No matter how many birds are caged, a million more shall fly.
In response to a message from a friend.
Friday, February 03, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Retail Theft
Today, for the third time in recent memory, I engaged in a form of retail theft. But it wasn't my fault. Really.
About a year ago I was at Wally-World getting a few things for the car. I was in the self checkout and had finished scanning all the items. But the kiosk refused to take my credit card. My frustration was mounting and I was searching for a minion to help me with the problem. Just as I caught sight of a minion, some sort of alarm went off. As soon as it did, the well trained minion scanned the checkout kiosks and, seeing me, ordered me out of the store. My response was to point to the stubborn kiosk, explain that I just needed to complete paying, and I would be on my way. Nothing doing. I was sternly informed that the noise from above was a fire alarm and I needed to get out NOW.
Fine. I grabbed my bag of not-quite-paid-for items and marched out the door.
Then about a month ago, at the same location. Two places ahead of me in line, a gentlemen wanted to purchase some odd looking bunch of ...something... from the produce aisle. The tag on it wouldn't scan. The cashier then looked in a binder and, finding a code, entered into the workstation. The code was invalid. He repeated this process a number of times, as the clock ticked away. Finally, the customer informed him that he really didn't want that bunch of greens so badly and maybe he would just pay for the items that DID scan and get the hell out.
My purchase included two identical clothing items, sort of bunched together. The clerk, not noticing this, scanned them as a single item then bagged them. I counted this error as just payment for the time I just spent languishing in line and smiled my way past the error.
Today I was passing the baking supplies when I spotted a two quart bottle of Millers molasses. There was no price tag on the shelf, so I didn't know how much it was. But I know I needed a bottle for an upcoming batch of beer and added it to the basket. When I tried to check out, at the self-serve kiosk, the bottle wouldn't scan. I signaled the nearest clerk and told her my problem. After three failed attempts to manually enter the UPC code, she finally entered the magic code to override the system. She then entered a price of $2.50, knowing it was low, and smiled at me. I checked later, and this product sells online for about seven dollars.
No guilt.
About a year ago I was at Wally-World getting a few things for the car. I was in the self checkout and had finished scanning all the items. But the kiosk refused to take my credit card. My frustration was mounting and I was searching for a minion to help me with the problem. Just as I caught sight of a minion, some sort of alarm went off. As soon as it did, the well trained minion scanned the checkout kiosks and, seeing me, ordered me out of the store. My response was to point to the stubborn kiosk, explain that I just needed to complete paying, and I would be on my way. Nothing doing. I was sternly informed that the noise from above was a fire alarm and I needed to get out NOW.
Fine. I grabbed my bag of not-quite-paid-for items and marched out the door.
Then about a month ago, at the same location. Two places ahead of me in line, a gentlemen wanted to purchase some odd looking bunch of ...something... from the produce aisle. The tag on it wouldn't scan. The cashier then looked in a binder and, finding a code, entered into the workstation. The code was invalid. He repeated this process a number of times, as the clock ticked away. Finally, the customer informed him that he really didn't want that bunch of greens so badly and maybe he would just pay for the items that DID scan and get the hell out.
My purchase included two identical clothing items, sort of bunched together. The clerk, not noticing this, scanned them as a single item then bagged them. I counted this error as just payment for the time I just spent languishing in line and smiled my way past the error.
Today I was passing the baking supplies when I spotted a two quart bottle of Millers molasses. There was no price tag on the shelf, so I didn't know how much it was. But I know I needed a bottle for an upcoming batch of beer and added it to the basket. When I tried to check out, at the self-serve kiosk, the bottle wouldn't scan. I signaled the nearest clerk and told her my problem. After three failed attempts to manually enter the UPC code, she finally entered the magic code to override the system. She then entered a price of $2.50, knowing it was low, and smiled at me. I checked later, and this product sells online for about seven dollars.
No guilt.
Thursday, January 05, 2012
Friday, July 08, 2011
Killing the dog that killed Charlie
So - here's what went down.....
From my early to late teens, there was a family dog named Charlie. He was a cute little mutt, about the size of a large cat. And - in fact - he liked cats. One or two of the family cats got along with him, and they were often found sleeping together - curled up in an adorable cross-species ball. Other cats knew not how to deal with Charlie. They left the marks of their displeasure as scars on his cute little "rubber eraser" nose.
When I was in Middle School, he knew my schedule. Walking home from school, I would find him waiting at the corner of our block. We would then race to the front porch. As time passed, the number of races I won increased.
When I was a high school student - when dinosaurs roamed the earth - there appeared in the neighborhood a bitch who was in heat. She was a larger dog. Among the males who presented themselves as suitors was a son of a bitch about the same size as the bitch who was the center of attention. Competition ensued.
This mongrel bastard - spawn of satan dog - chose to deal with Charlie by taking him in his mouth, biting down hard, and shaking him.
While my father took Charlie to the vet, I went on a motorcycle ride - to collect my thoughts. Charlie was to die a few days later. We didn't know that yet.
Later that night, my father and I spotted the offending S.O.B. in the neighborhood. I loaded up the Rugar Nylon .22 and and we gave chase. With - at least to begin - my fathers blessings.
We found the S.O.B. in the back yard of house that my father owned - a rental property that I was later to buy from his widow. At the same instant the word "No!" came from my father's mouth, I pulled the trigger. And again. And again. Until the rifle jammed. I heard a yelp, indicating some measure of revenge, but the dog escaped.
Fast forward a month. My father, serving as a judge for the Utah 4th Circuit Court, is hearing the case of a man charged with having a dog running at large. In his defense, the accused states the following: "I was sick and tired of dealing with that dog, and was ready to put him down. But someone saved me the trouble. He was found dead - shot with a .22 - at the intersection of 600 West and 100 North."
