Whoa. Sorry About Vanishing Like That

Not dead. Just writing epic poetry and other stuff.

I'm now finished the first draft of the poem for the MA. Fourteen thousand words in length. My prof is kind of boggled. He tends to giggle when he looks at it, like he can't really believe anybody has handed him fourteen thousand words of Ottava rima that actually rhymes and scans. I can't blame him. Having done it, I find it hard to believe too.

Bad news is, I'm not supposed to post a final version herein. The piece will be subject to the usual examination by various prof types around the traps, and I'm supposed to more or less keep it under wraps until they've had a good long look, kicked the tyres, and all that shit. Sorry about that.

There's a lot of editing left to do. I noticed a couple of seven-line stanzas, for example, and I lost track of my cantos in the run-up to the finish. But on the whole, it does the job, and I'm kind of staggered that I did it. I am also seriously in awe of a man who could produce something nearly ten times the size using quill pen and paper, without rhyming dictionaries and thesaurus, etc. I don't know of 'genius' is the right word to apply to Byron, but he certainly was an unusual chap. His ability to concentrate must have been outright fucking staggering.

Anyway, once I finished the first draft I got a week off the academic stuff, so I promptly dove in and went over the edits on the novel. It has a title, by the way: Path of Night. It's the first in a series set in Australia in modern times, and it falls somewhere between thriller, sf, and horror, with a streak of good old Australian ironic humour. The cover is coming together (get your act in gear, Adam!) and as soon as the editor and I figure out how to ship files back and forth between our disparate software (her .rtf would only open in my WordPad. When I opened it in anything else, everything after page 14 was missing. So of course, I did my editing in WordPad, and sent it back... whereupon she opened it with something Macintoshy, and sure enough, everything after page 14 was missing. Since then, I've saved it into odt with Open Office, but that crippled my editors ability to do much of use, so now I've tried both .doc and .docx format. It will be interesting to see what happens.)

I'm also diving into a filmscript -- purely because I can. I've had a really brilliant idea, and I've never done a full-length filmscript, so I'm just going to write the farkin' thing. Hell, if I can write an epic poem in Byronic Ottava rima, just how fucking difficult can a filmscript be?

Oh -- and young Jake has decided he needed a blog. It's over here. Drop by and make the little bastard think. It's good for him.

Now, I'd better go and get cooking. The fambly will be back from orchestra soon, if they don't wipe out on the rain-drenched highway on the way home...

The Irony of Cable Suspension Systems

So, I wanna rehang the digital projector in the cinema zone. When I first set it up, I hung some chain from the ceiling, and used simple hooks on the sides of a wooden base for the projector to suspend it. But since we've finished insulating and drywalling up there -- well, it looks a bit unprofessional. And more: because I can only adjust the position of the projector by a chainlink-length at a time, it's impossible to centre and level it with precision.

I figured I go and buy one of those nice cable-based systems they suspend track-lights with, you know? You see that shit everywhere. Adjustments along a cable are analog, as opposed to the (metaphorically) quantum nature of adjustments imposed by chain, and the whole thing looks nicer. I thought I'd just mosey on down to the local hardware, get myself some cable, some cable-grip fittings, and some ceiling mounts, and everything would be all tickety-boo, right?

Ha.

I went through three hardware stores, two specialty lighting places and Officeworks. In each place, I described what I needed, and got blank looks from the people working there. And in each place, once the blank looks were firmly in place, I eventually pointed to the lighting or shelving systems inside their own damned stores that relied on this ubiquitous system of cable suspension.

Blank looks were invariably followed by expressions of absolute surprise -- gosh, we use that stuff, don't we? -- followed by protestations of utter ignorance. Long story short: every fuckin' place USES this stuff, but nobody fuckin' SELLS it.

In the end, I bought brake cables from a bicycle store. And from a store that specialises in fitting out other stores with shelving, lighting, and display crap, I managed to get ceiling mounts that will hold my brake cables, and adjustable grips which will let me connect the system to my projector base.

