Analog Coast

silicapathways posted a photo:

My sis in Banff, Alberta. She's way too good at being in photos. :)

Money

Nobody needs to feel bad for my finances.  I've loved computers and programming from an early age, by a quirk of fate it pays well.  I wasn't much in debt, but the shiny smooth seductive plastic drew me into its orbit yet again.  I bought the first bottle of Tamdhu as an incentive for when I paid them off.

My credit-card balance finally returned to zero after a year long hiatus.  I'd accepted a new job and had good feelings about it. I paused for a moment and enjoyed where my career had taken me.  The horizons looked as beautiful as some peaks I'd just climbed.  Endless questions I'd faced about what to do next faded into blissful oblivion. Some questions would one day return, I enjoy change.  But for the moment I was back in that enjoyable mind-set: they're going to pay me to write code!  hotdamn!  I sipped Tamdhu in the newly painted purple room of the first house I owned and life was good.

My next memories of Tamdhu revolve around my friends Cliff and Vlad. Around the time Cliff and I had some long late night conversations, and around the time Vlad moved back to Edmonton.

Cliff

Cliff's tasteless brand of humor and quick wit is legendary.  Thanks to his comments on this site, I've had people ask "So... [long pause] who's Cliff?"  He's the guy who can string together a joke about the holocaust, Warren Moon, yo' mamma, why raping babies is a good thing and, should he choose, somehow involve a relevant and topical dissertation on the Iraq situation and the problems with no-fault insurance laws [go on Cliff, that's a challenge]. In a rant about ranting, Shaun once posited that "maybe we rant for the sake of amusing Cliff".  It's true. There is something inherently fun in this past time.  Cliff and I have finished many coffees in all-night diners cracking each other up and mightily offending other tables in the process. I once caused the premature end of coffee by accidentally yelling (not to Cliff) "why don't you come over here and suck my dick!" Out-offending Cliff was an unsought but highly prestigious accolade.  Also one time me, Chad and Kelly made slurpee shoot out of Cliff's nose and he nearly drove us off the highway.

Befriending Cliff, I learned a bit more about what being a real man was. Not a sensitive 90s guy pussy except when strictly necessary to get laid.  Returning from Scotland I announced I now liked Scotch and Jack Daniels:

"About fucking time!" Cliff grunted in disgust.

It took years until Cliff and I had conversations other than just laughing.  I'm not a sports guy and he's not a computer guy.  Over time we found topics other than “Christopher Reeve – stuntman extraordinaire/paperweight for hire.” Is Cliff an onion? Of course not, he's a human being.  And he's my friend.  And I'm glad to be counted as one of Cliff's friends too.

Vlad

Vlad once made his ears ring for a week and embedded plastic shrapnel in his leg because he poured cold water over dry ice in a pop bottle and he was kicking it trying to make it explode.  It did.

Years later we made day trips to ski in Jasper, saw Radiohead in Vancouver, house-boated in Shuswap. We were coworkers for years and then our branch closed. I stayed home and he moved away.

I missed him.

After a few years he was suddenly back, hanging around my house, eating my potato chips and helping himself to my liquor; the sort of things I'd do at his place.  Oh, and smiling.  Everybody smiled a little bit more. 

Vlad's the one who explained money to me.  Growing up in his village: sometimes you had money and sometimes you didn't.  When you had money, drinks were on you and whatnot.  When you didn't, one of your friends would look after things. Everyone was happy and sometimes no one had money, but you still had friends.  And I have Vlad, and that was much better than not being in debt, but this year, I had that too.

Curtis and I help kill the Moose

My father-in-law, Ken, reminds me in some ways of my early friendship with Cliff, only without the holocaust jokes, or rather, any conversation at all.  But we are likewise two different men.  Instead of humor we are bound by a deep love of the same woman; his daughter, my wife.  So, I try.  He chats about hunting a lot and has hunted since he was a young boy. He has long relationships with many surrounding farmers. I came along for my first hunting trip, when he and brother-in-law, Curtis, went looking for moose.

I expected walking through bushes, wearing camouflage, waiting silently for animals to tread nearby.  Instead we drove around all day in a truck and spent our nights in a small cabin with electricity.  And with my new father and new brother that night I drank Tamdhu. 

The next day, certain a moose was hiding within a densely forested bit of land, Ken dropped Curtis and I off along the outer part of the woods.  Curtis can be a big and intimidating guy, especially when you're dating his sister.  Except then you get to know him and realize he's just the kindest man ever, even when you're dating his sister, or perhaps despite it.  And we're both computer guys, and we always have lots to talk about. 

Curtis and I waited for Dad to drive 'round to the clearing opposite before moving forward. Now parked, Ken waiting for signs. Suddenly -- a commotion!

