On what may have been the last night at my regular job, a late-middle-aged woman comes in, looking for a CD with the Metallica song "Am I Evil?" without the lyrics.
We joke about how few kareoke CDs Metallica put out, and I eventually just hand her Garage Inc. and tell her this is the best I can do. Nope, she's looking for the backing track, so someone could play guitar over it.
I make a few recommendations for places to look online, and let her know that getting someone to record the guitar part for her is going to be expensive and time consuming. She tells me her son used to play it, and she wants to hear it again.
A couple of years ago in my fair city, a couple of Hmong kids pitched a white youth off a five story parking garage for the crime of not being Hmong. It wasn't a hate crime, like the recent shooting of a Hmong hunter by a white guy, so it didn't get much press.
That was her son that got tossed off the roof.
She's a wreck now. We talked for half an hour. She moved into her son's empty apartment. She destroyed her family connections in the way she divided up his possessions. She goes to grief counseling. She's on more medications than the local cancer ward.
She simply cannot, and will not move forward with her life. The life that she created was horrifically taken from this earth, and that's why she spends all her time listening to his CDs and looking at boxes of his crayons from when he was eight.
It's not every day you get to speak with someone who's loved one was the victim of homicide. It's not every day you get to see how the mind can destroy a person.
What do you say to them?
What CAN you say to them?
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
House
Funny episode (at times) tonight. I'll paraphrase.
*House pulls a microscope out of a man's nose*
H."Very nice. If my lawn looked like that, pigeons wouldn't dare poop on it."
Patient"First impressions do count. For example, I noticed that your shirt isn't pressed, and you obviously haven't shaved in many days."
H."You use a toenail clippers to trim your nose hairs?"
P."They give me more...reach."
H."I haven't combed my hair and my shirt is rumpled. You have athlete's foot in your nose. I'm ready to be judged."
*House pulls a microscope out of a man's nose*
H."Very nice. If my lawn looked like that, pigeons wouldn't dare poop on it."
Patient"First impressions do count. For example, I noticed that your shirt isn't pressed, and you obviously haven't shaved in many days."
H."You use a toenail clippers to trim your nose hairs?"
P."They give me more...reach."
H."I haven't combed my hair and my shirt is rumpled. You have athlete's foot in your nose. I'm ready to be judged."
Saturday, January 27, 2007
When The Crowds Are Gone
Yeah, I've threatened to post songs...here's the first one. One of my favorites of all time, Savatage's When The Crowds Are Gone.
I don't know where the years have gone
Memories can only last so long
Like faded photographs, forgotten songs
And the things I never knew
When the skin is thin, the heart shows through
Please believe me what I tell you is true
Where's the lights, turn 'em on again
One more night to believe and then
Another note for my requiem
A memory to carry on
The story's over
When The Crowds Are Gone
All my friends have been crucified
Made life a long suicide true
Guess we never figured out the rules
But I'm still alive, my fingers feel
Gonna play on till the final reel's through
And read the credits from a different view
Where's the lights, turn 'em on again
One more night to believe and then
Another note for my requiem
A memory to carry on
The story's over
When The Crowds Are Gone
When The Crowds Are Gone
When The Crowds Are Gone
And I'm all alone
Playing the saddest song
Now that the lights are gone
Turn them on again
One more time for me my friend
Turn 'em on again
I never wanted to know
Never wanted to see
I wasted my time
Till time wasted me
Never wanted to go
Always wanted to stay
'Cause the persons I am
Are the parts that I play
So I plot and I plan
Hope and I scheme
To the lure of a night
Filled with unfinished dreams
I'm holding on tight
To a world gone astray
As they charge me for years
I can no longer pay
Turn 'em on again (repeat)
I never wanted to know
Never wanted to see
I wasted my time
Till time wasted me
I Never wanted to go
Always wanted to stay
'Cause the persons I am
Are the parts that I play
The parts I play
And the lights
Turn them off my friend
And the ghosts
We'll just let them in
Cause in the dark
It's easier to see
---------------------------------------------
The Savatage website says it's about a master composer who...wastes...his life trying to publish his masterpiece, only to have it played for the first time at his funeral.
I see in it more a musician (or maybe just a person) looking back on his life (maybe at his last show, I see it at his deathbed), seeing the things he's sacrificed for his music, his interest, his obsession. He's obviously begging, hoping, for one more moment, fighting the inevitable. In the end, he accepts his fate.
