31, 2005: Can Humor Conquer Willful Ignorance?
One of the most potent tactics in any war of words and wills is
to make your opponent and/or his position laughable. The tactic
is little used these days, in part because everybody takes himself
so damned seriously, and few are willing to take the half-step down
from seriousness themselves in order to drop the other guy all the
way into the dunk tank.
The tactic has made its way into the Intelligent Design wars in
a couple of truly spectacular ways. First there was the estimable
piece on Intelligent Falling. Gravity is just a theory, say
the IF proponents, and should be taught alongside the IF theory
that things don't "just fall." A higher intelligence grabs
things and forces them down to the ground. As the IF crowd puts
admit that they cannot explain how gravitation is supposed to
work," Carson said. "What the gravity-agenda scientists need to
realize is that 'gravity waves' and 'gravitons' are just secular
words for 'God can do whatever He wants.'"
It's a painful kind of funny, but that's the whole point: to make
Intelligent Design look ridiculous. A little irreverence in the
cause of scientific integrity is justified. My guess is that God
has a sense of humor (otherwise how could we have one?) and
Jesus laughed once in a while, probably more often than anyone is
willing to admit.
Onion, however, is the epitome of reverence next to one of the
zaniest political strategems ever devised: The Church of the Flying
Spaghetti Monster. Read
this first for orientation, and then go to the
COTFSM's own site.(Otherwise you'll definitely feel like you're
down the proverbial rabbit hole.) In a nutshell: A group of ID critics
has devised a patently ridiculous religion, complete with a creation
mythology, and has sued to place their theory of creation in schools,
right alongside evolution and Intelligent Design. I'll let you take
the links for the rest of the story, because there's a larger question
to consider: Will it work?
My answer is this: It will work better than anything else.
Science ultimately has to stand on its own merits, and as
I've explained before, religion does not have to stand against
science. I happen to think that God did design and build the universeusing
physics and chemistry and a brilliantly conceived set of physical
laws in an emergent and comprehensible process. I've seen that view
gain more and more traction recently among reasonable people, and
there is hope that it will eventually become mainstream. (I would
advise the more livid of atheistic scientists to just shut up for
awhile and let it work.) In the meantime, the foamy-mouthed adherents
of the God-snapped-His-fingers-on-October-23-4004-BC-and-made-the-universe
nonsense (at 9 AM, yet!) are doing serious damage, not so much to
science as to the idea of religion itself.
So it's fair, in my view, to respond with the Flying Spaghetti Monster
or anything else that shines the spotlight on antiscience ID foolishness
(especially the Ussherite Young Earthers) and makes people laugh in
the process. It's unclear how the ID guys can fight back. It's usually
futile to make fun of a comedian, and points driven home under the
cover of laughter are probably remembered longer (and by more people)
than carefully considered logical arguments that put everybody but
the combatants to sleep. We'll see.
29, 2005: WLS and the Silver Dollar Surveys
came to popular music a little later than some in my peer group,
and didn't begin listening to rock'n'roll radio until 1963, when
I was 11. The leading teen rock station in Chicago at that time
was WLS AM (FM was still a footnote) and every week the station
distributed a little one-sheeter on colored paper to virtually all
local record stores. The Silver Dollar Survey had the Top 40 stack-ranked
along with weeks played, and an ad for one of their DJs at the bottom.
The survey was a great promo for WLS as a station, and also for
the Silver Dollar Survey show itself, the countdown from 3 PM to
6:30 PM during which they would play every single 45 on the survey.
Every Friday after school we'd tear-ass down to the nearest record
store (for me, a fifteen minute haul on my bike to downtown Park
Ridge) to pick up the latest and find out how well our favorite
What's interesting about that era is that popular music was completely
monolithic. The local AM stations sometimes injected local artists
and songs into their surveys, but mostly local AM followed the national
Billboard charts, and the music you heard in Chicago was pretty
much what you heard in Dallas or New York or LA. There was one
Top 40. When FM went mainstream in the early 70s, album rock took
over from 45 singles, and popular music fragmented into a hundred
different genres, some of which varied hugely from region to region.
Radio lost much of its appeal for me about that time, since I have
no stomach for punk and death metal and all those other excuses
for racket'n'rhythm without melody. I listened here and there, but
increasingly I relied on mix tapes (and later CDs) to keep the commutes
bearable. So it was with great pleasure that I discoverd the Oldiesloon
site, and especially its
page on Chicago Top 40 surveys. WLS rival WCFL had survey sheets
too, beginning in 1966, but somehow they just didn't have the cachet
of the original Silver Dollar Survey.
Another great site I discovered on Oldiesloon was The
Reel Top 40 Radio Repository, a collection of airchecks (short
audio clips of DJs doing their thing) including many from Chicago.
Check it out.
28, 2005: Beating the Python Robot, Etc.
Maybe it's too early to celebrate, but we're closing in on the
end of August, and I have not had a visit
from The Python Robot (whatever it actually is) since August
20. All I did was add an entry to robots.txt. It seems to work,
and if you see The Python Robot in your Web stats, read my August
21 entry and do what I did.
While we're talking Web stats, I've been watching another interesting
in May, I was getting telemarketing calls from something called
The Dove Foundation, a
phony charity that is actually the fundaraising arm of a semipolitical
effort to create "family safe" versions of movies. I smell
a rat there; my guess is that not all of the money goes for film
editingbut let it pass. What's interesting is that The Dove
Foundation's phone number has been climbing in my Web stats list
of search keyphrases ever since I cited it in May. It's now #4.
This can only mean that they've been pestering more and more people,
who then turn to the Web to try and figure out what they're dealing
with. This reinforces my belief that there should absolutely
no exceptions to the Do Not Call list; not churches, not political
organizations, not charities, nothing. Their right to free
speech does not include the right to insert their words pre-emptively
into my ears through my own telephone. Let 'em buy a megaphone and
hang out at the park.
The list of search keyphrases is an interesting gauge of what people
are looking for when they come to my site through search engines.
Here's the Top 10 as of this evening:
excuse me while i kiss this guy
tom swift jr
For the puzzled, let me add a few notes:
- Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy is a little book of mondegreens,
which are misheard song lyrics. The book is hilarious. I reviewed
it years ago, and it's been a top search phrase ever since. Don't
- The mc3362 is a Motorola cordless phone chip that has been used
in a lot of interesting ham radio circuits. I built a little FM
transceiver with it about ten years ago, and it's apparently still
hugely popular, even though they haven't made 49 MHz cordless
phones in five or six years, maybe longer.
- My article
on Hi-Flier kites is also very popular, and includes a picture
of the inexplicably coveted Spinwinder kite string winder. People
read the article and ask me if I want to sell mine, and I don't
even have one.
27, 2005: Shooting Widows and Orphans
Whew. For several days I've been plowing through my SF novel, The
Cunning Blood, preparing it for publication. I had several pages
of notes from myself and several of my beta testers, indicating
what might be improved without wholesale rewriting. The story is
144,000 words long, so it took some doing. Fixing typos and even
catching continuity flubs here and there wasn't all that hard.
The tough part was shooting all those widows and orphans.
The Cunning Blood was a deliberate learning experience for
me, as first novels invariably are. Still, I was attempting to learn
more than most novelists do. While the manuscript was off sitting
on the shelves of one New York publisher or another, I was laying
it out in Adobe Indesign, to get a sense for how the manuscript
translated into a "real" book. I've done this any number
of times with computer books, and it really helps to be able to
relate the raw text that comes in from an author (whether the author
be me or anyone else) to the final pages that go to press.
