I decided to join the annual Halloween race. I ran it, what, two years back? That was when it remained a midnight race. Now it's run at sundown, almost seven hours earlier. I opted out because the fun was lost. But I need to run again before my body packs on winter weight. I ran for more than half an hour last night. My new idea is to run for time instead of distance. Thirty minutes should be enough to run a 5k even at a slow trot.
I found myself in a gas line last night for about 45 minutes. It was the weakest day for gas supplies in our region, but this morning looked better at local stations.
We both watched the debate last night. Biden did a much better jobs with specifics. Palin used so much homespun dialect, it was almost a caricature.
1) On Saturday, I picked up my painting from the frame shop. The nice gent behind the counter dug it out from his pile of orders, held it up to me, and asked "it's supposed to hang this way, right?"
It was sideways.
This is why painters sign their work. It's not ego. It's so the framer knows which edge of the painting is the bottom.
To his credit, he immediately took the painting to his workbench and changed out the screws and restrung the wire. Ta-dah, I have a framed painting.
2) I sold Mom on opening iTunes on her new PC, but she wouldn't give up her credit card info to buy songs. I knew that she'd find songs she hasn't heard in years and years, and sure enough the first song she wanted to look for was a tune by the Harlem Globetrotters. Yes. It was the '70s; everyone made an album. She found the song, and I made her a deal: I'll set her iTunes to charge purchases to my songs, and she could pay me back. She agreed. We bought the song. She played it a lot.
She emailed me Monday to say she had somehow muted the program. This is why I didn't want her to sign up with Geek Squad. I hope I can remotely fix any similarly small problems like this.
She was hoping to buy the extended version of Sex and the City, but couldn't find it. I found it online and shipped it to her. I was hoping to surprise her, but I'm sure she'd see this Amazon order on her stoop and think someone had scammed her by finding her PC information online. Also, I never thought I'd have any conversation with My Mom that involved the word "sex."
I was asked to stage manage a show in the upcoming theatre season, and I agreed. I did it in the fall of 2003 for a much larger stage in a play called Tintypes. It required stacks of props. And that worked OK. I had stagehands to boss around. I can do this again with my local theatre.
Picture of the Day The painting is up. And it suddenly looks tiny. I want a big painting now.
To save gas, I took my work PC home Thursday night and stayed home Friday. I like that set-up. I could take a break for Wookie-throwing when necessary, and I had plenty of snacks.
I watched the debate that night. Your Sis made it about 20 minutes before conking out. I have to admit, I was swim-headed when they started talking about Russia, but I stuck with it. The candidates were clearly talking to the undecideds. I think I'm objective when I say Obama made the better effort; McCain did himself no favors by stumbling over the name of Iran's president and nor did the tug-of-war over preconditions. But it felt like a substantial debate, and I'm glad we're finally at this point in the campaigns.
I drove back home Saturday and had dinner with high-school friends. I became re-acquainted with someone I hadn't seen since I graduated, and we all ate jambalaya and birthday cake. Long conversations about decades-removed relationships and drama ensued. Also, my buddy Esther's child is a little over two years old, and he looks juts like his dad.
The next day, we bought Mom a computer, her first. We practically tackled the Best Buy store as the doors opened. She wanted a Dell, easy enough) and a printer with all the bells and whistles. And she got it. It faxes, copies, and scans. It's an office. She does want the ability to work from home in bad weather, and she's set up for that now. It took some doing to set up the DSL in her new computer, and we both had to react to Windows Vista. After three hours of unboxing and activating, my brain shut down. I drove back home in time for dinner and some vegetative couch time.
Spartanburg and Mayberry are a little better for gas supplies. Georgia continues to have problems, but it's "supposed" to be stablized by this weekend.
As my tank fell below half capacity, I started to plot. I have a number of stations along my commute, and I warned the boss that I might be late if I saw a gas line. But I didn't want to line up until my tank got lower. I couldn't bring myself to get in line with half a tank. I passed a few lines and got to work. In about an hour, a line stretched past our entrance as the Ingles station two stores over received a tanker. Again, I held off. A co-worker took advantage and got in line. He had a full tank in about an hour.
As the day progressed, I started to worry I may have missed my chance. Asheville announced that city offices will close Friday and Saturday. My boss offered to let me work from home tomorrow; I'll simply take my work PC when I leave tonight. As I drove home, I listened to the crackpot radio preacher as he fielded calls about local stations. He announced a tanker was on the way to a particular station. How he got the information, I don't know. Within 20 minutes, he announced the station had to shut down the pumps becuase the line was getting rowdy. Seven police cars were en route, he said. Fifty-five cars were waiting for gas already. He likes to exaggerate, you see. It ifts in with his perpetual end-days rhetoric. I didn't even try it.
I met Your Sister at the lib'ary for a board of education forum for the teachers. Virtually all the audience members were school employees, and the candidates answered questions with this demographic in mind. After, we trotted to the local Mexican restaurant, and the owner said the local Ingles had gas and long lines. The commute had knocked my tank down to a third capacity, and I left to line up.
I got there at 9:30. The line reached around the perimeter of a secondary parking lot and toward the grocery store. Emergency volunteer crews directed traffic, including splitting the line depending on which side our gas tank doors sat on. I got through in thirty minutes, got my eight gallons, and got home less than an hour after I left. I felt good about it. Now I can go to Spartanburg this weekend AND I'll work from home tomorrow.