You can see the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8WWiJ6TU4s
I'm pretty certain it's standard 80s fare. Like the song, it gets far better around "I never wanted..." It's quite enjoyable watching Jon and Criss Oliva with their seperate parts, one beating a piano to death with his guitar, the other finishing the song on his knees, screaming about the parts that we play.
I never wanted to know
Never wanted to see
I wasted my time
Till time wasted me
I don't know where the years have gone
Memories can only last so long
Like faded photographs, forgotten songs
And the things I never knew
When the skin is thin, the heart shows through
Please believe me what I tell you is true
Where's the lights, turn 'em on again
One more night to believe and then
Another note for my requiem
A memory to carry on
The story's over
When The Crowds Are Gone
All my friends have been crucified
Made life a long suicide true
Guess we never figured out the rules
But I'm still alive, my fingers feel
Gonna play on till the final reel's through
And read the credits from a different view
Where's the lights, turn 'em on again
One more night to believe and then
Another note for my requiem
A memory to carry on
The story's over
When The Crowds Are Gone
When The Crowds Are Gone
When The Crowds Are Gone
And I'm all alone
Playing the saddest song
Now that the lights are gone
Turn them on again
One more time for me my friend
Turn 'em on again
I never wanted to know
Never wanted to see
I wasted my time
Till time wasted me
Never wanted to go
Always wanted to stay
'Cause the persons I am
Are the parts that I play
So I plot and I plan
Hope and I scheme
To the lure of a night
Filled with unfinished dreams
I'm holding on tight
To a world gone astray
As they charge me for years
I can no longer pay
Turn 'em on again (repeat)
I never wanted to know
Never wanted to see
I wasted my time
Till time wasted me
I Never wanted to go
Always wanted to stay
'Cause the persons I am
Are the parts that I play
The parts I play
And the lights
Turn them off my friend
And the ghosts
We'll just let them in
Cause in the dark
It's easier to see
---------------------------------------------
The Savatage website says it's about a master composer who...wastes...his life trying to publish his masterpiece, only to have it played for the first time at his funeral.
I see in it more a musician (or maybe just a person) looking back on his life (maybe at his last show, I see it at his deathbed), seeing the things he's sacrificed for his music, his interest, his obsession. He's obviously begging, hoping, for one more moment, fighting the inevitable. In the end, he accepts his fate.
You can see the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8WWiJ6TU4s
I'm pretty certain it's standard 80s fare. Like the song, it gets far better around "I never wanted..." It's quite enjoyable watching Jon and Criss Oliva with their seperate parts, one beating a piano to death with his guitar, the other finishing the song on his knees, screaming about the parts that we play.
I never wanted to know
Never wanted to see
I wasted my time
Till time wasted me
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Fun Times Pt2
Before I move on to the meat of the entry, let me just apologize in advance for the lack of content. My life the last few weeks has looked something like this:
Work, 11-7:30 Sunday & Monday
School, Tuesday 10-4:30
School, homework, and all the stuff I can't do after 7:30 at night, Wednesday & Thursday
Work, 11-7:30 Friday & Saturday
Anyhoo, onto the story.
I call for a ride home from school Thursday afternoon, and my mom sounds weird. On the verge of crying. It's easy to tell in the car that's she's freaked out. While I was at programming class, and my brother was at the Y, another set of voices started talking in the house, over the radio. She'd been out feeding squirrels and left the back door open, then went down to the opposite end of the house... and after turning off the radio, the voices persisted. She went from room to room, making sure all noise-making appliances were off.
They were.
The voices were still talking. Mom went to the top of the basement stairs. The voices were coming from downstairs. Someone had turned the TV on, while she was upstairs. No one else was home.
This is the very definition of A Bad Thing(TM).
She couldn't leave, because my brother was coming home, and she didn't want him walking in on a burglary in progress. Not only that, but I'd be calling soon. So, she went and retrieved my dad's newly restored 1911, and stood by the back door for 15 minutes. She didn't know how to make it operational, but the impulse to get a gun was the right one.
15 minutes later, my brother gets back from the Y. In his words, "there are few things scarier than being greeted at the door by your mother, who's holding a gun and going 'ssshhhh.'"
