tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38503083443430585392024-03-14T07:33:14.312+00:00The Number ZeroAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.comBlogger525125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-23461724364634053142016-09-25T12:44:00.000+00:002016-09-25T12:44:29.594+00:00AgeBroke down in the vet's office discussing the way forward for Mocco, a white cat for whom I've been caring. Progress has been achingly slow and his kidneys have essentially shut down. I wanted to discuss specifics, but the line was, repeatedly, "He's old. His body is just giving up." <br />
<br />
Yeah, he's quite old, and his early years were rough. When he was rescued, he had been traumatised from an abusive, careless owner, and took a long time to begin to trust humans. But his new family loved him dearly and spoiled him endlessly; that trust came and his latter years have been happy (if still marked by constant fear of strangers).<br />
<br />
Frankly, I don't care all that much about him. Spoiled as he was, he was incredibly entitled, and treated disproportionately well. (As with humans, I believe all cats, cute or ugly, ought to be treated equally.) <br />
<br />
Truth is, however, I care deeply about the dignity of life. When I began to process how I'd manage the final stage of his life, I wept openly. (Not for the first nor last time in that office, I'm afraid.) What killed me wasn't thoughts of his happy life, or losing a battle I'd been fighting for a while. It was merely the wish for a painless death. I can handle death, swift or slow, but the idea of a last breath spent in agony is intolerable. For the darkness that awaits, aren't we at least owed just one moment of peace?<br />
<br />
He's old, I'm told. He's had a good life. Sure. Yet, Mocco is still alive, his body weak, his breathing heavy. I'm consumed by ensuring that when his final breath comes, whenever that is, he will have his peace.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-8220975606682725192015-12-31T03:50:00.000+00:002015-12-31T04:01:00.790+00:00Morosoph’s Odyssey, Part Four<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>The following was written </i>in situ<i>, during the event or shortly after. In some cases (specifically, parts of the final chapter), there was enough time between the event and my recollection of it that I stray into rambling territory. (My apologies.) All changes are grammatical or completions where I used shorthand. All conversations and observations are made from memory and perception. These are the events of two days in winter, as I lived them.</i></div><br />
<div style="font-size: 40px; text-align: center;">♬♩♩</div><center><h5>Part Four</h5></center><br />
<h2>End</h2><br />
It’s not overly cold. But the warmth of the afternoon has been sucked up by a creeping wind. The bands’ van, now parked in front of the venue, sits with its trailer agape as sensitive and valuable instruments are loaded into its bowels. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>With the chill distancing those who aren’t busy, they and I slink into the glowing screens of our phones and tablets. I chat with my fiancée, who is a world away, sharing the jubilation of this experience and regret that it had to be experienced without her.<sup>1</sup> Through a virtual keyboard, we discuss the night's conversations, some of whose questions were formulated by her, and I warn that I may have to leave at any minute—and again minutes later as everyone seems to be frozen in place, faces ablaze with bluish-white. My next train leaves in over an hour. For the first time, I have no reason to rush a conversation or encounter. I have, it feels, all the time in the world to ask the questions that elude me until they are useless. But it’s late. Too late. <br />
<br />
I feel I’ve worn out my welcome. Perhaps they don’t like me, perhaps they do. Yet the air has reminded me that, so many hours later, I remain who I was: a fan, come here to see one of his favourite bands. No friend. No journalist. No beloved drunkard. A fanatic whose intensity when conversing is overpowering, and above all, fatiguing. Closer to the truth is that I am one, tiny human being whose ego is showing, and what has settled is only the weariness of another day on tour, propped up on sleep deprivation, alcohol, and one more show. There is no need for me; I wait (or hope to) until the bands leave. My hope is that a suitable finality to this story will be a single wave to the backside of a van speeding to its next destination, my body lit in pale yellow underneath these streetlights, my lonely shadow blending into this darkened, vacated building. The lonely figure left in the fumes of carbon monoxide.<br />
<br />
My final discussion is with Brett, as he shares a brief report of the show. The vocals were indeed forced to compensate for the size of the stage, and things—inevitably—did go wrong. (<i>See</i> “Murphy’s Law”.) The root of the problem was diagnosed to be a cable whose wires had severed with use, a common but infuriating problem anyone with a sufficient amount of cables grows to abhor. He nevertheless reminds me that, despite the pittance he earns compared with his work with artists in more popular genres, and the challenges that come with small, ill-equipped venues, getting to work with exciting smaller bands that make good music is worth it.<br />
<br />
My return to waiting is short-lived, as everyone begins to seep into the van. Sacha bids me farewell. Joe shakes my hand and says, “See you next time.” I respond, “Hopefully.” I then shake Pat’s hand, and tell him I’m expecting better things in Scale the Summit's future---a veiled compliment laced with realism---and give a wave to the waiting van. In the end, it will be the van that outlasts me, my end to this story not what I’d hoped. I turn on my way.<br />
<br />
<h2>"Hopefully."</h2><br />
On the solitary walk back to the train station, that word rings in my ear. <i>Hopefully.</i> Joe didn’t notice the intent, nor could he, but the implication is something with which I struggle. I can’t say “yes” to next time, because I don’t know where I’ll be next time. My life, at this specific moment, is not fixed. I know where I want it to be, but achieving that is another matter. So, I’m stuck in a personal limbo, in transit to so many places, yet trapped. There may be better places to reflect on this, but as the stunning Temple Meads comes into view, it dawns on me that this is as good a place as any. For what I want from life, there is no next time for Joe. As much as it hurts, my heart yearns for something else. <br />
<br />
Always moving. Next stop: Wales.<br />
<br />
<h2>Post-mortem</h2><br />
The TV in the middle of the room reads, "Due to severe weather conditions & fallen trees affecting the railway Several [sic] lines north of Hereford are closed. Chester to Rhyl is closed. No trains are currently running into or out of Scotland. Customers are advised not to attempt to travel to N. Wales or Scotland.”<br />
<br />
Evidently, the weather was my own backdrop, not that of Intronaut and Scale the Summit, and I now wonder about the state in which I’d left the north. The opening paragraph was not a joke, but it was written over 14 hours ago and in this placid south has taken on a surrealistic portrait. One imagines this isn’t as serious as it is being portrayed, as this land often seems unprepared for mildly variable weather, let alone disaster. And as I say this, I feel the need to recount my train ride here at two in the morning.<br />
<br />
I sat in the back of the carriage. The train was unusually loud and cold, from what I perceived to be open windows. Persistently, I typed the remainder of my time in Bristol, but eventually, I lost focus. So, midway through the journey, I packed up my things and decided to go and wait by the carriage’s doors. They banged rambunctiously, their windows wide open and handles straining from the train’s slipshod vibrations. (This train was no image of sterile, efficient modernity, you understand.) In this dissonance, I looked out into the darkness as black trees raced past. Distant lights began to blink into existence. I poked my head out of the window. Before me, I saw a dozen heads of careless souls, each poking through a carriage door’s window. And so there I stayed, feeling the cold wind push through my face whilst trees, poles, and then buildings pulsed past my ears, and the winter moon glared down at me.<br />
<br />
For the whole world, all cares and fatigue had dissipated for a moment. But now I sit in a waiting room in a train station that is empty save for the lone guard who has locked its front doors until the morning. I am warm and it is quiet. I am in southern Wales. And here on this screen I see doom. That is where I am headed.<br />
<br />
<div class="end">End.</div><br />
<img src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7575/15982670498_e95151a38f_c.jpg" width="100%"/><br />
<br />
<h2>Footnotes</h2><br />
<ol><li>An angle that has gone without mention thus far is the fact that this is the first time I’ve seen Intronaut without her. As a severe sentimentalist, my decision to embark on this journey was only done following her adamant exhortations that I take this opportunity, reminding me—and here “hopefully” weaves back into the story—that I may not know when it will come again. We want to share our experiences, both good and bad, with those we love. Why this will always be a bittersweet night is obvious.</li>
</ol>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-62509711492886472832015-08-04T03:32:00.000+00:002015-12-31T03:19:34.948+00:00Morosoph’s Odyssey, Part Three<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>The following was written </i>in situ<i>, during the event or shortly after. In some cases (specifically, parts of the final chapter), there was enough time between the event and my recollection of it that I stray into rambling territory. (My apologies.) All changes are grammatical or completions where I used shorthand. All conversations and observations are made from memory and perception. These are the events of two days in winter, as I lived them.</i></div><br />
<div style="font-size: 40px; text-align: center;">♪♩♩♪</div><center><h5>Part Three</h5></center><br />
<h2>\newif\ifisreview<br />
\isreviewfalse<br />
\ifisreview<br />
describe set<br />
\else<br />
skip to end of set\textsuperscript{<sup>1</sup>}<br />
\fi<br />
</h2><br />
To an audience chomping for more, the sliding, deep grooves of “The Literal Black Cloud” draw the evening to a close, the end severely punctuated by Danny (Walker)’s final, resonating hit of the ride. Intronaut opt against an encore, leaving everyone’s—mine included—desire to see more to go unsatiated<sup>2</sup>. As always, the severing of instrument and listener has left me physically and emotionally drained, and all I can do is take the remaining silence, or what would pass for it, to compose a torrent of thoughts, all of which comprise a variation of elation over what I’d just witnessed and slow cascade of depression that it has to be over so soon. Were I in a slightly difference place and time, I would most assuredly be stretching myself yet thinner to do this tomorrow all over again. <br />
<br />
Coming out of my daze reveals the band members to be dismantling and unplugging their instruments, in between the odd chat with a fan. Touring brings with it a long series of structural creation and destruction; frames being painstakingly built to preference and near-perfection (unless perfection is, indeed, achieved), only to have their bolts loosened and shapes disintegrated hours later, just to restart the process all over again the next day. Sweaty, tired hands remove the cymbals and drums, coil metre upon metre of cable. Thus begins the second half of mundanity that one can only hope has just been justified in a miniscule timeframe measured in minutes.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>As fans disappear, the vacated space is replaced by large, empty cases, waiting to engorge the mass of carbon and wire. Standing idly to observe, guilt over this idleness creeps in and I attempt to engage in some conversation with Sacha, asking him about his pedals. He mentions that he doesn’t use a distortion pedal, using instead the amp to produce distortion. I’ve always wondered about how Intronaut produces its distinct sludgy sound, and remark that he (or someone else) ought to list his gear on <i>Wikipedia</i>, so enquiring minds may be so informed instead of having to google in futile.<sup>3</sup><br />
<br />
Wound cables and then guitars find their way into the cases. Pat carefully lays each cymbal between fine cloth manufactured to protect them into a bag manufactured to house them. A conversation about influences erupts when Dave starts the task of putting away his own equipment, a constant figure amongst a motley of bands and musicians being Jimi Hendrix. For all the diverse influences within Intronaut, at least that is consistent, although I’m left to reflect on an exchange that takes up more of my mind than Jimi. Dave seemingly sarcastically mentions Bon Jovi, and I, in my infinite perceptiveness, make a firm declaration that, a) one can make an argument that early-Bon Jovi is listenable, and b) I am not one of those to make that argument. (Emphasis on <i>Bon Jovi does not make my kind of music, and if you like their music, we may disagree about a few things</i>.) Dave then turns it around and reveals that he genuinely likes Bon Jovi, abandoning me on the shores of foolishness. I lick my wounds while the conversation continues around me, before slinking to the merch table to bother Pat.<br />
<br />
<h2>Investments</h2><br />
Throughout the entire day, Pat has been beset with muted coughs and a slight glaze in his eyes. He has a cold<sup>4</sup>, and I respect that he doesn’t let it get in the way of a sterling performance and the badgering that follows. He is the only member of Scale the Summit to not originate from Texas, having moved to Houston from California to work with the band. Internally, I reflect that this gives me a good opportunity to ask whether the cultural and political shift was difficult for him, if there was any, as well as what motivated him to make such a significant move. Externally, I ask what it’s like to live in Texas. I get the obvious response, “It’s great.”<br />
<br />
To my credit, I resist the urge to comment that I feel bad that Gary Kubiak’s time in Houston won’t end well, along with the urge to display my shameful level of inane and oft-cynical knowledge about whatever his chosen habitat, the present one being Texas.<br />
<br />
I make my first pair of “investments” of the night: Scale the Summit’s latest album, <i>The Migration</i>, and a black T-shirt on which a sienna recreation of the aforementioned album’s cover has been printed, the latter of which for some reason required an unfair amount of needless deliberation. Although I saw the cover before, I comment now that I like how reminiscent of it is of a progressive rock LP from the 1970s, and that, indeed, it’s on the LP version of the album that the art seems to shine. We agree that CDs will never be able to match the aesthetic quality of LPs, and how the latter’s recent revival is a boon for music—even if neither of us are particular aficionados. (I personally own only two LPs; one belonging to Iggy Pop and the other, Van Halen.) The loss of music’s allure intensifies with every technological advance, particularly in the digital age. Those of us with a deep connection with music all recall our great discoveries, and how we, singularly, traversed burgeoning aural frontiers. These may have been popular explorations, but each discovery was ours alone, done so meticulously through careful examinations of artwork, lyrics, rhythm, beat, cadence, length, and production decisions. Some would even attempt to get a glimpse of the industry’s inner machinery by observing their acknowledgements.<br />
<br />
Certainly, I’d be lying if I said that nostalgia did not exist today, but I can’t help but feel that when you look at something like an LP, you still get a sense of it, but increasingly less so with CDs and FLAC. This topic comes up in a less meaningful way when I talk to Chris about his use of Fractal as opposed to traditional pedals. I am in love with what Fractal Audio is doing and am envious that I don’t own something like the Axe-Fx II, but with the idea of aesthetics on my mind, I ask him whether he feels the “old-school badassness” (forgive me, I couldn’t think of apt words on the spot) is missed in abandoning the mass of beaten-up pedals—specifically, the aesthetics of the travelling musician. Under the impression that I disapprove of his use of Fractal, he shoots back that now he doesn’t have to travel with a large collection of pedals but a single one, saving both space and peace of mind. Lost in my previous nostalgia was the consideration of efficiency. I don’t carry all my CDs (and pair of vinyls) around with me; I carry all my music around with me on a hard drive, with an extraordinary freedom to listen to music wherever and whenever I please. Is losing that worth a beautiful cover? Is losing the old ideas of what music is supposed to be worth the convenience?<br />
<br />
Next investments: two Intronaut shirts. The first is a brilliant and clearly popular rendition of a black metal-listening dolphin smoking a bong. It dons corpsepaint and a Gorgoroth T-shirt. The second is what looks like a colourful, abstract lion. It’s actually made up of different shapes, one of which is that of the familiar Intronaut motif (as further evidenced by the central figure of the previous purchase), a dolphin. As pretty as the lion may be, it’s obvious that the Gorgoroth dolphin might be Intronaut’s best design—<i>and</i> it was designed by a roommate, go figure.<br />
<br />
