More free stuff.

There’s a dog and pony show coming to NYC and select other cities to trumpet the benefits of Acrobat 7.0. Since it’s a freebie, one where they give out free copies of the program and a justifiable way to get out of half a day of work, it’s always worth registering for these things (employers love training that doesn’t cost them anything).

You can register for the thing here.

FCB.

Life as a cat is a hard road to travel, you get up early to get your human up to feed you and all the effort trying to elicit a decent meal is tiring so, you really need to find just the right spot for the mid-morning nap.

Exhaustion.

I find myself just way too tired to even be concerned about writing anything at the moment. Aside from a few longer, partially completed entries over the last few days, I find myself so caught up in the maelstrom it is hard to focus on anything else. Today was a bit of a wash as I had been feeling like I was coming down with something for several days and finally I found it necessary just to have a day to sleep.

So in lieu of any words of wisdom, I think I’ll just post a picture or two I’ve been taking recently:

The week that was.

In a few hours it will be a full week since this drama began. This has been like the storm that was forecast, something which was inevitable, something I knew would be coming, something I was even in the process of preparing for but, like any storm, when it hits you don’t know how intense the fury of the storm will be.

So, there is good and bad in the whole situation. One thing is assured and that is things will change, of that I have no doubt. The question now is how rapidly that change will occur and how well I will weather this storm. In regard to the EYOC, there is very little I can do at this point, he’s seen to that. In a certain bit or irony the person who respected his wishes the most is the one who now can do little to affect the outcome of the situation.

I know I’ll be moving - I just don’t know how soon and where I’m going to wind up.

The other day I was having a discussion with the EYOC and telling him he had to get better so he could “rake the leaves” around the house, no more lying around for him. On the surface, it probably sounds incredibly cruel. The truth of course is he hasn’t lifted a finger around here in a long time but, even though that’s the case what do you say to someone? Do you tell them the time they have is running out?

It’s been my experience from what I have observed that the longer someone has a routine of their own, the longer they are able to do the things they want and live life without being directed what to do, the better off they are. I watched as my Ex’s grandmother, a frail tiny women of her early 80’s, slowly succumbed to the ravages of age. Funny thing is, the woman had been so busy all the years prior to when the deterioration suddenly happened. She took care of her aging and very ill husband, cared for a younger but direly afflicted neighbor suffering from Arthritis and just performed these almost superhuman feats you couldn’t imagine a person of her stature being capable of.

After the people she was caring for passed, her remaining family wanted to leave her ensconced in her apartment with nothing to do but stare at the walls as the time ticked past. She no longer had things in her life to challenge her and in that vacuum, that boredom and ennui she finally allowed herself to succumb. Why not? She no longer had duties to distract her from herself, no longer had things to keep her mind and body occupied. I imagine the days slowed down for her insufferably
and with nothing else to focus on she just let go.

When people no longer are interested in life - it’s not a good thing. Something all of us should take note of.

There’s a reason the Mets play in Flushing.

When nobody was looking, the Mets just went and flushed their season down the crapper.

I’m not happy about it but, I can’t say I’m really too upset either. Thing is, at the beginning of the season the best thing Mets fans were hoping for was not to be in last place (which the Mets are currently occupants of in their division). So, one might ask, “How can you not be upset if they’re in last place?”

Well, coming into the season, David Wright though promising was still an unproven commodity. Jose Reyes had yet to play a full injury free season and a couple of Mets were coming off bad seasons (as evidenced by the Mets trying to trade them in the off-season, Cliff Floyd comes immediately to mind).

Now as we close on the end of the ’05 season, we find the left side of the infield is young and is only going to improve with time and experience, there’s starting pitching to meet the needs of next season. It all boils down to there being just a couple of holes that need filling. Waiting to see if Mike Jacobs is the answer at first is one question. Figuring out what life after Mike Piazza will look like is a second. Finding a more solid closer than Brandon Looper is the third thing.