Brother doesn't know how to operate a 1911. Nevertheless, he takes it, stands at the head of the stairs, and tells mom to retrieve my CX4 (which he does know how to operate) from my room. She does, and he ventures into the basement.
A note aforehand. My brother's not quite the gunny I am. He has no interest in self-defense theory, doesn't read or watch tapes, or constantly surround himself with people who talk guns and survival more than they eat (slight exaggeration), like yours truly does.
Our basement is divided up into a long room running parallel under the front of the house, and a bedroom (my brother's), a laundry room, a bathroom, and a workroom running parallel to long room, under the back of the house. The stairs lead down to one end of the long room.
My brother sprinted down the stairs, got to the end of the long room, put the wall to his back, and evaluated. The lights had been turned on, and the TV was on. He quickly checks visible hiding places, and sprints to the laundry room, which is an intersection for the basement. From there, he moves fast to his bedroom, and trades the 9mm carbine for Nancy Pelosi, the battlerifle that he practically owns, and keeps in his closet. From there, he runs back upstairs.
I'd called by then, and he tells mom, in her words "Go get 'Vincent.' He's the safe one, he'll know what to do." My mom says it's a measure of the respect my brother has for me, that he'd rather rely on my judgement in a crisis than his own.
Let me tell you, there's nothing quite like coming home, and finding your brother sitting on the sofa with a battlerifle over his knees.
I jack a round into the 1911, and we go downstairs, check room to room. Nobody. Empty. Having thoroughly cleared the basement of all hiding places, we return our various weaponry to the places from whence it came, go upstairs, and begin the Monday Morning Quarterbacking.
My mom has since handled every gun I own, and does not possess the physical strength to draw back a bolt or slide. She just can't, and it's our practice to leave chambers empty around the house. So, I'm looking into a revolver. It'll cost as much as a battlerifle probably, and it won't have near the utility.
The reason I write this is to show my respect for my brother. It just keeps climbing. I've observed him and his actions now for quite a while, and I'm hard-pressed to come up with a better, more practical person, and not just when it comes to handling the household weaponry. I can't go into it here, but I find it humbling to see in someone else the qualities I WISH to see in myself, especially in someone who I've been told doesn't possess them. But let's look at what he did right in this situation:
Traded up from a handgun to a carbine.
Moved through a big empty space fast, and only stopped when he had his back to something.
Cleared the hiding places and intersection fast.
Traded up from a carbine to a rifle when the opportunity presented itself.
Waited for backup before going any deeper into an unknown situation.
I doubt he'll read this, but for someone who's spent zip for time around the gun culture, that's pretty damn good for a first try, and deserves a slap on the back.
Oh and, we have no idea how the lights or TV came on. My mom hadn't been downstairs for about half an hour before they turned themselves on. It's a mystery.
Gander Mtn. will be getting a visit from me this week, and I'm definitely coming back better schooled in wheelguns than when I left.
Work, 11-7:30 Sunday & Monday
School, Tuesday 10-4:30
School, homework, and all the stuff I can't do after 7:30 at night, Wednesday & Thursday
Work, 11-7:30 Friday & Saturday
Anyhoo, onto the story.
I call for a ride home from school Thursday afternoon, and my mom sounds weird. On the verge of crying. It's easy to tell in the car that's she's freaked out. While I was at programming class, and my brother was at the Y, another set of voices started talking in the house, over the radio. She'd been out feeding squirrels and left the back door open, then went down to the opposite end of the house... and after turning off the radio, the voices persisted. She went from room to room, making sure all noise-making appliances were off.
They were.
The voices were still talking. Mom went to the top of the basement stairs. The voices were coming from downstairs. Someone had turned the TV on, while she was upstairs. No one else was home.
This is the very definition of A Bad Thing(TM).
She couldn't leave, because my brother was coming home, and she didn't want him walking in on a burglary in progress. Not only that, but I'd be calling soon. So, she went and retrieved my dad's newly restored 1911, and stood by the back door for 15 minutes. She didn't know how to make it operational, but the impulse to get a gun was the right one.
15 minutes later, my brother gets back from the Y. In his words, "there are few things scarier than being greeted at the door by your mother, who's holding a gun and going 'ssshhhh.'"
Brother doesn't know how to operate a 1911. Nevertheless, he takes it, stands at the head of the stairs, and tells mom to retrieve my CX4 (which he does know how to operate) from my room. She does, and he ventures into the basement.