Both in the basement and artists’ quarters, antsy figures urge those inside to get going; only brief conversations are borne out: I talk with Danny about the size of the stage, and then Sacha about maudlin of the Well. Danny tells me that “Any Port”, a song that ends with a prolonged instrumental section led by the dual rhythmic beats of Danny and Dave, had to be scrapped tonight because there was not enough space to accommodate Dave’s set of toms. Sacha, by way of either fatigue or disinterest, appears to lack my own enthusiasm for maudlin, although he mentions having seen them live before they disbanded, to my certain envy.<br />
<br />
Antsy figures. I begin to pack up to placate them.<br />
<br />
<div class="end">End of Part Three.</div><br />
<img src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7572/15550337743_d90d546648_c.jpg" width="100%"/><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Next time: the end.</i></div><br />
<h2>Footnotes</h2><br />
<ol><li>I intentionally left out comments on both bands’ performances because I wanted to avoid making this a review. Previous “reviews” are evident enough of my lack of objectivity when it comes to certain live performances, so I want to firmly detach this from the perception constraints of a review. Compare:<br />
<br />
Joaquim Baeta, “Unforgettable: Intronaut Live, One,” <i>The Number Zero</i>, 2011, <a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2011/06/on-seeing-intronaut-live-in-concert.html">http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2011/06/on-seeing-intronaut-live-in-concert.html</a>.<br />
Id., “Embarrassment Never Felt so Good: Cynic Live, One,” <i>The Number Zero</i>, 2011, <a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2011/12/cynic-live-one.html">http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2011/12/cynic-live-one.html</a>.</li>
<li><i>Unsated?</i></li>
<li>Really, this should be no more obvious than a hockey player saying what flex and length they prefer. Endorsement considerations aside, this would allow musicians to show the tools that go into their creation process and allow reproducibility if it is so desired. That said, I can empathise with the desire to keep part of one’s music a mystery, when so much of the form is endlessly copied by unoriginal trend-followers. Darkthrone’s Fenriz, for example, makes it no secret that he despises what became of the genre his band helped create, which is due in no small part to the fact that black metal in its infancy was easily reproducible, and in its present stage prone to revivalists. To highlight my own actions rather than opinion in this “debate”, I will point out that in <i>Information Theory</i>’s accompaniment*, I explained both my rationale for the noise I produced and how I produced it, while in <i>THE WINDOW</i>†, I did neither.<br />
<br />
* Joaquim Baeta, “Music: Information Theory,” <i>The Number Zero</i>, 2010, <a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2010/05/information-theory.html">http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2010/05/information-theory.html</a>.<br />
† Id., “Music: THE WINDOW,” <i>The Number Zero</i>, 2010, <a href="http://thenumberzero .blogspot.com/2010/01/window.html">http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2010/01/window.html</a>.</li>
<li>At the time of this manuscript's completion, I have recovered from my own, subsequent cold. I believe I got it from him and blame him for every discomfort I suffered as a result of it.</li>
</ol>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-86823818279634784402015-05-12T01:19:00.000+00:002015-05-12T01:27:34.976+00:00Space Adventure, One & Two<a href="http://img13.deviantart.net/7808/i/2015/127/6/e/space_adventure__one_by_ofprometheanfractals-d8sjw9a.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" width="100%" src="http://img13.deviantart.net/7808/i/2015/127/6/e/space_adventure__one_by_ofprometheanfractals-d8sjw9a.png" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://img14.deviantart.net/b2fa/i/2015/127/d/7/space_adventure__two_by_ofprometheanfractals-d8sjwld.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" width="100%" src="http://img14.deviantart.net/b2fa/i/2015/127/d/7/space_adventure__two_by_ofprometheanfractals-d8sjwld.png" /></a><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Like many of my adventures, this didn't turn out how I'd originally intended. The vivid colours of hope I'd envisioned at the outset found themselves engulfed by black membranes, dark clouds punctuating the loneliness of deep space. Nevertheless, as dark as the journey may seem, the hope and promise of colour is still there. The destination is in sight. You may only have to fight a little bit harder to grasp it.<br />
<br />
I decided to <a href="https://github.com/TempestuousBinary/Space-Adventure">upload the project files to GitHub</a>, so people can create their own variation without affecting the individual elements. Go and invent your own space adventure, whether it be more nebulous or empty than mine.<br />
<br />
<div class="download"><ul><li><a href="http://fav.me/d8sjw9a">View <i>Space Adventure, One</i> on DeviantArt</a></li>
<li><a href="http://fav.me/d8sjwld">View <i>Space Adventure, Two</i> on DeviantArt</a></li>
<li><a href="https://github.com/TempestuousBinary/Space-Adventure">View or fork on GitHub</a></li>
</ul></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-9092153595350956952015-05-05T01:57:00.000+00:002015-05-11T01:07:23.482+00:00Farewell to Version 11.3, onto 11.4 and beyond<img border="0" src="https://i.imgur.com/8H6D84w.png" width="100%" /><br />
<br />
When you consider the age of <i>No. 0</i>, having turned eight in February, the fact that there have been 11 visual redesigns doesn't speak well of my aesthetic consistency. That's over one redesign per year (technically 1.375), and before 2012, <a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2012/07/on-version-110-of-number-zero.html">when version 11 was introduced</a>, the rate was an abysmal 2.2. Well, in retrospect, some themes were just plain bad, and were deservedly scrapped as soon as I realised it. Others were better, but failed to achieve any longevity or lacked the versatility I needed of them.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Consequently, it's a testament to my 11th vision for <i>No. 0</i> that, by and large, it hasn't changed in three years. Back in 2012, I hoped to simplify the front page:<br />
<br />
<div class="normal-quote">My goal for the home page will be to capture the whole of it within the screen, without you needing to scroll anywhere. Here, I will use two sidebars to fit in all the information I need, but once you click a post, the first time you will see anything that isn't content will be at the bottom of the page. It will be white-heavy, with special features on the left, the most recent post in the middle, and miscellanea on the right.</div><br />
Mostly, that hasn't changed. Where I will be diverging is in the functionality of the right sidebar, whose fate I'm still internally debating because unlike its left counterpart, it's a bit all over the place—although one thing I'll definitely be doing is abandoning <a href="https://www.google.com/fonts/specimen/Alfa+Slab+One">Alfa Slab One</a> as a typeface (except as the bit of flair below posts). It looks too <i>sports team logo-ish</i>, and is the only design decision with which I've been truly dissatisfied for a while. So if it isn't outright removed, at least half of the right sidebar will look different. A few side effects of Alfa Slab One's abandonment will also include headings in articles (specifically h2 headings) and the navbar (<i>see</i> image above for comparison). <br />
<br />
Previously, headings were quite stark and stood out from the content. I liked that a lot, but again, sports team logo. The obvious alternative is to simply go with a different but equally thick typeface, or even succumb to the latest trend of using a thin sans-serif to stand out from serifed content. I certainly won't be doing the latter, but merely replacing Alfa Slab One doesn't speak to me, either. Currently, Georgia is used for headings, because that's <i>No. 0</i>'s default serif, which brings up a second question: whether to replace Georgia as the typeface. One of my favourite typefaces is Linux Libertine. It's what I use for the PDFs accompanying some articles (e.g. <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BzHjGg70UIfTVXJtemUyNEZfS1U/view?usp=sharing">the HP <i>filter failed</i> tutorial</a>), so using it here as well has crossed my mind before. For now, it's just a consideration, but it's also why I'm taking the lazy route with headings.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the biggest change is already visible: the old navbar has been replaced by a noisier one. This is another case of a nice feature lacking versatility, as well as potentially being too unintuitive. So, while the "improved" navbar is a move away from my stated goal of keeping <i>No. 0</i> minimalist, we're swapping freedom for aesthetics, and unfortunately have to comprise some simplicity for what I want the navbar to achieve (which is to serve as a better hub of related links and information).<br />
<br />
All in all, I'm happy enough with version 11 that all it really needs is to be more mobile-friendly. If you've visited the site on a tablet or phone, you might have noticed that I'm slowly getting there; <i>No. 0</i> should fit on all devices, but the sidebars aren't very pretty on thin screens. Besides that, 11 is about as close to what I presently want as time makes possible. It's all about tweaking at this point, and writing a long post about said tweaks. Thanks for reading.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-83888087522624077452015-03-30T10:16:00.000+00:002015-03-30T12:37:49.569+00:00Twenty one thousand six hundred<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>The room shakes. Curtains flutter. A nurse shuts the windows to block out the noise, a compounding whirr. On the phone, a doctor wearing scrubs urges colleagues to act as the helicopter nears.</i><br />
<br />
I accidentally tore the nail almost off my big toe. Well, it was accidental, all right. The imagery is stomach-churning. Your nail is ripped off your toe and hangs open like a welcoming door, as blood pours from your revealed inner flesh. You don’t want to do that purposefully. And it was almost, all right. Because like that door, the side of my nail was firmly hinged to the wall that would be the side of my toe.<br />
<br />
So, I looked down and I saw the open door and I speechlessly shut it. Then I patiently waited for the clerk to ring up my bottle of water and nine packets of chewable vitamin C tablets. She took her time ringing up those nine packets. She counted them. <i>Satu. Dua. Tiga. Empat. Lima. Enam. Tujuh. Delapan. Sembilan.</i> Nine packets. And I looked down at my red toe, red sandals (in fairness, they were already red, but they were redder now, I tell you), red fingers, and then I wiped those fingers together to disperse the blood, lest I startle the clerk with a scarlet sight. Nine packets. She asked me if I wanted to donate a portion of the cost to charity, or I assume that’s what she asked, because I just said yes so she’d get to the next phase of the transaction.<br />
<br />
<i>More rumbling, but this is just a rather heavy person walking around.</i><br />
<br />
As I was saying, I said yes. Then I paid, and she, who expressed concern to the extent that she thought I’d innocently bumped my foot and <i>oofed</i> more in surprise than pain, was none the wiser to my predicament. Good for her, she doesn’t need that stress, she’s just a kid. But the man I passed on the way out was not so fortunate. He saw me stumbling ever so subtly on the surface of my sandal, made slippery by the flow of blood, and involuntarily had his face drop. There went his day, for five minutes, anyway. After that, it might have been a funny story of the bule who— <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><i>“Jokewim Beta?”<br />
<br />
That is when I was called and today is yesterday’s tomorrow. It turns out that I would go on to survive my ordeal, and so I will now complete my description of the events leading up to my hospital rendezvous. More rumbling, but it’s still people.</i><br />
<br />
Well, the <i>bule</i> who stubbed his toe in such a way that he punctured it (because how was he, the observer, to see the displaced nail through all the blood). A trail encompassing drops of blood followed me as I walked home stiffly and awkwardly, accounting as much for the slippery sandal as the sting of wailing nerves. The last time I saw so much blood, it was coming from my bottom lip, some 16 years ago, and the last time my sandal was so slippery, it had flown off my foot as I dashed across a rain-slickened road. A motorcycle nearly hit me a moment later, reminding me—by proxy of a verbal warning—that it’s better to walk across a busy road than to run. That way, people aren’t forced to react suddenly to unpredictable movements. So, stiffly and awkwardly it was, and calm.<br />
<br />
I didn’t panic until after my fiancée had cleaned and wrapped the toe, although maybe panic isn’t the right word. Perhaps I didn’t panic, I just chose an improper method of expressing my anger and disappointment in myself. Well, how ever you describe it, I expressed it only after. Before that moment, I’d arrived and saw her talking to her mother and sister, all sharing in a funny story. Too bad I had to take that momentary happiness away from them, but such was it to be.<br />
<br />
<i>Hold on, she’s home now. I’ll say hello.</i><br />
<br />
It was a quick hello. Such was it to be, as I handed her the bag of bottled water and nine packets of chewable vitamin C tablets, my stony face poorly masking my limp’s true motive. The next thing I remember is sitting on the toilet, opening that door to inspect the inside of my toe, before deciding the destruction I’d unintentionally caused was too much to fix alone. Destruction is so melodramatic and vulgar, but it’s what the visuals demand. In my most composed manner, I went back out and called for her help. I downplayed the severity. It was bad, but not that bad, but bad enough that I didn’t want to be the one to clean this bloody mess of mine, but still not <i>that</i> bad.<br />
<br />
We sat on the sofa. She examined the toe and I scorned my luck, my over-eagerness to pay for the water and nine packets of chewable vitamin C tablets, my tendency to ruin perfectly good days with a foot injury—no, the fact that I’d ruined <i>that</i> exact day. She reassured me. Then we moved to the bed in her mother’s room, and I pushed my palms into my eyes to block the sight of her washing the blood from my foot. Why do I keeping hurting my feet? I know they’re wide for my miniscule size, but you’d think I’d know how to use them correctly by now. When I expressed my scorn with a curse and frown, she excoriated me for responding to this mishap so negatively, advising me instead not to let it ruin our day. There was nothing I could do to change what had happened, after all. <i>I scorned.</i> That’s better than <i>I panicked.</i> Anyway, I summarily took her advice.<br />
<br />
<i>Back in the hospital, the nurse inspects the toe and informs me she won’t be using any anaesthetic to remove the nail, because most of the work was done by the counter I kicked. She’s a nice woman, who doesn’t seem to remember dealing with me once before. Or if she does, she is very kindly sparing me the embarrassment of informing her that I didn’t do what I’d promised to following my last visit. No anaesthetic, so it must not be so bad, but she offers it anyway, if I’m too afraid of the pain. I decline. And sure enough, the nail is off with barely a tickle. I could have done this myself, I realise, with the toe now dry and scabs damming off the blood. The hinges were not so firm, and the nail matrix, she tells me, is in the centre.<br />
<br />
Outside the hospital, cold air permeates the descending evening’s silence. The ICU had rushed to prepare for the incoming helicopter, but now it sits quietly and untended on the landing pad. The images may last forever, but the pain was only temporary. And the memories—they, even more so.</i><br />
<br />
Maybe I would have done it myself—back when I was feeling the sting of an open wound and rush of adrenaline and endorphins—if I’d known that it’d be so easy and painless. But knowing my nature, I resolved that it would be better to have a shield above that wound. I didn’t know what the result of keeping the nail there would be, but I did know that those wide, unwieldy masses of skin and bone were going to be slammed again, sooner or later. My sandals were red enough.<br />
<br />
An hour later, my decision was justified. Shifting around to get up, I pressed the top of my foot down, and suddenly, I felt a surge of heat emanate from it. But since the door was closed, no blood stained my bandage. It was the heat of nerves sending a march of signals forth, advising my brain to cease whatever it was doing to cause this pain. It summarily took its advice. I got up and sat next to the woman who’d so lovingly washed away my blood, and then we were pronounced man and wife.</div><br />
<div class="end">End.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-71849780323199176412015-02-24T14:32:00.002+00:002015-04-27T21:49:44.759+00:00Morosoph’s Odyssey, Part Two<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>The following was written </i>in situ<i>, during the event or shortly after. In some cases (specifically, parts of the final chapter), there was enough time between the event and my recollection of it that I stray into rambling territory. (My apologies.) All changes are grammatical or completions where I used shorthand. All conversations and observations are made from memory and perception. These are the events of two days in winter, as I lived them.</i></div><br />