First one moose burst into the field, then another.  Normally moose stick to tree lines, but these bolted past him, headed for parts unknown.  Steadying his rifle, he shot the moving animal. It slowed, taking a few final steps, then another, then two more before finally stopping.

It stood there.

Standing in an open clearing. Suddenly contemplating how lovely the sky looked today. Waiiiiting.....

Ken had indeed scored a hit, dead center. The moose, however, remained. Upright.  Ken put another bullet through its neck and it toppled to the ground.  Silly Moose, standing is for things that aren’t dead. 

I've heard that story many times. Four or five times that night.  It's wonderful. Now I've got something to talk to new Dad about. And also because I got to wield a bloody axe chopping Moose's head off before we pulled its guts out and hauled the carcass onto the truck. 

Janine, my wife, says I've been spoiled: getting a moose my first try. 

I take another helping of moose meatloaf and tell her that I won't be disappointed. I plan on bagging another one, next year.

My inner D&D geek is quivering.

http://www.ultimategamingtable.org/

Great…that’s the best I could come up with for a title. I swear, I’m not doing this on purpose to give me an intro to every entry I make here…these really are the titles that pop up. Apparently, one of my past selves was a pop psychologist with no sense of imagination…I would suggest a Dr. Phil, but more of a dick, but, frankly, that’s truly beyond the realm of anyone’s imagination. That title, however, would be rejected by Hallmark as too smarmy and awful, and they would reject it via a heavy stick beating administered by a couple of shaolin monks.

Anyway, yes, my birthday was yesterday, and if you forgot, well, fuck you, too. Had a fine evening…went out for dinner, checked out Nine Inch Nails (SWEET show…the coolest lighting/tech show I have ever seen during a concert. Really trippy effects stuff going on), now I’m just in that delightful ‘cooling down’ stage, so I’m just sitting here, chilling to some Robert Johnson, sipping down some scotch.  And what does Cliff do when these things are happening…ASIDE from that. Yes, children, it’s contemplation and reflection time. No point in running, losers, the exits are chained…if there’s a fire, we’re all gonna burn! Actually, some of you may decide to START a fire to bring on sweet death, so, HA, we’re all covered in ASBESTOS! Sure, we’ll die of cancer, but that will be YEARS down the line, so if you’re counting on THAT to save you, you are an incredibly patient human being…also, you’re stupid.

As usual, I’m sort of ambivalent to the birthday itself. I don’t really make HUGE DEAL about it, anymore, because I think I’ve reached a point in my life where it doesn’t hold quite as much meaning for me. I don’t HIDE from it…I’m not going to be one of those pathetic twits who spends 7 years running claiming to be ‘in my mid 30’s’ after I’ve already past 45…those people scare and puzzle me, because I don’t understand where the fear comes from. You aren’t fooling anyone else, so, I guess you[’re trying to fool yourself? That’s just pathetic. No, my birthday typically is a day when I like to spend time with people I enjoy hanging out with. It’s not a bad day, but I guess I don’t see it as ’special’ as I used to, simply because I try to do things like that more frequently. I don’t really get why it has to be some ’special day’ or ‘big occasion’ to do shit that I really wanna do. Just do it! Fuck…all those years, and Nike was right…and for using those 3 words, I probably owe them a few grand. Awesome.

I also don’t want this to turn in to some sort of warmed over summer version of New Years, with people making stupid, half drunken resolutions to change things that they won’t stick to anyway. What’s the point in that? Let’s all make one final resolution…STOP WITH THE NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS! Seriously, we aren’t going to go through with them, we all KNOW we aren’t going to go through with them…we are fooling nobody! Just end the month of trying, and then the collective shame as everyone admits to everyone else that “Yep, I’m a miserable failure, too!” (Actually, I’ve never bought in to the whole resolutions thing, so consider this my plea for all of you to just STOP). Do I have plans? Yes, but I like keeping them as ‘plans’ and not trying to imbue them with any added meaning by transforming them in to something somehow BIGGER. They’re things I want to do, they aren’t Optimus fucking Prime.

So, what to blather on pretentiously about? I guess I find myself sort of looking back and figuring out…who do I need to thank for getting me here to this point? Sure, I could look AHEAD and do it, but, not being a seer, I have no IDEA what my future holds, so it would be more of a guessing game. (Actually, though, it sounds like kind of a fun idea, so, on behalf of future Cliff, I’ll thank…oh, let’s go with…Neil Armstrong, Abe Lincoln’s ghost, Juju the Talking Dog, and the Indy Racing League girls.  I have no idea what those 3 have in common, but doesn’t it sound like it was probably one FUCK of a night?) And now, on with the wrenching emotionality and self mockery! (put a “Yay!” here if you wish…seems sort of weird to me, but to each their own).