ISFiC Press will be working from my layouts, mainly to save the
time and expense of laying it out again. That means, of course,
that the layout has to be mighty clean. Beyond typos, "clean"
in a layout context means not allowing single lines at the bottoms
of pages (widows) or at the tops of pages (orphans.)
This is not as simple as it sounds, especially in a novel, where
there are fair number of three and four-line paragraphs. Pulling
up or pushing down a line can often be done by increasing or decreasing
"kerning," which is the distributed space in between a
paragraph's characters. If a paragraph has only one word on its
last line, reducing the kerning even a little will often compress
the paragraph to the point that the lonely last word will pull up
into the previous line, which also pulls up all the paragraphs that
follow by one line. Similarly, if a paragraph almost completely
fills its last line, you can increase the kerning slightly and one
or more words at the paragraph's end will push down into a new line,
which also pushes down everything that follows by one line. If you're
skillful, you can use kerning to pull and push widows and orphans
into oblivion. The goal is to split no paragraph across a page boundary
such that one line is all by itself.
Kerning works best when you've got fairly large paragraphs on the
page, because kerning changes are cumulative across all characters
in the paragraph. Large paragraphs give you something to work with.
Short two and three line paragraphs (as you often get in a run of
dialog) do not have the internal room to change much by small changes
in kerning, so sometimes you actually have to delete, change or
add words. Worse, changes in line position on one page can affect
line positions on one or more (generally more) subsequent pages.
Shoot a widow here, and she can pop up again three pages down. Ditto
orphans. Sometimes it's like Whack-a-Mole where the moles are lines
of text. Changing something here can wreak havoc there.
Across 356 pages, it can make you nuts.
That's why it's been a couple of days since you've heard from me.
I finished my notes pass a few hours ago, and will make one more
pass for typos and font errors. At that point, the layouts will
be ready to print, needing only the indicia (typogeekspeak for the
legal page) and the addition of a cover, which I will gladly leave
The book could appear as early as Thanksgiving. More as I learn it.
24, 2005: Odd Lots
- Wired reports that a team at Cornell is using X-ray fluorescence
reconstruct images of inscriptions carved in stone that have
weathered past reading. Definitely click to the images. I flashed
on the very first Tom Swift, Jr book I ever read: Tom Swift
and His Electronic Retroscope (1959) which was about that
very same idea. Tom invented a machine that bounced some sort
of radiation off stone walls in a Mexican tomb, revealing UFO-inspired
carvings that had worn away long before. Now, will somebody please
invent Tom's Repelatron!
- Pete Albrecht turned me on to this,
which is not only the world's biggest Earth-chewing machine ever
built, but damned well ought to appear in a monster movie. Godzilla
vs. Der Baggerfuerer? Damn, I'd pay to see that. It's been
done before on a smaller scale. Did anybody but me ever see Dinosaurus
in 1960? The best scene was a T-Rex duking it out with a steam
- Also from Pete comes a pointer to a sort of virtual
Dymo labelmaker. When I was 12 I won a low-end Dymo unit at
a neighborhood picnic, and spent the rest of the summer sticking
labels on everything and anything. I used that damned thing until
it fell apart several years later, and never found anything nearly
as good until the current generation of white-tape labelers showed
up about ten years ago. Note the links at the bottom to a
tombstone generator and a
church sign generator. Oh, the possibilities...
- I didn't want to say anything before for fear of jinxing the
project, but now it appears pretty certain that my novel The
Cunning Blood will appear from ISFIC Press in late November.
This is a startup SF/fantasy publisher without much of a Web site
yet, but I'll have more to say about it (and my novel) in the
next week or so.
23, 2005: Why DRMed Music Is Selling
I'm amazed: People are happily paying for music of which they have
no ownership and little control. Legal music downloads are booming,
even though the songs are heavily encumbered by DRM systems and
sometimes can't be moved out of player devices or burned to CDs.
In some systems, when you stop paying the subscription fees, the
music that you already have goes away.
Why do people tolerate this? Earlier today I think I figured it
out: Downloadable music consumers do not bond strongly with either
bands or songs. I asked one of my nephews this summer if he
was still listening to a band that he was crazy about a few years
ago. He said no; he was on to something else, a new genre of music
with a whole different feel.
Contrast that to the Baby Boomers, whose musical tastes for the
most part remain what they were thirty years ago. I still have most
of the CD's I bought when I bought my first CD player in 1985. Hell,
I have 200 pounds of vinyl in boxes in the basement, some going
back to 1964, when I first had pocket money to spend on it. I still
like all the bands and songs I liked when I was 14. My music follows
me across technologies: I had vinyl, I had CDs, and now I have MP3s.
If the dominant music storage technology changes in the future,
my songs will follow. No way am I going to surrender the right to
keep the music I like with me, store it as I choose, and play it
when I want, where I want.
The way I sense that things have gone, people who are into modern
music primarily want something that belongs to their current favorite
musical genre running in the background all the time. The specifics
are less important than the general tenor of the music. They're
constantly looking for new material, and as they leapfrog from one
hot band to another, the old material falls by the wayside. There
is no shortage of new material. In fact, there's so much new music
available that no one person could ever listen to all of it, or
even to a significant chunk of it.
That hasn't always been so. It was tough and expensive to cut a
record back in the 1960s, so there were a lot fewer records issued,
and fewer still played on the radio, which was the only place you
could hear and thus develop a taste for them. Today, making professional-quality
CDs is something you can do in your spare room and sell over the
Web. In a sense, the massive choice made available by the Net has
spread loyalties out across so many bands and songs that no single
band or group of songs has a strong hold on anyone anymore. Today's
kids have such a wealth of choice that they fill up their players,
hook them to their belts and simply let the music flow. It's the
difference between scarcity and abundance, or between ordering beer
by the glass and just piping it in.
Maybe I'm wrong, but that's how it looks from here, and that's the
only way I can understand how people can "rent" music that
stays with them for awhile and then goes away. Will people be listening
to 311 or Catatonia in thirty five years? (Sheesh, do people listen
to them today?) We'll see. Me, you can pry the Peppermint Trolley
Company and the New Colony Six out of my cold dead hands. Ditto The
Association and The Grass Roots, for now and always. Scarcity leaves
its mark on you, and I always read the label on the wine bottle.
22, 2005: Gallery as Free, Server-Side Photo Manager
As I've mentioned here before, I've been interviewing server-side
photo manager programs, and yesterday I finally found a keeper.
The program is Gallery,
and of the four programs I tried, it was by far the easiest to install,
and looks the best. To show you how it looks, see my
new photo page, which currently contains a gallery of QBit photos.
As time allows I'm going to post additional albums, at very least
one summarizing the construction of our new house.
Gallery is written in PHP and is cross-platform, skinnable, and
configurable for either personal or group use. You can set it up
to allow voting and comments on photos. (I decided against that
for various reasons, comment spam being the most important. You
can always drop me an email.) If your hosting service supports PHP
4.x and provides either NetPBM or ImageMagick (these are image manipulation
libraries) you should be able to install it. You don't need MySQL,
and Gallery can be installed on either Unix/Linux or Windows servers.
Like many similar programs, you unpack the downloaded product archive
onto local disk, allowing the archiver to create the directory structure
specified in the archive. Then you FTP the product's whole directory
tree up to the appropriate place on your hosting site. Once it's
up there, you point a Web browser at its index page, and the configuration
wizard pops up automatically. You run through the wizard, save the
config file, and you're done.
There were some oddities in the install process:
- You have to manually create empty .htaccess and config.php
files using a plain ASCII text editor and store them in a specific
directory before uploading the tree to the server. I simply don't
understand why this has to happen as a separate, manual step.