<div style="font-size: 40px; text-align: center;">♪♬</div><center><h5>Part Two</h5></center><br />
<h2>Waiting</h2><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">The openers arrive and start setting up. Upstairs, the headliners go through various stages of waiting for the show to start. I sit in the corner. There’s not much to say now. After a brief raucous at the hands of the ever-cheerful Dave (Timnick), a calmness settles on the room. Were I more acquainted with it, I might have said this is the sound of professional musicians. As I’m not, I can only presume so. It continues into the opening set, then the following act.<br />
<br />
Dave, as implied previously, appears to be the only one revelling in the freedom afforded visiting artists, taking in the complimentary libations and starting the night’s running joke when we hear the band who’ll be performing on the larger stage preparing. The noise is not to my liking, but Dave’s distaste exceeds the borders of hatred of the genre being played. He insists on investigating. When he returns, he describes a band with whom I’m not familiar—nor particularly care to discover—comprising two people, one a drummer-slash-singer and the other manning a “brown keyboard”. (That may sound like Dresden Dolls in this description, only.) The drummer, to Dave’s anger and dismay, insists that the sound of the bass drum be fixed, for it is too loud and “violent”. That violence is a foundational part of the sound crafted by metal practitioners, as Dave points out, suggests clearly enough why no one’s interest here will extend beyond mere curiosity. But this incident, not to mention their music, is enough to serve as the focus of future mockeries.<br />
<br />
Halfway through the night, I make a meagre sandwich from the assortment of food put out for the band (and, unintentionally, one fortunate guest) and start talking to Joe (Lester) about his bass guitar. From 1999 to 2013, Joe had used a Pedulla, before switching to a Zon that was custom-made for him. He is happy with it, both because he can finally use the pickups supplied by EMG without having to disfigure his Pedulla, and feels it produces a more satisfying low end. In the end, it seems to be a win-win for both Joe and Zon, whose stable of talented endorsees continues to grow along with the inherent goodwill towards the tiny Buffalonian company. <br />
<br />
Eventually, the conversation peters down as the final band in which I have no interest (to be frank) breakdowns toward the end of its set. I wish good luck to those who haven’t yet headed down, and try to remember the way to the basement with the original path now blocked to prevent attendees from heading into the bands’ rooms. <br />
<br />
The new route is frustratingly inefficient. After meandering down stairs, you’re forced to exit the building and re-enter farther down its side, and then meander down a further set of stairs; a bouncer controls entry at both doors, one keeping fans out of the now artist-only entrance, and the other supposedly checking tickets. I say “supposedly” because none checks mine, the only indication that they care being my verbal altercation with the disinterested bouncer controlling the artist entrance when I mistakenly show him my ticket and he concludes that, as someone with the temerity to pay for this concert, I must not be authorized to use this entrance. Thankfully, my tenacity trumps his evident fatigue, but successfully negotiating my way back in doesn’t leave me with anything more than consciousness of my own idiocy. Had I not been too proud to allow the perception that I was attending for free, I would not have felt the compulsion to show my ticket to someone who didn’t request it and who, furthermore, found himself embroiled in a needless argument with Your Right Honourable Nincompoop. When I next see him, I apologise for the fuss I caused, he explains why he started it—and further why he’s obliged to stop ne’erdowells without a pass—it’s all cordially sorted, but only cordially. At some point, I’m supposed to grow out of this inability to handle mundane human interaction. I’m also supposed to stop derailing narratives with my obsessions over irrelevant encounters with incidental characters. Today is not that day.<br />
<br />
A mass of sweaty teens hang around the basement’s entrance. Donning overly-thin T-shirts, they cool off away from the heated, humid stage, and from the overwhelming lack of adults in the crowd, I’m only guessing that they must be here either for the previous bands, which were themselves composed of teenagers (or close to it), or Scale the Summit, with whose fanbase I’m unfamiliar. Failing these two possibilities, this will be the first time I’ve seen an Intronaut show devoid of an audience that traditionally comprises an overabundance of facial hair.</div><br />
<h2>Murphy's Law</h2><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">After positioning myself in front of the stage, I notice the audience steadily go through an age transfusion. (Turns out my first hypothesis was correct.) As the members of Scale the Summit start to trickle in with their instruments, boys are replaced by men… and the occasional woman. Drummer Pat Skeffington hits every drum with a monotone rhythm; the monitor beside me blows a gust of air with every beat, most forcefully when he reaches the bass drum. Everything goes smoothly enough until Mark Michell, the bassist, reports that he can’t get any sound out of his bass, and Brett has to push through the waiting horde to investigate. Is it a cable or amp issue? All we can do is wait.<br />
<br />
Eventually, the problem is identified and fixed, and the band is allowed to briefly finish setting up. And after a curt introduction, the show begins.</div><br />
<div class="end">End of Part Two.</div><br />
<img src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8668/15984055299_b322cb2356_c.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Next time: this isn't a review, it's a narcissistic journey, so we decide to skip the show and discuss what I see and hear, and what methods I use to next embarrass myself.</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-56900052315493925222015-01-02T03:36:00.000+00:002015-04-27T21:54:11.298+00:00Morosoph’s Odyssey, Part One<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>The following was written </i>in situ<i>, during the event or shortly after. In some cases (specifically, parts of the final chapter), there was enough time between the event and my recollection of it that I stray into rambling territory. (My apologies.) All changes are grammatical or completions where I used shorthand. All conversations and observations are made from memory and perception. These are the events of two days in winter, as I lived them.</i></div><br />
<div style="font-size: 40px; text-align: center;">♩♬</div><center><h5>Part One</h5></center><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">The sea swells and bashes into barriers, threatening to flood their wards—and in some cases, succeeding. Gale force winds pour into cities. They whip vast waves of rubbish into a frenzy. Rain not so much falls as it is swept into your face. Transportation services are cancelled, and for those who are lucky, only delayed. Newspapers report of the worst weather in three decades. <br />
<br />
Well, it’s England, all right. And this will be Intronaut and Scale the Summit’s backdrop.<br />
<br />
Right now, my rear end is sore. I’ve been travelling in some form for the past four hours, and will evidently do so for some time more. I’m one of the lucky travellers whose train was merely delayed, you see, and whose hopes of sitting on the bands’ soundcheck may very well have been dashed. (As ever, it is a train that will rob me of the elusive meaningful time with Intronaut.<sup>1</sup>). <br />
<br />
The sky is a deceptive blue, hovering over foreboding clouds on the horizon that seem to angrily stifle meek rays of sunlight. It’s a welcome patch of calm, but we know it won’t last: it’s that foreboding horizon into which we ride.</div><br />
<a name='more'></a><h2>Bristol</h2><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">My arrival in Bristol is met with a warm, mild wind. So much for my terrible forecast. You tend to forget when you’ve been in the north too long that not all of the UK is beset with the constant presence of doom-laden clouds. Outside of London (which always feels cold to me), winter doesn’t set in quite as forcefully.<br />
<br />
Fortunately for me (and perhaps only me), after a brief detour down the wrong road, I find that the bands have just arrived, too.</div><br />
<h2>Scale the Summit</h2><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">While Intronaut goes down to set up, I have a brief talk with Scale the Summit. There was a big shift in terms of sound between <i>Carving Desert Canyons</i> and their subsequent album, <i>The Collective</i>, something about which I’ve always wondered. Finally I get my answer: it’s because the producer had a more metal background (e.g. Devildriver, Black Dahlia Murder). Well, that explains the more metal sound easily enough. Perhaps I should have considered googling it.<br />
<br />
In any case, I’m genuinely excited to see them play.</div><br />
<h2>Dynamics of a Soundcheck</h2><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Strewn across the tiny basement floor is a mass of equipment; toms, cymbals, frames, heavy cases. The band is busy figuring out the logistics of how four people are supposed to fit in the small enclosure of this rectangular space.<br />
<br />
I have to comment on this space. When I first entered the room, I thought it was a hallway. It took a moment to realise there was nowhere to go: this was it. The bands are better than this. To my relief, I’m told by Sacha (Dunable)—whom I’m obstructing by using the merch table to write this—that this is the smallest venue they’ll be playing, and that, despite the title above, they won’t actually be doing a soundcheck. Setting everything up and doing a cursory beat on each drum will be it, the minisculity of the stage as unappealing as it is.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, I didn’t really come here to watch a soundcheck, but to soak up the mundane-yet-always-different atmosphere of a touring band.<br />
<br />
Following instruments, comes merchandise. Shirts, hoodies, LPs, CDs, posters, and a copious amount of gaffer tape. Oh, and a guitar tablature book, but no tape on that. It’s all set up pristinely, then left there for the horde that will soon gather. The room is abandoned.<br />
<br />
I joke that I already know I’m going to be wasting a lot of money tonight. (Scale the Summit guitarist) Chris Letchford quickly interrupts—it’s not a waste, but an investment. I don’t doubt that I’d prefer to advertise bands I like over corporate logos.<br />
<br />
Contrary to what Sacha said, some form of soundcheck does take place. The microphone is tested, followed by the heavy thuds of the drums. The bass drum reverberates throughout the room. Brett Walts<sup>2</sup>, the sound engineer, remarks that the snare sounds like shit, while the toms sound like balls. In between this, he has to ask which gates are on which channel; every new venue brings a new set of acoustics and unfamiliar equipment. Having done this for 13 years, however, Brett’s approach is typically perfectionist. He tells me it’s about “tuning the room”, getting the equipment to sound as close to the album as possible in a different room every night, with instruments that sound different with repeated use and after a day in the cold, along with the spectre of Murphy’s Law. He also identifies tonight's challenge: with no space between instruments, drum beats are bleeding into the vocalists' microphones. Eliminating this, he predicts, will likely require a compromise in vocal clarity. Ultimately, Brett's knowledge of music and descriptions of his process shows the wizardry that goes into executing a live performance.<sup>3</sup></div><br />
<div class="end">End of Part One.</div><br />
<img src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7482/15984055979_b111b6474d_c.jpg" width="100%" /><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Next time: waiting, waiting, and... more waiting. I spend time with the bands as they wait to go on, and then find Brett's spectre arrive to ruin the show before it's even started.</i></div><br />
<h2>Footnotes</h2><br />
<ol><li>Joaquim Baeta, “When Plans Go Awry: Intronaut Live, Two,” <i>The Number Zero</i>, 2011, <a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2011/06/when-plans-go-awry-intronaut-live-two.html" target="_blank">http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2011/06/when-plans-go-awry-intronaut-live-two.html</a>.<br />
<br />
The result of my second time seeing the band, titled "When Plans Go Awry: Intronaut Live, Two,” failed in 290 words to aptly capture the night’s events. Rather than allow you to bother reading that terrible, terrible, blog post, I present a recap: the latest train home was scheduled to leave at (roughly) 23:00; because of unforeseen problems, the bands were forced to move across the venue at the last minute, delaying the show for over an hour; as a result, Intronaut started so late that we only made it halfway through their set before we had to catch a taxi to the train station; arriving mere minutes before the train was scheduled to arrive, we found that it was delayed and then, upon its arrival, cancelled; thus, we were left without completing Intronaut’s set, and without the train for which we had abandoned them; eventually, we hatched a plan with a group of other passengers to share a taxi to our respective cities; as the taxi pulled out of the station’s parking lot, a fellow passenger looked at me through the window with a bitter, defeated expression—we had not involved him in our plan, nor noticed him, nor cared; he was left behind. The punchline of this joke of an evening: Danny broke a cymbal that day and kept it as a gift for us, only to find after the show that we had already left.</li>
<li>My introduction to Brett is when I wrote the two sentences that follow. Hesitating with their accuracy, I ask him to verify them. To his dismay, not only is what I wrote inaccurate, but evidently makes him look inept. Since that’s the opposite of my intention, I ask him to elucidate. This is where our conversation starts.</li>
<li>A minor introduction that takes place during our conversation is to a reviewer from Punk Prospect, whom I meet on and off again throughout the night. As an ancillary character, he goes without mention except for here. Contrasting my own knowledge (or pseudo-knowledge) about music, he was exceedingly knowledgeable about the state and politics of music venues, about which he discussed with Brett. Apparently, subsidies play an important role in European venues’ efficacy, and their present lack in the UK has proven to be a hindrance. Later, we discuss the show and then—crucially—a certain dolphin (<i>see</i> “Investments”).</li>
</ol>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-9151380308518938152014-10-20T23:30:00.000+00:002014-10-20T23:33:50.525+00:00A Little Bit of What We Know about Semyon Varlamov's Domestic Abuse CaseA<div style="text-align: justify;">while ago, I wrote a rather long <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/hockey/comments/2dl0zv/stolen_from_rsoccer_persuade_rhockey_that_a/cjqv0bt" target="_blank">post</a> on Reddit regarding Colorado Avalanche goaltender Semyon Varlamov's domestic abuse case. It appeared in the thread, "<a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/hockey/comments/2dl0zv/stolen_from_rsoccer_persuade_rhockey_that_a/" target="_blank">Stolen from r/soccer: Persuade r/hockey that a popular opinion held here is wrong.</a>" Recently, <a href="https://twitter.com/DarioinDenver" target="_blank">Dario Ronzone</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/JayBaeta/status/522881918346756096" target="_blank">expressed a desire</a> to use that post to educate ignorant hockey fans, so it occurred to me that it would be better to move what I said on Reddit to a slightly more permanent location. Although the world's foremost expert on anything to do with Varlamov is <a href="https://twitter.com/vtcapsfan99" target="_blank">vtcapsfan99</a>, what I've pasted below still provides some truth on the matter. Presently, most people believe he got away with domestic abuse because he's a rich athlete.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In cooperation with <i>Mile High Hockey's </i><a href="https://twitter.com/cherylcbradley" target="_blank">Cheryl Bradley</a>, vtcapsfan99 is taking on the arduous task of presenting all the evidence she has accumulated on the case, which will do better than I have here to serve as a starting point for people looking to understand the true story.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What I wrote is pasted verbatim. <br />
</div><a name='more'></a><table align="left" border="0" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin: 2em; padding-right: 4em; width: 700px;"><tbody>
<tr> <td style="border-left: 10px solid rgb(17, 138, 71); text-align: left;"><div style="padding-left: 15px;">No, we won't ever know the truth, but that doesn't mean we can't evaluate what we <i>do</i> know about the incident and the people involved.<br />
What we know about her and her reports:<br />
<ul><li>Details changed every time she retelled the story, including to the police and DA.</li>
<li>This incident allegedly happened after Varlamov made moves to break up with her.</li>
<li>She reported being close with Varlamov and they had plans to get married, but he'd never introduced her to his family nor invited her to his sister's wedding months before. They weren't in a stable long-term relationship.</li>