First off, of course, come the friends and family. I’m not going to name everyone, because I’m pretty sure you know who you are, I’m lucky enough to have enough of you that it form a fairly substantial, and time consuming, list, and I’d probably forget someone, thus setting off some sort of war of words over my oversight. This war will lead to the unavoidable conclusion of my getting so fed up that I have to stab you in the face with a rusty piece of metal, and, really, that’s just leading to jail time, and we’re probably not that tight anymore. And, let’s face it, it’s going to be awkward for everyone else, too…so, let’s just avoid the listing and the inevitable scars. Thank you to all of you. I know there have been many, many, many, MANY times you’ve probably wanted to wring my neck (or, you know, scar me with a piece of rusty metal)…but you didn’t. You were willing to put up with my shit and see beyond it to the person I am/were/was/would be/wanted to be/etc., for which I am most appreciative. Oftentimes, I know for a fact that I really wasn’t deserving of having you around (or simply was so down on myself that I didn’t think I deserved it, anyway), but you all stuck around, anyway. I don’t really talk about how much you guys have meant to me over the years, and do now, but I am truly thankful to have people around me who I can laugh with/lean on/etc. when I need to. Thank all of you.

See? I warned you this was going to get weird! Maybe not as weird as waking up with Neil, Abe’s Ghost, Juju, and the IRL honeys, but still pretty weird. And this weird doesn’t even give you a wild story you can tell people at those inappropriate moments in the future when you’ve had a little too much to drink at the Christmas Party. Anyway, I’m making this up as I go (I know, SHOCKING, right?), so let’s see where the Hell this goes next.

Ah yes, the ladies of Cliff’s life. Most of you filled but a short period of time…Hell, there’s a couple of you whose names are a little fuzzy…or that I flat out DO NOT remember at all. Anyway, MOVING ALONG, you also deserve my thanks (well, most of you. To the one who wasn’t exactly single at the time, yeah, THAT was a sweet discovery! I ALMOST wish I could have had some sort of temporary version of crabs, just to pass them on to you as vengeance for, you know, a short period of absolute fear. Thanks.). From all of you, I also learned something…well, a lot of things, but, you know, not all of THAT is fit for public consumption (I have to confess something…I am purposely including little moments like that last line simply because I enjoy the thought of at least some of you squirming uncomfortably. Hey, I’m a jerk…and, let’s be honest, with some of the conversations we’ve had, I probably owed you one or something)…anyway, yes, I’ve learned that I am a stone cold pimp. Fuck, am I the man! Well, that AND the fact that maybe I wasn’t such a complete loser and shlub that every single person of the opposite sex would see me as…well, a complete loser and shlub. Ah yes, needless repetition…truly a sign of writing fuelled by lack of sleep, and not so much of a lack of alcohol. I’m a fairly self confident person THESE days, but I wasn’t for a lot of years, and if it wasn’t for all of you, I probably still wouldn’t be. I’m never going to me an absolute ladies man, but I also realize that I really don’t give a damn. Oh, what the Hell, thank you to the married chick as well…from whom I learned the valuable lesson that it’s best to make sure beforehand that the girl IS single. As an added bonus, when you ask them if they’re married, they not only answer, they also seem to think you’re joking, and laugh, which serves as a solid icebreaker…which is really weird, if you truly take a minute to think about it. Why is the guy MAKING SURE you’re single calming? Don’t you start wondering WHY a person would ask you that? Do you not care? MAN, you’re all whores. Is THAT charming, too? Only one way to find out…but who to convince it’s a good idea to try?

Before I move on to whoever ends up being next (though, really, I’m running low on people. I mean, unless I want to spend a few paragraphs thanking that Lucky Charms guy for his awesome breakfast cereal, or contemplating how meaningful my favourite fictional characters from movies and books have been in my personal development, I don’t see this going on for a whole lot longer. This won’t be one of those ramblings of mine that requires an intermission, I promise!), there is of course one woman from my past where things certainly were more meaningful, and lengthy (probably, those two things are SOMEHOW inter-related).