It’s not much, certainly not as bad as it has seemed in seasons past. So, it’ll just be a matter of the old Dodgers lament of wait until next year!

Excitement.

I don’t imagine anyone finds these little personal dramas entertaining. I just started the blog to get into the habit of writing for the most part. The blog is my stretching and warm ups before attempting the marathon of a longer project. The longer entries are the tough ones, I get into a groove and then somewhere along the way I get distracted or the train of thought gets derailed and an idea dies on the vine (been a bunch of those half composed entries sitting in the draft que).

But, before I get side tracked once again, the thought for today was about excitement.

I’ve heard quite a few people bemoan a lack of excitement in their lives through the years. It seems to be a common enough complaint, “Life just isn’t exciting anymore!” or the old saw “Boy! Could I use some excitement!”

Funny thing is, I find as I rack up days in my time on the planet, I’ve come to the conclusion I could do without “excitement.”

Yep, that’s me, pining away for mundanacity. Sure, when I was a younger man, I craved excitement! with the best of them. However, it dawned on me after enough of that excitement, usually the whole excitement thing wasn’t associated with good things. The excitement thing wasn’t working for me if you catch my drift.

See, excitement is all fine and good if that’s your thing but, it seems to me that along with it come big emotional highs... and lows. Great when it’s a positive thing to be sure but, those lows. Boy! They sure have a way of taking their toll on a person. I’m getting enough gray hair at this point not to really be up for getting more and gray hair is one of those add ons to the excitement thing.

Kind of reminds me of the phrase, “May you live in exciting (sic-interesting) times.” Which has an interesting and unique story all its own.

No more coffee for you!

Via Pen-Elanye.



U.S. President George W. Bush writes a note to Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice during a Security Council meeting at the 2005 World Summit and 60th General Assembly of the United Nations in New York September 14, 2005. World leaders are exploring ways to revitalize the United Nations at a summit on Wednesday but their blueprint falls short of Secretary-General Kofi Annan's vision of freedom from want, persecution and war.

A lot more things make sense now. If nature’s call is something that Pres Junior isn’t sure about, he can hardly be called on the carpet to be decisive about hurricanes or wars.

Waiting for a spot on a helicopter.



No other way to put it.

Ambulance driver.

Over the last few months, I’ve been laying low. There was a bit of a dual purpose in this. On the one hand, things were just out of control, struggling along and trying to do everything wasn’t working. There is just a lot of maintenance and upkeep to do around here and I can’t boast of having an unending source of energy. Just picking up after someone else all the time isn’t an easy thing, especially when they try their level best to be as uncooperative as possible. Care and feeding of the EYOC is not an easy thing on its best day. Just stay out of the way and try to keep the messes to a minimum. As much trouble as a teenager can be, an aging parent is infinitely worse - they don’t quite take to being told what to do. Example: Yes, flushing the toilet each and every time after you use it isn’t a waste of water and cuts down on the overwhelming urine smell throughout the house - this is a good thing and shouldn’t start a fight but it does.

So many little idiosyncrasies, all the anger of and regret of life comes out each and every day and being the person around just means being the easiest target for it all.

Friday, was the end of a long, long week. Finally at a point where work was absolutely necessary (if only from a financial standpoint), I was glad to be working again even if I felt discomfort at not being around during the day. One thing I had been trying to find was night work if only because leaving EYOC alone while he was asleep just meant it he would be less likely to get himself into trouble - you’d think a he’d be able to do that but, it seems to grow only more difficult for him to avoid trouble.

So, after finally working through the long week, when I got to Friday I was absolutely exhausted - several days of getting up at 6:00 and getting home at 10:00 will do that to you. Especially when you’re trying to fit in all your maintenace duties around it - I swear I have much , much more respect for what some people do than ever before.

Of course, knowing that the week was winding, you had to know all hell would break loose.