- The configuration wizard guessed a couple of crucial things
wrong, for reasons that defy analysis. Even though I had created
an albums folder where the doc specified, it guessed that
the folder was somewhere else on the site, where no folder named
albums had ever existed. Go figger.
- Relevant to the previous, you may need to know the full physical
path (on the server box) to your photo album folder, and not just
the relative path from your domain folder. Gallery guessed this
wrong, and as I had never needed the full physical path to anything
on my site before, I had to do a little investigating.
Basically, you have to be a little technical to install it (this
includes understanding how to use chmod) but you don't have to be
a server-side wizard. You do have to have some patience and be willing
to closely read what doc there is.
I'm sniffing around for a skin that looks a little less lollypoppish
(as do all of the included skins) but for the most part I'm extremely
happy with it. Highly recommended.
21, 2005: What the Hell Is the Python Robot?
For the last several days I've been watching something on the duntemann.com
Web stats that I really don't understand: Something called
The Python Robot is visiting and apparently spidering my site every
few daysand sucking seven times the bandwidth that
the Googlebot requires to do the same thing. Just yesterday, The
Python Robot visited and used 341 MB of bandwidth. This is odd,
because my entire site only represents about 50 MB of files. Googlebot
uses 50 MB of bandwidth on its visits. This makes sense, as they
index images as well as text, so the whole site is fair game. But
I don't have anywhere near 341 MB of data mounted up there.
What is that damned thing doing?
A quick Google scan indicates that others out there are having
the same problem, and have been since 2004 at least. At the advice
page, I created a robots.txt file containing the following:
User-agent: The Python Robot
This will (theoretically) forbid the bot from reading any files anywhere
on the site. According to this
short writeup, The Python Robot is supposed to respect robots.txt,
but only time will tell. I'll keep you informed. In the meantime,
if any of you have had experience with The Python Robot or know anything
crisp about it, please drop a note.
20, 2005: Cursives! The Palmer Method Strikes Again!
While passing through the Denver airport on my way home from Sacramento
this past Thursday, I saw yet another IBM/Lenovo
kiosk demoing the spectacular Thinkpad
X41 Convertible. Wanting to stand still for a few minutes and
settle my stomach after a white-knuckle descent through a front-range
rainstorm, I stopped by and messed with it a little more.
I'm intrigued by handwriting recognition, though I don't expect
to use it much, as my handwriting looks like the path of a drunken
earwig on a dusty table. So I took the stylus in hand, and wrote
a line of inconsequential text twice. The first pass was in my usual
fast printing, which I've done with great success since my college
blue-book era. The other line was the same text, but in the best
cursive handwriting I could muster, which was almost illegible even
to me, and I knew what it said:
IN 1948, MY GRANDFATHER GOT AUDITED. (This an old Morse Code practice
Click the button. Wham! The X41 processed what I had written, and
recast it in TrueType Arial. Alas, it got the printing version of
the line completely scrambled. It considered the initial word "in"
to be a graphic, and turned it into a vector drawing. Of the rest
it got about half the letters wrong. On the other hand, it got
every single cursive character correct, even though the handscript
was small, very slanted, and (to my eye at least) pretty damned
Whoa. The X41 could read my writing better than my printing. I
hadn't expected that. I heard some distant laughing around an invisible
corner, and knew that Sr. Marie Bernard was having a good one on
me. Back in sixth grade in 1963, this elderly, sardonic nun had
drilled us mercilessly in something called The
Palmer Method of Business Handwriting, expressed in a bright
red landscape-format workbook that looked like it had come out of
the 1930s. (Naw. It was actually 1912.) The Palmer Method
was not just instruction in the shapes of cursive letters. It was
practically a spiritual discipline. (Catholic schools loved
those, heh.) There was breathing and relaxation and endless practice
of loops and strokes. The gist of the Method was that you rested
your writing arm on the pad of muscle halfway between your wrist
and your elbow, and used motions of your arm and shoulder to form
the characters, without moving your hand at all. Of course, some
of us were so skinny that there was no "fleshy pad" to
rest our arms on, so we just rubbed our elbows raw and did our best.
For the next three years (until I graduated from eighth grade)
I had really beautiful handwriting. But once I stopped practicing
with that red workbook, and (more to the point) once I had to write
very very quickly to finish exams on time, my handwriting deteriorated
badly. By the time I got to DePaul University, I had switched to
an even faster method of printing that I devised on my own. It wasn't
fantastic, but at least it could be read, and I could produce it
So now I'm planning to buy a computer that knows the Palmer Method
better than it knows plain block printing. Oh, the humanity! Or, as
Sister would have said: "The very idea! To think that printing
is better than Palmer Method! Jeffrey, do you think you're still in
19, 2005: A Gizmo Challenges Skype
Some people have a knack for getting on my bad side even while
earning some grudging admiration. Michael
Robertson is one of those people, and a lot of the things he
does are like fingernails on the blackboard. I still grin, however,
at the way he suckered Microsoft into giving him a billion dollars'
worth of free PR by suing him over the Lindows trademark. ("Right
men" like Gates & Ballmer always fall for this trick. They're
genetically unable to allow themselves to lose the little ones.)
Linspire is now very well-known and often considered the easiest-to-use
Linux distro, especially by people who've never used Linux, if you
get my drift.
He also created NVu, a Web layout
tool with which I am increasingly impressed.
Well, Mikey is hard at work again, this time on something that
looks genuinely useful to me: The
Gizmo Project, and its back-end enabler, SIPPhone.
Gizmo and SIPPhone work pretty much the way that Skype
and SkypeOut work: They provide free, high-quality VOIP
calls between clients, and low-cost bridging to the telco network.
Gizmo looks slick, and I'll report on how well it works after I
use it for a bit. I like it because, unlike Skype, it uses SIP,
a well-understood industry-standard non-proprietary routing protocol.
Admittedly, SIP has a problem that Skype solved by going peer-to-peer:
Skype can get get around NAT routers much more easily than SIP,
which is an RTP-based
point-to-point protocol. This will resolve over time. Newer routers
are being designed to understand SIP as a special case with respect
to NAT, and there are some admittedly haywire workarounds like STUN,
which is a form of UDP proxy.
Broadband IP has the ability to transmit any kind of data within
the framework of a "call," and by building a system on
open, well-understand industry standards, whatever system we build
will be able to evolve quickly as the technology turns up newer
and better ways to move certain kinds of data. Sooner or later,
Gizmo will carry IM, audio, video, and file transfers. (Things like
Gizmo will grow popular as file-sharing venues over time, and will
become yet another headache in the collective empty heads of Big
Basically, Michael Robertson is doing this the right way. If you passed
on Skype, give this one a try. As I said, I'll pass along my reactions
after I've had some time to fool with it.
18, 2005: Mambo the Whatsis
Back in the Springs. Several people have been whispering to me
recently (in the wake of my discussions of Aardblog): "Go look
at Mambo. Go look at Mambo..." So once I got back to a broadband
connection that actually works, I went looking for Mambo.
I found it easily enough, and clearly, it's quite the thing.
So. Ok. What the hell is it?
My gripe is simple: It's very difficult to tell precisely what
Mambo does nor how it's generally used. I know that it's a template-driven
content management system (CMS), and there is an extremely sparse
little article on the Mambo main site explaining that Mambo is...a
template-driven content management system. It looks like the sort
of thing you create all-purpose portals inprecisely what I
would use if I were to mount and promote my domain hardsf.com.