Now, I KNOW most of you are now pausing…your mind is filled with thoughts like “Oh shit…I thought we were DONE with this. Seriously, we aren’t all drunk, and we aren’t all sitting around a kitchen table surrounded by empty beer cans…I can’t handle the Heather subject sober!” No, this is going to come at things on just a slightly different, and substantially less whiny, tack (not that that’s a bold statement, quite frankly. Remembering…well, remembering what I actually CAN remember, Gilbert Gottfried would come off as less whiny in comparison to most of it). Anyway, what I want to thank HER for is…realizing it was time to end things (HA! Didn’t see THAT coming, did ya!) You may remember several long, looooooooong paragraphs ago, when I referenced a past self where I lacked any sort of confidence? Well, let’s be honest for a moment, and replace ’self confidence’ with ‘feelings of self worth’. Yes, I had pretty much given up on everything…why try if you simply figure you aren’t worth the time, because you’re a miserable failure? That’s where I was sitting. She stuck around for a lot of it…lord knows why…maybe in some attempt to actually push me PAST that point, and get me to some place where I could actually feel half decent about who I was? I really don’t know…Hell, if current me met up with the then version of me, the last thing on my mind would be trying to guide me to something positive. No, I envision current me walking up to past me and asking “Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Seriously…you have a bunch of really good friends, you have this girl who’s in love with you, and wants to spend time with you for reasons I sure as Hell don’t understand…WHAT THE FUCK?!”, followed by current me introducing past me to my fists. (Would that violate some sort of time travel law, with the 2 me’s occupying the same space at the same time? Here’s a better question…why the Hell am I actually trying to salvage this? It went off the rails somewhere in the last sentence, and I don’t even know how it got there.) I didn’t like me, she did. However, her LEAVING is actually what I’m thankful for, because I finally had to look in the mirror and ask myself “What am I doing? Why do I keep being this guy, when I HATE this guy?”. I didn’[t fix myself over night, but eventually I got there. So, thank you for forcing me to man up and start dealing with myself…and thank you for trying to coax me there beforehand, as well.

Okay, last one, since I do still have to get up tomorrow and take my nieces and nephew to the zoo, and since my scotch ran out ten minutes ago, and Robert stopped singing about the hellhound on his trail about the same time. Thank you…to me. Not in some egotistical “GodDAMN I’m awesome!” way…but I thank myself for figuring enough things out in my life, and sorting through the mess I[’d made of it, to get somewhere positive. It sucked, but it was worth it, and things have certainly been much better since I realized that, you know what, it really IS worth it, and so am I. I’ll end this now, and no doubt read it tomorrow and lament the fact that “THIS is what I used that scotch on? THIS? Shit, man, this was clearly cheap brand beer material, at best! Where were you when I needed you, TNT! YOU killed Johnny Walker…his blood is on YOUR hands!”

Oh, and goddammit, I AM awesome.

I've written a few times about some of the, uh, things involved in World of Warcraft and I think some of the things I said probably painted a really lop-sided picture for people that have never seen the game for themselves. To be honest, I kinda hate people that really rag on the game. Especially the scum that post on the WoW game forums. I mean, really... if you choose to pay money every month to play this game, I'm going to assume that you like it and enjoy it. If you're playing on your parent's dollar (or credit card, more specifically) and not your own, then I implore you to SHUT YOUR FUCKING PIE HOLE.

I'm going to share a dark and scary secret with you. Something that I was even unsure of until tonight. My total time /played. The sum off all my time spent playing World of Warcraft to date is:

Two hundred fourty three days, fourteen hours, and fourty nine minutes.

Now what did I get in exchange for all that time? Good times. I got to play a game with people I know, people I love, and people I've never met. Just like any other game I have memories and stories to share with the people I experienced them with.

"Remember that time that Kelly jumped off of Thunder Bluff and died because his daughter started slamming her hands on the keyboard?"

You've no doubt noticed the list of characters on the side of this blog and I'll bet you've never bothered to click on them. I can't really blame you. Even if you did, you probably saw something that made no sense. I thought it would be a fun writing exercise to tell (and show) a little about some of them so you could get an idea of what I spend all my time doing.

These are the top three characters with the most time /played:

Breshono - Tauren Hunter - 69 Days, 12 hours

Breshono is the first character I ever made. I'm glad I made him a tauren because, well, they just look all big and badass in end-game gear. The pic I have of him doesn't really do it justice because I stopped playing him before he got any of the nice looking stuff. Being tauren also helped in PvP because of their 5% racial bonus to health. I think it's one of the only percentage-based bonuses of its kind left in the game.

Hunters are a ranged damage dealing class (think bows and guns) and they're pretty damn good at it. At level 10 they gain the ability to tame animals and have them as a pets. When solo, the pet will tank monsters while the hunter fills them with arrows or bullets. Right now Breshono is specialized (spec'd) as Beast Mastery, meaning that his pet is more powerful than an average hunter. It's great for soloing and PvP (so I've heard... I haven't actually PvP'd with this spec). Bresh's main pet at the moment (you can have up to 3 tamed but you can only use one at a time) is a Scorpid, aptly named Clawgorr (props to Kelly for the name).

Breshono was also the first character I leveled to the current cap of 70. I haven't played him much recently and I really only log him on when I need him to make something using one of his professions (he's a skinner and a leather worker). I've been reading some interesting upcoming changes to hunters in the next expansion such as pets getting their own talent trees (meaning the pet can specialize in a specific area such as damage dealing or tanking).

I have spent the most time PvPing with this character. He's racked up over 23,000 kills and attained the rank of Legionnaire (rank 8 out of 14) on the old PvP ladder.