Early Saturday morning after finally passing out, while in the midst of a deep sleep, I awoke to the cries of EYOC in terror. You have to understand, I’ve gotten used to the ‘night terrors,’ the moaning and wailing that occurs nightly while the EYOC is deep in dreamland. I had been worried at first but, after asking him if he was in any pain at night and then finding out he had not recollection of the incidents at all, I came to realize all that anger was just working itself out another way.

No, Saturday morning was different. I ran to the front, only to find EYOC sitting atop the top step, terrified and laboring away to catch a breath. It was the yelling that had me immediately worried - that moment when someone who walks around most of the day barely concealing their contempt actually cries out for help - it must be bad.

First thought is to get prepared in the best fireman’s fashion for the wee hour run to the hospital. Though I am many things, medical practitioner is not numbered among them and truthfully I can’t just wave my hands and do the whole healing thing. Unfortunately, once again you run into a situation where it’s a battle. A kid you would just bundle into the car and take, they wouldn’t fight you on it. Aging parent though is another story - there’s all kinds of terror involved in going to the hospital. It’s understandable though, hospitals are a lot like roach motels to the elderly, people go in but they don’t come out.

So, rather than fight and honestly hoping it was just some respiratory thing - I tried to calm him down and get him to rest since he was in such an agitated state. After finally getting back to sleep (not an easy thing mind you), I awoke in the morning to the smell of the EYOC making his daily breakfast. The assumption being that since he was back on his schedule, all was right in the world of the EYOC. Rousing myself and giving him adequate time to clear out of the kitchen (can’t get in his way don’t you know), I made myself coffee and tried to clear the cobwebs from my brain. After having sufficiently ingesting enough caffeine to be somewhat alert, I went back to check on the EYOC again only to find him seated on his bed, laboring away and gasping for air.

“I can’t catch my breath?! I just can’t get a good breath Munge.”

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“NO!”

“Well, what do you want me to do then?”

“You weren’t going anywhere today, right? Just stick around. Stick around for a few hours in case I do have to go to the hospital.”

“Fine.”

I waited about an hour and went back to check on him again but, he was still obviously laboring away.

“Look, you’re going!”

“No, I can’t go. If I go, that’s it!”

“C’mon, get your clothes on, we have to go.”

After much fussing and finally getting him dressed - it was off to the hospital. Trying to tease him a bit on the way to take his mind of things wasn’t working. He was scared (and I can’t say I would blame him either). Of course also during the ride I was trying to pry as much info out of him as possible to relate to the doctors after we got to the hospital. All too often, the story you get is different from the one that winds up being told to the doctors and it’s necessary to do a bit of translation. It is during the ride, I come to find out he had a very severe and acute pain in the upper left quandrant of his chest which spread down his arm. Oh, and this happened a few days ago but, he can’t remember the specific day.

Mmm, great, classic heart attack symptoms that he just somehow didn’t share, very much par for the course.

We arrive at the hospital, I pull up and have him wait in the car as I avail myself of a wheelchair, go out, collect him and wheel him into the middle of the emergency room (yes, I just bypass reception using the ambulance entrance). The people behind the office desk in emergency are somewhat agape as I wheel this elderly man into their midst and I nod at them saying, “Can you take a look at him?” an underlying sense of urgency in my voice.

The next time I see him it is about an hour and a half or so later. There is a respirator down his throat and mutiple tubes issue forth from his arms in numerous places. Above him I can very clearly read a computer screen which is all too easy to decipher as I can pick out his blood pressure is an alarming 60 over 40.

I ask if he has been sedated, seeing the respirator in his throat and knowing this is the one thing he has feared above everything else clearly remembering the agony his brother endured during a fatal fight with cancer. I am assured he is sedated enough to only vaguely remember this as a dream (which actually will later prove to be true). I stand near him as there is a flurry of activity around me all centered on him. The room is very small. I myself have been in this emergency room in the past, it does not bring back fond memories but, they are not especially bad memories either.