<li>In addition, contrary to that report, before going to Denver to stay with Varlamov, she told her best friend that she didn't love him and was planning to get money out of him by telling the police he beat her.</li>
<li>Her ex was a KHL player whom she cheated on (with Varlamov)<del>and, once the relationship soured, accused of beating her. In this case, she was found to be lying.</del></li>
<li>Besides this KHLer, previous exes have accused her of extortion once relationships soured.</li>
<li>She waited days before contacting the police about it.</li>
<li>She and her lawyer contacted the media to arrange interviews before contacting the police to report it.</li>
<li>She charged for interviews.</li>
<li>After telling the media she couldn't speak English, she deleted posts from her social media accounts in which she'd written in English.</li>
<li>After accusing Varlamov of beating her with a bicycle during a summer vacation in the Maldives (she said he nearly killed her), she deleted Facebook pictures from that vacation in which she was happy and unbruised. She also took modelling photos that showed no evidence of abuse, but since those can be photoshopped, one may discount them.</li>
<li>During this Maldives vacation, multiple people reported seeing her kick Varlamov in the head. She confirmed this to friends during a subsequent conversation (that they recorded), in which she admitted that she was "small but can hit hard". During this recorded conversation, she also admitted to planning the accusation ahead of time.</li>
<li>She once attacked Varlamov in Moscow. </li>
<li>Contrary to the perception of her as "delicate", she is adept at karate and a capable fighter.</li>
</ul>The following is according to her best friend: <br />
<ul><li>She liked to drink a lot, and during the Halloween party before this incident was heavily intoxicated.</li>
<li>Varlamov then told her to go home; she got angry and started shouting at him.</li>
<li>When he got home later that night, she started screaming at him and attacking him, still intoxicated.</li>
<li>Varlamov tried to stop her from hitting him, which possibly involved him shoving her aside or into the door.</li>
</ul>What we know about Varlamov:<br />
<ul><li>He has no history of anger issues.</li>
<li>He has no history of violence against women, or any other inviduals.</li>
<li>Note that Evgeniya portrayed him as a sociopath, not just someone who'd get angry.</li>
<li>Varlamov reportedly doesn't drink during the season, and therefore was reportedly not drunk during the Halloween party. Again, he was portrayed as an alcoholic.</li>
<li>Varlamov trains with Steve Saunders in the summer. <del>During this time, he also lives with Saunders and his family.</del> Saunders has never reported him being violent or angry, and his kids love Varlamov.</li>
</ul><b>EDIT:</b> Struck out parts I can't prove. As stated below, Varlamov is close with Saunders and his family, but doesn't live with them. I've also added more sources below.<br />
<br />
It's hard to source a lot of that, unless there's a wayback machine for Facebook posts, but here are some.<br />
<br />
<b>Charging money for interviews:</b> <a class="imgScanned" href="http://blogs.denverpost.com/avs/2013/11/25/semyon-varlamovs-accuser-being-paid-for-interviews/15784/">http://blogs.denverpost.com/avs/2013/11/25/semyon-varlamovs-accuser-being-paid-for-interviews/15784/</a><br />
<br />
<b>Evgeniya's best friend:</b> <a class="imgScanned" href="http://lifenews.ru/news/122947">http://lifenews.ru/news/122947</a>. This article is in Russian, so you have to rely on google, etc., if you don't understand it. Someone on HFBoards translated it: <a class="imgScanned" href="http://hfboards.hockeysfuture.com/showpost.php?p=74659583&postcount=589">http://hfboards.hockeysfuture.com/showpost.php?p=74659583&postcount=589</a>. Interesting parts:<br />
<ul><li>She would guilt her Victor Drugov into giving her money even when she'd moved on to dating Varlamov. Victor Drugov would spoil her, but she was less successful in getting Varlamov to do so.</li>
<li>"Evgeniya and Semyon constantly had arguments. Due to the problems with alcohol. But not the hockey player (was having them), as American police thinks, but the young lady herself."</li>
<li>"Arguments most of the time occurred due to drinking. Because, Zhenya gets drunk and starts nitpicking with him... Starts attempting to fight with him constantly. In order to make Syoma mad..."</li>
<li>She tells of a story in a cab: "They were in the car, he gets his phone out – to look at something. And she tells him” Who are you writing to?! You, you are such and such!” Grabs the phone from him. He says: “Zhenya, calm down, why are you behaving like that?” She starts climbing on top of him, hitting him. I said: “Syoma, I am in complete shock from your (guys) relationship”. And he says: “This only happens when drunk. When she is sober – she is adequate”"</li>
<li>She met her lawyer a week before the incident, and she said "that in Russia, women’s rights are not protected, but are protected in America. There, they will say, that Syoma, allegedly upset her, to sue for a lot of money."</li>
<li>There are details about the incident, which ended with Varlamov pushing her on the bed, Evgeniya hitting him "on the lips", and Varlamov walking out of the room to sleep in another room."</li>
<li>A story about extorting rich men: "she says: “If I did not want to marry an oligarch, I would say, that I got pregnant from him. And he would give me money for the child”. I said: Zhenya, what do you mean?! How?! You are not pregnant?!” And she says: “I would make it like I am pregnant”. Meaning that she always had a materialistic interest. She always lived depending on men. One is rich, or another one. She does not talk to any other ones (except for rich ones)."</li>
<li>Varlamov didn't want her to join him in the US following the lockout. "He told her: “Zhenya, I won’t take you to America – I don’t need those problems”. She promised to behave herself. Then she went to America and was dumping on him, meaning, that he is such and such, he is cheap."</li>
<li>Her motive for going to the US was (or is) to obtain US citizenship and work as a model.</li>
<li>"And she says: “I want him to do time”. She tells me: “I went to America specifically for this situation.”"</li>
</ul>There is a lot more in that post.<br />
<br />
<b>The recording with friends:</b> <a class="imgScanned" href="http://lifenews.ru/news/123363">http://lifenews.ru/news/123363</a>. Again, someone on HFBoards translated it: <a class="imgScanned" href="http://hfboards.hockeysfuture.com/showpost.php?p=75499105&postcount=784">http://hfboards.hockeysfuture.com/showpost.php?p=75499105&postcount=784</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Picture after "nearly being killed" in the Maldives; no evidence of abuse:</b> <a class="imgScanned" href="https://vk.com/id141477602?z=photo141477602_305521620%2Fphotos141477602">https://vk.com/id141477602?z=photo141477602_305521620%2Fphotos141477602</a><br />
<br />
<b>EDIT 1:</b> vtcapsfan99, who is the unquestioned expert on everything related to Varlamov, <a class="imgScanned" href="http://www.milehighhockey.com/2014/8/15/6005737/revisiting-mhhs-2013-14-avalanche-season-analysis-part-8-varlamov">corrected me</a> on the part about Saunders and confirmed her being able to speak English.<br />
Contrary to what I said, Varlamov doesn't actually live with Steve Saunders, but rather spends "a lot of time with him and some with his family as well." For an example of Varlamov's relationship with Saunders's family: <a class="imgScanned" href="http://distilleryimage2.ak.instagram.com/64189cda0ac711e398bc22000ae80f0b_7.jpg" name="img15" type="IMAGE">http://distilleryimage2.ak.instagram.com/64189cda0ac711e398bc22000ae80f0b_7.jpg</a><a class="toggleImage expando-button collapsed collapsedExpando image commentImg" href="https://draft.blogger.com/null"> </a>.<br />
<br />
<b>EDIT 2:</b> vtcapsfan99 has provided me with a wealth of information.<br />
<br />
<b>Footage of the Halloween party, which shows Varlamov singing karaoke and her lawyer alleges is relevant (i.e. he is supposed to appear drunk in it):</b> <a class="imgScanned" data-embed="//www.youtube.com/embed/tOhoHdLwD0g?enablejsapi=1&enablecastapi=1&start=0&autoplay=1" data-pause="{"event":"command","func":"pauseVideo","args":""}" data-play="{"event":"command","func":"playVideo","args":""}" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOhoHdLwD0g" name="img16" type="IFRAME">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOhoHdLwD0g</a><a class="toggleImage expando-button video commentImg collapsed collapsedExpando" href="https://draft.blogger.com/null"> </a>. <br />
<br />
<b>Report stating Varlamov doesn't drink:</b> <a class="imgScanned" href="http://news.sportbox.ru/Vidy_sporta/Hokkej/NHL/spbnews_NI412906_Eksklyuziv-Sportboxru-po-delu-Varlamova">http://news.sportbox.ru/Vidy_sporta/Hokkej/NHL/spbnews_NI412906_Eksklyuziv-Sportboxru-po-delu-Varlamova</a>. Slava Malamud agreed (<a class="imgScanned" href="https://twitter.com/SlavaMalamud/statuses/395895784283336704">https://twitter.com/SlavaMalamud/statuses/395895784283336704</a>), saying, "At least one allegation against Varlamov (specifically, that he was drunk when the incident happened) reeks to high heavens." Another report states the same thing: <a class="imgScanned" href="http://gorod.samara24.ru/news/sport/2013/11/01/znakomyjj_semi_varlamovykh_semen_voobshhe_ne_pet/">http://gorod.samara24.ru/news/sport/2013/11/01/znakomyjj_semi_varlamovykh_semen_voobshhe_ne_pet/</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Russian video report:</b> <a class="imgScanned" href="http://russia.tv/video/show/brand_id/5169/episode_id/929059">http://russia.tv/video/show/brand_id/5169/episode_id/929059</a>. Translation: <a class="imgScanned" href="http://hfboards.hockeysfuture.com/showpost.php?p=75044495&postcount=713">http://hfboards.hockeysfuture.com/showpost.php?p=75044495&postcount=713</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Update to the recorded conversation:</b> Slava Malamud, "... she says "I probably went there for this situation (to occur)". Her friend reminisces about the time Vavrinyuk was hitting Varlamov...", <a class="imgScanned" href="https://twitter.com/SlavaMalamud/status/406979868505567233">https://twitter.com/SlavaMalamud/status/406979868505567233</a>. Again, according to Slava Malamud, she still believes their relationship isn't estranged: Vavrinyuk says, "He won't go to jail. It will be such a show if we get back together again!", <a class="imgScanned" href="https://twitter.com/SlavaMalamud/status/406980322023075840">https://twitter.com/SlavaMalamud/status/406980322023075840</a>. Igor Eronko, "Lifenews.ru published Evgeniya Vavrinyuk's phone talk record where she said she planned to break up with Varlamov before she came to US", <a class="imgScanned" href="https://twitter.com/IgorEronko/status/406820943470673920">https://twitter.com/IgorEronko/status/406820943470673920</a>. Id., "Vavrinyuk also confirmed she hit Semyon Varlamov first that night", <a class="imgScanned" href="https://twitter.com/IgorEronko/status/406821805748277248">https://twitter.com/IgorEronko/status/406821805748277248</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Lokomotiv's team president:</b> <a class="imgScanned" href="http://itar-tass.com/sport/754097">http://itar-tass.com/sport/754097</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Varlamov's youth hockey coach:</b> <a class="imgScanned" href="http://www.sovsport.ru/news/text-item/655572">http://www.sovsport.ru/news/text-item/655572</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Kovy on the situation:</b> “I hope he makes a deal with his “princess” and she gets her green card, which is all she wants”, <a class="imgScanned" href="https://twitter.com/SlavaMalamud/status/409075252623204352">https://twitter.com/SlavaMalamud/status/409075252623204352</a>.<br />
This is about 25% of what I was given, but lack of sleep has caught up with me, and citing all the possible sources (as vtcapsfan99 has done) is not a minor undertaking.<br />
<br />
<b>EDIT 3:</b> MHH's managing editor reminds me to add that the DA found that the bruises on her body were not consistent with her allegations; they were too minor and found on her abdomen and wrist. Note that he was accused of kicking her in the chest. I can't provide a source for this yet, although <a class="imgScanned" href="http://denver.cbslocal.com/2013/12/20/charges-dropped-against-avs-goalie-semyon-varlamov/">this report</a> does suggest inconsistencies in the case.</div></td> </tr>
</tbody></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-46437688871302097062014-10-15T16:04:00.000+00:002014-11-17T00:52:47.086+00:00Film: Awkward Hockey Players: Danny Brière and Alex Tanguay<div class="embed-container"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/108995366" webkitallowfullscreen=""></iframe></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">It was mentioned on <i>Mile High Hockey</i> during training camp that Danny Brière was a bit of a loner on the team. Being a new member, he hadn't yet become familiar enough with his teammates to socialise on the level of, say, Marc-André Cliche, who is by various accounts quite popular in the dressing room. That isn't to imply anything about Brière, but merely point out his apparently quiet demeanour. So, while rewatching the Avs/Bruins game, I found this great moment on the bench. With everyone around him animatedly discussing a possible goal, Brière just sat there, dead still and silent. The length of that silence continued for 30 seconds, with Alex Tanguay joining his stoned pose midway through.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I love these little moments. So, of course I had to create a comedic narrative mocking it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Below is the above scene without any of my additions. Enjoy that peace.</div><br />
<a name='more'></a><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="433" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/vQE5-PnAcw8" width="770"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-91852530011469344472014-09-08T21:42:00.002+00:002014-09-08T21:46:31.283+00:00The Sunsets are Orange, and I Still Don't CareI <div style="text-align: justify;">stopped supporting the Denver Broncos when Josh McDaniels was fired, supported the St. Louis Rams when he coached for them, and now support the New England Patriots. I also wished for professional success for certain players (e.g. Kyle Orton, Knowshon Moreno, Brandon Lloyd), but only wished for team success when they went to new teams. My NFL philosophy, now, is more about rooting for individuals instead of teams. Consequently, I have the contradictory task of rooting for the Pats (McDaniels), Miami Dolphins (Moreno), and Buffalo Bills (Orton). (In other words, everyone but the Jets.)<br />
<br />
I realise admitting I'm a McDaniels supporter makes me look crazy to many Broncos fans, or those who perceive him as a sleeper agent sent by Bill Belichick to destroy the Broncos. In the first year after his firing, I got into a fair amount of arguments with them, but then, I've resisted responding to thoughtless jabs at the former. Today, though, I was spurred into thinking about the events that led up to why I quit on the team I loved so much, and realised I've never written (in detail, anyway) about one of the catalysts. I thought today, with the 2014 NFL season officially underway, would be a good one to revisit the day I quit on the Broncos.</div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 25px;">Jake Plummer</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Jake Plummer was my favourite Bronco by far when he was their QB, and even though they lost the AFC Championship game in the 2005 season, I always felt that was a magical season. Not only was Champ Bailey the best defender in the world that year, but Jake the Snake epitomised the creativity and excitement that I loved about football. He was the opposite of the sterile Peyton Manning of the world, and lacked spoilt persona NFL QBs tend to have.<br />
<br />
Following that 2005 season, however, Jay Cutler was drafted, and the inevitability of Plummer's departure was all but written in stone. When the 2006 season started with Cutler on the bench and Plummer still starter, I convinced myself that maybe things would be okay. As it should be, the rookie would learn under the veteran, and Jake the Snake would once again get to lead the Broncos to the playoffs. That wasn't meant to be.<br />
Broncos fans have always had a weird relationship with QBs. When you have John Elway for two decades, it becomes hard to see any successor without Elway colouring your view. Plummer couldn't escape Elway's shadow. When Cutler was drafted (he with the arm stronger than Elway's... or so they say), Plummer had Elway hanging over him, and a cannon-armed rookie tugging at his jersey. And then, with every game—and most crucially after two games in a row were lost—Broncos fans and media started clutching that jersey harder and harder. People didn't want Plummer anymore. Mike Shanahan, for all his power in Denver, couldn't resist. He benched Plummer, and the season died with Jake the Snake's career.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>This wasn't how the Broncos were supposed to follow-up the magical 2005 season, running the QB who took them there out of town, tail between his legs and lust for football pounded to dust. For the longest time, I had to tell myself it was about the uniform, not the player donning it. Team before player. It's just a business. And so on. Eventually I got rid of the sour taste left in Plummer's wake; a year later, I was proud to be a Broncos fan again, even though the memory of Jake the Snake still loomed.</div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 25px;">The promise of Josh McDaniels</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">When McDaniels was hired, my interest in the NFL was at its peak. The Broncos had realised that it was time for a clean break, time to undo years of nepotism and dysfunctional management, time to do away with tired philosophies, time to rebuild. Having known about McDaniels from his Pats days, I was excited about his amoeba-style offence, which could bend to every situation and adapt to every challenge. I decided to learn everything I could about it and the person who was to coach it. As the Cutler mess, 2009 draft, and free agency rolled by, I quickly understood what McDaniels was building. He wanted talented cornerbacks and safeties who could lead the team in interceptions. Why? To force turnovers so the Broncos would have the ball more than opposing teams. He wanted to switch to a 3-4. Why? To enable more creative pressure and containment schemes, that could force QBs to force throws to an expectant secondary. He wanted a highly talented RB. Why? The Broncos needed someone who was versatile enough to block, run, and catch with equal proficiency, and who could get to the second level (and beyond) against the nickel and dime, where he could wreak true havoc against players hoping to cover receivers, not take down a RB with a full head of steam. And above all, he wanted a QB willing to learn how to bend to the needs of an offence with no shape.<br />