But can it do good blogs? Class reunion sites? Web stores? Who
knows? Its fans consider it completely obvious, and that's a geek
trait that's driven me batty for thirty-five years. I'll continue
to poke around, but there really isn't any excuse for this sort
of thing. The front door should be right there, with at least five
thousand words and pointers to about thirty representative sites,
with screenshots. Millions of man-hours have been sunk into Mambo
already. Can't they use a few of those man-hours to tell the world
what they've worked so hard on?
16, 2005: Jim Rankin, Requiescat in Pace
I'm in Sacramento for a couple of days on a sad mission: Saying
farewell to a close friend, and fulfilling a promise I made to him
with no least understanding that the debt would be called in this
Jimmie Ray Rankin died last week, on the 9th of August, at only
63 years of age. He died in his sleep, without trauma, and his sister
(who found his body) told me in tears of the radiant smile that
remained on his face in spite of death. That didn't surprise me
too much. Jim beat the Bad Guy in high style; whupped his ugly ass,
in fact, and found the God that he had sought all his life. Like
me, he believed less in eternal rest than in eternal challengehe
was a writer and a preacher and a mind always in furious motion.
I hope God has something for him to do, because he suffers boredom
Just as Catholics choose a new name on their confirmations, Old
Catholic bishops often choose a new name on their consecrations,
to reflect their new identity as the caretakers of the Catholic
faith. Jim chose the name Elijah, and that is how most people on
the Internet (where he was most visible) knew him, as Bishop Elijah
of the Old Catholic Church.
It was an odd thing, but almost simultaneously back in 1998, I
met two of the most formidable men of the Old Catholic Church: Bishop
Elijah of San Francisco and Fr. Sam Bassett (since made a bishop
as well) of Santa Clara. The two of them roped me back into Catholicism
after a lonely 20-year wander through agnosticism and various odd
corners of the New Age. Privately, I sometimes think of them as
the Hounds of Heaven, who (separately and without much apparent
effort) made it clear to me that I was God's own and could not be
taken from Him by any power in Heaven or Earth.
Fr. Sam taught me that faith requires rigor; and Bishop Elijah
taught me that faith requires discernment. Not every damfool notion
one might have about God has value. Jim chewed me out here and there
for surrendering to odd ideas without adequate reflection. Faith
is often a struggle, but it is never passive acquiescence
to the first solution one finds to difficult and cosmic questions.
There is such a thing as Sacred Tradition, and it must be respected,
and if we challenge it, we had better be ready for a lifetime of
wrestling with the wisdom of those who have gone before us.
On the other hand, when the ashes of Coriolis were piled up around
my ankles in 2002, and 12 years of hard work seemed to have vanished
without a trace, he sent me a little vial of holy oil that he had
blessed (via FedX!) and told me to anoint myself, start healing,
and get back on track. God allows us sadness, but He does not
allow us self-pity.
He used to tease me on occasion about my enthusiasm for the very
eccentric Old Catholic movement (which he also embraced) and referred
to me once with a grin as The Only Known Old Catholic Layman, a
silly title I will wear with honor in his memory.
Jim was also a publisher, and his Dry Bones Press used the emerging
short-run print-on-demand technologies of the late 1990s to publish
books that would never have reached print in the days when a 3,000
copy run was considered a minimum viable effort. I hope to republish
some of his Old Catholic Studies series once I get my Copperwood
Press up and running. He willed me the copyrights to all his books
and asked me to shut Dry Bones Press down gracefully in the event
of his death. He was not the healthiest of men, but we had been
exchanging long and lively emails until two days before his unexpected
passsing. So it was with considerable shock that I learned of his
death this past Sunday, and I caught the first flight I could to
Sacramento, to honor his life and fulfill the promise I made him
two years ago.
Unlike many Protestants (who fret endlessly about whether God will
toss them in the fire) Jim and Sam and I were and are confident about
our role in the world and our ultimate (and, I feel, inevitable) reunion
with God. To us, salvation is not an event but a process, begun
and enabled by God but facilitated by the power of human friendship
and a willingness to reach out to the lost and confused. Jim helped
me get my head around the notion of Godand Sam is still out
there urging me on. In each life, I think, someone eventually stands
face to face with us and demands that we pay attention and
get on the path. So it happened with me. Jim Rankin, Bishop Elijah,
who got in my face and hauled my ass back into the Faith, is now face
to face with the Ground of All Being. If someday some confused person
comes to me and asks me which way is the Way, I hope to God (truly!)
that I can give as well as I got.
15, 2005: A Letter from Ma to the #1 Bum on V-J Day
The day after Pearl Harbor, my father enlisted, along with all
of his friends and cousins who were of age. This gang of fifteen-odd
random Chicago kids scattered to the far corners of the world during
the War, but one thing held them together: My grandmother's Underwood
typewriter. Throughout WWII, Sade "Ma" Duntemann called
them The Bums, and (almost) monthly published The Bum's Rush,
a one-sheet newsletter carefully typed in two columns and run off
after hours on a mimeo machine at the First National Bank downtown,
where my grandfather Harry "Pops" Duntemann was a bank
officer. She drew (or borrowed) little cartoons, and once enclosed
a copy of a photo of the pool table in their basement, where my
father and his buddies had hung out before enlisting. The newsletter
held all the neighborhood gossip, and when possible descriptions
of where the Bums were and what they were doing. The
January 1945 issue described how my dad's younger cousin John
Phil Duntemann (still living in Des Plaines, Illinois) lost a toe
when a greenhorn trainee backed T-5 John's own bulldozer over his
Five or six years ago, my sister and I unearthed something else:
A private letter to the #1 Bum (our father) written by Sade on that
same typewriter. It began on August 14, running on to the 15th,
and it was a first-hand account of the gathering expectation and
then the pandemonium in Chicago when news came that the War was
finally over. It's as close to a time machine as I'll ever find.
I cannot read it without hearing her voice, and the shouts in the
street, and the church bells, the car horns, and the laughter and
the joyous relief beginning a block off North Clark Street in Chicago,
and spreading throughout a tired and grateful world. I knew a lot
of these people, though most are now gone. I also know and appreciate
what they did, so if they went a little nuts, and got a little drunk
and silly, well, they earned every second of it.
Don't try too hard to sort out the names. Sis was my Aunt
Kathleen. The Marks ("Marxes") were cousins. John
Malone was my dad's best friend and (later) his best man, and the
families were very close. Most other people mentioned were neighbors.
Willie is the mongrel dog my father later smuggled home from Africa,
which is a wonderful story I will tell on the anniversary of my
father's return from the War.
Sade Prendergast Duntemann was very Catholic and very Irish. She
tried to infuse her letters with some of that Irishness, and if
you're not used to reading Irish dialect, it may be confusing. So
what I've done is prepared three copies, and you should attempt
them in this order: Look at the scanned images of the letter (it's
faded and hard to read, but at least scan it) then read the literal
transcription. If you can't figure something out, then read the
third version, which I edited a little for comprehensibility. "Demoni"
means "tomorrow" in Italian. And I have absolutely no
idea where Kernenyok is!
Side 1 (521K) Image, Side
I can add nothing to that. I'll only say that when I was ten and my
grandmother's health was failing, she gave me that old Underwood typewriter,
and I furiously pounded out stories on it for almost ten years until
the keys started to fall off. I didn't appreciate it at the time (How
could I? and what 10-year-old ever does?) but no other gift apart
from Carol's gift of herself would ever change me more.
14, 2005: The Greatest Bluff in History
My August 7, 2005 entry on Nagasaki triggered
a fair bit of mail, most of it in general agreement with me. Nothing,
however, came even close to what I received from my old Clarion
SF workshop buddy George Ewing. I'll quote it here almost verbatim,
on this the eve of the 60th anniversary of V-J Day:
Nagasaki was one of the
greatest bluffs in history, and Truman got away with it.