A cardiologist begins a conversation about EYOC’s condition at his bedside as I try to move backward in an effort to get doctor to follow me into the hall and out of potential earshot. I am quoted very dire mortality statistics for patients in this age range and with similar maladies. This is confirmed by two other doctors in attendance, they stare gravely at the monitor displaying lifesigns and they... are... not... smiling.

Time passes and he is stablized and moved to the ICU. During the ride he is off the sedative and I am holding his hand and gently stroking his forehead. It is so very odd, more often than not I am being yelled at, cursed or derided by the frail figure before me. I have weathered all his anger and I am standing beside him trying to keep him from being afraid. I find myself consumed by emotion, the only chance I have to comfortably show it is during a short time when I am alone in the ER with him and one of the orderlies has respectfully pulled the curtains so I can have a bit of privacy to sob.

I can honestly say it was one of the longest and most stressful days in recent memory. Of course, it wasn’t complete until I had to deal with the second guessing of the missing-in-action sibling. Got to love those who don’t do the work but want all the credit. There never seems to be a shortage of people like that. Fortunately, on the flip side, there are other family members who never cease to amaze with their support - and they were there when I needed them. So, I’m lucky nonetheless.

After the Flood.

I’ve got a bunch of entries in various stages of completion but, due to the events of the last few days, I haven’t been able to complete them.

However, I thought I would pass along this link. While you may have od’d on the Katrina disaster, I ask you take the time out to listen to this week’s This American Life: After The Flood.

Bearing in mind that these are Americans; our neighbors, relatives and peers, is there any way we should not hold our government responsible for what happened? I think after listening to the stories of people who actually lived through the disaster and keeping in mind something like this has the potential to happen in any American city (maybe even to you!), do you really want to let the current administration slide on this? Should we even contemplate the chance of this happening again.

Tired.

I never realized how tired I was until last night. Finally sitting down, having dinner and feeling the exhaustion wash over me like a wave. The scary thing is this is only the beginning and there is so much to do (and I had a full plate before this). I feel like I could sleep away the next few days but, there's much, too much to do and precious little time to get everything done.

Waiting room.



Life is full of experiences that resonate with us. Sounds, smells or places that harken back to other events in our lives. Some are happy, some are sad but, they all cue up memories in us. Memories which invariably force us into drawing comparisons of the “today” to the “then.”

Over the last few days, I have had the chance to renew my acquaintance with my old nemesis the ‘hospital waiting room.’ Waiting rooms all have a vaguely similar feel. There’s furniture just this side of comfortable (not the good side), in muted tints attempting to soften the glare of the fluorescent lighting. It’s furniture that’s seen a lot of use, parked in what would amount to a small office and packed tightly together. In one corner they’ll be a TV customarily turned to something you would never find yourself watching at home and only if you’re among the truly fortunate will you be able to change the channel.

Being in a waiting room is somewhat akin to being on a long elevator ride in the way you will be united with a bunch of strangers briefly as you all move towards a similar destination. Momentarily, you will be a part of another person’s life not through choosing as much as coincidence. It’s often uncomfortable bumping up against each other in these moments of brief shared intimacy, the intimacy of strangers. Yet a lot can be learned about people, if only in the kindness we show each other during these moments.

So, as I struggled to quietly read my paper during the sojourn in the waiting room, anticipating the moment I am summoned back into the recesses of the ICU. I sit, an uncomfortable witness to strangers in a moment of fear over the sickness of a loved one. A moment where people have come together united in their concern and sharing amusing stories of the past. I am thankful as they ready themselves to leave, looking forward to the silence and being able to get my mind off the onerous vigil I am on.

Yet as they file by me, I am surprised by a woman I do not know. As the five or six people make their way out of the room and I keep my nose buried in my paper trying not to intrude on their privacy lacking another place to wait, she places her hand on my shoulder as they file past and just says that everything will be alright. It momentarily takes my unease at being trapped in the limbo of the waiting room away and I am reminded of the small courtesies strangers can afford one and other.

Sunday?

Picture this.