As I drove to work today, that same store had a gas line, and two BPs had small lines. The good news is that the lines are getting shorter now. But yesterday, it was a bad sight.
This is from the Citizen-Times:
I'm too young to remember the gas shortages of the '70s. The crazy-ass radio preacher was convinced this surpassed that, but those shortages were nationwide. I don't think this panic qualifies. Some stores are offering free snacks for people in line, and that's the kind of PR you can't buy. They'll win over lots of folks.
Your Sis is worried the gas shortages might scuttle the Atlanta trip, but I assured her the gas stations should be better by the middle of next week.
During all this, I took back my bath towel and rug set to Sears (the colors didn't match my new art matting), and bought a new set at Bed, Bath and Beyond. The latter store, surprisingly, doesn't sell sets of towels and rugs, and color matching is a chore. I splurged for the set I settled on, and now I'm covered on this domestic front for the next ten years or so.
I'm using some of your South African curry tonight in my recipe. Don't know which one just yet.
In the News I'm just saying: If Obama had suspended his campaign on the same day polls showed he had slipped behind by nine points, he'd be accused of cowardice. McCain claimed he was willing to lose and election to win the war. Is he willing to lose the election to rescue the economy? And why can't he debate in primetime when the Senate has adjourned for the day? Move the debates to D.C. if need be.
I had to buy a new PC about, wow, almost three years ago when my old PC suddenly refused to work. Windows ME crashed. It took months to meticulously copy files from that PC to the new one. I had hoped that I could at least use the old PC as a backup drive for my files. I loaded it with Windows XP this weekend in hopes of salvaging it, and I bought USB and ethernet cables to connect the two. But the old PC continues to freeze during the simplest functions. So it's worthless to me. I'm going to trash it, including bashing the hard drive to bits. It was a good PC while it lasted.
The gas situation is getting spooky. Atlanta is running dry. Nasheville is getting low. Mayberry has no gas to speak of, and the Asheville airport BP had a line stretching down the road. I'm supposed to go to South Carolina this weekend, and I hope I can get at least half a tank to get me there and back.
The restoration folks came back to the house to make an estiomate for drywall repair. Maybe they'll get started on the repair this week.
Asheville won an ugly game against Mayberry. We walked to a local party and stood around a bonfire before getting home after midnight. After a surprisingly long sleep, we woke up and hit the road for time-killing shopping. I'm putting together a grab bag for a high-school friend whose birthday is this weekend. I think wine and chocolate will spoil her enough. She's a mom and a wife, but I don't want to get her anything that relates only to those relationships. She needs a gift just for her.
We watched Vicky Christina Barcelona Saturday night. I can't believe I got Your Sister to a Woody Allen movie. She's ethically repulsed by him, yet this viewing was her idea. I wasn't complaining. It's a good film, and solidly in his wheelhouse: people get in their own way to finding happiness. Also, she declared her desire for Javier Bardem. I, on the other hand, remained unmoved by Scarlet Johannsen. Years of celebrity news coverage have instructed me to want her, but it doesn't take. We ended the night with a pile of doughnuts.
Our town is out of gasoline. It's a problem that's also spread into South Carolina and Tennessee. I still intend to drive down this weekend to visit Mom; she wants a computer -- her first -- and I'll make sure she gets one with all the bells and whistles she's looking for. I installed Windows XP on my old PC and hope to move its files over to the newer PC. Then I might donate the old PC to Your Sister's school. I want to get the newer portable hard drives and save a copy of all my computer files off the PC.
I pulled up almost all of the garden. The squash vines withered to a pallor, and the lone pumpkin couldn't develop any further. We chucked it. We saved what few corn cobs we could and ate them last night. We still have tomatoes and peppers growing.
My Sith apprentice killed Rancors last night. This game is brilliant.
Picture of the Day Help me, SuperPig. You're my only hope.
Our NFL Bet Her Teams Patriots (2-0), Chargers (0-2) Panthers (2-0), Giants (2-0)
My Teams Steelers (2-0), Jaguars (0-2) Panthers(2-0), Cowboys (2-0)
A new Star Wars game, Force Unleashed, is out for the major gaming systems, and the first five minutes of it surpasses everything we saw in Clone Wars. We get the blue text, the horns blaring, the shrinking logo, crawling yellow text, and the camera pans down to a planet and a Star Destroyer. I smilled and smiled and smiled.
The game is between Episodes 3 and 4, and it, so far, involves Darth raising an apprentice from childhood. Players learn the game basics by playing as Darth leading an Imperial assault on the Wookie homeworld. The game allows you to grab a wild variety of objects with the Force and toss them. This includes dead Troopers and attacking Wookies. You can force choke, you can block blaster fire with the lightsaber, you can throw your saber and kill specific targets. This is as far as I've gotten so far because I went back to do it again. It's glee.
Asheville comes to Mayberry tonight for a football game, and we're going. The weekend looks open so far.
The garden is winding down. The cold seems to hit the tomatoes hard, and we'll be lucky to get three ears of corn. I think I planted too late. But the soil will have plenty of nutrients for next year.