We had three bombs....period.
Little Boy, the gun-type
U-235 bomb dropped on Hiroshima, was so simple it didn't need to
be tested. However, the Y-12 and K-24 buildings in Oak Ridge, running
flat out 24-7 for two years, using 10-15% of the total electric
power in the entire US and Canada, produced enough WGM (weapons-grade
material) for one bomb, plus a few grams for lab work. There was
a good chance there might be enough for another by ChristmasChristmas,
1946, that is.
Hanford could theoretically
produced enough PU-239 for 2-3 bombs a year, and maybe could be
scaled up to a half dozen or so eventually, if the war lasted long
enough. However, the design was so bizarre and demanding, it had
to be tested, Hence the gadget tested at Trinity, Almogordo, NM
in July '45. It worked, and Truman got the word at Potsdam.
Now we had 2 bombs left,
and hope of a couple more in a year or so.
There was no doubt that
Little Boy was going to be used. Atrocity stories about mistreatment
of POWs and civilians in the Phillippines and China were coming
out, and the German death camps were still fresh news. Besides,
the sucker cost 2 billion bucks, in the days when a destroyer cost
Little Boy was dropped
on Hiroshima August 6, and worked about as expected; yield was 15-18
kilotonsless than Trinity, but still a helluva bang. The fallout
and radiation casulties would turn out worse than people had expected,
but news of that was slow coming out.
The Japanese physicists
weren't stupidthey had fallout samples to analyze in a couple
days. "Wow, enough uranium for a bomb! Damn thing must've been as
big as a truck...probably cost more to build than the Yamato. Even
the Americans can't have more than a couple of these. Anyway, the
napalm raids on the Tokyo suburbs killed ten times as many people....tell
We were down to one
bomb, now. So Truman says, either you guys agree to the Potsdam
declaration, unconditional surrender, no bullshit about amnesty
for war crimes or protecting the Emperor, or we will rain these
things on you until there's destruction like the world has never
seen, and we will keep on doing it until you are annihilated!
Fat Man fell on Nagasaki
a couple of days later, and was a good deal more powerful than Little
Boy at Hiroshima. When they got the fallout samples, the Japanese
scientists shit bricks. "An entirely different design, using a different
fissionable material that doesn't even exist in nature in trace
amounts!" They figured that these were just prototypes, and
the damn Americans were just getting cranked up for mass production!
What would be next? Fusion? Carbon cycle bombs? Truman's speech
had said in English, "The energy that powers the Sun itself."
Japan surrendered, and
we had no more bombs. About 3 were scheduled to be ready for Pacific
testing about a year and a half later. They say Truman was a heck
of a poker player, too...
Fersure, and it served himand uswell. It took another
fifty years for it to dawn on the world that nuclear fission is God's
way of saying, "Don't make me come down there!"
13, 2005: Odd Lots
- I'm a sucker for weird airplanes, and Pete Albrecht sent me
a pointer to a doozy: The
Bel Geddes Air Liner #4. Created by the quintessential interwar
Deco luxury stuff designer, Norman Bel Geddes, the #4 was
basically a flying cruise ship, imagined in 1929 as a monstrous
flying wing 528 feet across. Unlike modern jetliners where you
get four square feet if you're lucky, the #4 had staterooms, restaurants,
bars, and an orchestra. It was a seaplane, as were many large
conceptual craft back thenwhere else do you land them? Reading
the specs, I have to wonder if the damned thing could even get
out of the water, irrespective of its 20 piston engines generating
38,000 horsepower. But imagine cruising from Chicago to London
at 100 mph and taking 42 hours to do it! (Waiter! Another martini,
dry! And hand me my binoculars! I think I see the Azores!)
- I spent a week in Japan in 1981, and I've been saying for 25
years that Japan is the weirdest place on Earth. Nobody who hasn't
been there believes me, because the media has painted a picture
of the Japanese people and their culture that just doesn't correspond
with Japanese reality. If you want to get a flavor for that weirdness
these essays. It's about a Black American teaching English
in Japan. Some of it is funny, but most is just...weird.
- Yesterday's puzzle is simple: 2.48 miles is four kilometers.
Somebody translated a story (I think from the French) and the
gunner was talking about a hovercraft 4 klicks off the shore from
the gun battery. You can't just wiggle a slide rule and swap out
numbers with false precision. You have to think in Metric, or
think in English, and tell the story accordingly. I told my entire
novel in Metric, figuring that by 2348 we'd have abandoned inches,
feet, miles, and furlongs. I hope I'm right.
- There is a tiny little town in Austria named...well, I
can't you what it's named. All I can tell you is that the
sign coming into the town is very popular with American
12, 2005: Jeff & Carol's Vague Buffalo Spaghetti Sauce
Carol and I have a fair number of cookbooks, and when preparing
supper I'm always amused at the precision with which ingredients
are often specified. Five cloves. Not six. Not four. Not "a
few." Five. Chopped onion is metered out in fractional ounces.
As anyone who's done any serious cooking knows, all but a vanishing
few recipes are very rubbery. I can only assume the cookbooks
cater to people who engage in a sort of magical thinking, in which
what is going on matters less than the ritual required to do it,
until what is actually happening becomes a hushed mystery. Cooking
is taken very seriously in some quarters and I often have to strangle
a giggle at how reverent people can get about their food, and how
compulsive about their recipes. Five cloves, you heathen! It
says five cloves! How can you even think of using six!??!?!
(For a guy who invents hyperdrives every other month whether he
needs one or not, well, it's easy. And I like cloves.) In
voicing this objection among friends who cook, one sage (sorry)
comment was that you have to say something about quantities.
Food scales are calibrated in ounces, so you measure chopped onion
I guess. But four and a half ounces of chopped onion? This
reminds me of a bad SF story I read decades ago (I think in a fanzine)
in which the gunner objects, "but they're at least 2.48 miles
offshorewe don't have that kind of range!" (Can you guess
how this came about? Think.) Recipes, like
wine, are goofy things that should not be respected, lest they
generate more pretension in a world that already has more than its
share. One should make fun of them (and wine) as often as possible.
That doesn't mean you can't enjoy both.
As I write this, another batch of Jeff & Carol's Vague Buffalo
Spaghetti Sauce is out on the back deck, cooling. I am going to
present a perfectly useful (and actually marvelous) recipe that
contains only a single number: One. It's the recipe that I just
completed and that we will feast on tomorrow, with multi-colored
pasta (one of the colors is black, from squid ink) some fruit and
maybe a couple of carrots. It's not written down anywhere, so I'll
write it here.
Take one pound of ground buffalo meat. (It comes in one-pound packages
at Kings Soopers.) Brown it in the bottom of a good-sized covered
pan. You may need a little walnut oil to prime it; buffalo meat
contains almost no fat. Throw in a biggish can of tomato sauce.
If you have stuff like this handy, throw in a smallish can of crushed
tomatoes. (Open both cans first.) If you like crushed tomatoes,
throw in more. Older guys should eat lots of tomatoes. (Look it
up.) If you don't have any canned tomato products, you can use a
can of Hunt'sor anybody else'sprepared spaghetti sauce,
which is virtually all tomatoes anyway. Lower the heat some. Dump
in some wine, enough to smell good but not so much as to make the
sauce soupy, though if you can simmer it all afternoon, the extra
fluid will eventually boil off. What kind of wine doesn't matter
much; however, that species of wine that smells like cat piss is
not high on my list.
