BurningbirdDark and difficult day and evening with much to work through. Walking around with a cloud over my head and rain in my eyes, and then I visit Shannon and I stumble on to a pot of gold.
Lovely music. Lovely, lovely music. The result of a musical collaboration between two webloggers who have never met: Shannon and Scott Andrew LePera.
Thank you for brightening my day, Shannon and Scott. And Shannon, congratulations on your upcoming performance with the 2003 Tori Amos Tribute.
Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
As with Chris this weblog could go dark around the 4th of November if I can’t get everything moved and set up at a new host quickly enough. I still don’t have a new host yet and a few I have chatted with aren’t necessarily comfortable hosting a “cheap” site that has been slashdotted (i.e. mega-hits within a very short time period). Will I be slashdotted again? I’m writing a sequel to “Parable of the Languages”, but it, like many other sequels, could die an ignoble death. Quick answer: hard to say.
I’m also merging several individual web sites into one (yasd.com, p2psmoke.org, dynamicearth.com, and burningbird.net are being merged), though the weblog will stay at weblog.burningbird.net. The result of this effort means I’ll have some pretty ugly pages and a bit of a mess for a while, but can’t be helped. Can’t spend too much time on this as have to concentrate on paying tasks. Must get money. Money good. Need money.
I wasn’t sure about what to do with the Movable Type move because I have gaps in the weblog page numbers. When re-importing the exported entries, the numbers won’t match and links will get broken. However, I read Jonathon’s plan of copying the individual archives over as is into the previous archives directory, editing the exported data to remove ones I don’t want to keep, and then, after re-importing the modified list of posts, directing archiving to a new location.
That is a plain, good, excellent, outstanding idea! Who says eye candy people can’t think like metal to the core programmers?
With Jonathon’s approach, I can change my individual archives to an .html extension, getting rid of the PHP overhead, and still keep PHP for the main page (index.php). For those archived pages that are being retained in the new weblog, I’ll delete the pages in the old archives, and use an error handler program to map the old pages to the new. (Accessing the old pages will trigger a 404 error, which, in turn, triggers my error handler.)
As much as I like Jonathon’s plan for handling synchronization problems with a Movable Type weblog move, what’s even more intriguing with his approach is his using this time to re-focus his weblog, and literally removing entries that don’t match this focus. The old archives will be there so links won’t break, but someone new will only see those entries that reflect Jonathon’s new focus.
The idea of a weblog start over is outside the “way we do things”, which is probably why I like it so much. And it’s really no different than the opportunities that face us when we move to a new community.
When we move to a new town or city, especially one where we don’t know people, we can re-define what we are. For instance, want to party less? Then re-define yourself as a quieter person in your new home. Want to be more outgoing? Again, re-define yourself and act more outgoing with new people. Since people will only see this behavior, and act accordingly, we’re re-inforced and the behavior becomes more natural.
(As an example, years ago when I lived in Seattle the first time, I couldn’t speak in front of people to save my life. It was terririble — if I was faced with more than four people, I literally couldn’t speak. When I moved to Yakima to attend college, I was determined to overcome this, so the first thing I did was take a speech class. The second thing I did was run for student body President (I lost, in case you’re curious). I forced myself into positions of public speaking, and since people only saw this aspect of me (not my former shyness), my new behavior was reinforced. Now, I love public speaking and regret that I couldn’t get to any conferences this year to indulge.)
The thought of applying this re-definition to our weblogs is unique, and interesting, and opens up a host of new possibilities beyond just cosmetic changes, or changes in technology. Weblog start overs — a new trend perhaps?
(I just wish I could erase incidents from the past as easily as I could drop old postings. There was the time with the water cooler full of margaritas…)
Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
Weather Underground has predicted that we could get snow this week. I haven’t driven in snow before, and since I didn’t learn how to drive at my Daddy or Mama’s knee, I had to figure out what do do when driving in winter conditions all on my own.
I’d thought I’d share my knowledge with you.
I figured out the worst hazard facing you when driving on ice is that your tires will stick to the ice and your car will come to a complete and unexpected stop. So the trick is not to let your tires stick to the ice.
When driving on ice, go as fast as you can. Not only will this decrease the chances of your tires getting stuck to the road, the friction from your quickly rotating tires will help melt the ice underneath you. Now it may not look like this as you drive, but that’s just because the ice freezes up again once you’re past. However, you can follow other cars as closely as possible and benefit from their tire ice melt effect.
When you stop, stop suddenly. This allows your tires to build up heat in front of them and that’ll melt the ice, enabling you to come to a safe stop.