I set up a flickr account and I’ve been enjoying running around taking all sorts of pictures with my new camera. Now all I have to do is get around to setting the thing (the Flickr account) up.

A tradition continued?

In the spirit of Friday cat blogging, a tradition picked up via Pen-Elanye, today we have a dreadful case of kitty possession - time to find the kitty exorcist.

Terminator 4?

Came across this tale on The Walking Vixen blog. It made me think of a song by Annie Lennox titled Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves. The story is somewhat lurid, so don’t click through if you’re offended by that stuff but it just one of those things you have to read to believe.

It was basically a metal suitcase like the kind you see carrying millions of dollars in those gangster movies. Except inside of it was the metal that makes the hump possible, and it had a metal pole sticking out of it.

We now return to our regular programming:

On a more mundane note, I wanted to pass along the link to Russell Brown’s website.

Who is Russell Brown you ask?

As Sr. Creative Director at Adobe Systems Incorporated, Russell Preston Brown holds a unique position in the computer industry. Brown maintains a vital presence in the digital design and publishing community, facilitating the exchange between the user and software developer that is so essential to Adobe's software development. With complete mastery and breath taking style, Brown shows users how to work – and play – with Adobe software. He has given the world's leading photographers, publishers, art directors, and artists a strong grasp of the software tools that, by virtually all accounts, have led to Adobe's applications becoming the standard by which others are measured. Remember, what Russell always says "Learning about Adobe Photoshop should never be boring.”

I spent some time today watching a fascinating tutorial on batch processing of images (what does that say about my life, I wonder?). As with most of the tutorials RB has posted, it’s entertaining, informative and free! Of course, bandwidth is required but, what you spend a few minutes watching could save you hours on the job!

You’ll find the tutorials (tips and techniques) here.

The Blame Game and you.



On more than one occasion President Truman referred to the desk sign in public statements. For example, in an address at the National War College on December 19, 1952 Mr. Truman said, “You know, it’s easy for the Monday morning quarterback to say what the coach should have done, after the game is over. But when the decision is up before you — and on my desk I have a motto which says The Buck Stops Here — the decision has to be made.” In his farewell address to the American people given in January 1953, President Truman referred to this concept very specifically in asserting that, “The President — whoever he is — has to decide. He can’t pass the buck to anybody. No one else can do the deciding for him. That's his job.”

Today, the White House came out swinging trying to do their very best to spin the events of the last week into a more favorable light for themselves. Unfortunately, the displaced masses of New Orleans didn’t cooperate – they’re just not going to go away as easily as the White House would wish:

“I need answers,” said Mildred Brown, who has been at the center since Tuesday with her husband, mother-in-law and cousin. “I’m not interested in hand-shaking. I’m not interested in photo ops.”

Yes, it seems the White House attempt to put the blame squarely at the feet of Louisiana state and city officials isn’t quite working out the way they would like it to. I said it the day after the storm hit when President Junior was out on the west coast giving another speech designed to make our country safe from terrorists. Do you think the mysterious terrorists watch this stuff? Somehow, I doubt it.

Very prominently on the news tonight the President urged the nation ‘not to play the blame game.’ I can’t say he’s doing something no one else has done - when was the last time someone, a co-worker or someone you know, actually ’fessed up to being wrong? It just is rarely done on our society these days. People accepting responsibility for screwing up is a thing of the past. We live in a world where we are all of us surrounded by beings of god-like perfection (hey, I’m not going to give myself a pass on this one either folks).

It’s tough to admit you’re wrong. It’s tough but, it’s also necessary if you want to grow.

Honestly, I would have been very surprised if the president had just come out and boldly said, “Yes, we knew a hurricane was coming. Yes, we saw that it was a category five but, never in our wildest imaginings did we believe it would be this bad. It was poor planning on the part of the federal government. An event of this scope is something which should have been handled immediately at the federal level and we screwed up royally on it.”

The days of Harry Truman and The Buck Stops Here are gone folks.