Guljin - Troll Warrior - 41 days, 2 hours

Of all the horde races that can be warriors, I'm told the troll is the red-headed step child. If I was a power gamer I would have made Guljin a tauren simply because of the racial bonus to health. He's the only troll character I have but I still think he's great. I think the troll race has the coolest history; all of the troll ruins have a Aztec-type theme to them and they just look fantastic. And the fact that trolls talk with a Jamaican accent is just freaking awesome. The raptor mounts they get are pretty sweet too.

One of the main roles that warriors have in the end-game is tanking. Unless you regularly PvP with a warrior, it almost borders on expectation that you tank in a dungeon. Depending on the people you play with, you can play as a damage-dealing warrior but those options are only open if your guild or raiding group has lots of tanks already. Up until I hit level 70, I had never tanked a dungeon or even played with the protection talent tree. The few times I had tried to tank for group quests usually ended in dismal failure because I could never generate enough threat to keep everyone else from being pasted by the baddies. Around level 65 I decided that I would give it a go (once I reached the level cap) so I started collecting tanking gear. After hitting 70 and respeccing to protection, I was pleasantly surprised. With the protection talents and some decent gear... tanking was easy! Granted I had to learn a few things like building aggro on multiple creatures and writing (read stealing) macros that helped optimize my abilities. I even went so far as to tank a few bosses in the first tier (10 man) raid dungeon.

I PvPed a fair bit before the first expansion with Guljin (12,000 kills), and attained the rank of Stone Guard (rank 6 of 14). Warriors are one of the more represented classes in the Arena (small scale matches that can be 2v2, 3v3, or 5v5 which are rated on a ladder and are highly competitive). Lots of warriors choose the blacksmithing profession (I did, Guljin's a swordsmith) but most of them picked it (or switched to it) simply because of one of the two-handed maces that you could craft as a hammersmith named Stormherald. This mace has earned the nicknames stunherald and skillherald because of the weapon's ability to randomly stun people that you hit for a few seconds.

Kharga - Orc Rogue - 43 days, 6 hours

Kharga is my badass rogue. He became my "main" character after I had been raiding Karazhan (the first raid dungeon in Burning Crusade) as Breshono for a while. Rogues are really fun to play; their ability to use stealth and sneak around makes them so useful for questing and gathering. Rogues are also quite feared in PvP... or the most whined about, depending on your perspective.

In groups and in raids, rogues are almost unbeatable in terms of the amount of damage they can dish out. For a while Kharga was specc'd purely for raid DPS (damage-per-second) and was always number one or two on the damage charts for the group that I raided with. Before the Burning Crusade expansion was released, I had used daggers which required a different playstyle. Raiding with a dagger build required you to always be behind your target so you could use abilities like backstab which could result in huge critical hit damage. From level 60 to 70 I chose to go the route of swords as my weapon of choice. Doing this allowed me to be less restricted in my positioning during a fight (although for raiding being behind the monsters is always preferable to avoid getting your attacks parried) and produced a more consistent stream of damage, as opposed to the "spiky" nature of dagger damage.

At level 70 I also started to PvP with Kharga. I changed my weapons again, this time to maces which - when talented - can stun opponents. Picking up talents from the subtlety tree helped improve my survivability in PvP as well. I joined an arena team with Kelly and some of the other people in our guild and did fairly well. Nowhere near being top of the heap, but we still managed to spank some noobs. I'm looking forward to the (proposed) buff to the mining profession (Kharga's also an engineer, check out his wicked awesome gyrocopter flying mount!) which will give me a bit more stamina.

So those are some of my dudes. I have many others that I could talk about, maybe I will some time... you never know.

Well, as THAT title clearly states, this is obviously a post about what I’ve been reading. Y’know, with the eye being the calm part of the hurricane, which clearly indicates…y’know…a respite from guiding little digitized armies to their doom…and cracking open a book, and such. It also indicates that, when it comes to titles, I remain an ambiguous retard. And that I apparently will never tire from the ongoing gag of “Haha…check out THIS title stupidity!” (Is it just me, though, or would ‘This Title Stupidity’ be a pretty solid name for a boat? Not any sort of commercial vessel, but maybe the private oceangoing sanctuary for some drunken C-List Never-Was type).

I was planning on writing this up last week, but then I ended up getting involved in the book I polished off last night. A chapter or two in I pretty much knew that, in my honest opinion, it was a fantastic book, the quality of which I would want to sort of shout in the general direction of people bored enough to read this. Well, that and I kept using my “I should really write a post about those books I’ve read lately” time for “You fucking noob and your goddamn grenade launcher! I shall make the rest of my evening a festival of you-pwnage! I don’t care if I die 300 times, I will now utterly focus my energies on ravaging your cheap ass!” Call of Duty 4. (I’ve sort of re-acquainted myself with this game online over the last couple weeks. Good fucking God, do I love poppin’ heads with a sniper rifle…but NOTHING, NOTHING beats fiendishly placing Claymores in high traffic locations, then seeing the quickly typed, horribly spelled rants of their victims appear on screen when they turn a corner and die.) Anyway, that ends…at least briefly enough to let me actually type this goddamn thing up!