Chop up a sweet pepper into bite-sized chunks. Green, yellow, red,
who cares? They're all good. Chop up an onion (whatever size is
on sale at Safeway) into smallish bits. More onion if you're really
into onions, but eat some bread with it, especially if you're going
to be eating in company. Chop up some mushrooms any way that looks
pretty, and shovel all the veggies into the pan. Throw in a few
shakes of Italian seasoning, some ground rosemary, a little salt
(sea salt tastes soft and mellow, kind of like tube audio sounds,
but ordinary salt is ok) and if you like cloves, throw in some cloves
too. Actually, what kind of spices do you like? Go a little nuts.
Cook it on a heat level that keeps it slowly bubbling like those
bubbling paint pot mudholes you see at Yellowstone National Park.
(If you've never been there, rent a documentary. They're something
to see.) Let it go for quite awhile; all afternoon if you have all
afternoon. The longer you can let it go, the lower you can put the
heat, and the more time the flavors will have to glom.
Feeds Jeff & Carol for several days. Your mileage may vary.
What we usually do is prepare it after supper and cook it all evening,
put it out on the deck for an hour to cool, and then throw it in
the fridge until we remember that it's there and eat it. The longer
it sits, the better it tastes. Just don't forget about it until
it gets moldy.
On the other hand, you'll be forgiven if you eat it immediately, right
out of the pan, with a spoon. It's that good. No fractions
necessarynor any numbers but One.
11, 2005: PHP Smells Familiar
I've been studying PHP, and to my surprise I find that I like
it. So what if it looks like C? (What doesn't, these days?) I've
mellowed out about the language wars in recent years. I know I was
right, but nothing rides on the question anymore. (A note to my
non-geek readers: PHP is a programming
language. The acronym originally stood for "Personal Home
Page," but that name is a historical accident and no longer
meaningful, so the acronym has been recast recursively as PHP the
I had to scratch my head a little (and recently, my head has been
about the only part of my skin that doesn't itch) until I
figured it out: PHP smells familiar. It smells a lot, in fact, like
Turbo Pascal 5.0. Back before Windows and object-oriented programming,
we wrote a lot of text-mode programs that listened to you on standard
input, and talked to you on standard output. There was a single
stream of characters filing back and forth in a straight line between
code block and user. There were no events or messages or contexts
or frantic under-the-covers communication with the OS. "Getting
fancy" back then was creating a full-screen display resembling
a 3270 or VT-100 terminal, and to be really exotic you did...graphics.
Here we are again. PHP code runs not on your PC but up on your
Web server. You run a PHP program by pointing a browser at a program
file with a .php extension. The PHP program generates custom HTML
for display in the browser window, the same way our old text-mode
programs generated text and VT-100 control sequences, via a single
stream of characters marching through an HTTP connection. It's all
done in graphics mode, of course, but for the most part PHP deals
in text. The browser is the one throwing graphics around.
Without OOP, the code model is pretty simple: You write statements
and call functions. PHP has a delicious smorgasboard of many hundreds
of functions that can do both things we've always done, and things
we could not have imagined, and in truth didn't need, in 1990. (Cookies?
Those are what I eat while I'm programming, right?) I was attracted
to PHP by its built-in server-side database support, which astonished
me by its simplicity: Connect. Submit SQL command. If not error,
deal with results. Damn. Why wasn't ODBC that easy?
Anyway. It's like coming home again. And yes, I know that Delphi
can be persuaded to do a lot of these things, but somehow even Delphi
seems to have made server-side programming more complex than it
needs to be. I also know that PHP version 5 has added objects to
the language, but if I don't need the damned things, I do not intend
to use them. I've shot at flies with howitzers. It usually hurt
me more than it hurt the flies.
Somehow, PHP is just, well, fun the way Perl or Java never
were. Even with Delphi, there is a dreary side to Win32 programming
that wears me out. PHP fires me up. Gotta love it!
10, 2005: QBit at Six Months
QBit was officially six months old yesterday. I was actually hoping
to spring a Web-based photo album on you yesterday or today, but
I've had considerable difficulty finding a PHP-based album that
would work on my hosting service. I got yappa-ng
working on my own Windows server downstairs, but it's well, ugly.
Still looking. In the meantime, I'll fake an album right here.
the little monster about six weeks ago, with his very favorite toy.
He's really tough to get good photos of, though the one at right
is a favorite of ours, showing him the same day as above (late June)
caught in mid-gallop as he barrelled right at me after fetching
the ball. He weighed nine pounds three ounces at that time, and
was losing the last of his puppy teeth. There was a period when
we were finding them all over the house. I stepped on one in the
bathroom and it drew bloodtruthfully the only time he ever
He was very much the puppy back then, and in the interim weeks
has startled to hurtle into adolescence. He has all his adult teeth
now, and isn't afraid to use them on Carol's slippers. He's developed
a certain obsession with toilet paper, perhaps because he's now
tall enough to reach the roll standing on his hind legs. More than
once we've come upstairs or out of the kitchen to see what he's
up to, only to discover a long trail of unrolled tissue running
out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the
Like all young dogs, he has tremendous energy, but he seems a great
deal more manic than Mr. Byte or Chewy ever were. (Or are we just
older?) He's also a little willful, and not content to sleep at
the foot of the bed. After failing to convince him that behind my
pillow is not his proper place, he started spending his nights in
He has a thing for Carol's hair, and any chance he gets he will
jump up on her and grab the little elastic band (a "scrunchy?")
holding her ponytail, then pulls it free of her hair and runs off
with it. He digs dirty underwear out of the hamper and carries it
around the house. Outside, he never met a wood chip he didn't like.
We have not taught him how to go down stairs, and remarkably, he
hasn't tried it on his own. Downstairs here is all carpet and until
he's past the "age of accidents" we'd prefer he stay upstairs
on the tile.
right is how he looked earlier this afternoon. For his birthday
we took him down to Best Friends Grooming for a wash and blow-dry
combing. (He's still too young for his first haircut.) He weighed
eleven pounds ten ounces this morning, and is looking more like
an adult bichon all the tme. He's unlikely to get a great deal bigger,
and that's fine by us, because we want to be able to take him under
the seat of an airplace when we go to Chicago.
He's been a handful, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
We were expecting another Mr. Byte, or another Chewyor maybe
something that was a little bit of both. Instead, we got...QBit. There
has never been anything quite like him, nor will there ever be again.
And why would we want it any other way?
9, 2005: Smoke Test
minutes here and twenty minutes there for months untold, I realized
today, as I finished wiring in the dual volume controls on my tube
stero amp, that the power stages were both complete. That's when
I started feeling utterly reckless. I pulled a couple of 8 ohm speakers
off the shelf and plugged the wires into the back of the amp. I
hadn't so much as plugged the line cord into the wall since briefly
testing the power supply so long ago I don't remember whenand
that was before I had even begun wiring the amp itself. I turned
on my audio generator, flipped on the scope to watch the input waveform,
fed the waveform via clips into the top of the volume controls,
and then hit the power switch.
No smoke, no sizzle, and the lights didn't dim. There was a moment
of hesitant silence, and then rising out of the silence came a pure,
clean 2 KHz note. I ran the volume control to the top of its range,
and felt like I wanted to plug my ears.
Heh. That'll do, pig.
There's actually a fair amount of fussy wiring still to be done. I
have to wire in the tone control (another dual pot) and then piece
together the input network and the balance control. Nonetheless, the
end is in sight, and I'm fighting the temptation to set Labor Day
as a completion target. I swore I wouldn't do that. Slow
food is hard for me. (I like to eat it while it's hot.) Slow electronics,
well, now that I can do.