At this point, The Honorable E. Patrick McGuire complemented the accused on his proper attitude, dismissed all charges, and prayed to heaven that the man before him would never learn that it was his son that had killed the dog.
From my early to late teens, there was a family dog named Charlie. He was a cute little mutt, about the size of a large cat. And - in fact - he liked cats. One or two of the family cats got along with him, and they were often found sleeping together - curled up in an adorable cross-species ball. Other cats knew not how to deal with Charlie. They left the marks of their displeasure as scars on his cute little "rubber eraser" nose.
When I was in Middle School, he knew my schedule. Walking home from school, I would find him waiting at the corner of our block. We would then race to the front porch. As time passed, the number of races I won increased.
When I was a high school student - when dinosaurs roamed the earth - there appeared in the neighborhood a bitch who was in heat. She was a larger dog. Among the males who presented themselves as suitors was a son of a bitch about the same size as the bitch who was the center of attention. Competition ensued.
This mongrel bastard - spawn of satan dog - chose to deal with Charlie by taking him in his mouth, biting down hard, and shaking him.
While my father took Charlie to the vet, I went on a motorcycle ride - to collect my thoughts. Charlie was to die a few days later. We didn't know that yet.
Later that night, my father and I spotted the offending S.O.B. in the neighborhood. I loaded up the Rugar Nylon .22 and and we gave chase. With - at least to begin - my fathers blessings.
We found the S.O.B. in the back yard of house that my father owned - a rental property that I was later to buy from his widow. At the same instant the word "No!" came from my father's mouth, I pulled the trigger. And again. And again. Until the rifle jammed. I heard a yelp, indicating some measure of revenge, but the dog escaped.
Fast forward a month. My father, serving as a judge for the Utah 4th Circuit Court, is hearing the case of a man charged with having a dog running at large. In his defense, the accused states the following: "I was sick and tired of dealing with that dog, and was ready to put him down. But someone saved me the trouble. He was found dead - shot with a .22 - at the intersection of 600 West and 100 North."
At this point, The Honorable E. Patrick McGuire complemented the accused on his proper attitude, dismissed all charges, and prayed to heaven that the man before him would never learn that it was his son that had killed the dog.
Sunday, July 03, 2011
Stalag 17
I was Eugene Heschle's paperboy. [Hope I spelled his name correctly.] I knew the following things about him. 1. He was in the Wehrmacht in WWII. 2. He lost a leg in battle. 3. After recovering, he was assigned as guard to a prison camp. 4. He converted to Mormonism and immigrated to the U.S. - not necessarily in that order.
One night, when delivering the Provo Daily Herald to his home, I heard two sounds emanating from the house. First, there was the television show Hogan's Heroes playing. Second was the sound of Mr. Heschle laughing his ass off.
35 years later I still smile when I think of it.
One night, when delivering the Provo Daily Herald to his home, I heard two sounds emanating from the house. First, there was the television show Hogan's Heroes playing. Second was the sound of Mr. Heschle laughing his ass off.
35 years later I still smile when I think of it.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Let it rain
When a single small blessing falls from the heavens, we call it a miracle and pray for more. When a billion small blessings fall from the heavens, we call it rain, and wish it away.
I was awakened at five o'clock this morning by the sound of rain. I thought of my car. When I parked it in front of the house a scant three hours earlier, I left the windows cracked. I smiled, turned over, and returned to a peaceful sleep. There was nothing in the car that wouldn't survive a shower or bath. I've driven with a wet butt before and lived to tell the tale.
Last night, a friend sent me a text message telling of an art project she is undertaking. She is decorating the fence that encloses her small back yard. About 7:30 this morning, I took a walk to check it out. She only lives a block away. The rain was still coming down. Hard. I dressed in pants and an undershirt, with no thought for the weather. I left my head uncovered. It was my intention to get soaked to the bone. I succeeded.
During my walk, a recalled a similar walk many years ago. Kat and the kids were out of town, leaving me alone. It was late summer. It was a warm steady rain, at sundown, following a thunderstorm. Wearing shorts and sandals, I walked to the parking lot of a local restaurant (now The Discovery Academy). Standing near one of the storm drains, a felt the warm water washing over my feet. It was like baptism. Would you rather have your sins washed away by the chlorinated waters of the duly registered 503C tax exempt corporate entity, or by the warm waters of the summer rain that are also carrying the sins collected on the asphalt, in the guise of dirt, dust and oil? I presently walked back home, into the back yard. I spent a while laying on the trampoline, in the dark, nude, wishing the rain would never end.
Walking back home this morning, I passed Kat's place. I saw something under my daughter's car. Trash? Pieces of the car falling off? Wait - this is a Camry. God drives a Camry, and pieces don't fall from God's own car. What I saw was birds hiding from the rain. They were waiting for the weather to clear so they can pillage cherries from the tree in the front yard.
As I climbed the steps to my house, I remembered scenes from a few movies where rain played such a role. A scene from The Crow - "It won't rain forever." Purple Rain by the artist formerly (and once again) known as Prince.
I have bathed myself in the billions of small blessings fallen from heaven, and I am renewed. I am reborn.
I spoke above of leaving my head uncovered. About six months ago, a stopped cutting my hair. Two months ago I started covering my head. These two things are connected. It is a spiritual thing. I only uncover my head for a few things: sleep, personal ritual, making love. This walk in the rain was personal ritual.
I was awakened at five o'clock this morning by the sound of rain. I thought of my car. When I parked it in front of the house a scant three hours earlier, I left the windows cracked. I smiled, turned over, and returned to a peaceful sleep. There was nothing in the car that wouldn't survive a shower or bath. I've driven with a wet butt before and lived to tell the tale.