Anyway, the book that so captured my fancy for the past few days is Generation Kill by Evan Wright. He’s a Rolling Stone writer who was embedded with a unit from Marine Force Recon during the ridiculously titled ‘Operation Iraqi Freedom’ (Seriously, I don’t care what side you come down on in the Iraq War…this was the chosen title? This is like a B-side reject Fox News would call hacky and condescending.). The reason I liked this so damn much is the fact that it comes off as a lot more straightforward and honest than a lot of the other books out there on the topic (also, check one out called My War by Colby Buzzell). The writer dropped his ego off on the flight to Kuwait and just wrote what he saw, and what the guys said. That’s it. None of the pretentious bullshit that typically pisses me off about Rolling Stone magazine, which seems to be written exclusively by dickslaps who all think they’re better than the people paying their damn salary by buying the fucking thing. A lot of the people in the book have also come out and said that, yeah, this is what happened…it hasn’t been sexed up at all.

What it results in is more than just a war story (I apologize for THAT sentence…geez, apparently my subscription to Hack Writing Quarterly is paying off in spades). These guys are real human beings, and, like real human beings, they tend to be real screwed up. You take a bunch of 19 year olds, most of whom have never been out of their home state, and ship them overseas, arm them to the teeth, put them at the very front edge of an entire army, and keep them moving so far so often that they’re subsisting on cold C-rations, chewing down packets of coffee, and sucking down pep pills like they’re candy, and you’ll get some weird, weird stuff. My favourite example…one unit is being engaged by mortars somewhere in a small village about a mile off. While the rounds are falling, the unit members are scanning the horizon, looking for any signs of enemy forces. Suddenly, one of the drivers starts laughing, and the following conversation occurs.

“Brad, take a look over by that gate”. (Brad, the Sgt., does so…a moment passes.)

“Person…are those ducks?”

“Yeah, and they’re fucking!”

This is taking place while explosives are going off everywhere. It’s laugh out loud silly, simply because it seems to bizarrely out of place. It’s stuff like this (and some of the moronic officers…these guys are normally to the rear, while the grunts actually do the work. This time, the officers went along…WOW. One particular Mensa, who they nickname Captain America, and whose real identity is never given, at one point issues forth a banshee scream and bayonet charges an Iraqi who had already surrendered and been cuffed. It’s dark, so he sort of misses, and just bowls the Iraqi over. Now, he decides, while growling, to just boot him in the groin. Not only does he somehow miss his target of a helpless guy lying on the ground, he somehow manages to somehow kick the arresting Marine in the stomach, instead. This is one of the more…sedate examples of this guy’s ‘genius’) that just made this book ‘work’ for me. It’s also very well written, so that doesn’t hurt, either. The writer is also honest about himself, which helps. For example…a unit newcomer named Trombley accidentally mows down a pair of shepherds during a firefight with his M249. Rather than castigating him for it, since he was there, and knows how confused the whole situation was, the writer finds that he LIKES having this kid in that gun, simply because to hit those 2 civvies from a bouncing Hummer at a distance of 250 feet means the kid can shoot. The fact that he reaches this conclusion actually kind of disturbs him.

The previous book to this one was The Year of Living Biblically by AJ Jacobs. Basically, an atheistic Jewish guy (who has several EXTREMELY religious relatives, one of whom is an actual, honest to goodness, ex-cult leader now living in The Holy Land) decides to try and find out why religion is such a draw for so many people. How does he do it? By following the bible for a year. And I mean LITERALLY following the bible. No shaving, no pork, all those weird little rules, he follows. Hell, in one funny part, he decides he needs to literally follow part of the Old Testament and goes out to stone sinners. Not wanting to be beaten to death, he ends up dropping the tiniest pebbles he can find on their shoes, and then apologizing, as though it were accidental.

I think the idea was that the whole book would be like this , “Haha, look at the ridiculousness of organized religion! Let’s all point and laugh!”  Now, he’s an amusing enough guy to pull it off, so it still would have been decent, and there’s certainly material in all of the confines of the Bible. However, he did go beyond that. He ended up talking to EVERYBODY…creationists, red letter Christians, ultra-orthodox Jews, Hell, he went to Israel and met with the few remaining Samaritans. Anyway, in the end, he still remains atheistic, but he does find a more spiritual side to things. It makes for a better read. And, really, we already have Richard Dawkins if we’d prefer the words of a self-aggrandizing, humourless dolt who decries religion being ‘forced’ in to public discourse, yet apparently is too utterly dense to see the hypocrisy of his desire to force lack of belief on those whose views differ. Great guy.