8, 2005: Report Generator Deja Vu
The insight I had when I first started thinking about Aardblog
was the one that made me decide to try it: Aardblog is a report
generator, and not an especially sophisticated one at that.
I used to write report generators for a living, though that was
before a fair number of my readers were alive, using tools whose
names I've willfully forgotten. Reporting on a database wasn't rocket
science then, and it isn't rocket science now:
- You run the query against the database into private temp tables.
- You calculate the summary data into variables or more temp tables.
- You render the header.
- You render the columns.
- You render the footer.
That's it. "Rendering" used to mean queueing it up on
the big line printer; it now means constructing HTML to send down
to the requesting Web browser. (This is usually done using PHP,
though there are many other ways.)
ContraPositive today is set up like an output report: It has a
header, containing the title and my picture. It has two columns,
one for navigation and archive links, the other for the actual entries.
It doesn't have a footer, though I've thought about adding a nav
bar at the bottomand decided against it. Not everybody ducks
down there on every visit. Most do not, I suspect, read more than
the current two or three entries at any one time, and I display
three months at a shot.
Anyway. It'll be just like coming home again, except that I don't
have to use COBOL this time. I haven't written much HTML in the
last five years, since I discovered Dreamweaver, but before then
I wrote a lot. The queries necessary for something like this
are SQL 101. I'm tinkering with PHP and like it. All I need are
the time and the energy.
Oh, to be 40 again!
7, 2005: Getting Past Nagasaki
We're now approaching the 60th anniversary of the end of World
War II. I have something odd and upbeat to post on VJ-Day, assuming
I can find the files. If not, I have some scanning and OCRing to
do again, sigh.
Sigh, indeed. Yesterday was the 60th anniversary of our dropping
a nuclear weapon on Hiroshima. Many or even most people who are
not completely ignorant of the history of WWII or totally wigged
out by nuclear weapons understand the necessity of Hiroshima. The
world stood stunned as the smoke cleared, and against a threat like
that, Imperial Japan would have caved in days. Then there was August
9. Why did we have to do it again?
First of all, avoid the temptation to second guess and judge the
people who lived the era and bore the responsibility. People were
dying across the world, not by hundreds or thousands, but by millions.
Whole nations and peoples were virtually wiped off the planet. How
well would you have handled it?
I've been boning up on my 20th century history lately, through
several books like The Great Influenza, The Fall of the
Dynasties, and The War Against the Weak, along with a
quick flip through the marvelous 1966 American Heritage Picture
History of WWII, though I wept when I read my father's notes
in the margins. Good God, he was there, in the thick of all
that hell, dust, and death. He, at least, got back alive, as a man
named Robert Williams, who might otherwise have been my father,
I think I understand Nagasaki. I don't like the understanding I
have, but I understand: WWI ended scarcely twenty years before WWII
began. The death-stink of Verdun remained vivid in the memories
of those who survived it. (They are still digging
unexploded ordnance from those now-peaceful fields!) The world
seemed to be recognizing a pattern: Every generation, a strange
psychosis reached some sort of critical mass, and erupted in increasingly
deadly conflicts between nation-states that (by 1945) should long
have known better. Even as Nazi Germany collapsed, I think that
forward-looking people were charting the line between 1870, 1914,
and 1939, and did not like the shadow they saw ahead. The points
were growing closer, and the death toll higher, each time that the
world went to war. Patton
knew what Stalin was, and although he was forbidden his plan
to take Moscow, I think his superiors came to understand Patton's
insight. I'm almost certain that the next European war would have
come by 1955, and a nuclear-powered Soviet Union would have reduced
much of Europe to sizzling ash.
Instead, we took Nagasaki. One might have been a fluke, or good
luck. Two in four days was a statement that could not be ignored.
In a sense, the American leadership was telling the rest of the
world, Stalin and every other emerging nationalist psychopath who
might be watching: This..nonsense..will..stop...now.
I mourn for Nagasaki, as I mourn for the Jews, and the Russians,
and the Ukraine, and my mother's high-school sweetheart. It's been
quiet now for sixty years. There has never been another nuclear
attack. In my view, there has never actually been another war. (Those
who consider Iraq I or II or even Vietnam a "war" need
to read more history.) The world turned a corner in 1945. We stopped
connecting the dots, and there is some hope that the horrible line
between 1870, 1914, and 1939 will not be drawn again. 75,000 people
died at Nagasaki, but had they not died, 100,000,000 would almost
certainly have perished the next time the world erupted.
is no such thing as pacifism. Doing nothing is doing something.
There is no escaping responsibility. There are no good choices. All
we can do is bless our dead for what their lives have purchased, and
6, 2005: Fixed-Width Web Pages
As part of the Aardblog design process I've been thinking a lot
about how Web content should look, how people like to read it, and
what consitutes easy rather than problematic reading. One of the
core questions here is fixed-width vs. the traditional HTML reflow-to-the-window-size
The idea with content that reflows itself to the size of the window
it appears in is powerful, but I feel that it has severe limits.
Content that looks good at 800 wide might look OK at 700 wide, but
(to me, at least) looks like crap any narrower than that. Designing
content that looks good at any stated width is impossible, unless
you don't mind "raisin cookie" design, in which the graphical
and iconic raisins just sort of ride around as text reflows and
there is no real "design" in the strictest sense of the
This is one of those topics that always spawns fistfights, and
I'm not under the illusion that my insights are objectively correct.
And at the risk of sounding like some granola nutcase, I lean toward
the opinion that an artist should be able to have some control over
the way his or her art appears to the consumer. I thought very hard
for a long time about the current design of Contra (which I am migrating
in the background, bit by bit, to the rest of my site) and I think
it looks good and works. No gonzo fonts, color only when color is
needed, no backgrounds, no animations except (as with Pete Albrecht's
animations of Jupiter's moons or its moons' shadows ) when the
animations are the point. There are limits to "dynamic"
text, and in my view those limits are quite modest.
Or maybe I'm just a books guy through and through.
I designed Contra (and ultimately the rest of my site) to fit without
scroll bars in an 800 pixel-wide Windows browser window. (Some pages
got a little wider somehow, and I'm in the process of fixing them.
Patience.) On wider screen resolutions, the layout just stops at
the right margin. I don't think this is a bad thingpast a
certain point, the wider a column gets, the harder it becomes to
read. Many of my younger readers are now using displays with 1280
horizontal pixels. I've seen Contra brought up on those screens.
Good God. They argue that they can always ratchet down the width
of the browser window, and they can (though few do) but I have never
much liked being able to see eight or ten open windows, all at the
same time. (The way I use PCs, whatever I'm currently working on
has the whole screen. Being able to spot open windows is what taskbars
I have had honest inquiries concerning my site from people who
say that fixed-width Web content can't be viewed effectively on
PDA or smartphone screens. Well, uh, yeah, and we didn't put a Great
Dane-sized collar around QBit's neck, either. PDA/smartphone screen
design is an entirely separate discipline from conventional
screen design, right down to the level of the underlying assumptions
and patterns of use. I don't think one design can serve bothunless
you settle for no design at all.
That in fact may be the solution. Think RSS. If you take an RSS
feed, you can control the format to look good on your own display
(through your client-side RSS reader) no matter how big or small
it is. That way, the artist gets to do a design, people who like
that design can read it, and so can those who don't care about design
at all and are happy just having the text and links, and any pictures
that you can see on a smartphone's little bitty screen. That's as
close as we're going to get to consensus on this one, and I think
as consensi go, it's a good one.
Aardblog will have RSS feeds. More later.