Last night, a friend sent me a text message telling of an art project she is undertaking. She is decorating the fence that encloses her small back yard. About 7:30 this morning, I took a walk to check it out. She only lives a block away. The rain was still coming down. Hard. I dressed in pants and an undershirt, with no thought for the weather. I left my head uncovered. It was my intention to get soaked to the bone. I succeeded.
During my walk, a recalled a similar walk many years ago. Kat and the kids were out of town, leaving me alone. It was late summer. It was a warm steady rain, at sundown, following a thunderstorm. Wearing shorts and sandals, I walked to the parking lot of a local restaurant (now The Discovery Academy). Standing near one of the storm drains, a felt the warm water washing over my feet. It was like baptism. Would you rather have your sins washed away by the chlorinated waters of the duly registered 503C tax exempt corporate entity, or by the warm waters of the summer rain that are also carrying the sins collected on the asphalt, in the guise of dirt, dust and oil? I presently walked back home, into the back yard. I spent a while laying on the trampoline, in the dark, nude, wishing the rain would never end.
Walking back home this morning, I passed Kat's place. I saw something under my daughter's car. Trash? Pieces of the car falling off? Wait - this is a Camry. God drives a Camry, and pieces don't fall from God's own car. What I saw was birds hiding from the rain. They were waiting for the weather to clear so they can pillage cherries from the tree in the front yard.
As I climbed the steps to my house, I remembered scenes from a few movies where rain played such a role. A scene from The Crow - "It won't rain forever." Purple Rain by the artist formerly (and once again) known as Prince.
I have bathed myself in the billions of small blessings fallen from heaven, and I am renewed. I am reborn.
I spoke above of leaving my head uncovered. About six months ago, a stopped cutting my hair. Two months ago I started covering my head. These two things are connected. It is a spiritual thing. I only uncover my head for a few things: sleep, personal ritual, making love. This walk in the rain was personal ritual.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
The wind that blows in the new day
Back when I was younger, and when I was more wise in my foolishness, I would sometimes stay up the entire night with a few friends. This usually happened in warm weather, and most of the time was spent outside.
One night - or rather one morning - at about 2:00 AM, a breeze blew in from nowhere. It disturbed the still of the night just enough to be noticed, moved a few leaves around on the lawn, then went away. It was a magickal moment. All three of us noticed this breeze. I turned to Rick and Kathleen and said, "It just blew in the new day." The gave me a blank stare. "That breeze - it just blew out the old day and blew in the new day."
They smiled and enjoyed my whimsy. But the few times since then that we stayed up through the night, about that same time of morning, a breeze always came up. It interrupted the still of the night, moved a few leaves around on the lawn, then went away. And, without speaking, we all agreed the new day had arrived.
One night - or rather one morning - at about 2:00 AM, a breeze blew in from nowhere. It disturbed the still of the night just enough to be noticed, moved a few leaves around on the lawn, then went away. It was a magickal moment. All three of us noticed this breeze. I turned to Rick and Kathleen and said, "It just blew in the new day." The gave me a blank stare. "That breeze - it just blew out the old day and blew in the new day."
They smiled and enjoyed my whimsy. But the few times since then that we stayed up through the night, about that same time of morning, a breeze always came up. It interrupted the still of the night, moved a few leaves around on the lawn, then went away. And, without speaking, we all agreed the new day had arrived.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Top
I have a friend who is a top. We will call this friend X. X is 'managing' a person we will call Y. Every once in a great while, I will be present when X mentions the need to send a message to Y lifting and/or imposing punishment and/or reward.
I mention this because whenever I am privy to these moments, I get jealous. This sort of play doesn't appeal to me. I am not drawn to it. I would not enjoy it. But I still get jealous. Why would I react this way?
Then it occurred to me. Y is getting attention. It is simply the craving for attention, regardless of the nature of the attention.
This is so revealing. It explains so much about myself and about the humanity that surrounds me.
I mention this because whenever I am privy to these moments, I get jealous. This sort of play doesn't appeal to me. I am not drawn to it. I would not enjoy it. But I still get jealous. Why would I react this way?
Then it occurred to me. Y is getting attention. It is simply the craving for attention, regardless of the nature of the attention.
This is so revealing. It explains so much about myself and about the humanity that surrounds me.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Cowboy Up!
Been neglecting the blog for a while.
Been dealing with depression.
Things gotta change.
Gonna deal with depression in a different way.
"Never give up. Never, ever, give up."
The Disposable Wombat is going to kick some ass, even if that ass happens to be his own.
Been dealing with depression.
Things gotta change.
Gonna deal with depression in a different way.
"Never give up. Never, ever, give up."
The Disposable Wombat is going to kick some ass, even if that ass happens to be his own.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Thirteen minutes and twenty-three seconds
Last night, I overheard conversation where my nephew mentioned that he did a 1.5 mile run with a time of 13:30. I broke in and said, "Well I can do that!"
This morning I realized I needed to put the money where the mouth was and prove the "I can do that."
I arrived at the Provo High track a little after noon. It was covered with snow (thin packed layer). This means two things. First, I will not run as efficiently as on clear track. Second, I don't know where the lanes are, so I won't be running the inside lane. But I hit the start button on the stopwatch and took off.
On the fourth lap I dropped the stopwatch and had to go back and retrieve it.
So - with all of that, my final time...
13:23
Not bad for a 49 year old dude with bad knees and an Irish build.
This morning I realized I needed to put the money where the mouth was and prove the "I can do that."
I arrived at the Provo High track a little after noon. It was covered with snow (thin packed layer). This means two things. First, I will not run as efficiently as on clear track. Second, I don't know where the lanes are, so I won't be running the inside lane. But I hit the start button on the stopwatch and took off.