Same with going around corners — go as fast as you can, and try and jerk the wheel as hard as possible. Doing this will cause your tires to “bite” into the ice, and give you traction. If for some reason, though, you do find yourself slipping when you turn a corner, brake and yank the wheel, to get both a friction and a traction effect.
If you’re driving in snow and you get stuck going up a hill, step on the gas and spin the tires as hard as possible. This will build up a little hill of snow behind your tires and give you the push you need to get going — kind of like those things that runners brace against before a race.
If you come to a side street that hasn’t been plowed yet and looks to have considerable snow on it, don’t worry! Your car is big and you’ll be able to break through that snow without any problems. After all, it’s only frozen water.
I know that some people say that you shouldn’t drive at all in blizzard conditions, but that’s the best time of all to drive: no one else is on the road!
If you do find a motorist that’s ended up in the ditch, wrap a length of chain around your fender and theirs and pull them out with your little 4-cylinder engine. If for some reason this fails, tell the driver of the car to hold on to your bumper — you’ll tow them into a station (Note this doesn’t work if the driver is wearing heels.)
If you do live in a wintery clime, build yourself a winter survival kit — box of matches, can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup, and a chocolate bar should do you.
There it is: Burningbird’s Guide to Driving on Ice and Snow. I hope you find this helpful.
Note: Burningbird will not held liable if you follow these rules and your car ends up looking like an accordian ran over by a volkswagon that’s being run over by a truck, being hit by a semi. After all, I’m Burningbird — what the hell do I know about driving in snow?
I felt odd when I woke, and had a hard time concentrating on my surroundings. Everything around me had a surreal quality to it, unlike anything I’d experienced before when waking. Not even that time I’d fallen off the ladder and knocked myself out.
Looking around, I could see that I was in a long, narrow room, with white walls, no windows, and a wooden floor. The room was full of beds, stacked along either side, with a person in a white coat at the end of the room. It looked like he was reading some kind of newspaper, and I couldn’t see his face. There were other people in the room, some sleeping, others sitting up or wondering slowly around the room. Everyone wore white nightgowns, and they were of all ages, all races, and both sexes. That one stopped me a bit. Since when did hospitals house people of differing sexes in the same room?
Of course, that’s it! I was in some kind of hospital. Question number 1 answered, now how about questions 2 through a 100, beginning with “Which hospital” and ending with “How did I get here”.
I patted my body but could feel no bandages, no cuts, no bruises. Aside from that odd feeling, I felt perfectly fine. Did I have a concussion? Is that why I’m here? Is that why everything seems a little out of sync?
I sat up, slowly. I tried to remember how I got here, what had happened. I recalled that I had been with Sally and the girls, and that we’d been on our way to Canon Beach for a day of fun. The weather was a bit blustery and we almost changed our minds about going, but the girls would have been disappointed. The last thought I had before waking was driving over the mountain that separated Portland from the beach, enjoying the view.
I panicked at that point. Where was Sally?! Where were the girls?!
I jumped to my feet and immediately fell back again. I had the hardest time feeling my feet, almost as if I tried to stand on cotton rather than flesh and blood. Not painful, just strange. I tried again, this time a little more slowly, and once I was safely on my feet I walked towards the desk. The attendant would know where I was and what happened. More importantly, he would know where my family was.
Sometimes a person just doesn’t know when to let well enough alone. When I got closer to the attendant he moved his paper aside and looked up. I’m using “he” in the generic sense, because this…this…thing was not human!
“He” had two eyes, but they were positioned lower than ours, and were milky looking, with no pupils. He had slits instead of nostrils, and wavy little spiky things coming out of his head. “His” skin had a metallic quality that almost looked like copper. Rusted copper. Big ears, too. Probably could hear an insect fart from 20 feet.
He smiled at me and I thought to myself, “That’s it. It can get worse.” The guy had a nasty set of choppers. If flat teeth are the marks of vegetarians, this thing’s people never touched anything green and leafy.
“Ohmigod!”, I though. “I’ve been captured by aliens, and this is their lab!” All sorts of visions ran through my head, most unpleasant. My thoughts must have showed on my face because the alien stopped smiling and looked alarmed. Then again, maybe it was hunger. I stepped back a bit.
“Please, Mr. Anderson,” He said, with a surprisingly pleasant voice. Too bad it sounded like it was coming from the back of his head and his mouth wasn’t moving. If there is a God, please keep that thing from turning around.