No weapons of mass destruction and now this. Hmmm, isn’t the office of the president also known by the name of Chief Executive? So, before we go off and spend millions needlessly trying to look for a scapegoat(s), why not take all that money, put it to better use helping the people affected by Katrina and just go right to the top?

I’m not blaming the mayor, the governor, the firefighters, the police, the national guardsmen, the army, the coast guard, the red cross or any of those other folks who have made it their business to get about helping these people - I’m blaming the guy who was on vacation when the storm hit and decided to take a trip out to California the day after the storm had passed. He’s the one who ultimately had the power to do something (as noted by all the things that rapidly happened after he sat up and took notice). It’s not a game, people suffered and people died because of a terrible lapse of judgement on his part and if the American people want to give the guy a pass on it, they deserve what they get.

Speak your mind.

Erik Larsen pencilled a bunch of books and was one of those guys who jumped ship from Marvel to create Image comics. Today, he’s the publisher at Image and while I can’t say I’ve found myself seeking out Image branded material more than before, somehow Larsen has found the time to write a column up at Comic Book Resources as well. His One Fan’s Opinion is rapidly turning into a favorite.

Steve Oliff showed everybody about the possibility of color and his legion of imitators over-colored the crap out of so many thousands of pages.

It's staggering.

I tell colorists now to back off. Well-chosen flat color is infinitely preferable to poorly chosen rendered color. Let me see the art. Let me see who inked that. Let me see the effect the artists had intended.

I love comics.

A Sunday repast.

Aristotle (384-322 BC) argues that a stable democracy requires a large middle class to minimize political antagonism between rich and poor. Leaders should be elected "by all, from all" limited to brief terms in office. There should be no life offices; and no office should be held twice by the same person. Aristotle argues for a strict one-person-one-vote system for all adults; voting rights should not be limited to property owners, lest the nation lapse into oligarchy as wealth becomes concentrated in the hands of a few.

So we are all of us in the midst of a holiday weekend - except those of us stricken by such a great calamity as that which has befallen our fellow citizens along the Gulf Coast and those who are in the process of trying to ease their suffering.

Now is a time when we see what the measure of Americans as a people are, as the call goes out for aid across the nation and across the globe. Over the coming weeks and months we can be certain the news will get worse. While there will undoubtedly be bright spots amidst the gloom, the number of lives lost due to this event shall be staggering when tallied up. It will make the losses we suffered in 2001 pale in comparison, even though those losses be no less dear to our hearts.

In the aftermath, as we try to help our fellow citizens rebuild their lives, we will have to begin the long hard task of asking ourselves where we were remiss. It is not enough to merely assess the damage and rebuild. We must take this opportunity as a nation and look at where we are headed and where we want to go.

We are only as rich as our poorest neighbor, as healthy as our sickest friend and as strong as our weakest companion. If we are to export a system and society which we would hold forth to be the model for the rest of the world, we had better be sure it is a good model. One in which all people are insured of freedom but also opportunity, for education, for health, for security. Those integral elements assured to all Americans by the documents set forth by the founding fathers of this nation.

It is in these areas where we must hold our leaders accountable. Our strength as a nation in the past has come from the ability to override the differences among us and to work for the common good of all. If we cannot move beyond the devisive rhetoric of party ideology, we shall suffer an ignominious fate and watch as our nation fades from the world stage to become some second rate power basking in the glory of its past accomplishments.

The faces that stare out from our TV screens, speak volumes to us of another America. An America where poverty is common. These faces tell us, for all the success our leaders would have us believe we have enjoyed as a nation, there are far too many who are being left behind. Far too many for whom the basic human necessities of life are a luxury. While we hear talk daily of a War on Terror will somehow make our society safe, we must ask ourselves safe from what?

Will it be a nation safe from suffering, poverty, hunger, ignorance and disease? If we find we cannot make our fellow citizens safe from these things can we honestly tell ourselves there is any other war worth winning?