On the fourth lap I dropped the stopwatch and had to go back and retrieve it.
So - with all of that, my final time...
13:23
Not bad for a 49 year old dude with bad knees and an Irish build.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
A word on Prophets
A few of my close friends have recently be delving into Crowley's commentaries on the second chapter of "The Book of The Law." For them, I offer the following (from Zen Buddhism - The Selected Writings of D. T. Suzuki).
It is a great mistake to think that any existent religious system was handed down to posterity by its founder as the fully matured product of his mind, and, therefore, that what the followers had to do with their religious founder and his teaching was to embrace both the founder and his teaching as sacred heritage - a treasure not to be profaned by the content of their individual spiritual experience. For this view fails to take into consideration what our spiritual life is and petrifies religion to its very core. This static conversation, however, is always opposed by a progressive party which looks at a religious system from a dynamic point of view. And these two forces which are seen conflicting against each other in every field of human activity weave out the history of religion as in other cases. In fact, history is a record of these struggles everywhere. But the very fact that there are such struggles in religion shows that they are here to some purpose and that religion is a living force; for they gradually bring light to hidden implications of the original faith and enrich it in a manner undreamed of in the beginning. This takes place not only with regard to the personality of the founder but with regard to his teaching, and the result is an astounding complexity or rather confusion which sometimes prevents us from properly seeing into the constitution of a living religious system.So....who shall join the battle and rescue the Religion of Thelema from the sins of its founder?
Monday, January 03, 2011
Plumbing....
Let me start off by giving this bit of advice: If you ever divorce, avoid taking the path of a "friendly divorce." Make it acrimonious, spiteful and full of hate. In this manner, you will avoid being sucked into helping with "projects" (otherwise known as "tar pits, death traps, hell holes") at the home of the ex-wife.
(A disclaimer is in order - she is still my best friend. I eat her food. I steal her internet - a future blog post in the making. I turn to her when I need to gripe and moan about the injustices of the universe. My cell phone exists from her good graces. Etc. etc. and etc. I ignore my own advice and, in my case, this is all well and good.)
* ahem *
Kat wanted a mixing valve inserted between the various supply lines and the toilets. Right. No problem. Find a source for Hot, find a source for Cold, feed them into a mixing valve, then direct them to the two toilets. No problem. Really.......
The project decomposed into five parts...
Right.
Here is how it worked out....
PLOP
"Plop" is the sound of a drop of water falling on top of my head.
I raise my eyes, looking for the source of the leak. I trace it finally to one of the valves. The connections are all good. It is the valve itself that is leaking.
THE VALVE ITSELF.
Right now - stop reading. Get in the car, go to the local Big Box hardware store, and locate a"'ball valve." Look at it carefully. Do you see that seam along the center? It is in the 'Longitudinal' orientation. Yeah..... That one.
It was split.
Just - a very - tiny little bit.
The valve - already placed and soldered an made an integral part of "the freaking plumbing project from Hell" - was leaking.
This is where I broke into the Cold supply, and into the supply to the downstairs toilet.
This is the Hot supply. It was supposed to be the easy part. Yeah. Sure.....
...and here is the mixing valve itself - the focus of the adventure...
And - finally - the c-clamp that made the adventure complete. Really.
Pray god that this is not your fate.
(A disclaimer is in order - she is still my best friend. I eat her food. I steal her internet - a future blog post in the making. I turn to her when I need to gripe and moan about the injustices of the universe. My cell phone exists from her good graces. Etc. etc. and etc. I ignore my own advice and, in my case, this is all well and good.)
* ahem *
Kat wanted a mixing valve inserted between the various supply lines and the toilets. Right. No problem. Find a source for Hot, find a source for Cold, feed them into a mixing valve, then direct them to the two toilets. No problem. Really.......
The project decomposed into five parts...
- Break into the Hot supply.
- Break into the Cold supply.
- Construct a mixing assembly (mixing valve and associated parts).
- Hook in the upstairs toilet.
- Hook in the downstairs toilet.
Right.
Here is how it worked out....
- Break into the Hot supply.
Cut the line.
Insert a "T" assembly.
Put it together.
Watch it leak.
Take it apart and put it back together five times trying to figure out where it is leaking.
Remove the female portion of the union.
Apply "Rector Seal Number 5" in copious quantities.
Put it all back together.
It doesn't leak anymore, but....
Discover the hot water supply to the downstairs bathroom sink is blocked.
Remove the shutoff valve for the sink.
Discover that your recently 'blown out' knee just DOES NOT LIKE THIS.
Clean out crud knocked loose from previous actions.
Put it back together and find it now leaks.
Buy a new supply line from Lowes.
Put the fucker back together. - Construct a mixing assembly (mixing valve and associated parts).
One 3/8 Compression fitting that converts to 1/2 inch copper.
A "T" connector.
Two ball valves.
Etc.......
More "Sweat Pipe" soldering than any human should be forced to endure.
(The valves come back into the end of the story. You have been warned.)
Decide you have had enough for one day.
Stop work.
Visit friends in a nearby city for New Year's celebration.
Have experiences of emotional and sexual natures that are profound.
You really have no idea. Really . You don't.
Some things are so very, very sacred.....
My gratitude for what I was allowed to experience is boundless.
...but, alas, we return to the story at hand.... - After taking a day off from the project - - - - -Break into the Cold supply.
Cut the freaking pipe.
Insert a valve and 3/8 compression fitting on the source side of the cut. - Hook in the upstairs toilet.
There are two sections of pipe, and two elbows. They all need to go.
Use the Makita saw's all to break the pipe.
Discover you broke it in the wrong place.
Fine - - - - Do it again.
Unscrew sections of 1/2 inch iron pipe that are older than I am.