It'll be a project for next week. I need to shift the projector a little farther back from the screen to widen the picture, and I need to level it out. Right now, everything is slightly tilted. But the fun I've had already... there's something gratifying in watching professional retail people tell you they've never heard of the thing you want, and then pointing out to them that their own store is fitted with precisely the thing you're after.

Eejits.

Packrat Brain Is Weird.

Roughly 25 years ago, a friend of mine -- pretty sure it was Steve Stanley -- had a flirtation with Ninjutsu, back in Brisneyland. I recall one particular day when the chap in question wandered into the university eatery where I and my cohort of villainous comrades were prone to avoiding lectures, and showed off a couple oddball moves he'd learned.

They were interesting, in what seemed a crackbrained kind of way, but not really very practical. One in particular I remember: the proto-ninja walks up to the victim, jumps up, wraps his legs around the victim's waist, and delivers a couple of quick hits to the victim's head. While the victim recoils, the proto-ninja keeps his legs locked around that waist, but drops his upper body backwards so his shoulders hit the ground. Proto-ninja then unlocks one leg and slides it down behind the victim. The other leg smashes the victim in the sternum, causing them to fall backwards over the leg which is still behind them. As the victim hits the ground, the proto-ninja can then deliver a heel strike to the groin, or simply grab a leg and apply a lock, or a break.

Sound complicated? Yes. It is. At the time, I figured that if I wanted to put someone on the ground I could do it with a lot less fuss, and without having to go to the ground myself. Oddly enough, though, I never managed to forget the incident.

So. Twenty-five years later, and I'm on the mats here in Tas. I've been doing a ground-fighting session with the senior students, and since we've got a couple of noobs, I've run them through the Brazilian Guard. If you don't know what that is... go and look it up. Essentially, it's a way of controlling a fight on the ground from a position on the bottom. You're on your back, and you lock your legs around the waist of the opponent. You bring their head down close to you to prevent them punching at you, and control their neck and shoulder. It's a defensive move that provides a fair degree of safety, and allows a bit of breathing space. Ideally, it's also a platform from which to go on with something much nastier.

Anyhow. One of the noobs is a Very Strong Young Man. I mean seriously powerful through the arms. Lot of time as a shearer. And I mentioned to him that some of the more powerful MMA fighters try to overcome the Guard by simply getting their feet under themselves, and standing up with their opponent's legs still locked around their waist -- and then body-slamming the opponent into the mat repeatedly.

It was right about then that I made the connection. Hello! That situation -- picked up into the air with legs locked around somebody's waist... shit! It was just made for that crackbrained ninja takedown!

I described it to Amy Baggins, on the grounds that I was pretty sure I could actually pick her up from the mat... and that she would also take me at my word, and do her damnedest to carry out the throw. Sure enough: she put me into the Guard. I shifted my feet under me, and stood up, preparatory to body-slamming her. She dropped back onto her shoulders, let one calf slide behind me, and heel-kicked me through the sternum with the other foot.

I went down like a sack of shit, giggling like a loon the whole way.

See, the thing is that there's nothing new in martial arts. The Brazilian Guard is kind of a Gracie ju-jitsu trademark... but they won't be the first to have used it. It's too efficient. It's a dead certainty that it's been used many, many times before, and by others.

So I'm guessing that sometime around five hundred years or so ago, somebody else used the Brazilian guard, and their very strong opponent picked them up, ready to body-slam them. And perhaps in that moment, or maybe later, in recovery, our pre-Brazilian chap sat up and thought: Hello! What I need to do is toss this fucker over backwards... But of course, down the centuries the throw got taught in different ways, and eventually it morphed into that leap-up-and-smack piece of silliness, and the original use was forgotten.

That's not too odd. Not really. There are little hidden, semi-lost bits of technique all over the place in martial arts. What struck me as odd -- or actually, hilarious -- was that I'd had that stupid piece of work in my head for twenty-five goddam years before I finally found something like a way to make it work.

 I have to say: putting the puzzle together after a quarter century actually felt pretty damned good.

Another Damn' Gifted Kid...