<br />
McDaniels's vision for the Broncos was cyclical. An aggressive defence that would force teams into coughing up the ball, an offence that could methodically exploit the opposing defence's weaknesses to capitalise on those turnovers, and then back to the defence to start it all over again. Failing that, it would be a defence that could systematically nullify an offence's best players.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, vision and reality didn't coincide. Even though the Broncos were in a rebuild, fans, the media, and even Pat Bowlen didn't want to believe that. People saw the Broncos as an 8-8 team in 2008. So, logically, they had to be 8-8 or better in 2009 to make firing Shanahan worth it. Opening the season 6-0 did wonders for McDaniels's reputation, but the subsequent losing made the newfound, begrudging respect for him amongst the media and fans a temporary stop in their rage-train.<br />
<br />
Luminaries like Woody Paige hated McDaniels. It was the fact that he was a kid that he despised. How can someone in his early-30s think he has the right to lead the Broncos? A 30-year-old coach isn't mature enough for that. Sure enough, McDaniels made many mistakes (as does every coach learning on the job), but he should never have taken the job in Denver. Not with a petulant media unused to rebuilds, or a town in which only Peyton Manning can step out of John Elway's shadow.<br />
<br />
Every week, as I saw McDaniels's gameplanning for each team unfold and fell in love with his style, I would read the next article about "McHoody" decrying the ruination of the precious Broncos. And every week, I was convinced that McDaniels just needed time... time to fix that receiver corps, time to grow McBath and Bruton, time to plug the holes in that front-seven, time for Orton to finally <i>get it</i>. That last one was important. Because, just like Plummer, Orton didn't have the prized cannon for an arm. (And, just as with Plummer, Orton too was run out of town because of a shiny rookie QB.) But I knew it was only a matter of time before his ankles healed up and he could start putting weight into his throws, and only a matter of time before he didn't have to think about every play in that tome of a playbook, but just execute them instinctively. Then the cretins at the Denver Post would see what this noodle-armed QB could do.</div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 25px;">Promise to ash</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">In the midst of a miserable 2010 season, however, all the bad luck the Broncos had coming their way had caught up with them. Now, the media was more ferocious than ever, and the fans had joined in. McDaniels had destroyed their wonderful team, they said. That team that hadn't been to the playoffs since ol' Jake the Snake was cast aside.<br />
<br />
When Pat Bowlen came out to state that he would not be firing McDaniels, I made my ultimatum: if McDaniels was fired in 2010, I'd be done with the Broncos. I didn't genuinely believe I'd follow through, but after that year and a half, I'd invested too much time in the Broncos, learning every bit of information I could about them, and writing a dozen articles for a Broncos blog about them. What was I going to do if he was fired? Where would all this information go? Well, it probably wouldn't happen. I knew Bowlen was too strong-willed to bow to the media.<br />
<br />
I still remember the day he was fired. I was sitting in bed with my fiancée, and we were laughing about something. Then I turned to the laptop and checked if there was any Broncos news. The headline hit me like I'd been smashed in the face by a brick: <i>Josh McDaniels fired as Broncos coach</i>. I collapsed in her arms. That day, I was betrayed by my team. It had done the one thing I begged it not to do. Everywhere, millions of people danced in joy, others laughed at the arrogant, immature coach who'd destroyed a franchise. I sat on that bed, my heart pumping supreme anger and sadness. I knew my Broncos fandom was over. I didn't have to convince myself anymore, I didn't have to think about it, I just knew.<br />
<br />
Somehow, I was eventually okay with Plummer being run out of town. He had his chance, after all, and had managed the glory of taking the team to the AFC Championship game. I resolved to continue to visit my favourite Broncos blog, thinking I could find solace in the few like-minded individuals. Sadly, not only had the Broncos cowed to the media, but they began to join in the ensuing blitz on McDaniels's reputation. They started leaking details that clearly blamed him for the team's problems. The final nail in the coffin, which severed my ties to the Broncos entirely, was an email conversation with one of the aforementioned blog's writers. We had discussed McDaniels's approach to <a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2011/01/this-was-originally-written-for-turf.html">deferring on opening kickoffs</a>, which had changed over time (the Broncos began to receive first instead of deferring when McDaniels began scripting the opening drive). Eventually, I admitted that I was struggling to continue to root for the Broncos; not only was I unhappy with the firing, but I felt it was ethically questionable to ruin his name in the media now that he was gone. I didn't get a reply.<br />
<br />
The agony of losing a team differs with each individual. If you never really cared to begin with, then it won't matter much in the end. If the team moves to a different city, you may feel betrayed or you may continue to support them. If you spend every day thinking about their next game, you may be profoundly affected.<br />
<br />
I spent my whole life thinking John Elway was the greatest QB ever. I had spent hours learning about the Orange Crush, making idols out of Randy Gradishar and Lyle Alzado, even though I'd never seen them play. I was one of those people who had campaigned for Floyd Little's induction into the Hall of Fame (going so far as doing it in a film script). I also campaigned for a return to orange uniforms. I had written articles and stories about them, paying the price of sleep deprivation to do so. I had won countless virtual Super Bowls in NFL videogames—all with the Broncos. I rooted too hard for a sports team.<br />
<br />
For me, quitting on the Broncos meant not only time wasted on a doomed pursuit, but a significant change in my perception of history. Was Elway still the greatest QB ever, now that I no longer had a stake in that judgement? Was Gradishar still deserving of a place in the Hall of Fame? How did I feel about Lionel Taylor, the AFL's best receiver, and who was the first person with 100 catches in a season? It was all made worse when I found another idol, Terrell Davis, jumping on the anti-McDaniels bandwagon. How could I continue to respect the man when he was jumping on the bones of my Bronco hopes and dreams?<br />
<br />
In the end, I found that I bled orange and blue only until I was kicked in the gut and the blood I spat out was red. The McDaniels firing permanently ruined my relationship not only with the Broncos, but football in general, and I went from someone who was obsessed with the tactically riveting sport to one who couldn't watch a game without a deep pit forming in his stomach. And even though that feeling has lessened since 2010, my animosity towards the Broncos has not. And it's unlikely that I will ever enjoy an NFL game quite as much as I used to then.<br />
<br />
I just can't watch Knowshon Moreno barrel through an unsuspecting linebacker without thinking what could have been—and the hatred it took to rip McDaniels's promise away from me.</div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 40px; text-align: right;">End.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-40577376338792784162014-08-12T10:11:00.000+00:002014-09-08T21:46:03.586+00:00Robin WilliamsTo be honest, I'm not sure what I'm doing here. When I first started <i>No. 0</i>, the traditional function of a blog, to use it as an online diary, was the function I thought it would play. That didn't happen. Over time, it developed into what it is now—whatever it is. Anyway, I haven't used <i>No. 0</i> as an outlet to vent on a truly personal level in a long time. I haven't really exposed my vulnerability since "<a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2012/11/quit.html" target="_blank">Quit</a>", I want to say, although if I were being truthful, it would be since "<a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2008/04/new-editors-note.html" target="_blank">New Editor's Note</a>". So, I don't know why I'm reshaping <i>No. 0 </i>to make it do something it hasn't done in years. I don't know why I feel this compulsion, other than because I just <i>feel </i>the need to say something, even though I'm not yet sure what it is I want to say or how I'm supposed to make those words presentable in this mental state.<br />
<br />
I am in tears. Because Robin Williams is dead. And I hate it.<br />
<br />
I try to be cynical and detached about death. I consider, that is the way of this anthropocentric TV show called <i>Life.</i> Characters are killed off. Replacements are hired. Sometimes the actors want too much out of this show. Sometimes they're just bad at it and get fired. And for the most part, I succeed at not beating myself up over the characters who had a good run. It's the ones who don't get a fair shot that are the true tragedies, not those who decide to spoil theirs or those who decide to quit after a successful stint. But then, there are characters whom we truly love. Funny, thoughtful, and brilliant individuals, whom we dread to lose, no matter how long they've been around.<br />
<br />
I don't want him to be gone. I don't want to believe it. I want this to be a joke.<br />
<br />
But just as I am selfishly writing about how this affects me rather than how it impacts the man who died and the people he loved, I will eventually—inevitably—come to terms with this and reflect on the life and works of a genius. Right now, I can only feel empty and mourn and wish it wasn't so and regret what could have been and cry.<br />
<br />
But I can also come to understand, so many words later, why I feel the compulsion to write this. The truth is, only a special person would affect me in this way.<br />
<br />
Robin played the profound role in my life of teaching me it was okay to be crazy. In this space, I can only thank him for that, and hope that he rests in peace.<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 40px; text-align: right;">End.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-69682679071996782412014-07-29T22:29:00.000+00:002014-09-09T23:08:21.259+00:00Joining Patreon and an OdysseyO<div style="text-align: justify;">ver the coming weeks, you'll get to suffer through my next project, lovingly titled <i>Morosoph's Odyssey</i>. Remember "Intronaut Live, One"? How about that colossal failure that was "Intronaut Live, Two"? I'm fairly certain you missed "Intronaut Live, Three" because it was never posted. Yeah, I'm a terrible human being because I never finished writing it. No, really. I am. Because I believe you have to finish something you start. And it was the brilliant producer, Max Bialystock, after all, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SP3QDczTxXg" target="_blank">who once said</a>, "That's it, baby, when you you've got it, flaunt it! Flaunt it!"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, you'll get "Three" one day, along with all the other misshapen, incomplete creations, just because they have to come out eventually. Eventually doesn't mean today, however. Instead you'll be getting "Intronaut Live, Four" in all but name. Why the name-change? Simply, writing about my fourth journey to watch Intronaut perform live took on a life of its own - to the point that the final result is longer than all previous "reviews" combined (including the unpublished "Three"). In fact, I'll be breaking it up into four parts, it's that long. And why is it so long, when previous "reviews" only cracked a thousand words? Well, you'll have to wait for that answer, but you can be assured that discovering it will require more patience than you've ever had reading my tales.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Are you ready for that? </div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">◷◺</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">A second (and slightly more important) thing I want to discuss is my <a href="http://www.patreon.com/jaybaeta" target="_blank">Patreon</a> page. Up until now I've had a donation button hidden in the <i>About</i> page, because I don't want to be one of those people who use guilt or appeal to emotion to fund a creative addiction, but still appreciate anyone who wants to contribute more albums or films. Predictably, I had exactly zero donations. That donation button is gone, now, and I'm trying Patreon's model.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a name='more'></a><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">What Patreon does is give creative people a platform to be funded directly by the public, on a monthly or per-work basis. I don't want to sound like I'm trying to sell a product here, but that is awesome. It's something I've thought about for years, allowing artists to work for the people who enjoy their work instead of a gatekeeper who controls what is or isn't seen, but never thought could be successful on a wide scale. (I'm glad they're proving me wrong!) That's what art is about.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, more sombrely, despite the successes artists have had with Patreon, I don't realistically expect to be one of them. <i>Morosoph's Odyssey </i>will still be as impenetrable as the extravagant title suggests, and who <i>really </i>wants to read 5000 words about what it's like to ride trains for two days? We'll see if you do.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Nevertheless, there's no harm in seeing where that road takes me. Again, you can check out the Patreon page <a href="http://www.patreon.com/jaybaeta" target="_blank">here</a>, and become a patron if you'd like. I'm also still working out the kinks and figuring it out, so if you want to comment or send me a message about what can be improved (particularly about that brutal, <i>woeful </i>description of myself), please do.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">◷◸</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">A final note: I don't say it enough, but thank you to everyone who reads these articles or listens to/watches my work. Evidently, most new visitors come for the tutorials, which is excellent but not unexpected, although blunders aside, I'm humbled that something like the <a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2011/05/how-to-run-firefox-and-aurora-on-same.html" target="_blank">Firefox/Aurora tutorial</a> can be read by thousands of people. Tutorials have more practical value than me writing about my deviances. That said, old readers are probably disappointed at the severe lack of ranting since November of last year. Hopefully, <i>Morosoph's Odyssey</i> is rich enough in narcissism to keep you for a while, and will help explain my reasons for being so quiet of late.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Overall, <i>No. 0 </i>has remained an eclectic site and, as always, failed to find a niche other than <i>why the hell not</i>. Cheers. </div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 40px; text-align: right;">End.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-77917425803561897982014-07-16T14:15:00.000+00:002015-05-21T11:00:19.798+00:00A No-install Solution to Enabling/Disabling the Titlebar in Xfce<div style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Tested OS:</b> Xubuntu 14.04–15.04; <b>Xfce version:</b> 4.12; <b>xfwm4 version: </b>4.12.1-1ubuntu1<b>; theme:</b> Zukitwo; <b>icon theme:</b> Evolvere Blue Folders Dark fallback. Download as pdf <a href="https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/42028537/literature/Tutorials/Enabling%20or%20Disabling%20the%20Titlebar%20in%20Xfce%201.2.pdf" target="_blank">here</a> or <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BzHjGg70UIfTSXdUd0k1aVdsRjg/view?usp=sharing" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<i><b>Update, 2015-05-20:</b> As of <a href="http://www.xfce.org/about/news/?post=1425081600">Xfce 4.12</a>, this solution works without the need for plugins. It also works out of the box in Xubuntu 15.04, but may not in older versions unless you’ve <a href="http://www.webupd8.org/2015/03/install-xfce-412-in-xubuntu-1404-or.html">updated to Xfce 4.12</a>.</i><br />