(Really - and I do mean REALLY - close to 50, if you need to know.)
Insert a plug.
Hook it into the mixing "valve" portion of the mixing assembly.
Discover the alignment isn't what you thought.
Connect the fucker anyway. - Hook in the downstairs toilet.
Discover the pre-assembled 1/2 copper almost fits.....but not quite.
Find a way to make it fit anyway, goddammit.....
Discover that water makes a REALLY GOOD heat sink.
The solder finally flows after much water evaporates, and the house almost ignites.
PLOP
"Plop" is the sound of a drop of water falling on top of my head.
HOLY
FUCKING
SHIT
FUCKING
SHIT
I raise my eyes, looking for the source of the leak. I trace it finally to one of the valves. The connections are all good. It is the valve itself that is leaking.
THE VALVE ITSELF.
Right now - stop reading. Get in the car, go to the local Big Box hardware store, and locate a"'ball valve." Look at it carefully. Do you see that seam along the center? It is in the 'Longitudinal' orientation. Yeah..... That one.
It was split.
Just - a very - tiny little bit.
FUCK
The valve - already placed and soldered an made an integral part of "the freaking plumbing project from Hell" - was leaking.
- I found a C-Clamp.
- I wrapped the clamp around the stem portion of the leaking valve.
- It sopped leaking
- It looks ugly as hell.
- I - DON'T CARE.
- It no longer leaks.
- I dragged the ex-wife down to the scene of the crime.
- I explained to her, in bitter detail, the final standing of the project.
- I paid proper homage to the memory of Rube Goldberg.
- I went home.
This is where I broke into the Cold supply, and into the supply to the downstairs toilet.
This is the Hot supply. It was supposed to be the easy part. Yeah. Sure.....
...and here is the mixing valve itself - the focus of the adventure...
And - finally - the c-clamp that made the adventure complete. Really.
Pray god that this is not your fate.
The birth of Lucifer, the Bringer of Light, the Son of the Morning....
From the introduction to The Ritual of Transcendental Magic by Eliphas Levi...
Intelligence awakened, and comprehended it's nature completely by the understanding of that utterance of the Divine Word: 'Let there be light!'Quit the darkness and seek the light...
It felt itself to be free because God had called it into being, and, raising up its head, with both wings extended, it replied: 'I will not be slavery.'
'Then thou shalt be suffering,' said the Uncreated Voice.
'I will be liberty,' replied the light.
'Pride will seduce thee,' said the Supreme Voice, 'and thou wilt bring forth death.'
'I needs must strive with death to conquer life,' again responded the light.
Thereupon God loosed from His bosom the shining cord which restrained the superb angel, and beholding him plunge through the night, which he furrowed with glory, He loved the offspring of His thought, and said with an ineffable smile: 'How beautiful was the light!'
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Best ever....
For me, it was the best Christmas in several years.
For two close friends, it was the best in several years. I had the pleasure of being a part of their Christmas.
For the mother of one of these friends, it was also a "best in years".
Two other friends, to whom I made minuscule contribution, it was also a Christmas to remember.
We must - all of us - be doing something right.
Gonna have to do it all - or something better than "it all" - again next year.
For two close friends, it was the best in several years. I had the pleasure of being a part of their Christmas.
For the mother of one of these friends, it was also a "best in years".
Two other friends, to whom I made minuscule contribution, it was also a Christmas to remember.
We must - all of us - be doing something right.
Gonna have to do it all - or something better than "it all" - again next year.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Evil Corporation discovers social media
A few years ago, The Evil Corporation that I work for discovered social media. The initial react was predictable. They blocked all social media sites and issued dire warnings about using them at work. Then, about 6 months ago, The Evil Corporation realized social media was more than a passing fad (duh). This led to policies for the proper use and access of social media by The Evil Corporation in order to market the products of The Evil Corporation. It also resulted in official policy for private use (yes...private use) of social media by employees.
Most of the Evil Corporation policy for personal use of social media makes sense. It boils down to not misrepresenting or dissing the company, and not screwing around with your fellow employees. But then I got to the last paragraph, and especially the last line. Remember that, according to the policy, I am REQUIRED to follow these rules if, anywhere in my blog, I identify my employer. I quote:
Three cheers for the Evil Corporation.
Most of the Evil Corporation policy for personal use of social media makes sense. It boils down to not misrepresenting or dissing the company, and not screwing around with your fellow employees. But then I got to the last paragraph, and especially the last line. Remember that, according to the policy, I am REQUIRED to follow these rules if, anywhere in my blog, I identify my employer. I quote:
With regard to personal postings and activities, you should bear in mind that social networking sites are generally public and permanent. You should understand the security and privacy features available for the social networking sites you use, and exercise discretion and common sense. Never use ethnic slurs, obscenity, insults or otherwise engage in conduct or discourse that would be unacceptable in our [name of Evil Corporation] workplace. All postings should be respectful, concise, factual and dispassionate.I just love that last sentence. To rephrase:
- If I show a lack of respect for anything or anyone, I am in violation of company policy.
- If I ramble aimlessly instead of getting to the point, I am in violation of company policy. (This point alone would leave well over half of my co-workers without a job.)
- If I tell lies, or make honest mistakes, I am in violation of company policy.
- If I get a little worked up over something, or use too many CAPS OR EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!!! - I am in violation of company policy.
- In short - be bland.
Three cheers for the Evil Corporation.
Reboot
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
Had a shitty summer. Hence no posts.
I am now engaged in deliberate brain change. If all goes to plan, I'll start regular updates again somewhere around December 1st.
Love is the law, love under will.
Had a shitty summer. Hence no posts.
I am now engaged in deliberate brain change. If all goes to plan, I'll start regular updates again somewhere around December 1st.