Picture of the Day We didn't pick the Vikings this year.
Because we now officially have no play running this fall, I find myself with lots of free time. I'm going to run in the annual Halloween run, and I intend to improve my 5k time. I ran Saturday and Monday, thanks to the iPod and decent weather. A school bug may have hit home. I think I have a mild flu. It hurts to move my eyes.
We double-checked our money-market accounts in light of the Wall Street news. We're OK, I believe.
And since this is a puny post, let's wheel in our regular guest blogger, Iron (Face) Chef Doctor Doom.
It has indeed been a hectic time here at Stately Doom Manor, what with alien Skrulls getting all up in Doom's bidness. These interlopers dare hope they can conquer Latveria and exploit the populace for nefarious ends. That's Doom's job! Doom commands them to step off, and Doom would single-handedly thrash them from ribbed chin to funky green toes if Doom were not otherwise occupied with his new recipe -- a formula that verily drips with genius and skill, traits unknown to that Accursed Reed Richards!
Tonight, Doom deigns to grant you Chicken Tetrazzini!
Doom commands you to boil one package of spaghetti noodles. Oft times this will equal 7 ounces. This shall suffice. For convenience, Doom prefers to snap his noodles into thirds. Doom likes to imagine they are the very bones of the Accursed Richards. Doom relishes the loud cracks. Doom screams aloud "Crack your bones, Richards! Crack your bones! Doom lives for the sound!"
[Somewhat famous English transvestite comedian Eddie Izzard walks in]
Eddie Izzard: Oh, hey, Doom. That, um, that sounds a bit like my chiropractor bit. You know -- oh, nice apron, by the by. I like the little design. What is that, a retarded iguana?
Doom: This ... This is Doom's family crest. What are you --
Izzard: Oh, sorry, love. Anyway, yeah, I do the "crack yer bones" thing in my act. The joke is the chiropractor prescribes the same medicine for every problem, you see. "Hangnail? Crack yer bones. Smelly pits? Crack yer bones." And then I make funny faces and pretend I'm in a crazed state as I move their spines. "Make the noise! I live for the noise!" It goes over like --
Doom: WHO LET EDDIE IZZARD INTO DOOM'S HOUSE?! Doombots! Throw him into the sun!
Now then ...
Doom commands you to melt 1/4 cup of butter in a 2-quart pot. When the butter is entirely liquid, Doom commands you to mix in 1/4 cup of all-purpose flour and pinches of salt and pepper. Doom commands you to stir this on low heat until it is smooth and bubbly.
Doom commands you to add to the pot 1 cup of chicken broth and 1 cup of heavy cream. Doom commands you to bring to this boil. Doom commands you to to stir constantly.
When the noodles are al dente, Doom commands you to drain them and add them to the mixture. Doom commands you to add 2 cups of cubed chicken, 1/2 cup of sliced mushrooms, and 2 tablespoons of cooking sherry.
Doom commands you to pour the mixture in a 2-quart baking pan. Doom commands you to preheat your paltry oven to 350 degrees. Doom commands you to sprinkle 1 cup of grated Parmesan cheese atop the mixture. Doom forbids you from greasing the pan first. Heed Doom always. Doom commands you to bake the mixture for 30 minutes. When the cheese bubbles, Doom permits you to remove the pan.
Doom commands you to relish.
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You can probably replace the chicken with fish and the chicken broth with fish stock. Probably. I added a new Cooking With Villainy page on the bottom-right links list so you can find the recipes.
We ate dinner Friday with some theatre buddies, and I got more news. The renovation project is going in a bad direction. The tiny subcommittee talking to the architects thinks it's a good idea to spend a full third of the total funds on the dressing rooms. Instead of, maybe, the stage. When we produced the courtroom show, we changed in teh law library. All you need in a dressing room is a toilet, a mirror, a sink, a table and some clothes hangers. That's it. It shouldn't cost more than $50,000 -- their proposed amount. The people I had dinner with are considering leaving the group over this and other weak decisions. There's no cohesion on fund-raising. For these concerns, he held off sponsoring me for the board of directors.
It's a small theatre, and they seem to have exceeded their grasp with this major renovation project. They need a space to present shows to make money, but they need money to fix up that space. I had the idea of a paid Banned Book Week reading. Get folks to sign up for 15-minute readings from a banned books and sell snacks for money. We could partner with the library or local bookstore. Barnes and Noble used to do this, and I once found myself reading Where the Sidewalk Ends to half the store.
Our season of plays still isn't public, and the expected backlash from vocal theatre mainstays is still on the horizon. I've offered to field the complaints, and I stand by that.
Again, there's always more drama backstage.
The squash vines are fading fast, and I plucked up all the gourds. We have one pumpkin still growing, and I don't think it will mature before Halloween. The tomatoes might keep going for another month, and the corn --- well, we'll see. We'll be lucky to get four ears off them. Next year's garden will be much better.
We walked into a local store and found a comic spinner rack. They wouldn't sell it to me, but they offered to pass along the name of the company from which they bought it. I'd love to have one in the big living room. I also bought a GI Joe comic for Your Sis. The cashier thought she knew her from Earth Shine, and we suspect she recognized you in Your Sister's face.