“Don’t be alarmed by my appearance. Surely you must have known that your species is not the only one in the Universe.” He soothed, with only a hint of patiently irritation. “If you’ll just return to your bed, this will all be over with shortly.”
Whatever he was, he must have been used to humans because he was pretty good about reading my face. He surprised me then by chuckling. Yep, the sound was definitely coming from the back of the head.
“Mr. Anderson, I can promise you that you won’t be harmed in anyway. You haven’t been kidnapped, and you are not going to be undergoing any nasty evil experiments”. He shuddered and said, “Really, you people have incredible imaginations. And this infantile obsession with horror. It truly boggles the mind of rational creatures such as myself.”
I tried to talk and croaked out a sound. I tried again.
“Okay, if you haven’t kidnapped me, then why am I here?” I managed to ask. “How did I get here? Where am I? Who are you? What are you!” I was getting more frantic with each question. I finally leaned over the desk and grabbed his lapels.
“Where is my family! I want to know what happened to my family!”
He looked at me, at least his eyes seemed pointed in the direction of my face. He folded the, newspaper was it? Metal, strange writing. He looked at my hands, so close to his mouth. That mouth. The mouth. I dropped my hands.
I noticed that other patients/prisoners/kidnappees were standing behind me. It gave me comfort. I was not alone, and the alien was outnumbered. He looked around at the people behind me, then me again, and gave what sounded like a sigh.
“Normally, it’s not my job to tell you what’s happened to you. Someone from your own species usually handles this. ” A bit annoyed, he continued. “However, since Charlie is late today I had to fill in, and have no choice but to tell you myself.” Hands folded, head raised, he looked at all of us.
“You are all dead.”
About half a dozen people hit the ground with that one. A couple started crying. Most were like me: we just stood there and looked at him.
“Oh, yes, you are all dead. You all died anywhere from a couple of seconds ago to almost 60 minutes for some of you. Mr. Anderson, you died about 59 minutes ago.” He actually sounded a bit cheerful at that. Buck up, sweetie, you’re dead. No more worries.
I finally managed to whisper out “Is this the afterlife?” I asked a little stronger, “Is this Heaven?”
“Oh, no, not in the sense that you know ‘Heaven’.” He looked at a …timepiece, is it? And continued. “Well, look you have a few seconds left. I’ll try and explain.”
“All beings in the Universe contain the essence of what we are when we are alive. You would probably call it your “Spirit” or perhaps “Soul”. When we die, we leave one plain of existence and enter another. You live in this new existence for a time, and then go on from here. What happens after this existence we don’t know.” He seemed a little sad about that. “But I’m sure we all have as lovely a time there as we do here.”
“You see, it’s all about balance. The Universe is based on balance. You can’t truly cease to exist because your leaving would cause a gap, an imbalance. Non conservation of matter/energy, that sort of thing. Instead, you just enter another state.”
“You Mr. Anderson died very close to an hour ago in a car accident.” He noticed my start and hastened to add, “No, no, your family survived the car crash, though I’m sure they will miss you.”.
He beamed at me. All explained now, and all was right with the world. World?
My head was spinning and I wasn’t sure of what to say or do or even feel. The people behind me were muttering about loved ones lost, jobs left behind, kids, and friends. I felt myself sort of fading a bit, and noticed that a few of the people around me had disappeared. I grasped onto the only fact I could understand.
“Why an hour?”
The alien looked annoyed, not at the question but at the reason. “Well, as I said, the Universe abhors an imbalance, and there is a peculiar occurrence in your world that created just such an imbalance when you died. To correct this you exist here, in this room, not truly dead, but not truly alive, for one hour”
I continued to fade. Most of the room was transparent and the alien was about the only thing I could see.
He took a breath and continued, “Mr. Anderson, you died during Daylight Savings Time.”
“The Universe owed you an hour.”
Not far from Babble Meadow is another Magic place: Deer Mountain. However, unlike the Meadow where People are not allowed, you and I can tread the Mountain — but the Mountain has to invite you, first. You can pout and you can bring money and you can show your card that says you’re an Important Person, but it’s the Mountain that decides if you enter, or not…
How do you find Deer Mountain? If you go straight that away from the Meadows and drive and drive for a bit until you see a small sign and turn in you’ll be at Deer Mountain. However, you won’t be at the Mountain itself unless you go at the exact right time of 10 minutes before Twilight. A minute north or south and you’ll miss it and all you’ll see is plants and trees and squirrels and you’ll have a nice hike, and your thighs will be trimmer. But you won’t see Magic.