A note aforehand. My brother's not quite the gunny I am. He has no interest in self-defense theory, doesn't read or watch tapes, or constantly surround himself with people who talk guns and survival more than they eat (slight exaggeration), like yours truly does.
Our basement is divided up into a long room running parallel under the front of the house, and a bedroom (my brother's), a laundry room, a bathroom, and a workroom running parallel to long room, under the back of the house. The stairs lead down to one end of the long room.
My brother sprinted down the stairs, got to the end of the long room, put the wall to his back, and evaluated. The lights had been turned on, and the TV was on. He quickly checks visible hiding places, and sprints to the laundry room, which is an intersection for the basement. From there, he moves fast to his bedroom, and trades the 9mm carbine for Nancy Pelosi, the battlerifle that he practically owns, and keeps in his closet. From there, he runs back upstairs.
I'd called by then, and he tells mom, in her words "Go get 'Vincent.' He's the safe one, he'll know what to do." My mom says it's a measure of the respect my brother has for me, that he'd rather rely on my judgement in a crisis than his own.
Let me tell you, there's nothing quite like coming home, and finding your brother sitting on the sofa with a battlerifle over his knees.
I jack a round into the 1911, and we go downstairs, check room to room. Nobody. Empty. Having thoroughly cleared the basement of all hiding places, we return our various weaponry to the places from whence it came, go upstairs, and begin the Monday Morning Quarterbacking.
My mom has since handled every gun I own, and does not possess the physical strength to draw back a bolt or slide. She just can't, and it's our practice to leave chambers empty around the house. So, I'm looking into a revolver. It'll cost as much as a battlerifle probably, and it won't have near the utility.
The reason I write this is to show my respect for my brother. It just keeps climbing. I've observed him and his actions now for quite a while, and I'm hard-pressed to come up with a better, more practical person, and not just when it comes to handling the household weaponry. I can't go into it here, but I find it humbling to see in someone else the qualities I WISH to see in myself, especially in someone who I've been told doesn't possess them. But let's look at what he did right in this situation:
Traded up from a handgun to a carbine.
Moved through a big empty space fast, and only stopped when he had his back to something.
Cleared the hiding places and intersection fast.
Traded up from a carbine to a rifle when the opportunity presented itself.
Waited for backup before going any deeper into an unknown situation.
I doubt he'll read this, but for someone who's spent zip for time around the gun culture, that's pretty damn good for a first try, and deserves a slap on the back.
Oh and, we have no idea how the lights or TV came on. My mom hadn't been downstairs for about half an hour before they turned themselves on. It's a mystery.
Gander Mtn. will be getting a visit from me this week, and I'm definitely coming back better schooled in wheelguns than when I left.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Happy New Year
So here I am, 12 days after the new year. Busy as heck with a full-time job and school that's described as equal to a full-time job. Brief updates follow, but I'm not sure how much I'm going to be updating here. I gotta find some equilibrium between school and work before I can say "I'm going to write x essays and y posts a month."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Got Miami Vice for Christmas. Love that movie. Not as good as Heat, or Collateral, but better than 95% of the movies I've seen in my life.
I'm buying up the DS9 box-sets. It's my treat to myself for when school kicks in in full swing and there's nothing much else to enjoy in my day.
That giddily happy post I made a couple months ago? "Time is luck." "Luck ran out." That's from Miami Vice, and uttered in almost the same context.
I put a collapsible stock on Nancy Pelosi, my Election Day Assault Rifle. Lovin' it. Thinking of getting another one and outfitting it with a folding stock. I think 3 assault rifles and a couple companion rifles (go find the meaning of that term), should be enough. Now I want to get a taste of shotgunning. And go shooting more. BTW, my dad's 1911 works flawlessly. Apparently the smiths at Gander Mtn aren't complete morons.
I watched Blood Diamond on New Years Eve. Decent movie. I like seeing USPs featured so prominently, and characters that chamber-check their guns when appropriate. Of course it was a bleeding-heart liberal ending, but what else is one to expect.
Also went bowling on NYE, and enjoyed it once I'd pulled myself out of my funk. After bowling, my brother got pulled over for pausing at a red light instead of stopping. It's his own fault, but I still don't like it.