<br />
I found a little quirk when I upgraded to Xubuntu 14.04: the titlebar no longer appeared when I maximised a window. Because I habitually exploit the titlebar, this was a cumbersome change (or bug). Fortunately, I found out how to reverse it quickly enough.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Initially, I thought the solution was obvious enough to go without a mention. A recent article by Andrew on WebUpd8<sup>1</sup>, though, introduced the intriguing xfce4-windowck-plugin<sup>2</sup> by Alessio Piccoli and Cédric Leporcq. It's a set of two plugins enabling you to place a maximised window's title in the panel, along with the window's buttons. If you install xfce4-windowck-plugin, you likely want to disable the titlebar to avoid redundancy. Andrew and xfce4-windowck-plugin's developers suggest installing the external program Maximus or a patch for xfwm4<sup>3</sup>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My solution is simpler and doesn't require you to download or install anything.</div><br />
<a name='more'></a><h2>Comparison of maximised windows with and without the titlebar</h2><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">For reference, Figure 1 shows a maximised window with the titlebar, while Figure 2 shows it without.</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5qTbYMqs5l0/U8YQMLxGcwI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/lX6-CjxiB_A/s1600/1xfcewithtitlebar.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5qTbYMqs5l0/U8YQMLxGcwI/AAAAAAAAB8Q/lX6-CjxiB_A/s1600/1xfcewithtitlebar.png" width="100%" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figure 1: Maximised window in Xfce with the titlebar.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0Mx24eeO7dY/U8YQMHszv1I/AAAAAAAAB8U/M8dntFimB-0/s1600/2xfcewithouttitlebar.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0Mx24eeO7dY/U8YQMHszv1I/AAAAAAAAB8U/M8dntFimB-0/s1600/2xfcewithouttitlebar.png" width="100%" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figure 2: Maximised window in Xfce without the titlebar.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<h2>Solution</h2><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>You can skip Steps 1 and 2 by typing "xfce4-settings-editor" in the Terminal and jumping straight to Step 3. Otherwise, start from Step 1.</i></div><br />
<h3>Step 1:</h3><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Open the Settings Manager (Figure 3). In Xubuntu 14.04 onward, you can do this using Whisker Menu, or the applications menu in earlier versions. Alternatively, you can also open it through the Terminal, using the command "xfce4-settings-manager".</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7UKtMVxnj94/U8YQgBMgIBI/AAAAAAAAB8c/Z2MU1Xkj-Bs/s1600/3settingsmanager.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7UKtMVxnj94/U8YQgBMgIBI/AAAAAAAAB8c/Z2MU1Xkj-Bs/s1600/3settingsmanager.png" height="563" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figure 3: Location of Settings Editor in Settings Manager.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<h3>Step 2:</h3><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Scroll to the bottom of Settings Manager and open Settings Editor (Figure 3). You can also open it using the Terminal with the command "xfce4-settings-editor".</div><br />
<h3>Step 3:</h3><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">On the left tab, scroll to the bottom and look for "xfwm4" (Figure 4). Click it and now on the right side scroll down to find "titleless_maximize" (Figure 5).</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lqT3BYchXpk/U8YQks2-0fI/AAAAAAAAB8s/jYzAljsIpOE/s1600/4settingseditor.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lqT3BYchXpk/U8YQks2-0fI/AAAAAAAAB8s/jYzAljsIpOE/s1600/4settingseditor.png" height="563" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figure 4: Location of "xfwm4" in Settings Editor.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZxB4A4cjkcI/U8YQiEZnY1I/AAAAAAAAB8k/bPJOHo6gh3Y/s1600/5titlelessmaximise.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZxB4A4cjkcI/U8YQiEZnY1I/AAAAAAAAB8k/bPJOHo6gh3Y/s1600/5titlelessmaximise.png" height="563" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figure 5: Location of "titleless_maximize" in Settings Editor. The ticked value in the right-most column shows that the titlebar is currently hidden when maximised.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<h3>Step 4:</h3><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Now the part that actually fixes it. In the <i>Value</i> column, "titleless_maximize" will either be blank or ticked. If it is blank, then Xfce will display the titlebar when windows are maximised; if it is ticked, it will not. (Yes, it's a bit counter-intuitive.) Simply tick or untick this value to choose your preference.</div><br />
That's it!<br />
<br />
<h2>Bonus solution</h2><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Settings Editor has a surprising amount of power if you're willing to experiment. Related to hiding the titlebar is hiding window borders, as well. Follow the same steps as above, but look for "borderless_maximize" instead. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As Figure 6 shows, borderless_maximize is currently enabled. This means that when the window is maximised, it takes up the entire screen (save for the panel), instead creating a larger version of the window that merely goes to the edges. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Note:</b> If titleless_maximize is enabled and you disable borderless_maximize, the latter will override the former; i.e. both the borders <i>and</i> the titlebar will be displayed. This is because the titlebar is considered to be part of the window border.</div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1sZl_UOxLdY/U8YQsDlh9QI/AAAAAAAAB80/PWFnJY5IH4s/s1600/6borderlessmaximise.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1sZl_UOxLdY/U8YQsDlh9QI/AAAAAAAAB80/PWFnJY5IH4s/s1600/6borderlessmaximise.png" height="562" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Figure 6: Location of "borderless_maximize" in Settings Editor.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<h2>TL;DR version</h2><br />
<b>1) Open Settings Editor.</b><br />
<b>2) Under "xfwm4", look for "titleless_maximize".</b><br />
<b>3) Tick to remove titlebar; untick to return titlebar.</b><br />
<br />
<div class="end">End.</div><br />
<h2>References</h2><br />
1. Andrew, "Xubuntu: How To Put Maximized Windows Buttons And Title On The Panel," <i>WebUpd8</i>, July 14, 2014, <a href="http://www.webupd8.org/2014/07/xubuntu-how-to-put-maximized-windows.html" target="_blank">http://www.webupd8.org/2014/07/xubuntu-how-to-put-maximized-windows.html</a>.<br />
2. Alessio Piccoli and Cédric Leporcq, Xfce, accessed July 16, 2014, <a href="http://goodies.xfce.org/projects/panel-plugins/xfce4-windowck-plugin" target="_blank">http://goodies.xfce.org/projects/panel-plugins/xfce4-windowck-plugin</a>. <br />
3. cedl38, xfwm4-titleless, accessed July 17, 2014, <a href="https://github.com/cedl38/xfwm4-titleless" target="_blank">https://github.com/cedl38/xfwm4-titleless</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="download"><ul><li><a href="https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/42028537/literature/Tutorials/Enabling%20or%20Disabling%20the%20Titlebar%20in%20Xfce%201.2.pdf">Download as PDF via Dropbox</a></li>
<li><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BzHjGg70UIfTSXdUd0k1aVdsRjg/view?usp=sharing">Download as PDF via Google Drive</a></li>
</ul></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-79747908102656564542014-03-26T16:27:00.000+00:002014-03-26T16:29:28.238+00:00The Video that Duped the News WorldI<div style="text-align: justify;">t was fixed just half an hour later, but one still finds it remarkable that no news outlet, however reputable, was free of the deception of a video whose footage was taken over a year ago. If you check the <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/10723108/MH370-Search-boat-battles-huge-waves-in-Indian-Ocean.html" target="_blank">original article</a>, you'll find it no longer exists, because the <i>Telegraph </i>already deleted it. The article was a posting of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aow2ErSP3dQ" target="_blank">this video</a>, claiming it was taken during the search for flight MH370 in the Indian Ocean:</div><br />
<center><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Aow2ErSP3dQ" width="560"></iframe></center><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">It's a harrowing piece of footage, to be sure, but in its haste to share it, the <i>Telegraph</i> neglected to look at its title: "LPG/C Venere, Hurricane, 19/jan/2013". How vague. Perhaps they could have taken a second step to confirm its veracity, by looking at when it was published: "Jan 28, 2013". Instead, this video was miscast, first by one source (intentionally or otherwise), and then by dozens of <a href="https://www.google.co.uk/search?client=ubuntu&channel=fs&q=telegraph+cached&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&gfe_rd=ctrl&ei=8IwyU6WREfDR8gfR4oGICA&gws_rd=cr#channel=fs&q=telegraph+boat+search+indian+ocean" target="_blank">other penguins</a> looking to jump in:</div><br />
<a name='more'></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--ulIEKHqX2Q/UzL1hoMv5_I/AAAAAAAAB60/OU2WJJjwvc4/s1600/Telegraphduped1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--ulIEKHqX2Q/UzL1hoMv5_I/AAAAAAAAB60/OU2WJJjwvc4/s1600/Telegraphduped1.png" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">It's a shame that such blind reporting can occur, but in the unfortunate pursuit of drama, it's not a surprise. We are lucky this one outlet corrected its error.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In terms of the footage, itself, I have to say it's remarkable. It probably scares quite a few people, particularly those who are, ahem, afraid of the ocean, but I don't share that fear. Rather, I'm drawn to the danger of it, because I am the ever-curious cat on the ever-thinning branch. Nevertheless, I can only respect the men and women who travel on those waves (and just for oil, no less). The power of the Earth's oceans is awesome, and it doesn't need any invented drama to make it so.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-15503266524092673332014-02-13T17:24:00.001+00:002015-05-14T19:05:29.549+00:00How to... Fix HP printer “filter failed” error in (Ubuntu) Linux<div style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>Printer:</b> HP LaserJet M1132 MFP; <b>operating systems tested:</b> Xubuntu 13.10, 14.04, 14.10; <b>theme:</b> Numix. Download as pdf <a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/bgbfrhzd30k5yaq/Fix%20HP%20printer%20filter%20failed%20error%20in%20%28Ubuntu%29%20Linux%201.2.pdf" target="_blank">here</a> or <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BzHjGg70UIfTVXJtemUyNEZfS1U/view?usp=sharing" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Update, 2015-02-06:</b> As of a recent upgrade to Xubuntu 14.10, jumping straight to the third solution still fixes the issue.</i><br />
<br />
My printer suffered a paper jam. After releasing the paper, I found that the printer was unwilling to print anything. The specific error was “filter failed”.<br />
<br />
<h2>Diagnosing</h2><br />
The first step is to open CUPS. In your browser's urlbar, type “localhost:631”. If at any point, CUPS asks for your password, enter it as you would in the terminal. To confirm this error, click on the <i>Jobs</i> tab. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3afyO_2MIxc/UvyREKAsyYI/AAAAAAAAB3M/6-7KByGuBJA/s1600/Filter+failed+1.png"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3afyO_2MIxc/UvyREKAsyYI/AAAAAAAAB3M/6-7KByGuBJA/s1600/Filter+failed+1.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
As you can see under <i>State</i>, I'm getting the “filter failed” error. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<h2>Solution 1: re-install printer</h2><br />
Now click on the <i>Printers</i> tab, and then click on your printer.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BvGcMiEYkJc/UvyT04JpCkI/AAAAAAAAB3g/GPpsrwlxF3Q/s1600/Filter+failed+2.png"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BvGcMiEYkJc/UvyT04JpCkI/AAAAAAAAB3g/GPpsrwlxF3Q/s1600/Filter+failed+2.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
Under the <i>Administration</i> menu, you will see an option to delete the printer:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XJQLUuNY1zs/UvybaV6s0dI/AAAAAAAAB4E/62QIk19yMB8/s1600/Filter+failed+3.png"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XJQLUuNY1zs/UvybaV6s0dI/AAAAAAAAB4E/62QIk19yMB8/s1600/Filter+failed+3.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
When asked to confirm, click <i>Delete Printer</i>. In the <i>Administration</i> tab, add the printer. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WKYzYqOIstk/Uvy4iAW6cXI/AAAAAAAAB40/cFCvZz_V3ZE/s1600/Filter+failed+4.png"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WKYzYqOIstk/Uvy4iAW6cXI/AAAAAAAAB40/cFCvZz_V3ZE/s1600/Filter+failed+4.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
Once that is complete, try printing your document. (You can also print a test page in the <i>Maintenance</i> menu of your printer's page.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zF6Gn-24KGc/UvyeD2vT57I/AAAAAAAAB4c/3CDVtJsqZBA/s1600/Filter+failed+5.png"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zF6Gn-24KGc/UvyeD2vT57I/AAAAAAAAB4c/3CDVtJsqZBA/s1600/Filter+failed+5.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
Alternate solution if this fails: rename your printer with a slightly different name.<br />
<br />
<h2>Solution 2: re-install CUPS</h2><br />
Some found that this error was caused by a problem with CUPS, either after an update or failed installation.<br />
<br />
Although you can do this in the terminal, we're going to use a GUI method. Open Synaptic, and in the <i>Quick filter</i> text field, type “cups”.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LbSL-8VNHXE/UvzO22oo-CI/AAAAAAAAB5I/i5EXtu-xT9k/s1600/Filter+failed+6.png"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LbSL-8VNHXE/UvzO22oo-CI/AAAAAAAAB5I/i5EXtu-xT9k/s1600/Filter+failed+6.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
Click on the <i>Installed</i> tab, so it will be easier to select all. Although you don't have to re-install everything, this is what I (or we) will be doing. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t2pUoeC928E/UvzO4MWl9BI/AAAAAAAAB5Q/rYXqbkM9A9o/s1600/Filter+failed+7.png"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t2pUoeC928E/UvzO4MWl9BI/AAAAAAAAB5Q/rYXqbkM9A9o/s1600/Filter+failed+7.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
Select all the packages (CTRL + A). Now mark the packages for re-installation. You can do this either by right-clicking and clicking <i>Mark for Reinstallation</i> or opening the <i>Package</i> menu and clicking <i>Mark for Reinstallation</i> there.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Okr4tCq6Fp8/UvzO4B_K5SI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/jG0Tt0-CjsA/s1600/Filter+failed+8.png"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Okr4tCq6Fp8/UvzO4B_K5SI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/jG0Tt0-CjsA/s1600/Filter+failed+8.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
Now click <i>Apply</i> and let Synaptic re-install CUPS. After re-installation, print your document.<br />
<br />
<h2>Solution 3: Fix HPLIP</h2><br />
<i><b>Update, 2015-03-02:</b> <a href="http://thenumberzero.blogspot.com/2014/02/how-to-fix-hp-printer-filter-failed.html?showComment=1424962297455#c7199534845988630867">According to an anonymous commenter</a>, this solution can also fix "cups filter failed", "print service unavailable", and "bad file descriptor" errors.</i><br />
<br />
If you perused the list of packages you marked for re-installation, you may have noticed one called hplip. Formally known as HP Linux Imaging and Printing, HPLIP integrates HP printers with Linux. It is provided by HP; you can learn more <a href="http://hplipopensource.com/hplip-web/index.html">here</a>.<br />
<br />
Generally, HPLIP will come pre-installed with your distribution; you can confirm that by typing “hplip” in <i>Quick filter</i> again. If it's installed, Synaptic will show it as such.<br />
<br />
Let's close Synaptic now and open the terminal. In the terminal, type “hp-check -t”. This will check whether HPLIP is working correctly. In my case, this is what I found:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b7svfJrBCPo/UvzcSMwG_vI/AAAAAAAAB58/g5DtvnrKAG0/s1600/Filter+failed+10.png"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b7svfJrBCPo/UvzcSMwG_vI/AAAAAAAAB58/g5DtvnrKAG0/s1600/Filter+failed+10.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
I was missing two required packages. If you have the same problem, type “hp-doctor” as suggested. You will get a number of prompts throughout, the first of which may be a distribution error:<br />
<br />
<div class="normal-quote">error: This distro (i.e ubuntu 13.10) is either deprecated or not yet supported. <br />
The diagnosis is limited on unsupported platforms. Do you want to continue?(y=yes, n=no*):</div><br />
Type “y” and continue.<br />
<br />
If you get after it checks for updates:<br />
<br />
<div class="normal-quote">Newer version of HPLIP-3.13.11 is available. <br />
Press 'y' to continue to upgrade HPLIP-3.13.11 (y=yes*, n=no):</div><br />
Type “y” and continue. You may be told to install HPLIP manually, but it will continue anyway, and check for dependencies.<br />
<br />