Love is the law, love under will.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
Saturday, June 05, 2010
Did someone say "Boycott"????
Boycotting BP.
This is a long post. For those of you with a short attention span, here is the bottom line. There are only two ways to make a difference. First, reduce your own personal use of petroleum (forever....not just while it is politically correct). Second, write your senator or congressman and raise holy hell over the issue of sustainable energy.
Ahem................
I have close friend (yo Proclus!) who has been beating the drum to boycott BP (British Petroleum) over the current debacle in the Gulf of Mexico. My first reaction was to climb on board and support the boycott. Then - alas - my brain cells engaged, and I devoted some cranial time to the issue. Here is the result.
There are two questions. First: "Why boycott BP?" Second: "How to boycott BP?"
I will take the questions in reverse order. Therefore, I will first address the problem of how to boycott BP (or any other major player in the petroleum industry).
In my corner of the world (Utah) BP is not a player. But Chevron is. So I will pretend that the villain of this drama is Chevron, and I will proceed from that point. I chose Chevron because they have a business relationship with my previous employer and I can speak from a position of knowledge and experience. WTF - the major oil companies are interchangeable, aren't they?
HOW?
How to boycott? Stop buying from them. Right. Sure.
In Utah, there are a number of Gas Stations that are branded as Chevron. But none of them (NOT ONE) is actually owned by Chevron. It works like this. If I own a gas station, and I choose to be branded as a Chevron Station, the following happens...
I display the Chevron logo.
My customers can use their Chevron credit card for purchases.
The gasoline delivered to my location includes that magical and mystical substance known as "Techron"
I pay an extra 2 to 4 cents per gallon or the gasoline delivered to my business.
But what about the gasoline delivered to my Gas Station? It comes from the Wood's Cross Refinery on North Salt Lake that supplies EVERY OTHER GAS STATION in the entire freaking state. The only difference is this: When the dude running the facility that loads the tankers prepares the gasoline transfer, he sees a note that this is a Chevron delivery. So he pushes the button that adds "Techron" to the load. And off it goes. And the next load, going to a Phillips 66, gets fuel from the same freaking tank, only without the flunky pushing the "Thechron" button. And so it goes.....
But - you ask - where does the crude oil come from that is turned into the gasoline that ends up in my tank? Again - it isn't clear, and it doesn't matter. The Woods Cross refinery mentioned above buys crude on the spot market, from whatever player happens to have the best price at the moment. And, with the way the commodities market works, the barrel of oil they buy may have come from any well in the world, and passed through any number of hands, and have any of a hundred fingerprints on it, before it was actually shoved into the refactoring tower and turned it into liquid gold.
"But", you say, "what if I cut up my credit card and buy from another retailer?"
First, the retailer isn't owned by the company. The Chevron station at 2100 South and 300 West in Salt Lake is NOT owned by Chevron. It is owned by Premium Oil Co. If you stop buying from them, Premium Oil suffers, but Chevron doesn’t give a f*ck. The only loss they suffer is the tiny sliver of margin they may see from a few (a VERY few) credit card transactions. And that margin is - trust me on this - only a sliver. Not worth sweating over.
So - leading to the other question - what is to be done?
Here is the crux of the issue. Every time you (or anyone) pulls into a gas station, shoves the nozzle into the filler (yummmm......insertion!!!!!!) and starts pumping, and pumping, - oh baby, keep pumping.....yeah....pump it baby....
Ahem....
...we create this thing called "Consumer Demand".
As much as we may want to paint BP with the colors of villainy, the awefull fact is this: they are only on a quest to fill consumer demand. And that consumer demand comes from you and from me.
Period.
End of story.
If you and I weren’t buying the shit, and if we weren't willing to PAY for the shit, BP (or Chevron, or whoever-the-fuck) wouldn't be drilling for the shit.
So..........
For myself, I am setting June 30 as the starting date. As of June 30, 2010 I will do the following:
First, I will cut my personal consumption of petroleum by 10%. The car I drive already gets 37 mpg, so this might be a trick. I may start working a 4-10 schedule instead of my current 5 day schedule. I might resume my habit of 'couch-surfing' Tuesday nights at the home of Holly and Beverly. (I live 50 miles from "the office" - they live one 10 miles from "the office") I might lower my driving speed from 65 mph to 60 mph.
On June 30 of 2011, I will put myself to the task of reducing another 10 percent. Another 10 percent on June 30, 2012. on it goes.....
Second, I will send at least one letter a month to my US Senator and House Representative demanding that they, for goodness sake, DO SOMETHING to move us from oil dependency to something that can be sustained without trashing the world we live in.
This is a long post. For those of you with a short attention span, here is the bottom line. There are only two ways to make a difference. First, reduce your own personal use of petroleum (forever....not just while it is politically correct). Second, write your senator or congressman and raise holy hell over the issue of sustainable energy.
Ahem................
I have close friend (yo Proclus!) who has been beating the drum to boycott BP (British Petroleum) over the current debacle in the Gulf of Mexico. My first reaction was to climb on board and support the boycott. Then - alas - my brain cells engaged, and I devoted some cranial time to the issue. Here is the result.
There are two questions. First: "Why boycott BP?" Second: "How to boycott BP?"
I will take the questions in reverse order. Therefore, I will first address the problem of how to boycott BP (or any other major player in the petroleum industry).
In my corner of the world (Utah) BP is not a player. But Chevron is. So I will pretend that the villain of this drama is Chevron, and I will proceed from that point. I chose Chevron because they have a business relationship with my previous employer and I can speak from a position of knowledge and experience. WTF - the major oil companies are interchangeable, aren't they?
HOW?
How to boycott? Stop buying from them. Right. Sure.