I've got roughly half of my New Years resolutions taken care of already, but monetarily, I still have to account for about two thirds.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm thinking I'll start posting song lyrics here - songs that I like or that I have running through my head.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Got Miami Vice for Christmas. Love that movie. Not as good as Heat, or Collateral, but better than 95% of the movies I've seen in my life.
I'm buying up the DS9 box-sets. It's my treat to myself for when school kicks in in full swing and there's nothing much else to enjoy in my day.
That giddily happy post I made a couple months ago? "Time is luck." "Luck ran out." That's from Miami Vice, and uttered in almost the same context.
I put a collapsible stock on Nancy Pelosi, my Election Day Assault Rifle. Lovin' it. Thinking of getting another one and outfitting it with a folding stock. I think 3 assault rifles and a couple companion rifles (go find the meaning of that term), should be enough. Now I want to get a taste of shotgunning. And go shooting more. BTW, my dad's 1911 works flawlessly. Apparently the smiths at Gander Mtn aren't complete morons.
I watched Blood Diamond on New Years Eve. Decent movie. I like seeing USPs featured so prominently, and characters that chamber-check their guns when appropriate. Of course it was a bleeding-heart liberal ending, but what else is one to expect.
Also went bowling on NYE, and enjoyed it once I'd pulled myself out of my funk. After bowling, my brother got pulled over for pausing at a red light instead of stopping. It's his own fault, but I still don't like it.
I've got roughly half of my New Years resolutions taken care of already, but monetarily, I still have to account for about two thirds.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm thinking I'll start posting song lyrics here - songs that I like or that I have running through my head.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Random Reflections Pt18
76. Apologies to the THR’er that I’m about to steal this from. A minister said as he handed in a bunch of .22 rifles at a gun buyback “I don’t believe in violence, I have faith.”
Whereupon the THR’er posted “Not believing in violence is like not believing in gravity. Don’t believe in it all you want, but don’t take away my parachute.” Dang straight.
77. I think humans have certain programming built in. There’s one set of hardcoded instructions I’d like to reference, and that’s fear of the dark.
There is no logical reason for humans to fear what darkness conceals. But we do. Our steps get tentative. Our breathing goes quick. We tense up. Our eyes move about more. I can’t think of a logical reason for this except for some sort of basic operating instructions printed on our genes.
78. I can’t figure out why people have such a problem with Myspace. I think it’s a generational thing. Elvis, The Beatles, Nirvana, violent video games, Myspace…every generation’s parents need something to hate.
Name me one thing that can be done on Myspace that can’t be done on your standard bulletin board, or by someone with a passing knowledge of Geocities. You can’t!
Myspace is representative of the internet. It is a place that people meet. It will be used for good or ill. It is a parents’ job to make sure that their child uses it responsibly – no one else’s.
79. The best way not to do something wrong or stupid is to not place yourself into situations where you could choose to do something wrong or stupid. Better to remove temptation as much as possible than find out the hard way your willpower ain’t up to the task.
80. Expanding on the “things I learned from programming” RR above, the only thing that matters is What IS. Wasting time living on What Isn’t or What Should Be is a state of delusion and a waste of life.
Whereupon the THR’er posted “Not believing in violence is like not believing in gravity. Don’t believe in it all you want, but don’t take away my parachute.” Dang straight.
77. I think humans have certain programming built in. There’s one set of hardcoded instructions I’d like to reference, and that’s fear of the dark.
There is no logical reason for humans to fear what darkness conceals. But we do. Our steps get tentative. Our breathing goes quick. We tense up. Our eyes move about more. I can’t think of a logical reason for this except for some sort of basic operating instructions printed on our genes.
78. I can’t figure out why people have such a problem with Myspace. I think it’s a generational thing. Elvis, The Beatles, Nirvana, violent video games, Myspace…every generation’s parents need something to hate.
Name me one thing that can be done on Myspace that can’t be done on your standard bulletin board, or by someone with a passing knowledge of Geocities. You can’t!
Myspace is representative of the internet. It is a place that people meet. It will be used for good or ill. It is a parents’ job to make sure that their child uses it responsibly – no one else’s.
79. The best way not to do something wrong or stupid is to not place yourself into situations where you could choose to do something wrong or stupid. Better to remove temptation as much as possible than find out the hard way your willpower ain’t up to the task.
80. Expanding on the “things I learned from programming” RR above, the only thing that matters is What IS. Wasting time living on What Isn’t or What Should Be is a state of delusion and a waste of life.
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