And in news from the All-Duhhh Channel today, a psychologist confirmed after three sessions of testing and interviewing that young Genghis is, like his brother, up in the Exceptionally Clever range, and should probably have his education adjusted accordingly.

On the one hand, it feels stupid being the parent who hounds the school, saying "My kid is special." On the other hand, it feels even worse watching your kid absolutely hate and loathe his mandatory schooling. So what do you do?

I've had the 'gifted' label described as a bit of a poisoned chalice, and yes, it certainly can be. It's well established now that telling a kid he (I'm gonna stick to the male pronoun, 'cos I'm dealing with Genghis, by and large, in this post) is smart is potentially detrimental to his learning. Instead, you're supposed to praise the  work and effort the kid puts in.

I get that. I really do. I was one of those kids who skated through everything, pretty much ignoring the teachers and the curriculum, and passing exams because that's what they wanted me to do and it was easier than making a fuss. And then I got to high level calculus, and suddenly discovered I couldn't do it. That was a real shock. And all without knowing what I was doing, I actually had to develop study and learning strategies to get through university. (Mostly they didn't amount to much. I admit it. I passed my science subjects by studying the night before the exams. And the English subjects... yeah, I was drunk some of the time... and other stuff.) I credit the martial arts training with a lot, to be honest: that was where I learned that breaking something down into component parts, practising them individually, and practicing repetitively was a good way to master complex techniques.

But you can't ignore the fact that the kid is bright. Especially when it's precisely that factor which frequently makes schooling a misery. Example: they have this 'lexile test' thing, where they check out the students' vocabulary, and try to advance their reading. Genghis pretty much maxed it out. And why not? He really enjoyed Dune. He's still working on The Master and Margharita, but H P Lovecraft isn't slowing him down.

Now, the school librarian knew he'd maxed it. But she kept handing him books that were part of their 'lexile program', and told him kindly, and gently (but altogether patronisingly and erroneously) that while he could read adult books, she needed to know that he was comprehending what he read. That pissed Genghis off a whole lot, and drove him away from the school library. And I understand that. I get it. It makes sense. Frankly, that kind of shit pissed me off too when I was his age.

My answer was just to keep reading books I brought from home. But then, I wasn't the victim of some kind of lexile crime. It was - literally! - Old School teaching, and they figured if I was reading at all, it was good. Poor Genghis has been the victim of Advances in Educational Science.

But you see what I mean. There's no point in trying to pretend the kid isn't smart enough to handle high-level books. And there's no way to hide from him that his friends and the other students his age (and older; the lexile/reading age thing maxes at 19. It doesn't actually go higher than that, I understand.) aren't reading those books, and can't yet read them fluently, with comprehension.

So for all that the 'gifted' label represents a new raft of dangers, at least it puts his abilities into black and white, and nails them to the mast of his record. The school can't ignore them now. The psychologist says she's already had a word with the library folks, and that's good -- because if I hear any more shit about Genghis being restricted to their 'lexile programme', I'm going to press the Ugly Parent button.

At least with the primary school, there's hope. I know the kid's already involved with the math group a year above him. And the teachers do seem genuinely engaged with his learning. His main teacher is excellent, and his math/sport teacher seems quite good too. Now, hopefully, with this assessment report behind him, we'll be able to get a bit more of a challenge in front of him on things like German, for example. And the psychologist has already encouraged us to get him to touch-type, and agreed that he should be allowed to work via a keyboard, rather than by oh-so-slow-and-ugly handwriting.

In the end? Well, I guess it was no real surprise. I've been having conversations about quantum physics, immunology, chemistry, and a host of similarly unlikely topics with this boy for a long time. He asked his mother a question about valence electrons a couple weeks back; she gave me a look like a desperate rabbit in the headlights of a semi-trailer. Lucky he didn't ask me -- I couldn't remember the answer to that one!

But it is a pain in the arse. Because, yes, you can't just chuck it all in the school's lap. They haven't got the capacity for it anyhow. More importantly, the kid learns more from parental attitudes and actions than he ever does from the school process. Of course, we were already trying to challenge and extend him, so really, there's not that much more work involved... not really.