Under <i>General Dependencies</i>, hp-doctor found this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eI1D2OEBTFA/UvzeOP4EA8I/AAAAAAAAB6M/sK_4x4y-iGU/s1600/Filter+failed+11.png"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eI1D2OEBTFA/UvzeOP4EA8I/AAAAAAAAB6M/sK_4x4y-iGU/s1600/Filter+failed+11.png" width="100%" /></a></div><br />
The next prompt will be:<br />
<br />
<div class="normal-quote">Do you want to update repository and Install missing/incompatible packages. (a=install all*, c=custom_install, s=skip):</div><br />
Type “a” and continue.<br />
<br />
Because my problem was a plug-in version mismatch, I next got this:<br />
<br />
<div class="normal-quote">Found Plugin version mismatch. Press 'y' to re-install the plugin(y=yes*, n=no):</div><br />
Type “y” and continue.<br />
<br />
When you're asked whether to download, specify a path, or quit, choose the download option by typing “d”.<br />
<br />
HP will then ask you to accept the license terms:<br />
<br />
<div class="normal-quote">Do you accept the license terms for the plug-in (y=yes*, n=no, q=quit) ? </div><br />
Type "y" if you accept.<br />
<br />
hp-doctor will then complete without further prompts. Now try to print your document.<br />
<br />
<h2>Other solutions</h2><br />
In my case, running <i>hp-check -t</i> was the solution to fix the "filter failed" error. However, that may not be the case with you. <br />
<br />
One solution that was a temporary fix was to change my PDF viewer. So, switching from the default <a href="https://projects.gnome.org/evince/">Evince</a> to KDE's <a href="http://okular.kde.org/">Okular</a> appeared to solve the problem. (By my own admission, I'm no Linux expert, so don't ask me how.)<br />
<br />
There are some useful resources that may help:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>(Arch Linux) Solution is to clean the pacman cache; or install foo2zjs from the AUR while making sure not to have HPLIP installed: <a href="https://bbs.archlinux.org/viewtopic.php?id=148850">https://bbs.archlinux.org/viewtopic.php?id=148850 </a></li>
<li>Further advice on using hp-check, et al.: <a href="http://unix.stackexchange.com/questions/77139/filter-failed-from-hplip">http://unix.stackexchange.com/questions/77139/filter-failed-from-hplip</a></li>
<li>If you aren't a member of the lpadmin group, add yourself manually: <a href="http://unix.stackexchange.com/questions/77139/filter-failed-from-hplip">http://ubuntuforums.org/showthread.php?t=2145030</a></li>
<li>Simply try switching off the printer and trying again later (I admit I failed to type that out without laughing, but it's often an adequate solution): <a href="http://askubuntu.com/questions/304152/after-update-my-printer-will-not-work">http://askubuntu.com/questions/304152/after-update-my-printer-will-not-work</a></li>
</ul></div><br />
<div class="end">End.</div><br />
<div class="download"><ul><li><a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/bgbfrhzd30k5yaq/Fix%20HP%20printer%20filter%20failed%20error%20in%20%28Ubuntu%29%20Linux%201.2.pdf">Download as PDF via Dropbox</a></li>
<li><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BzHjGg70UIfTVXJtemUyNEZfS1U/view?usp=sharing">Download as PDF via Google Drive</a></li>
</ul></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com253tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-8148698489089603102014-01-22T17:58:00.002+00:002014-01-23T07:15:48.852+00:00The Post that Got Me Hellbanned on Hacker News<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 25px;">A Preface</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Two mornings ago on Hacker News (HN), <a href="https://news.ycombinator.com/user?id=tokenadult" target="_blank">tokenadult</a> <a href="https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=7086374" target="_blank">linked </a>to an <a href="http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424052702304149404579324530112590864" target="_blank">article </a>on the Wall Street Journal website by Bill and Melinda Gates, titled, "Three Myths on the World's Poor". Although I respect what the Gateses are trying to achieve, and agree with them that poverty reduction is not a lost cause, I felt the arguments stated in their article had a number of flaws. After reading it, I promptly spent around two hours writing a response. I didn't intend to writing something akin to a full-blown article; present circumstances merely elicited me to say more than I usually do on HN<sup><a href="#fn1" id="ref1">1</a></sup>. On the case of poverty, I felt like I had something more substantive to add, if largely anecdotal (and therefore perhaps of little scientific value).<br />
<br />
As stated in the post, I'm in southeast Asia. I'm visiting with friends and former clients (note the previously-mentioned editing detours), and with the help of local guidance, have managed to see more of this region than i would have cooped up in an expensive hotel in the city centre. I haven't seen the worst, to be sure, but I haven't had a blanket draped over my eyes, either. That's all I'll say on this.<br />
<br />
I returned to HN in the evening to check whether there were any replies. To a combination of horror and dismay, the first comment was another user, <a href="https://news.ycombinator.com/user?id=aptwebapps" target="_blank">aptwebapps</a>, telling me, "[Y]<span class="comment"><span style="color: black;">ou've been hell-banned for over 500 days, apparently</span></span>." Simply, I fell victim, without warning, to HN's policy of shunning unwanted users by making their posts go unread. Discovering this fact was a jolt to my senses.<br />
<br />
What got me hellbanned follows.</div><br />
<a name='more'></a><div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 25px;">The Offending Response</div><br />
<table align="left" border="0" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin: 2em; padding-right: 4em; width: 700px;"><tbody>
<tr> <td style="border-left: 10px solid rgb(17, 138, 71); text-align: justify;"><div style="padding-left: 15px;">The Gateses don't account for inflation in their prediction. Income may be higher in the future, but so will be living costs. The standard of poverty will simply be shifted. Furthermore, I think it's hard to reasonably expect a world in which almost no people are poor without considering the changes in consumption that will have to occur first. Present consumption levels won't be sustainable with more countries consuming at the level of the US, for example, unless new food/energy production innovations are able to mitigate it. (To that end, I admit to wishing the level of consumption of many western countries would be reduced.)<br />
<br />
An anecdotal piece about income levels:<br />
<br />
Currently, I'm in southeast Asia, and have seen first-hand income disparity. The city in which I'm living has seen a drastic increase in hotels over the past decade (someone reported 32 were approved in 2013, but they did not provide evidence), and many large roads have a hotel (or two) under development somewhere along them. These hotels are pristine and obnoxious. Beyond these main roads, within the bowels of the city blocks with narrower, labyrinthine, and occasionally unpaved streets, houses are barely adequate. With the chickens and other animals running between these houses, you feel like you're in a rural village. This is not specific to the entire city, but that you see it in a not-very-poor neighbourhood reminds you that poverty exists just behind the walls of rich hotels.<br />
<br />
Food is incredibly cheap, $1 if you want something affordable; the most expensive meal I've had was $3, although I'm sure you can find more expensive food. Cooking isn't very efficient and cheap here, so most of your lunch and dinner comes from stalls or restaurants. Clothing is uneven; a branded T-shirt is $4, good shirt $30, and discounted shorts $10. Housing is cheap unless you want western amenities; I have a comfortable apartment in a quiet alley, with all the furnishings, a balcony, free drinking water, free laundry service, and free cleaning service for $230 a month. Tech doesn't appear to be very different; Laptops are 50% cheaper, as was an OTG cable, and when it was first released the S3 was $500.<br />
<br />
The designation of all this as "cheap", however, depends on perspective. When comparing it with a country where good meals cost $20, especially ones that are relatively bland in comparison with the food here, one may view living comfortably here as an easy thing to do, but that's only if you earn a western-level amount. Instead, a good income here will barely cover my rent, which, seen from a local perspective, is actually quite obscene. And the longer I've lived here, the more I've found paying $3 for ribs harder to stomach. Earnings are commensurate with living costs, so when I think about whether I want to live here permanently and earn money here instead of in Europe, I have to consider that what would be a good income here would make it hard for me to return to the west with much pocket change. (For that reason, a friend works in the UAE<sup><a href="#fn2" id="ref2">2</a></sup> and visits his wife here only every few months.)<br />
<br />
If income levels increase here, so will restaurant bills, electricity, and the price of a laptop. The cost of everything will be higher, and everyone will be left with the same (in relative terms) amount of money to spend. The people who beg for 10 cents today will start begging for $1. Everywhere I've gone, it's been the same story: there's a balance between what you earn and what you pay; the only difference is the bracket surrounding those two numbers<br />
<br />
To me, the issue here isn't of income, but of prosperity. For many people, earning 10% of what they would in the west for often harder work is not a problem, because it's enough to support their families. What breaks my heart is that I can't drink tap water, am weary about my health, the rivers and air are heavily polluted, education depends on the interest levels of jaded teachers, and earning that 10% carries with it a significant cost to the environment. I desperately want the people here to be able to view the price of lunch for their family as flippantly as I did, but what I think they want more is to be able to assure that their children will be able to recover from sickness at a reasonable cost (for free in a perfect world), get a good education and hopefully make it to university (which is expensive but more prestigious here than in the west), have clean water and enough food, fewer power outages, and after that, enough money to afford the trinkets every modern human wants to show off to their friends. I believe they will take all that before higher income in 20 years to afford the same amount of what they get now.<br />
<br />
I don't know whether any of this adds any value to the discussion or has too many fallacies (I think there is some appeal to emotion), but hopefully it was worth reading. Full disclosure: many of the people with whom I've worked here are in conservation and political science; I likely have an environmental bias, as well as bias relating to corruption and gender/class equality.</div></td> </tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 25px;">Aftermath</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Yeah, it's a bit long. I don't <i>know </i>what I did wrong, but I will recount a related incident below that may shed some light. Perhaps I shouldn't have disagreed with the Gateses. Perhaps I shouldn't have made it so long. Perhaps I should have pretended to be an expert<sup><a href="#fn3" id="ref3">3</a></sup> <sup><a href="#fn4" id="ref4">4</a></sup> instead of trying to be ethical and admit my biases. Perhaps I unwittingly made a serious goof. Perhaps I'm the prey of a vindictive hawk.<br />
<br />
The related incident is as follows: yesterday, I discovered that this is not my first hellbanning. <a href="https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=4413928" target="_blank">This thread</a> shows that 44 days after first joining HN (which was in July of 2012), I was reportedly hellbanned. I didn't read <a href="https://news.ycombinator.com/user?id=viraptor" target="_blank">viraptor</a>'s comment—<br />
<br />
<table align="left" border="0" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin: 2em; padding-right: 4em; width: 700px;"><tbody>
<tr> <td style="border-left: 10px solid rgb(17, 138, 71); text-align: justify;"><div style="padding-left: 15px;">Of_Prometheus: you're probably hell banned. You'll see your posts, but others who didn't explicitly enable the option will not. Which is also something that I see a lot lately... pretty well written comments from hell banned accounts. Makes me a bit uneasy - maybe there was some reason for those actions, but I rarely see one in the author's history.</div></td> </tr>
</tbody></table><br />
—so I had no idea I was hellbanned. Instead, I naively responded to <a href="https://news.ycombinator.com/user?id=buro9" target="_blank">buro9</a>'s comment that my post was "marked as dead and not visible to many" (i.e. the author has been hellbanned, but I was not aware of that at the time):<br />
<br />
<table align="left" border="0" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin: 2em; padding-right: 4em; width: 700px;"><tbody>
<tr> <td style="border-left: 10px solid rgb(17, 138, 71); text-align: justify;"><div style="padding-left: 15px;">How unfortunate! (Although, it doesn't appear to be dead on this end.)<br />
<br />
I've been in a community where the senior members clashed with the moderators, and it was very much a case of the former attempting to preserve the status quo and prevent new, uninformed members from "tainting" the discussions, and the latter disapproving of the rough treatment of new members, to the ultimate detriment of the community as a whole: the old members left and, without the lively discussions that made visiting every day worthwhile, the new members lost interest. Last I checked (around two months ago), the pool has still not been replenished by the maturation of new members, and the site, to be honest, is but a shell of its former self.<br />
<br />
Both sides were right and wrong in different ways, and both went about arguing their point in destructive ways. I think the problem, in the above case and here is the same: if your members are negative, the tone will be negative; and so on. The best way to "fix" the perceived problems of HN and other communities is to attempt to foster positive discussions. Not by restricting members and ruling them, but... well, I'm not sure. In my experience, the bigger a community becomes, the more "bad worms" begin to slither in. I don't know how you prevent that without doing some form of damage.</div></td> </tr>
</tbody></table><br />
This comment, unbeknownst to me, was not viewable by members who wished not to view dead comments. The original comment in the <a href="https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=4412318" target="_blank">original thread</a> that got me hellbanned:<br />
<br />
<table align="left" border="0" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin: 2em; padding-right: 4em; width: 700px;"><tbody>
<tr> <td style="border-left: 10px solid rgb(17, 138, 71); text-align: justify;"><div style="padding-left: 15px;">How does that system deal with the old members > new members hierarchy that would develop? I think the problem with giving a member a longer stick the longer they stay/comment is that older members are given greater leniency when they do decide to be jerks, and new members who may very well develop into excellent members are kicked aside for possibly minor errors, thus creating an unfair advantage.<br />
<br />
This may also stifle new members' contributions, if they're afraid of either being themselves (which would present a problem later) or speaking up against a more senior member for fear of being reprimanded. As a new member on HN, I'm certainly cognizant of the fact that I've been keeping my comments shorter than they normally would be on more familiar territory.</div></td> </tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Can't... contain... the... irony! Naive noob I was, one of my first serious discussions was a camouflaged landmine. I theoretically broke the same site rule that did in Joshua Stein, who <a href="https://jcs.org/notaweblog/2012/06/13/hellbanned_from_hacker_news/" target="_blank">noted </a>after he was hellbanned for questioning HN's moderators for "pedantically changing post titles". In an email to Stein, Paul Graham sent him an email, saying, "The guidelines (as you probably already knew) also say that if you have a question about moderation, send us an email instead of posting about it on the site."<sup><a href="#fn5" id="ref5">5</a></sup><br />
<br />
Violation of that rule, whether malicious or naive, results in long-term censorship<span class="st">—at the discretion of the unseen moderator.</span><br />
<br />
Oh, well. I left HN once before because I lost interest in what seemed like repetitive, predictable, and often meaningless debates. This time I leave because I learn that HN's leadership never wanted me, in the first place. Since HN's lack of transparency means I probably won't know exactly what caused the hellban, I will simply leave what I wrote here. Which is fine; no less pettily than HN, itself, I have no interest in hearing someone try to justify or rationalise not only shelving a comment that took hours to write, but sneakily silencing the author for over a year for his effort. Rather than argue over a website, I'd prefer to just move on, and rather than be bitter about underhanded moderation tactics, I would prefer to be pragmatic about the value of writing things no one will read<sup><a href="#fn6" id="ref6">6</a></sup>. So, you can disseminate this, ignore it, bury it, agree, disagree, find flaws, whatever. Two days ago, I was crushed. Today, I realise only my ego took a beating, and that ego is big enough to take it. <br />