Read an interesting WW2 History book called Warlords by Simon Birthon and Joanna Potts. Very different angle on things, as it’s completely from the perspective of Hitler, Stalin, Churchill and Roosevelt. It certainly does explain a lot of the reasons Roosevelt waited to enter the US in to the war (public sentiment was VERY much towards entering before they did…he waited, partially, because he saw that it would be easier to force England to divest itself of her Empire afterwards if the US waited for them to be at the point of desperately agreeing to anything. Oddly, he also tended to favour Stalin over Churchill when it came to debates because he egotistically though he could ‘control;’ Stalin once Germany and Japan were defeated). Very interesting perspective on the war. It would have been nice to also see the Japanese side of things included, but Tojo never really had people around him who he confided in (at least, none who lived), and Hirohito was pretty much separated from the entire war purposely by Japan’s military leadership (and, again, as someone still seen at that time as a living embodiment of God, nobody was going to sit down and chat strategy with him, anyway), so I can understand that their side would pretty much be impossible to piece together.

Naomi Klein’s The Shock Doctrine was another good read. If you’re unfamiliar with the ridiculous, corrupt, fucked up mess that the World Bank and International Monetary Fund have become, I would recommend giving it a read. Hell, if you ARE familiar, still give it a read. She draws some pretty interesting, and reasonable, connections between Economic Shock Therapy and LITERAL shock therapy as it pertains to torture, and how, any time the IMF and World Bank have succeeded in railroading their policies through, it’s either with the fist of a brutal dictator to enforce them, or because the region has been so utterly devastated that they don’t care what all the caveats and permutations are. If you liked No Logo, check it out. IT’s a nice comeback from her previous book…the name escapes me, but it was an insanely one sided ,look at revolutionaries that pilloried brutal right wing governments, but glossed over the atrocities committed by leftist guerilla factions.

Finally, I read Tom Clancy’s Endwar. First off…Tom Clancy did not write the book. Some other guy did. It’s, I guess, associated with the forthcoming game of the same name. Clancy has a bunch of series right now (Rainbow Six, Splinter Cell, Endwar, Op-Center, .Net, Politika) which bear his name, but that he doesn’t write. I normally don’t care, but I picked this one up because of the premise…Islamist reactionaries take over Saudi Arabia, so, suddenly, Alberta’s oil becomes a bigger deal, to the point that Russia invades. So, it’s a war in Alberta. Stupid, yes, but I was curious to see how the province fares. I shouldn’t have bothered.

Clancy’s own books have REALLY dropped off lately…Red Rabbit was a weird “Let’s go back in time!” book that showed he has no idea where the Hell to go with any of his characters. The one before that, Tiger by the Tail, flat out SUCKED. It was supposed to be a followup to Rainbow Six (he did write the first in that series, which was good), but it was just badly written dreck (I’m hardly saying Clancy is a great, all time wondrous author, but his earlier work could be REALLY good. If you’re at all serious, pick up a three book series…Debt of Honour, Executive Orders, and The Bear and The Dragon. It’s one long story arc between them, and it is DAMN good! If you like military writing, combat fiction, and political drama, you’ll dig ‘em!). This, however, made the Tiger book read like Hemingway. First off, the author, David Michaels, doesn’t really give much of a backstory. It’s like he thinks this completely new entity is already totally understood by the writer, when there’ no way it CAN be. All we gets are bits and pieces, and it’s very badly put together. Secondly, the writing that IS there is PUTRID. One hack, awful cliche after another (did we REALLY need the female F22 pilot who blathers on about her unrequited love for her wingman after he’s shot by Russian infantry after being shot down?), and just generally BAAAAAAAAAAAAD. Sure, it IS still kind of neat reading about a strike of Tomahawk cruise missiles flying over Elk Island park, or a group of Delta Force commandos mobilizing local townspeople and leading a resistance against a Soviet Mechanized regiment. However, it just isn’t worth it. This book needs to go back in time to the Reichstag around 1938 and be thrown on the pyre. Maybe David Michaels should join it. And, actually, if Richard Dawkins could be tossed on for general dickishness, as well, that would be cool.

Finally, Vlad loaned me a couple of books I read through. Steve Martin’s Born Standing Up was pretty decent. And Todd Gallagher’s Andy Roddick Beat Me With a Frying Pan was hilarious. Basically, a series of sports ‘What ifs?” For example, would the author stand a chance against Roddick if they played tennis, but Roddick had to use a skillet instead of a racket. They also look in to the longstanding curiosity “Why don’t hockey teams just hire fat guys to be goalies?” If you like sports, you’ll be amused.

Anyway, that’ll do, pig, that’ll do.