In Utah, there are a number of Gas Stations that are branded as Chevron. But none of them (NOT ONE) is actually owned by Chevron. It works like this. If I own a gas station, and I choose to be branded as a Chevron Station, the following happens...
I display the Chevron logo.
My customers can use their Chevron credit card for purchases.
The gasoline delivered to my location includes that magical and mystical substance known as "Techron"
I pay an extra 2 to 4 cents per gallon or the gasoline delivered to my business.
But what about the gasoline delivered to my Gas Station? It comes from the Wood's Cross Refinery on North Salt Lake that supplies EVERY OTHER GAS STATION in the entire freaking state. The only difference is this: When the dude running the facility that loads the tankers prepares the gasoline transfer, he sees a note that this is a Chevron delivery. So he pushes the button that adds "Techron" to the load. And off it goes. And the next load, going to a Phillips 66, gets fuel from the same freaking tank, only without the flunky pushing the "Thechron" button. And so it goes.....
But - you ask - where does the crude oil come from that is turned into the gasoline that ends up in my tank? Again - it isn't clear, and it doesn't matter. The Woods Cross refinery mentioned above buys crude on the spot market, from whatever player happens to have the best price at the moment. And, with the way the commodities market works, the barrel of oil they buy may have come from any well in the world, and passed through any number of hands, and have any of a hundred fingerprints on it, before it was actually shoved into the refactoring tower and turned it into liquid gold.
"But", you say, "what if I cut up my credit card and buy from another retailer?"
First, the retailer isn't owned by the company. The Chevron station at 2100 South and 300 West in Salt Lake is NOT owned by Chevron. It is owned by Premium Oil Co. If you stop buying from them, Premium Oil suffers, but Chevron doesn’t give a f*ck. The only loss they suffer is the tiny sliver of margin they may see from a few (a VERY few) credit card transactions. And that margin is - trust me on this - only a sliver. Not worth sweating over.
So - leading to the other question - what is to be done?
Here is the crux of the issue. Every time you (or anyone) pulls into a gas station, shoves the nozzle into the filler (yummmm......insertion!!!!!!) and starts pumping, and pumping, - oh baby, keep pumping.....yeah....pump it baby....
Ahem....
...we create this thing called "Consumer Demand".
As much as we may want to paint BP with the colors of villainy, the awefull fact is this: they are only on a quest to fill consumer demand. And that consumer demand comes from you and from me.
Period.
End of story.
If you and I weren’t buying the shit, and if we weren't willing to PAY for the shit, BP (or Chevron, or whoever-the-fuck) wouldn't be drilling for the shit.
So..........
For myself, I am setting June 30 as the starting date. As of June 30, 2010 I will do the following:
First, I will cut my personal consumption of petroleum by 10%. The car I drive already gets 37 mpg, so this might be a trick. I may start working a 4-10 schedule instead of my current 5 day schedule. I might resume my habit of 'couch-surfing' Tuesday nights at the home of Holly and Beverly. (I live 50 miles from "the office" - they live one 10 miles from "the office") I might lower my driving speed from 65 mph to 60 mph.
On June 30 of 2011, I will put myself to the task of reducing another 10 percent. Another 10 percent on June 30, 2012. on it goes.....
Second, I will send at least one letter a month to my US Senator and House Representative demanding that they, for goodness sake, DO SOMETHING to move us from oil dependency to something that can be sustained without trashing the world we live in.
Friday, May 21, 2010
An open letter concerning my commitment to the O.T.O. and to Horus Oasis
An open letter concerning my commitment to the O.T.O. and to Horus Oasis.
Recently, there was a change in the leadership of Horus Oasis, in which Beverly Stuart and I essentially changed places: She is now Master, while I have taken on the duties of Deputy Master and Treasurer. Despite the change in titles, the only real change in workload is the transfer of the treasury - Beverly and I are essentially still doing the same work and assuming the same responsibilities in running Horus Oasis.
Since this change, I have heard a few inaccurate statements about the reasons for this change and the circumstances surrounding it. Specifically, there is a rumor that I had reached, or was approaching, a state of "burn-out" and that the change was made to take some of the burden from my shoulders. This is NOT correct. Allow me to set the record straight.
What sparked this change was a needed change to the office of the Treasurer. Beverly had been serving as Treasurer for a few years, and was doing a good job. But it was her will to hand off the treasury to someone else. (A member of the Oasis volunteered to become Treasurer, but this plan fell apart.) I was willing and able to take on the treasury, but I know it is a REALLY BAD IDEA to have the same person holding the offices of Master and Treasurer. So I made the following proposal: That Beverly and I trade places. With Beverly as Master, I would be free to become Treasurer without running the risk of holding too much power in the Oasis. As for swapping the offices of Master and Deputy, we figured it was a non-issue. With a few small exceptions, there would be no changes in the work each of us was doing in the Oasis.
From this, these points follow:
- I am not decreasing my work load or responsibilities in Horus Oasis. If anything, I will now by putting MORE work into Horus Oasis.
- I was not, nor am I now, "burning out" or desiring to leave Horus Oasis.
- I am still committed to Horus Oasis and to supporting the core activities of the Oasis, especially Gnostic Mass.
Having said that, I have not attended some recent Horus Oasis activities. This is due to a large project (or "chronic emergency", as I prefer to call it) that I am dealing with in Provo. I also recently re-evaluated my relationship with Horus Oasis. Even before the advent of the "chronic emergency", attending all scheduled activities was stretching my resources. I concluded that, while it is my will to support the core activities of the body, I simply don't have the time and energy to attend ALL of the activities. (Having to travel 50 miles to attend events is an issue.)
There are also some past entries in this blog where I bemoaned the burden that Horus Oasis was placing on me. Those issues were resolved months ago and have no bearing on recent events or the current situation.