Tonight, when I walked across the bridge from here to there, I knew between one step on the bridge and one step off that I was there at exactly 10 minutes of Twilight, and that the residents didn’t find me wanting — even though I only had pocket change and had no card that said I was an Important Person. I was on Deer Mountain. I knew as soon as I stepped off the bridge, and was met by the gatekeepers of the Mountain: two bucks, standing tall, proud, and unafraid.
(But then, they would be unafraid, wouldn’t they? They’re Magic and I’m mere mortal.)
I stopped and held my breath and watched the bucks as they slowly walked along, nibbling on grass and leaf, occasionally glancing at me with little concern. Finally though, one of them, the one with the more important set of antlers, told me, “Well, lady. Get on with ye now. The light’s fading.” He didn’t say this out loud, of course. Don’t be silly: deer can’t speak. He told me with his eyes.
(Deer on Deer Mountain are very fluent with their eyes. They can converse in English, Russian, Spanish, Japanese, French, German, and even Swahili, though they speak Swahili with an accent — an ever so slight eyelid flutter.)
I walked along the trail that I knew but didn’t know because Magic misted the air around me. Crickets sounded in the shadows, and tiny scurrying things rustled the dry leaves. Cardinals would fly here and there, crossing the trail, scarlet red fading to gray as they receded into the distance.
I was walking down a steep hill when I heard a tremendous crash in the bushes next to the path. From them a doe burst out, both of us startled by each other’s presence. She gathered herself to run, and I called out to her, “No, don’t go. Please don’t go. I won’t hurt you.” Why did I call? It was the Magic, of course.
And she stopped. No more than my body length (me on the ground of course, stretched a bit, hair fluffed) away she stopped. And looked at me. How does the song go?
I looked at her and she looked at me and that’s the way I knew it would be…
I think both of us were equally surprised at her stopping. I fell silent and she started to run again, so I spoke again. “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. Don’t go.” And again, she paused, uncertain. For a timeless moment we stood staring at each other, until she carefully turned away, crossing the trail and vanished into the bushes on the other side.
The night was fast approaching, impatient at the sun’s tenacious grip on the day. (Leggo! Leggo!) As I walked I could hear the deer in the trees all around me. When I reached the creek I looked up the hill and there were several deer—soft gray movement against darker gray hillside, silhouetted against the light. They looked at me, briefly, as one looks up at someone noisy entering a restaurant and you’re in the midst of your dinner.
Do you mind?
As I stood and watched, entranced, a woman came running along the trail, plastic workout pants swish swish with each move. Swish, swish. She looked neither right at the creek nor left at the deer. Swish, swish. Nor at me, if truth be told. Arms pumping, feet rapidly stepping, caught in an unbroken pace, vision determinedly inward. (No doubt she was imagining calories popping off her body like fleas jump off a dog in water. Swish, swish. Ten calories. Swish, swish. Twenty calories. Swish, swish. Bite of candy bar).
Both the deer and I looked at her as she ran past but she didn’t see us.
The night was winning its battle and I knew I had to move on. All around me the sounds of the forest were changing into those of the night rhythms. No one else was about and since I had no light it was becoming increasingly difficult to see anything other than the path in front of me. I increased my pace, even up hills thought the effort left me puffing. I felt that my time with the deer was over because I could no longer hear them around me or sense their presence in the bush next to the path. However, I was to discover why when I reached a fork in the trail.
Surrounding a small pond—really nothing more than a watering hole pretending to be important—there were deer and deer and deer. Deer drinking the water. Deer lazily pulling at the weeds. Deer nudging each other, sniffing the air, scratching their necks with back feet. All looking at me. Looking at me.
The dirt around the water was almost white, and I could see the deer as smudges of smoke against its lightness, with pale rings of white around eyes, slashes of white on tails. I couldn’t count the number because the light was being tricky, turning shadow into real and real into shadow. But they — shadows and deer — were everywhere.
The moment was priceless and I had my camera and itched, veritably itched, to take a photo. There was too little light and the only way the picture would take is if I used my flash. But I knew that my flash would be a harsh report in the night, startling the deer, driving them away. I would get my photo, but the Magic would be ruined. Gone.
I weighed the decision in my mind — the desire to share the experience with you, and the need to keep the Magic. In the end Magic won because at that moment, it was more real than you.
A few steps more and I was nearing the end of the path. The darkening forest gently but firmly pushed me towards the bridge, as a host would lead a guest who has overstayed their welcome to the door. It’s been lovely to see you, do drop by again sometime. Get out now.
And as I drove home, lost in wonder, I topped a hill and in the sky, huge and golden, the harvest moon looked down on me.