5, 2005: Odd lots
- Somebody spent a fair amount of time doing this
up, I'm sure, and my only objection is that the curve is mighty
flat. (Statistically, the English language consists of "the,"
"of," "and," "to," and "a,"
plus debris.) Scary insight: of the 86,800 words in the list,
"colitis" is #7,033.
- On my poison ivy adventure: I got a shot of steroids this past
Sunday, as well as some additional steroid pills and Zyrtec for
the itch. The steroids make me queasy, though things are starting
to look better, and I'm not one huge oozing sore anymore. (How
can athletes both eat and take steroids at the same time?)
- Do any of you have a favorite utility for spotting bad links
in a Web site? All I want is a program that spiders a given domain
(like duntemann.com) and logs anything other than a successful
request for a page.
- Read the yellow sidebar in this
article in SDTimes. Borland isn't doing well, and a major
shareholder is strongly suggesting that they spin off Delphi.
I knew it would get this bad someday. I just didn't think it would
get this bad this soon.
- I've (finally!) gotten the
photo index for Contra completed and up to date, at least
to the end of July. Dates cited in the photo index without URLs
are still in Diary.htm and haven't been placed in separate month
files yet. I have to split out the past 2 months into separate
files as soon as I finish them, I guess, even if I leave them
in Diary.htm for awhile.
4, 2005: Midnight Scammers on the Kidney Stone Circuit
Still not eating, mostly due to a weird and improbable mistake:
I tried to eat some generic Rice Chex dug out of the back on the
pantry and failed to notice (in my mental haze) that they were many
many months old and starting to go bad. So just as I was
starting to recover from the painkillers, I ate a bowl of bad food
(I didn't know that Rice Chex could spoil!) and hit bottom on the
nausea scale again. Haven't eaten very well in the last week, and
haven't eaten or kept anything eaten since supper on the 2nd.
Anyway. While I was in the ER waiting room at 2:35 AM, holding
Carol's hand while doubled over in stone agony, I tried to distract
myself by listening to an "infomercial" on one of the
several ER TVs. It was as a brilliant as it was sleazy, and just
"smelled wrong" after about ten seconds. A guy is selling
kits to explain how to do "Internet marketing." "Become
a millionaire on your kitchen table!" he says, and interviews
people who have supposedly been making $200,000 per month using
his system. Never once does he explain what the business mechanism
is, just how much money people have earned on it. He shows people
buying new cars and big new houses, and much more like that. He
hints that if you really want to make it big, you can join
his exclusive "Millionaire's Club." About that he says
even less. The copy was brilliant, the presentation damned near
perfect. Only the snake oil was different. You can have your own
bottle for $39.95. Call now!
About then they threw me on a gurnee and trucked me off to get
a gown and an IV, so the pitch stopped there. I hope my Canadian
readers won't weep when I admit that I was being fed into a whirling
CAT scanner fifteen minutes later. (My appendix, apparently,
is in fine shape.) Got painkillers, spent the rest of the night
passing the stone, didn't sleep, went home queasy, am still not
right, thanks to that devil's brew of painkillers, steroids for
the poison ivy, and eight-month-old Rice Chex.
But I remembered the TV pitchman's name, and did a little research
earlier this morning. There are whole sites devoted to infomercial
scams, and they were fascinating to read. (Try this
and this, and for
stories from the victims of the particular guy I saw talking on
the ER TVs, read this.)
People often wonder how this can be legal, but the key to keeping
the scam legal is to make sure that it's actually (if barely) possible
to make money with the system. The people who do have the skills
and the determined personality to pull it off are the ones who don't
need the system to succeed in lifeand the system can cost
many thousands of dollars, once you realize that the $39.95 package
is a vague, useless overview and you go for the upgrade pitch.
The saddest part is that TV scammers betray trust and honesty,
and make otherwise decent people cynical for losing money believing
something "as seen on TV." (I've long wondered why that
would be any kind of endorsement at all!) The fact that the informercials
run at 2:30 AM tells you something: Lonely, isolated no-hopers are
the target audience. Such people are often thinly connected to society,
and buying things by phone is both an entertainment and a means
of achieving some sort of connection, however meager.
Apart from insomnia (which I mostly have licked) thinking back to
times when I've been awake at 2:30 AM, it's virtually always when
I've been in pain. The scary thing to ponder is that for a lot of
people, that's not an isolated moment on the kidney stone circuit,
but a way of life.
3, 2005: People Who Fall Into Poison Ivy...
...shouldn't throw stones. Nonetheless, I threw a kidney stone
late yesterday evening, spent half the night in the hospital, got
zero sleep, and am viciously nauseated by the painkillers they pumped
into me. I'm afraid nothing of consequence is going to get done
today. Even reading about PHP makes me want to throw upnot
that that's any fault of PHP.
Check back tomorrow.
2, 2005: Bear Repellant from Mars
Much going on today so I must be brief. The local paper reported
that a bear broke into a house less than a mile from us some days
back, and tore up the kitchen looking for food. No one was hurt
but the place got messed over pretty bad, and there were small children
in the house at the time of the bear's visit. (They had left their
lower-level windows open for cool air during the night.) We ourselves
have seen bears twice here in the past year, once
rifling a neighbor's trash can, and another right at the back
of the house just a month ago: Pete Albrecht was here, and the two
of us looked over the edge of the deck railing, and there he was,
looking right back up at us. We
found bear tracks once in the mud in front of the house during
construction. They're just a part of the landscape, and dangerous
encounters are rare.
We heard from people across the street that the Colorado Springs
police deal with bear reports near houses by cruising over in a
squad car and nailing the bears with pepper spray. This happens
fairly regularly in late summer when the vegetation dries up and
the pickins get slimmer on the mountain slopes. It has happened
so often, in fact, that the local bears have come to associate police
cars and their flashing lights with pepper spray. Mostly, they will
lumber off as soon as they see the squad car lights approaching.
So...I'm going to find a cheap battery-operated Mars lamp and put
it on the end of a pole. If we hear something banging around near
the house, we grab the pole, turn on the lamp, and take a look. If
the bear runs, we're cool. (I don't see hitting the poor things with
pepper spray without cause.) On the other hand, if it's a new (or
a dumb) bear, we'll call 911 and wish that bears had an oral tradition.
1, 2005: Found And Almost Found Art
I'm generally suspicious of "found art" and have
made fun of it in the past. However, last month, while I was
helping Carol clean up her mom's basement a little, I came upon
her mom's old button tin, which is a fruitcake tin with about half
an inch of 50's and 60's buttons in the bottom of it. It hadn't
been touched for a long time, and being careful not to shake it,
I took some pictures.
I just found the colors and the variety striking and
worth recording. Assuming this collection is typical of its era,
today's buttons are mighty dull by comparison.
My business partner Keith Weiskamp, with whom I founded
The Coriolis Group and Paraglyph Press, did some found artwork of
his own this summer. He rehabbed a beach house on the ocean near
Portland, Maine, and when the work was done had gathered a bucket
full of sheet metal scraps the tradesmen had left behind, mostly
from flashing the roof. He put together a largish sculture that
spans one entire sky-blue exterior wall of the house, by stringing
out little bits of flashing on a piece of leftover electrical wire.
(The kite itself is a larger piece of leftover flashing.) I like
kites and Keith's kite is beautifully done, and playful in the precise
way that a beach house should be, especially where one gets good
winds on a regular basis.
Somewhere I think I have a photo of a house owned by a chap near here
in Manitou Springs who covered the front lawn with welded iron spiders
made of old car transmissions, with rebar for legs. It sounds grotesque
but they're beautifully done, and very much "in character"
for this area's most eccentric town. I'll post it when I find it.