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The Sarah Palin interview made one thing clear: Framing yourself as an outsider suggests you don't know how things work. Palin didn't know about discretionary spending versus accepted budgets, and that's significant if you pledge to fix government expenditures. She also wouldn't definitively answer a question until she was prompted two or three times. She has to step up.
It's not that I'm bored with the blog. It's just that nothing big is happening.
I've done some garden work. We've developed little worms laying eggs on the gourds. It seems that my monstrous pumpkin vines will only grow one jack o'lantern this year.
Your Sis is dragging, and needs a weekend badly. But she'll work most of the time, of course. She's also trying to set up the Atlanta honeymoon weekend for Your Parents.
Our hamlet is running out of gasoline. This exact same thing happened after Katrina. The pipeline stopped running for a few days, and morons flocked to the stations to fill up any container they had. Some, like my late uncle, filled up their boats. Prices soared, stations ran dry, and then gas was trucked in a week later. I filled up this morning and should be OK for a week. The panic has hit Asheville too.; the Ingles station nearest to the office is now sans gas.
I'm sketching more, and plan to take my painting to the frame shop this weekend.
Picture of the Day He can even stop the political rancor.
The ductwork company called last week to set up a time to come by and give us an estimate for the basement work. We agreed to meet at the house Friday night at 6. He4 never showed up. I gave him 90 minutes before I left to get dinner. He called again yesterday to set up another rendezvous: last night at 6. He showed up at 6:20 and said he needed to hurry because he had his young kid in the truck. The estimate was about what we expected, and I signed it. He said he needed to bring his boss by on Tuesday to double-check the ducts. Then he explained the codes had changed and new ductwork has to be a half-inch thicker. The estimate might change becuase of that. Common sense would ask why the estimate wasn't offered before that inspection.
Whenever this work is done, we'll need to ask the restoration people to come by and patch the drywall. And then -- maybe -- we'll be finished with all this.
Your Sister officially has a motorcycle endorsement on her license. She's a biker chick.
I was told yesterday that the theatre board decided to drop the proposed opening play, the apartment comedy, and focus on renovating the space and aiming for the Christmas show. I'm of mixed feeling. I like that comedy a lot and fought hard for it. When it didn't have the support, I watched it get shelved, only to emerge again late in consideration. Now it's gone again. On the other hand, as the new publicity director, it's one less show to sell to the press, but I think we need to tell the community our plans.
Also, since I heard about this board decision secondhand, I assume this means my application to the board was rejected. I had an energetic sponsorship, but they meet at lunch while I work in another county.
I also talked to next semester's newspaper teacher, and we made tiny plans for organizing the paper virtually from scratch. She used to run a college paper, as did I, and I think we can give the kids a good start. I got to introduce her to Chick Tracts, the horrifyingly zealous Christian comic books. I grew up with them, adoring the artwork and dutifully nodding along to the text before my brain convulsed and rejected the outright bigotry and paranoia. They're now unintentional comedy gold, and the best is Dark Dungeons, the "expose" on role-playing games. I had plenty of arguments with My Parents over my casual gaming. They were convinced I was going to hell for it. This was the official stance of the Baptist church. Probably still is.
Our NFL Bet Her Teams Patriots (1-0), Chargers (0-1) Panthers (1-0), Giants (1-0)
My Teams Steelers (1-0), Jaquars (0-1) Panthers(1-0), Cowboys (1-0)
Picture of the Day This allegedly a real church sign.
Your Sister began her three-day motorcycle safety class Friday night. I should have wallowed in bachelor decadence, but I'm shaking from caffeine. I got productive.
The motion detector went kaput early last year, and a change of bulbs dis nothing. Now I always suspected that the bulbs were the wrong kind, but I didn't have the instructions for the thing, and I had no way of resetting it once the right bulbs were found. A motion detector has to be programmed, and they all work similar but with enough variance to make deciphering its particular system infuriating. I was also concerned with the level of bug habitation I saw within the detector. If it was original to the house, like the water heater, it, like the water heater, may have died on us, like the water heater. A new one was needed.
I picked one up at Lowe's and got bulbs that the package called for. Now, it's been a long time since my wiring/AC/heating job. It was my first paying gig, and my mom set it up to see if I was salvageable as a man. For an entire summer, I squirmed through crawlspaces and attics with a co-worker of hers who had a side job, and he was commissioned to talk to me about guy movies and sports. I'm convinced of this. I did pick up some simple skills from him too, but that was -- oh, my -- 23 years ago. I couldn't rely on my memory of wires to get me through this. Luckily, the detector had enough instructions to get me started, and if the wiring was my only obstacle, I would have been fine.
When I got home, I discovered the new one wouldn't affix to the housing. The detector housing is a shallow metal cylinder. Like an ashtray. The original model had a center screw, and this new one had a faceplate for round housings. To make it work, I would have to cut away the siding, and that was getting more involved than I already wanted to be. Back to the store. I upgraded the model. That was Saturday morning. I figured, while I was there, I'd get a cheap voltage tester. I knew to shut off the circuit breaker before playing with a device like this, but it's best to test those wires before you grab them. They didn't have the simple, cheap testers. All they had were at least $15, and I didn't want to spend that for a one-time device.