It just feels that way.

Accor Hotels Do NOT Need Your Phone Number!

So, at some time in the antediluvian past, Natalie went to a medical conference, and stayed with one of various Accor-owned hotels. Who knows which one, or when, or where? Not she, nor I.

Unfortunately, when she stayed there, she made the grievous error of filling out one of their forms properly. They acquired our home number from her.

This is Not A Good Thing.

Our number is unlisted, for starters. And beyond that, we make a point of discouraging marketing calls of all sorts. I was recently at a computer store in Launceston, for example, and I flat out refused to give them a contact number (despite preparing to purchase an expensive system from them) until I got a written guarantee that the number wouldn't be used for marketing. Handed a bank the same line the last time I applied for a credit card.

I don't need marketing calls, folks. I can do my own fucking market research. If I want to buy, or rent, or otherwise utilise, or obtain some item by way of a commercial transaction, I'll use the Internet, the phone book, and word of mouth. But I promise you this: phone me up to ask for data, or to tell me about the joys of your pissant corporation, and you move immediately to the bottom of my list of potential suppliers -- and there you fucking stay.

Which brings us to Accor.

Every six months or so, we get a friendly phone call. The caller is always female, always upbeat, always asks for Natalie by her first name. Of course, it's almost always me who answers, so I do what I always do: I ask in a friendly way for the name of the caller. And hey: friendly female on the other end always gives her first name, usually with a lilt and a giggle.

Funny thing is, I don't recognise the name. And being the doctor's husband, I gently point out that I don't know the caller, and I need more information please. At which point only then does Friendly Female mention that Natalie stayed at an Accor, and could she just --

Now, the first time this happened I gave the phone to Natalie. And she played along, and asked not to be called again. The second time it happened, I gave the phone to Natalie and she told them she wasn't interested. The third time, I said politely that Natalie wasn't going to come to the phone, thanks. I can't remember how it's been since then, except to say that so far, I've been polite.

Yesterday, I got to the point of 'clipped'. As in: "Oh, you're from Accor? No. Nobody's going to talk to you. Thank you. Goodbye."

Still polite. Still calm.

Not for very much longer, though. Next time, I'm going to put the phone down and leave it off the hook. I'll check now and again to see how long it takes Friendly Female to get bored. The time after that, I'll blow a police whistle intermittently near the mouthpiece. The time after that, I think I'll perform my famous "Oh my God, I'm having a heart attack" skit. And after that? I dunno. Maybe with some SFX, I can mock up a decent "suicide by shooting or hanging". And hey, maybe I can do "ASIO breaking down the door to arrest a terrorist"...

Doesn't matter a whit to me, Accor. You've been asked to stop phoning us. You didn't listen. What comes next is your fucking problem, not mine.

As for the rest of you folks out there -- Accor Hotels do NOT need your phone number. For any reason. Ever.

Dear America

Dear USA.

I was born in Columbus, Ohio. I still retain US citizenship, although I have been a dual national with Australian citizenship for more than twenty years now, and I have for some time identified as 'Australian'.

When I was younger, at school, growing up, I learned a good deal of history. Not just American, but history of the world. And I admit that I saw reason to hold the founders of the American nation in high regard. Knowing the times in which they lived, and the difficulties they faced, I felt then -- and now -- that the work and principles of the men and women of the early days of the US were among the most momentous and laudable efforts towards bettering the human condition that history has seen.

For the better part of two hundred years, the US identified itself with ideals such as freedom, equality, opportunity, tolerance and egalitarianism. In the 20th century the US became something special -- not just a country, but a symbol, a promise: a vision that offered hope to a world full of dark, grim, hopeless places.

Today, I read online a note from the government of Hong Kong regarding the movements of Mr Edward Snowden, a US citizen now charged with treason by the US government. I'll copy the note in full:

  The HKSAR Government today (June 23) issued the following statement on Mr Edward Snowden:

     Mr Edward Snowden left Hong Kong today (June 23) on his own accord for a third country through a lawful and normal channel.