I unscrewed the bottle and took my first swig of the night. Betty the Gas-Whore, my brown camperized Van, was being towed away. I loved that Van. It was my faithful, completely unreliable 1978 Chevy power-to-the-max off-roading adventurous little go-machine. With fold-out bed, gas stove, electric cooler, sink, table, storage friendly it was wired for sound, beer and good times: Betty was leaving tonight for good. I’d promised to give it to Laura the Sailor, a Canadian I met on walkabout. She never returned my email though, so I didn't give it to her.

Taking a swig beside me is my gorgeous love bunny wife Janine. Straight from the bottle, just like me, she apparently doesn’t fuck around with the hard liquor. Her and I took Betty to Drumheller in freezing -20°C cold and visited Pony Canyon. The land sung to us a song of incredible beauty and fun. On our wedding my cousin presented us with a picture of Drumheller, unaware of the significance. The Universe conspired to send us a memento. Shortly we took it to wine country B.C., on our honeymoon. My wife shudders in the cold of our garage and passes the Tamdhu back to me. She hurries her hot ass back inside.

In the cab of the tow truck, hauling Betty away, is a fellow I met on freecycle. I originally bought the Van for $3000 (no tax if I paid cash) from a shifty used car salesman who wouldn’t let me take the old clunker off the lot to have it inspected. Karma connected me to a traveling inspector instead. The fellow hauling her away, meanwhile, had just recovered from a years long bout of cancer. Now in remission, the mechanically inclined fellow planned to take his wife and kids camping. I swore to Betty she’d be given free to her next owner; someone who could take care of her. I would tell them straight about what worked and what didn’t. No slimy salesmen. Within days of my driving away, Betty developed fatal electrical problems. It leaked gas if parked on a slope. All four tires exploded on the first trip out to the Grand Canyon; thankfully not all at once.

That first trip Vlad, Kyle and Erron led Betty and I to Las Vegas. Kyle got food poisoning and was delirious for three days. Erron christened the van “Betty” after winning the “Name The Van Contest” requiring her to find Dixie cups of a correct size. We boys quickly appended the honorific “Gas-Whore.” We camped in Zion, one of the most majestic, radiant places God has blessed this planet with. After Vegas and an overnight hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, we bid a hasty return so I could attend the funeral of my beloved Heather. The first girl my soul was truly connected with had now passed away from this world and I was truly and forever saddened by the loss. Heather: My heart still aches and I thank you for spending some of your brief time here on this world with me.

I smoked Crystal Meth on the first day of my trip to Chicago. I was on a solo journey and indulging in an addiction I’ve long since given up. I got all sketchy tweaking out learning to tie knots. During a subsequent night driving, nothing but Red Bull in my system: I thought back to first deciding I wanted a camper van. Back to an evening driving my first car, on the way to a party to meet my friend Michelle. She and I spent years as best friends and confidants. Time I treasure. She helped me deal with some of my crippling depression and was someone I could turn to when sick of facing the question: What should I do with my life?

Answers finally came to me, on that long drive to meet her, all those years ago. A thought: I should get a van, drive around America, live by the river and never pay for more than gas. Years later, on my way to Chicago, I realized I’d done it. I’d changed my ways. No longer depressed, I had Betty and was driving free, living on roadsides (though not every day as I’d once imagined). My past self heard more from the future: I’d meet people, our lives intertwining. Oh yes, I’d thought: great way to get laid! My future self now corrected: well, not nearly as much as we hoped, and The Van was never quite the aphrodisiac I’d hoped. Yes! Getting laid all. the. time. Future me just sighed, I’d figure it out the hard way. My past self was told: If you do these things, you will follow the one thing you know you love: other people. You will be less lonely because you will be less alone. My future self now knew this to be true. My past self made it to the party and felt suddenly lighter. From that day forward things took a permanent turn for the better. The conversation over, I drove even further into the black night, Manson blaring over the speakers, ready to take the world by storm, trusty betty the Gas-Whore at my side, conquering anything in our path.

YEAH!      I traveled in time, _baby.

I am a mystical motherfucking wizard of insanely varied powers when I have the Spirit of St. Betty welled up inside. I will camp in the Scottish highland and fly to the Moon. I will burn with radiant energy and

              I kick ass.

I don't know how much blogging I'll do in the next 5 weeks. I'm guessing none as I want to enjoy myself while in Europe. I'll maybe upload some photos to my picasa share but then again I don't know. Stay tuned to here... http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/shaun.guthrie

Anyway enjoy the rest of the summer!
Shaun

So how many people can you count that just blow through a dead traffic light?

Total Cars: 63
Time: 3:00 Minutes
People who stopped or who were allowed to continue: 22
People who just blew right through: 41
People who put on their seatbelt: 1

That's 65% of the people who drove through in 3 minutes who are NOT paying attention while the drive.  Scary eh?