Got back home, cut the circuit breaker for half of the house, and started reverse-engineering the wiring. I found the black, white and ground wires. I gingerly, meekly, timidly, terrifiedingly touched them to make sure they weren't live. They were not. I checked the new mounting bracket; it would fit the housing, but the screw that came with the new model was too long for the housing. No problem; I used the old model's screw. I took down the old mounting bracket because the new ground wire didn't look right. Instead of a coated wire, this was a tiny copper rope. Like a toy golden lasso. I didn't like that, so I removed that from the new model, and attached the original model's ground wire to it. Instead of the bracket, the ground wire now attaches to the device. Also, the house wires were huge compared to the model wires, and I had to use the original wire twists to bind them. Here's my point: Every step of this was different than what the instruction model said. And the accessories were insufficient.
I wired up the new model to the house wires and realized I had forgotten the black rubber seal that covers the interior. I had to now unwire everything, lead the house wires through the seal, and rewire. I bolted the detector to the bracket. Now to install the bulbs. First one went in fine. Second one broke. The screw piece broke off in the socket. After wrenching that out, I had to go back to the store to get a new bulb two-pack. This was the second time in two hours that I was there for an exchange. Back home, I screwed in the bulbs. I turned on the breakers and flipped the light swith. I had light. The wiring was solid. I followed the instructions to set the detector settings, and later that night, I tried it out, and the lights clicked on. Four minutes later, they went off as they were programmed to. I did it.
Your Sister came home that night exhausted after nine hours of biking and testing. She went back teh next day, and I patched up the gutters which we now suspect are also as old as the hosue and need to be replaced. She came home last night, equally tired and sore, but possessing a safety endorsement. She passed the test and can now get a cycle status added to her license. She trained on a big cycle, not a scooter, and she wants to see if a motorcycle is something she can afford to buy, fuel, and insure.
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I'm going to move my sketch scans to FaceBook. I doodled quite a bit this weekend on comic design stuff.
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I'm reeling from a long, weird dream last night where I was on a luxury spaceship infested with the monsters from Alien. It ended with tranquilizer-aided suicide. I don't think it means anything.
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Your Mom called to ask if we were doing Thanksgiving at Your Brother's house. I told her we had made that plan before Dad died and cemented it right after. Brooke took to Mom.
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We hope school's going OK for you. If you need to call us for a mental break, please do. My phone is virtually always on.
Picture of the Day This doesn't mean anything either.
I got the jones to make some comics again, and I spent the evening doodling and scripting one-shot comics. I have a sound idea for a non-hero story, and then I have this ginormous hero tale that's simmered for a decade now. I have to get to work. Now that Your Sis will be teaching again, we can both hunch over a desk and empty our brains onto stacks of paper.
We watched the Giants-Redskins game last night (her team won), and then I watched the last night of the GOP convention. Cindy McCain has a better biography than I knew. She founded the American Volunteer Medical Team for overseas work and adopted her daughter from a Mother Theresa orphanage.
Two things about this: 1) This was the same child who was spun by Bush's 2000 campaign to scullte McCain's chances in the South Carolina primary. The campaaign asked folks if they would vote for McCain if they knew he had fathered a black child. He didn't, and they technically never said he did. But the suggestion spooked the bigots, and Bush took the state and rolled to the nomination.
2) I thought kids were off-limits in the campaign.
John's speech had flashes of maturity. He praised the Obama/Biden ticket for their love of country and sincerity to improve the nation. He also claimed he had no obligation to "any party." Then he leaned hard on his POW experience to gain sympathy votes, and that well is gonna dry up if he keeps dredging it.
Palin continues to be a font of gossip (she asked a local librarian about removing books and bounced around five colleges in six years), and I can't wait for the debate against Biden.
The winner gets to boast and wear a customized Burger King crown.
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Football season opens tonight, and John Mccain better hope the opening game doesn't go into overtime. He's scheduled to speak after that game, and one wonders how many die-hard sports fans will be sober/energetic enough to listen to a political speech. I'll stay up to hear him, but I don't expect much beyond playing the military card.
Palin's speech last night was surprisingly weak stuff. It wasn't written well, and that may have affected her delivery. It wasn't the home-run she needed. I wonder how well she can debate Biden. She'll get plenty of education on piolicy matters from her new campaign staff, but can she keep it together? The new conversation on her is whether she'll make it to the election. I don't see her dropping out unless something really big is uncovered. Given the number of disclosures since her coronation, it's not impossible.
Here are the rest of the photos I took. I'm scouring the net for more of them, and I'm finding a decent amount. Hopefully, the official site will post links to the various photo albums and post the convention's commissioned photos too.
Your Sis is still adjusting to the school semester and goes to bed earlier each night. She has her motorcycle safety class this weekend.
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You've heard the reaction to the Sarah Palin nomination. You've no doubt heard the allegations that have emerged since: the pregnant daughter, the scandal with her brother-in-law, the connections to lobbyists, the membership in a group that wants Alaska to secede from the states, and her comment that she supports "under God" in the pledge because it was "good enough for the Founding Fathers."
So you couldn't miss the questions about how McCain picked this person with so many dangling subplots. McCain is now quoted from his memoirs that he prefers to make quick decisions. There are reports that the vetting committee only talked to her face-to-face the day before she was named. Some are comparing this to the Dan Quayle nomination, and that's not quite fair. Quayle was a virtual nobody when he was named, but he didn't put his foot in his mouth until he was sworn in. He wasn't faced with a cloud of cynicism upon emergence on the national scene.