As for the future, once the "chronic emergency" is behind me, I will be turning some of my energies to forming a thelemic group in Utah Valley. I hope to use this group to draw people to Horus Oasis.
I am open to conversation if any member of Horus Oasis has any questions, comments, complaints or suggestions about the work I am doing as Deputy Master or Treasurer (not to mention web master, mail list owner, sender of announcements, manager of the Mass Equipment, etc.).
Andy McGuire
Deputy Master
Horus Oasis
Recently, there was a change in the leadership of Horus Oasis, in which Beverly Stuart and I essentially changed places: She is now Master, while I have taken on the duties of Deputy Master and Treasurer. Despite the change in titles, the only real change in workload is the transfer of the treasury - Beverly and I are essentially still doing the same work and assuming the same responsibilities in running Horus Oasis.
Since this change, I have heard a few inaccurate statements about the reasons for this change and the circumstances surrounding it. Specifically, there is a rumor that I had reached, or was approaching, a state of "burn-out" and that the change was made to take some of the burden from my shoulders. This is NOT correct. Allow me to set the record straight.
What sparked this change was a needed change to the office of the Treasurer. Beverly had been serving as Treasurer for a few years, and was doing a good job. But it was her will to hand off the treasury to someone else. (A member of the Oasis volunteered to become Treasurer, but this plan fell apart.) I was willing and able to take on the treasury, but I know it is a REALLY BAD IDEA to have the same person holding the offices of Master and Treasurer. So I made the following proposal: That Beverly and I trade places. With Beverly as Master, I would be free to become Treasurer without running the risk of holding too much power in the Oasis. As for swapping the offices of Master and Deputy, we figured it was a non-issue. With a few small exceptions, there would be no changes in the work each of us was doing in the Oasis.
From this, these points follow:
- I am not decreasing my work load or responsibilities in Horus Oasis. If anything, I will now by putting MORE work into Horus Oasis.
- I was not, nor am I now, "burning out" or desiring to leave Horus Oasis.
- I am still committed to Horus Oasis and to supporting the core activities of the Oasis, especially Gnostic Mass.
Having said that, I have not attended some recent Horus Oasis activities. This is due to a large project (or "chronic emergency", as I prefer to call it) that I am dealing with in Provo. I also recently re-evaluated my relationship with Horus Oasis. Even before the advent of the "chronic emergency", attending all scheduled activities was stretching my resources. I concluded that, while it is my will to support the core activities of the body, I simply don't have the time and energy to attend ALL of the activities. (Having to travel 50 miles to attend events is an issue.)
There are also some past entries in this blog where I bemoaned the burden that Horus Oasis was placing on me. Those issues were resolved months ago and have no bearing on recent events or the current situation.
As for the future, once the "chronic emergency" is behind me, I will be turning some of my energies to forming a thelemic group in Utah Valley. I hope to use this group to draw people to Horus Oasis.
I am open to conversation if any member of Horus Oasis has any questions, comments, complaints or suggestions about the work I am doing as Deputy Master or Treasurer (not to mention web master, mail list owner, sender of announcements, manager of the Mass Equipment, etc.).
Andy McGuire
Deputy Master
Horus Oasis
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Maintaining a steady effort
Most of my work with my journal has been centered around reposting from Blogspot to LiveJournal (with the proper security applied, thank you very much...) and with redacting what is being re-posted to blogspot. The reasons are posted in previous entries. If you find the stuff on Blogspot to by to banal, ask me about access to the LiveJournal stuff and I will give the low-down on gaining access to the Inner Wombat.
In the mean time, I find myself up to my neck in trying to just "get stuff done." The biggest thing on the list right now - and for the next several weeks - it Kat's basement. About three months ago it became unlivable and was gutted. Since then we have been rebuilding it. It is to the point that I have given up my weeknights - including my workouts - and my Saturdays to get it done. So far I have done concrete work (including laying a section of floor), framing, electrical, data, and hanging sheet rock. Starting this week I am onto mudding the sheet rock and rebuilding the window frames. It sucks. It sucks royally. And when it is all done, I have three other major projects lined up.
I want my life back.
As of about two weeks ago, I am no longer Master of Horus Oasis. I am now Deputy Master and Treasurer with Beverly as Master. So I traded down in prestige and traded up in the amount of effort I have to put into the beast. It makes sense when taken from one point of view. But when taken from another, more realistic vantage point, I am just trading less glamor for more work. Story of my life.
Nothing else to report right now. It really isn't as dismal as it seems. Unreported is the effort I am putting into "clearing the decks" and returning to my spiritual center. It will take a while, but it really is happening.
In the mean time, I find myself up to my neck in trying to just "get stuff done." The biggest thing on the list right now - and for the next several weeks - it Kat's basement. About three months ago it became unlivable and was gutted. Since then we have been rebuilding it. It is to the point that I have given up my weeknights - including my workouts - and my Saturdays to get it done. So far I have done concrete work (including laying a section of floor), framing, electrical, data, and hanging sheet rock. Starting this week I am onto mudding the sheet rock and rebuilding the window frames. It sucks. It sucks royally. And when it is all done, I have three other major projects lined up.
I want my life back.
As of about two weeks ago, I am no longer Master of Horus Oasis. I am now Deputy Master and Treasurer with Beverly as Master. So I traded down in prestige and traded up in the amount of effort I have to put into the beast. It makes sense when taken from one point of view. But when taken from another, more realistic vantage point, I am just trading less glamor for more work. Story of my life.
Nothing else to report right now. It really isn't as dismal as it seems. Unreported is the effort I am putting into "clearing the decks" and returning to my spiritual center. It will take a while, but it really is happening.
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