles is starting to come back to me. And non-green CSA stickered, non-steel toe, non-steel shank shoes are amazingly comfortable.

So now I'm armed with a wide assortment of new candles (fire! yeah! fire! eheheh!) , a bunch of candleholders (which I hope didn't break), some inexpensive cookware (thanks to Ikea, which thankfully doesn't have a store near Detroit since I would be broke if I were constantly exposed to such poor influences), a bottle of duty-free vodka (Grey Goose, of course), and part of my future sister-in-law's birthday gift (not telling!), and I've got $45.11 CDN, $6 USD, a cold cup of Canadian coffee, and a really really bad case of B.O. Sigh...

An interesting note about my trip was that for the 9 days I was in Canada, I never went to the same restaurant (or even the same franchise) twice. And I did not, not even once, enter or dine at the anti-U.S. conspirital depth of hell and corruption that is commonly refered to as "Tim Horton's". jk

Anyway, time for a shower. Hopefully my car has been healed; gotta pick that up sometime today, too. Plus I gotta go to work at 3pm... eh, more night shift... at least it's speeding up my reading pace considerably.

This is the messy part. I go home tonight, at around midnight, when ever my relief gets here. So I start at 6pm, but check out is still at 11, and the front desk was kind enough to push it back to noon for me.

I have to admit I've liked staying in this hotel, the Monte Carlo (Brampton, Ont). I don't know the front desk staff like I did down at the Homewood Suites (Solon, OH), but the maid staff seems to know me pretty well, at least by face and room number (but not that way, shame on you for thinking it!). They stuck me with a smoking room, but the hotel is new enough that it doesn't have the stench that a smoking room normally has, at least not yet. I do miss having a full kitchen, but having a microwave and fridge is was definitely better than having nothing.

Anyway, I asked for a 10:30 wakeup call, so I should get a few hours of nap before I go off to explore Toronto some more (which I barely have done at all, considering my 13-hour per day work schedule).

And with that, good morning!

Yay! My boss let me go at six this morning, instead of forcing me to sit through another 1:20 worth of meetings and open issues.

As an aside, I found a copy of the pool in the plant for the Soccor tourney that Greece just won. I know that each entry was $10 (1st=70%, 2nd=30%), and the list had about 30 people per page, and 8 pages. So someone is going to be making $1700 today.

And as another aside, when you put a Do Not Disturb sign on your door, it usually means Leave Me Alone. Oddly enough, my Do Not Disturb sign somehow translates to Knock First, Then Enter. It must be that something got lost in translation to French.

My brother called me up last night with some news! His wife is pregnant! So I'm 8 months away from being an uncle...

Just finished a book, "Pattern Recognition" by William Gibson. It's about a woman, a "coolhunter" (in rough terms, a job in which she is responsible to know the market and know what will sell and what won't), who is an obsessive fan about a series of movie clips called "the footage". The footage is an anonymously created work of art, which portrays a compelling story (about what is really up to speculation by footageheads). The clips are super-high resoulation movie files posted in random locations across the web, with no trackable history, but with a huge following of footageheads who have to speculate everything about it, who created it, why, is it one already created work chopped into pieces, is it a work in progress, etc. Anyway, she gets hired to track it down.

Despite the Tom Wolfe-esque ending, all I can really say is that it was a really good book, one that made me wish I could see the footage too. It even made me wish that I had something, anything, to get obsessed about to the point where I spent tons of time on the web, speculating with other obssessed fans about something like that. Kind of like my Haibane Renmei obssession, and then some. I guess its for the best that I don't have something like that.

Um... huh? Okay... The only reason I even noticed was because the 24-hour grocery store was closed. Well, that, and the newspapers. But besides that...

Well, maybe they'll have fireworks or something tonight. Well, I guess that might be fun, but I'll be working, so never mind.