Palin is in a bad position, and it's not by her doing. I don't blame her for taking the job, but the McCain campaign seems to have been oblivious to the potential backlash to her background. Makes me wonder that the other candidates had in their background to lose the spot to her. Then again, maybe they did just want a young woman for the sake of headlines.
Picture of the Day You might remember parts of Kavalier and Klay where the artist discovered surrealism and montages via the girl he loved. That guy is based on Jack Kirby, the god of comics, and his birthday was last week. Kirby died in the early '90s. You can see his surreal montage work on this page. A later appreciation of this style lead to his broader status as comics' greatest hero artist.
We left Mayberry around 6:30 and be-bopped down the road to Atlanta with nary a bump on the road. Then we hit Atlanta and discovered a dead-stop traffic jam created by construction. We learned afterward that the city decided that they would save much time if they started and finished a specific interstate construction project on the Labor Day weekend instead of doing it during a work week. Never mind DragonCon. Never mind the weekend's biggest college football game (Clemson vs. Alabama) held in downtown Atlanta. Never mind the Black Gay Fair. Or the Woodworking Fair. It was a mess. The southbound 85 was detoured through downtown, right past the convention, in fact, and we made our way to the hotel, near the airport. We arrived much later than we expected but before the hotel bar closed. We split a sandwich and called it a night. We had an early morning.
We got up at 5:45 to shower, ran downstairs for breakfast, ran back up for the basic costume layers, and grabbed a hotel shuttle to the airport. There we took the subway to convention. Unlike our last visit, this years convention spread to an additional hotel, making four major downtown hotels used almost exclusively for the convention. We're talking a lot of people. The con requires memberships for each day's events. Most folks buy their registration on Saturday. We tried that one year, and it was murder. Because this is the majority's choice, it's the longest line. Even if you arrive as soon as the registration begins, you can easily spend two hours in line. We had to register and run to the park to join the parade. Luckily, we registered through TicketMaster.
When we arrived at 7:55 to get in line, it already wrapped around the foundation of the Hyatt Regency. We assembled the rest of our costumes in line, and it wasn't five minutes before someone walking across the street spotted my costume (out of everyone else's) and yelled "SHIPWRECK!" This was repeated dozens of times throughout the day. I knew it would be a fun costume (and that Your Sister's would be equally fun for her), but I had no idea how popular it would be. And all credit for character recognition goes to the parrot. It made people look twice and realize I was a GI Joe.
The doors opened, and the line split into three groups. Instead of 200 people in front of us, we now had eight. We knew within minutes we'd get to the parade OK. We were assigned badges and labeled them with our character names. If you don't have the badge, you don't get into the convention events. Like the parade. We walked the mile to the small park and learned we were the first people of our con-determined groups.
Because the convention encompasses so many genres, the parade folk were broken into groups. Were were in the Cobra group, and they hadn't arrived yet. Across the street was the 501st legion, the gigantic Stormtrooper contingent. The group swelled to include any Star Wars in the parade as well. On another corner were the Colonial Marines from Aliens, and behind them was the Battlestar Galactica group. There were Chinese dragons, rollergirls, magicians, superheroes, zombies, the 1960s Batmobile, a rolling pirate float. Name it. It was there. We even had a Santa. Our group walked second in the parade, right behind the small Reno 911 costumes. The parade was led by a bagpiper. As we waited to begin, we mockingly argued with the Cobra troopers (maybe 15) and took pictures of other attendees. We quickly realized we had picked good outfits as the streets got hot before the sun rose above the skyscrapers. We stood in the road, waiting for the command to start, and when it did, we simply strolled through closed roads back to the hotels. Within, a block, we saw the crowds.
The streets were packed. Early estimates say 10,000 people showed up. I believe it. We were told to acknowledge the crowds and wave to the kids. We yelled out to those in costume and told them how good they looked. As we were early in the parade, and following the silent Cobra villains, we decided to be the official greeters. We played it up big, smiling and waving, and thanking folks. Virtually everyone had a camera. We pointed to kids in costume, yelled their character names, and got them to wave back. One kid was dressed as Harry Potter. We yelled to him, and he moved his hair to show his affixed scar and nodded his head like he was sharing a secret.
A news website took a pic of him.
People were shouting "COBRA!" and "SHIPWRECK!" and we would answer with "Yo, Joe!" Behind us, in the bed of a white pick-up truck stood Cobra Commander, and we played up the bookending bad guys.
We walked slowly for maybe 20 minutes, maybe half an hour. About halfway, I heard someone yell my name and there was my hometown comic gang. I had no idea if they would be there. I ran to the curb, hugged and smiled like an idiot and ran to catch up to Your Sister. That alone would have made the day.
The parade ended in the covered loading entrance for the Hyatt, and free water bottles were waiting for us. We ran back to a good vantage point to watch the rest of the parade, standing on concrete planters. The parade took a good hour, if not longer to go by. The organizers say they had more than 2,000 parade folks and a dozen vehicles. When the parade ended, we bolted to grab lunch before everyone else. We found a pizza stand, sat in a good people-watching spot, and gobbled lunch. People would stop us for pictures, and we returned the favor. Then we hit the show for reals, yo.