     The US Government earlier on made a request to the HKSAR Government for the issue of a provisional warrant of arrest against Mr Snowden. Since the documents provided by the US Government did not fully comply with the legal requirements under Hong Kong law, the HKSAR Government has requested the US Government to provide additional information so that the Department of Justice could consider whether the US Government's request can meet the relevant legal conditions. As the HKSAR Government has yet to have sufficient information to process the request for provisional warrant of arrest, there is no legal basis to restrict Mr Snowden from leaving Hong Kong.

     The HKSAR Government has already informed the US Government of Mr Snowden's departure.

     Meanwhile, the HKSAR Government has formally written to the US Government requesting clarification on earlier reports about the hacking of computer systems in Hong Kong by US government agencies. The HKSAR Government will continue to follow up on the matter so as to protect the legal rights of the people of Hong Kong.

Ends/Sunday, June 23, 2013
Issued at HKT 16:05

 Two things must be said.

Firstly, there was a time in the USA when what Edward Snowden did would have been seen as an act of true heroism: reporting on the widespread abuse of the US constitution by the government which has invaded the privacy of (seemingly!) every US citizen and much of the world through its NSA spying programme. There was a time when people in the USA who spoke up, who exposed corruption and institutionalised wrongdoing were seen as true Americans, not traitors. I am bitterly disappointed to see how deeply times have changed.

Secondly: there was a time when the rest of the world viewed the US with such trust, and in such a good light that a man like Edward Snowden, who openly broadcast state secrets, would  have been returned to the US government at once by any government in the world not actively opposed to American interests. Yet Hong Kong has blandly let Snowden go unmolested, citing a legal technicality. It should be apparent to all, therefore, that the credit and the good name of the United States of America has slipped a long, long way down in the eyes of the rest of the world. 

Bradley Manning is in a military prison for revealing some part of the attitude of the American government to her "friends" and "allies", as well as her enemies. Manning's treatment has been, and continues to be, beyond the pale, and there is no chance he will ever receive anything like a fair and open trial. 

Julian Assange is currently in asylum in Ecuador's embassy to the UK -- Ecuador, a country once staunchly alllied to the US, with a history of looking to America for leadership and protection -- because Sweden will not offer assurances that they won't use charges of sexual misconduct against him as an opportunity to send Mr Assange to the US, where he will assuredly receive the same treatment as Bradley Manning. And of course, the reason the US wants Assange has nothing to do with sexual misconduct, and everything to do with the fact that Mr Assange's Wikileaks programme discomfited the US government by giving voice to people like Bradley Manning, and others.

Now Edward Snowden remains at large, having left Hong Kong while his arrest papers were held up on a legal technicality. I understand his destination is Moscow, but I recall reading that Iceland -- another one-time ally and friend to the USA -- has suggested they would offer him asylum.

Dear America... land of my ancestors, land of Thomas Paine and Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin and so many others -- how much more will you accept? Your government spies on you, lies to you, gives your lands, your waters and your forests to corporations to destroy, gives your tax money to the same banks and bankers that take your houses and homes, denies you medical care, denies you proper education, denies you even the simple privilege of paid holidays that much of the world takes for granted, and gradually imprisons you, stripping your freedom to travel, your freedom to assemble, your freedom to speak and be heard, and even your simple right to privacy.

How much more will you accept? How long can you keep saying 'yes' to the people who are doing this to you? When will you say 'no'? What will it take? Have you sung those old songs about freedom and liberty so often that the meaning has vanished completely away? 

What will it take to make you stop accepting what is being done to you, and to the world, in your name?

Yes. I know this small screed is meaningless, and will achieve nothing. But I meant what I said at the start of this. I was born an American, and even now, I think the ideals on which the country was so famously founded are the finest yet put forward by humanity. 

It hurts to see them abandoned. Truly: it hurts. 

I know. These are only words, but I am hurt, and words are all that I have. 

I Promised I'd Post This

Well, fuck it. Blogger won't let you post an audio file? How shitty is that?