You can see us walk by on YouTube. We're at the :30 second mark. I'm in the blue shirt. Your Sis is on my right.
The larger rooms of the hotels are used for art shows and contests and vendors. The vendor rooms are crammed full of booths from small businesses selling cards, games, collectibles, toys, jewelry, corsets (yeah, a lot of them too), and anything else a geek nation can need. I bought a GI Joe figure -- the Boston-raised firefighter, but passed on the t-shirts. I'm growing away from them. The aisles crawl along. You have to be polite and patient to get through each room, and the bulkier costumes can get beat up quickly. We got photos for others and posed for them too. This is what I used to go to DragonCon for: the shopping. Stuff you can't find in malls and comic stores. Now we focus on the costume party.
Lots of Jokers this year, to no surprise. Lots of anime and comic stuff. Oddly, there were a horde of Super Marios. Maybe it's just an easy costume to prepare. We moved through the various floors and stores for a few hours, and people shouted when they recognized us. Again, we were never so popular. People were gobsmacked with nostalgia. If they only knew us from the cartoons, the realization must have been heady. We heard a lot of "Shipwreck! Oh my God!" They would see me and ask for a photo. I'd grab Your Sis and ask "we got get Lady Jaye in here too," and they'd all say "Lady Jaye! Yes! Oh my God!"
As soon as we exited the Marriott, I found a message from an online buddy. I called him back, and we met in the hotel across the street. We stopped for caffeine and got acquainted. They were outside the Walk of Fame, a room reserved for celebrity autographs, but we never got in the room. I found a Rocketeer and grabbed his photo, and he made me stay put while he called his friend dressed as Indiana Jones to say he found a Shipwreck. "He has to get your picture," he said. "He's gonna stalk you the whole convention. Shipwreck's his favorite Joe." He didn't reach him, but I promised to keep and eye out for Indianas (and there were a lot) so he could find me.
I caught sight of a particularly good costume and walked over to take a picture. Before the person could adopt their pose, SHE walked up.
She is the worst of the worst, the embodiment of every bad stereotype of geeks, the clown that wrecks the curve. She has her own superhero identity. Mighty Woman or something,. I don't remember. But she is goddamn crazy. She babbles endlessly, she has no sense of decorum or courtesy. She cornered me a few years back and I couldn't shake her. I literally couldn't walk away from her. She ran to keep up and wouldn't shut up. "Oh, my hero does this, and my hero does that." She is a brainless clod, and she ruined my photo, and I hope she catches fire. She never even looked at me, never had a clue she was interrupting a shot. I should be glad she didn't see me; I'd still be stuck talking her even now, days later.
On the other hand, I was approached by Vera Vanguard, the other kind of con con celeb, an attendee of shows nationwide who also makes her living as a model. She ran up to me, proclaimed her love for Shipwreck, and asked for a picture with the two of us together. She was wearing this outfit.
I was a gentleman, I assure you.
My gang all moved to their hotel's executive floor to meet more folks and escape the noise for a bit. Some of them had met up the night before for costumes and drinks, but this afternoon, they were in casual attire, and they were patient as people stopped us to take pictures of our costumes. We met more online people and traded con stories. One of us was a photographer and model who has worked cons professionally as a "booth babe." She shared spooky stories about actors she met at parties.
We eventually moved back to the executive floor to organize dinner arrangements. We had so many people, and we had to determine how everyone would ride over to the restaurant. Our car was back at the hotel, and the subway didn't reach this particular restaurant. It was right after we agreed to this dinner that I got a call from a college buddy in town who wanted to meet up for dinner. We instead agreed to met for breakfast the next day.
We ate Mexican and gabbed for hours. Before we got to the restaurant, we removed our more noticeable costume elements -- the bird, the guns. While the city was hosting the show, we didn't know how well they'd go over in "civilian" establishments. We went low-key. I think some folks thought we were real military, and I worried about them making come comment about Iraq. Didn't happen, but I had a polite thank-you ready if they did.
After dinner, went back to the convention. During the day, the convention is a broad, family-friendly gathering of customers and sight-seers. At night's it's a full-on costume party. This is when people bring out their best outfits and photos are exchanged non-stop. I wanted to milk the moment and see the best costumes. We stayed on one floor of the now slam-full Marriott and made laps. It was a blur of geek, and we were belles of the ball. We even found another Joe character -- Snake Eyes, the ninja -- got his picture and then posed with him as a flood of cameras came at us. I was getting snowblind quickly from the flashes.
The Indiana Jones guy found me and had me pose with his gal who was dressed as a 1940s pin-up gal. He walked off t take the photo and left her standing near me, and neither of us knew what to do. "How do you want to handle this," I asked. I turned to face him, and she sidled up next to me. Again, a gentleman.
Shipwreck was apparently the Han Solo of the GI Joe cartoon.
We had to head back about 10:30 to catch the subway back, but before we could leave the hotel, we were discovered again by my hometown gang. We ran up to their seats, hugged again, and caught up. The husband of the crowd has his surgery scheduled for this fall, but he looks great. We knew about my dad and uncle, and we traded cancer notes. We then had less time to get back to the hotel, and we ran out of the convention. But right before, we reached the escalator, I had one last great moment. I ran into a guy dressed as Sandman, the mid-century hero dressed in gas mask and trenchcoat. I wore the same character a few years back. His was a nicer costume. I nudged him as he approached the down escalator and said "That's a nice Sandman costume." he turned, saw me, and then recognized the costume. Through his gas mask, I heard "Miphrac! Oh muh waugh!" And down the escalator he went, craning to see my outfit.
We made the airport at 11 p.m. but didn't get to the hotel until after midnight. The Atlanta hotel shuttle directions are horrible. We managed to catch a shuttle just as the Clemson fans arrived from the game. It was ugly.
We got up and met up with my college pal and her gal for breakfast at the Flying Biscuit, an all-day joint. We traded college notes and talked about moving heavy furniture. We drove for home around noon and arrived around 3:30. Trying to find a restaurant in Atlanta using road signs and construction detours is a level of hell all unto itself.
But Saturday was an absolute blast. I have Your Sis to thank for our costume success; Shipwreck was her idea.
We are packed and strapped. As soon as I leave work, we head to Atlanta.
Your Sis is dragging. The start of school always comes too early, and she calls it a night earlier and earlier. She suggested her kids watch the Obama speech last night, but she thought it was at 9. She was nodding off at 8. She stayed awake until the very start of the speech, but was out within minutes. I taped it for her.
It was as solid as speech as he can give. He addressed the most common criticisms -- national security, patriotism, ego -- with a novel vigor, and it was good to see. The spectacle of a packed football stadium to hear one man speak is reminiscent of the Billy Graham Crusades our local ABC affiliate has broadcast for 30+ years.
McCain announces his VP choice today, and unless it's Bruce Willis or Ronald Reagan, it's unlikely it'll excite the party. I heard Newt Gingrich's name yesterday, but he carries the same baggage as Thompson and Giuliani: very messy marriages and affairs. Also, the "wither on the vine" sound bite about Social Security from the mid-'90s will hurt his renewed national presence.
If I were him, I'd pick a radio-host with a clean background. But they don't exist. Limbaugh, Hannity, Savage -- they're dingy, and they have no experience away from the microphone. A former governor is almost a certainty, but it can't be Arnold. I think McCain is screwed here.
We both rushed home to check the floors. Everything was dry, and we breathed a sigh of relief.
Your Sis is finishing up the costumes. She's sewing holster straps to a pants leg. I tried to affix it with a velcro strap, but it wouldn't stay in place. I really need to learn how to sew. Her costume is finito, and we'll pack tonight. We signed up to join the Saturday parade of costumes through downtown Atlanta, weather permitting, of course.
As befits a teacher in this area, she doesn't have Labor Day off. We'll drive back Sunday.
The convention speeches have been solid, if generally bland, material. The former president once again showed how invigorating a president can be when he can string along three sentences. Biden wasn't bad. Watching the delegates officially name Obama as the nominee was a truly historic moment unfortunately bogged down by theatrical blowhards. The speech tonight (in a football stadium) ought to be incredible.
I have no idea who McCain can pick to rile up energy for his ticket. The lone celebrity Republicans -- Giuliani, Thompson -- are worthless for a national election. Huckabee and Romney are damaged goods. His best bet might have been Condi Rice, but her tenure as state secretary has been lackluster, and she's never held an elected office outside of college. The guy is screwed.
We thought we had everything squared away Monday. The floor was practically dry, and the restoration folks would take away the giant, loud fans the next day. But we discovered accidentally where all the water was coming from. When the plumbers took away the old heater, they didn't cap the pipes. Whenever we used our faucets, residual pressure was indeed shoving water out the open pipes and onto the floor. We discovered new saturation after I made dinner Monday night and rushed to dry the floor. We couldn't use our sinks and our only source of water was the laundry sink as it has the old-fashion two-valve plumbing. The cold water was independent of the hot, and using that valve wouldn't goose the pipe pressure.
The plumbers came out Tuesday morning to cap the pipes. The restorers took away the fans. I called the plumbers to get the new heater installed, and they arrived at 1 p.m. By 3:30, we had a new heater, installed to code with a new expansion pack, and we could now use our showers, sinks, and laundry machines. Except for the ductwork that stills needs replacing, all is back to normal.
I've watched the convention coverage and was wowed by Hillary's speech last night. Her best delivery and energy level yet. She has to get a Cabinet job out of this.
Our DragonCon costumes are 85% done. We leave Friday night.
Picture of the Day This is me after chasing repair service all day.
I'm too young to remember the gas shortages of the '70s. The crazy-ass radio preacher was convinced this surpassed that, but those shortages were nationwide. I don't think this panic qualifies. Some stores are offering free snacks for people in line, and that's the kind of PR you can't buy. They'll win over lots of folks.
It has indeed been a hectic time here at Stately Doom Manor, what with alien Skrulls getting all up in Doom's bidness. These interlopers dare hope they can conquer Latveria and exploit the populace for nefarious ends. That's Doom's job! Doom commands them to step off, and Doom would single-handedly thrash them from ribbed chin to funky green toes if Doom were not otherwise occupied with his new recipe -- a formula that verily drips with genius and skill, traits unknown to that Accursed Reed Richards!