<br />
Such is life.</div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 25px;">Final Comments</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Thank you to the members who informed me that I was hellbanned, both on HN and via email. I would never have known, otherwise, and continued to obliviously live in my previous naiveté. These are aptwebapps (who also reposted my comment) and <a href="https://news.ycombinator.com/user?id=alan_cx" target="_blank">alan_cx</a> on HN, and one anonymous user and <a href="http://aptwebapps.com/" target="_blank">David Lindsey</a> (the aforementioned aptwebapps) via email.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I will have to uninstall <a href="http://airlocksoftware.com/" target="_blank">Matt Bishop</a>'s excellent<b> </b><a href="https://github.com/bishopmatthew/HackerNews" target="_blank">Hacker News app</a>. If you're looking for an HN client on Android, I highly recommend his.</div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 40px; text-align: right;">End.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eabrPhNmcpY/Ut_-UYyh9bI/AAAAAAAAB14/X9BDgQM1-H0/s1600/Hellbannedsadface.png"><img width="100%" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eabrPhNmcpY/Ut_-UYyh9bI/AAAAAAAAB14/X9BDgQM1-H0/s1600/Hellbannedsadface.png" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 25px;">Footnotes</div><br />
<sup id="fn1">1. You can view my profile <a href="https://news.ycombinator.com/user?id=Of_Prometheus" target="_blank">here </a>(I assume). I'm neither prolific nor noteworthy within the community. That I tend only to comment only when I feel it is necessary makes this hellbanning more bitter than it would otherwise have been.<a href="#ref1" title="Up up up!"> ◥</a></sup><br />
<sup id="fn2">2. A correction: it's Saudi Arabia, not the UAE.<a href="#ref2" title="Press Return."> ◥</a></sup><br />
<sup id="fn3">3. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BbEKmnJO5TQ" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BbEKmnJO5TQ</a><a href="#ref3" title="Reverse course."> ◥</a></sup><br />
<sup id="fn4">4. As certain prominent members are wont to do.<a href="#ref4" title="Detour."> ◥</a></sup><br />
<sup id="fn4">5. Stein consequently did what I am doing and left HN for good. He then went a step further and created <a href="https://lobste.rs/" target="_blank">Lobste.rs</a> as a replacement. Since it's invitation-only, I'm internally debating whether to ask for an invite.<a href="#ref5" title="Tight hairpin."> ◥</a></sup><br />
<sup id="fn4">6. I still have you, Dear Reader, don't I?<a href="#ref5" title="Return to massive wall of text."> ◥</a></sup>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-38747925461990372422013-11-14T13:57:00.000+00:002015-11-12T04:06:42.332+00:00Medium Cappuccino and a Butter Croissant<div style="text-align: justify;">This is the cliché: you sit in a coffee shop, the laptop lid is pointed toward an empty seat, beyond which is the mass of mocca- or coco- or latte- or smoothie- or kopi- or whatever-drinking blatherers. You observe for a second, an eye steals a glance at the wavy-haired, diminutive figure in the corner, you embed your head in the screen.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It’s a cliché, all right. I should have dipped my laptop in a vat of purple goop so I may at least have deviated from the mental image of this here lappie being white with a nice, silvery logo. Well, at least it’s not an Apple computer. Anyway, that’s the cliché, and that’s where I am and have been for three hours every day this week. Living the life of a writer in a sitcom. Typing on scissor switches with a mouthful of cold croissant, in between sips from an obscenely large mug.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It will be over tomorrow, so today I wonder if all this is worthy of reflection, and what value is supposed to be gained here.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is such a transitory place. Density swells at a predictable level and pace. If I arrive at 11 AM, I will not find this corner unoccupied. Ninety minutes later, one may wonder whether they’re closing for lunch. Noise will correlate positively with density. Fifteen minutes ago, I would not have been able to hear myself think had my ears not trained themselves to transform the incoherent cacophony of voices into an ignorable drone. Now, the silence feels alien, punctuated by a few lonely voices and inescapable 80s pop music. I didn’t notice the soundtrack. I had grown so used to the noise that it painted the walls of my brief existence here.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">That’s moot now. Two people arrive. Then a group of five. A man with a packaged sandwich sits down beside the window, a quiet lunch in mind. The cacophony returns. Unease joins it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;">Conversations and accents vary. Ego and loudness of voice seem to match the number of people in the group. The solitary faces point inward. The group of five makes sure to let everyone else know it is important, and the inanity of its members’ lives worthy of pricked ears. Who cares? You should. But you’re in a group of two. Poor soul. The man finishes his sandwich, and lifts his face to find three people have descended on the couches surrounding his table. He is no longer alone. So he opens his newspaper and shifts into the corner of his couch. He reads with purpose. Tabloid news is important, only slightly less so than the isolation its wall of paper brings in a crowd. Smartphones are just as effective, however, the frantic tapping and sliding eliciting a perception of importance. Coffee breaks aren’t a valid excuse to exclude yourself from the Facebook ecosystem, after all, although the break to lift the mug to your face is. The second member of a couple arrives. Phone goes down. They kiss dispassionately.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">His interest in his newspaper stretched to its logical limit, the man now resigns himself to the fact that this moment’s stay has reached its end, as a woman clutching her newly-poured latte eyes his soon-to-be-vacated seat. The group of five collects its coats. The pop music I hear is now more modern. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The hands that plucked my beans thin in starvation. But this is a sitcom, and I want you to know my life is important. Until it isn’t. </div><br />
<div class="end">End.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-74098843142503871002013-10-04T04:12:00.000+00:002014-01-23T07:49:25.516+00:00A Dose of Parody to Celebrate the 2013/14 NHL Season<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>This short piece was originally written for </i>Mile High Hockey <i>to commemorate the start of the 2013/14 NHL season. Read it with tongue firmly embedded in cheek.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><a href="http://i.imgur.com/WXpZm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i.imgur.com/WXpZm.jpg" width="100%" /></a> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Colorado Avalanche head coach remedies a bout of cupearitis.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The worst team in the history of hockey, the Colorado Avalanche, are set to open their season against the Anaheim Ducks tonight. The unfortunate event will take place at the Pepsi Center, at 19:30 MT (21:30 ET, 02:30 BST), and be the regular season debut of new rookie head coach Patrick "Wah" Roy, who replaces “No Emotion” Joe Sacco, as well as the debut of first overall bust Nathan “Soon To Be Waived” MacKinnon. Roy, who requires treatment for cupearitis, enters the league with experience in the QMJHL, a hockey league so devoid of talent, it needs to compensate by adding extra letters to its name. His record in the league was impressive, but who cares. MacKinnon, meanwhile, succeeds Sidney “Kobasew” Crosby as the most-hyped player to enter the NHL as a first overall pick. MacKinnon grew up in the same town as Crosby and played in the same junior league, which has led to speculation that he is merely Crosby in a blonde wig.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a name='more'></a><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">MacKinnon will also succeed the Haliburton country groupie Matt “Absolut” Duchene and Swedish hair model Gabriel “Country Forest” Landeskog as the highest draft pick in Avalanche history (Duchene went third, Landeskog went second, and MacKinnon went first). However, that is set to change, as the club and league are currently in talks to negotiate their selection of the negative-first overall pick in next year's draft, in which the team will select which Avalanche player to send to the North Pole in search of the missing Stanley Cup rings Roy lost around the same time he contracted cupearitis. Likely candidates are Jamie “Ping” McGinn the Fat I and “Smooth” John Mitchell the Fat II, although some have expressed fears that natives may mistake their blubber for that of whales, giving birth to a deadly blood sport centred on hunting overweight hockey players for their lucrative blubber. Both Avalanche management and the league have attempted to downplay these fears in recent days by pointing to rival leagues’ abundance of athlete blubber. The National Fatmen’s League has been a particular highlight. These assurances nevertheless have done little to stave off these fears, specifically because of a long-standing general consensus that the NFL’s fatties are inferior to those of the NHL. Indeed, NHL czar, Gary “Skinny Penguin” Bettman once bragged about the NHL’s superior blubber, which is kept fresh on ice, while the NFL has increasingly trended toward storing its blubber in warm, domed environments. With hockey players’ blubber at a premium, the Avalanche may very well prefer to draft Matt “Zoom Zoom Say No More” Hunwick, whose lack of girth has been criticised by blubber aficionados for years.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Stanley Cup predictions for the Avalanche start at ∞/1, an improvement over last season’s ∞<sup>lockout</sup>/1. Should they win, the universe will implode. </div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 40px; text-align: right;">End.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-36950286599680962112013-08-26T03:25:00.000+00:002014-01-22T16:27:28.762+00:00A Hacking in OttawaS<div style="text-align: justify;">henanigans? Shenanigans. This is an odd story that harkens back to the days when the NHL was the only sports league in which the owners went to prison more often than the players, starring a writer for the famed unreliable hockey blog, <a href="http://www.hockeybuzz.com/" target="_blank"><i>HockeyBuzz</i></a>, known as Travis Yost, and the owner of a poverty-stricken hockey team, known as Eugene Melnyk.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">It all started on the 2<sup>nd</sup> of July, when, in response to <a href="http://www.senatorsextra.com/main/summer-signing-season-has-arrived-for-murray" target="_blank">news</a> that the Ottawa Senators are "operating on a self-imposed $50 million salary cap", Yost <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:http://www.hockeybuzz.com/blog/Travis-Yost/Gene-Melnyk-Money/134/52479#.UhqIBrNtnNR" target="_blank">wrote</a>, "The reason for Ottawa's lack of spending obviously stems from owner Eugene Melnyk's either unwillingness or reluctance to open up the checkbook." Yost followed it up with a <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:jJrJIOerTGgJ:www.hockeybuzz.com/blog.php%3Fpost_id%3D52533+&cd=3&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us#.UhqM9bNtnNR" target="_blank">second article</a> looking more closely at Melnyk's finances in an attempt to answer <i>why </i>Melnyk has been so reluctant to spend money on his team now, when just four years ago he emphasised spending to the cap as essential to competing for the Stanley Cup. Not done there, Yost added another <i>six </i>articles digging into Melnyk's financial rabbit hole (found <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:6GhOhFpbo3QJ:www.hockeybuzz.com/blog.php%3Fpost_id%3D52575+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us#.Uho8iGSDRUg" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:ujA2EebD1wcJ:www.hockeybuzz.com/blog.php%3Fpost_id%3D52601+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us#.Uho9QGSDRUg" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:tVxV-LHtZGsJ:www.hockeybuzz.com/blog.php%3Fpost_id%3D52764+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us#.Uho9hmSDRUg" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:3B3VKnNH8tUJ:www.hockeybuzz.com/blog/Travis-Yost/Gene-Melnyk-Money-VI/134/53213+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us#.Uho9rGSDRUg" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:9lSpCGVjg1kJ:www.hockeybuzz.com/blog.php%3Fpost_id%3D53290+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us#.Uho-vGSDRUg" target="_blank">here</a>, and <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:lJO88RzlRKEJ:www.hockeybuzz.com/blog.php%3Fpost_id%3D53294+&cd=2&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us#.Uho8EWSDQ08" target="_blank">here</a>), before the <a href="http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:http%3A%2F%2Fwww.hockeybuzz.com%2Fblog.php%3Fpost_id%3D53381&ei=zjkaUpHWK4bo9ASso4DADw&usg=AFQjCNHGK7O41i7_uzci1vUS-yJ_cLog2w&bvm=bv.51156542,d.eWU#.Uho6MWSDRUg" target="_blank">story culminated</a> in Yost reporting that Melnyk is under NHL observation (that is, placed the team in a "watch-list") for the very reasons covered in his articles. According to his source:</div><table align="left" border="0" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin: 2em; padding-right: 4em; width: 700px;"><tbody>
<tr> <td style="border-left: 10px solid rgb(17, 138, 71); text-align: justify;"><div style="padding-left: 15px;"><q>It was this year when things really escalated with the NHL keeping a careful eye of ownership and the dollars-in, dollars-out. The team was expensing anything and everything to the league. And the league bit the bullet, stepped in and paid into it, because they're really worried about any missed payments. And they couldn't deal with another immediate disaster with Phoenix and New Jersey cooking.</q></div></td> </tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<a name='more'></a>How did Melnyk feel about Yost's reporting and the escalating fuss over his finances? <a href="http://www.ottawasun.com/2013/08/16/ottawa-senators-owner-eugene-melnyk-criticizes-jp-barry-for-agents-role-in-daniel-alfredsson-contract-negotiations" target="_blank">In an e-mail </a>to the <i>Ottawa Sun</i>, he said, "It's all B.S. coming from a random useless blogger. All this stuff is nonsense. Kinda annoying as well ... doing just fine thank you very much!" Deputy commissioner Bill Daly added, "There is no 'watch list.' And there is no concern (about the Senators). And you can quote me." Soon after, the <i>Ottawa Citizen</i> reported that, under Melnyk, the Sens <a href="http://www.ottawacitizen.com/sports/Under+Eugene+Melnyk+Senators+have+lost+million/8799118/story.html" target="_blank">have lost </a>$94 million.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Now, so far, this is all fairly boring to people like me who care more about a team's possession numbers than its cap number. Neither is the concept of rich, old, white guys doing rich, old, white guy things new. But here comes the turn: <i>coincidentally</i>, Yost's account on <i>HockeyBuzz</i> has been hacked, and all of his work deleted. (You may have noticed that all of the links to Yost's articles are to cached pages.)</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">After tracing the deletions to Ukrainian hackers, Yost investigated a certain link the hackers used to entice clicks:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.imgur.com/5HUZpsr.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i.imgur.com/5HUZpsr.png" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.imgur.com/2ZpExdj.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i.imgur.com/2ZpExdj.png" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.imgur.com/SWV9ArP.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i.imgur.com/SWV9ArP.png" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.imgur.com/eEqfn4l.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i.imgur.com/eEqfn4l.png" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Coincidence? Incidentally, Melnyk<a href="https://twitter.com/MelnykEugene/status/367681748982693888" target="_blank"> isn't unfamiliar</a> with Ukraine.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">It's worth pointing out that Melnyk's involvement in the deletion of Yost's work remains conjecture, at this point. But when someone who is dismissed as a "random useless blogger" has his work deleted moments later, one has to ask: shenanigans? Shenanigans.</div><br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 40px; text-align: right;">End.</div><br />
<i>Read more:</i><br />
<a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/hockey/comments/1l1ysm/travis_yostsenators_blogger_vs_ukrainian_hackers/" target="_blank">Reddit </a><br />
<a href="http://www.sbnation.com/nhl/2013/8/25/4657074/travis-yost-hacked-eugene-melnyk-ottawa-senators-finances" target="_blank">SB Nation</a><br />
Stick-tap to Redditors bxgurl and PostPostModernMan for <a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/hockey/comments/1l1ysm/travis_yostsenators_blogger_vs_ukrainian_hackers/cbv2nty" target="_blank">finding the cached articles</a>.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-49891617382230820592013-08-09T19:00:00.000+00:002013-08-09T19:02:48.493+00:00Links: Of Detroit, Eibenstock, and Hoffenheim. Of Musicians and Bears.<div style="text-align: justify;">
Look at your favourite team's stadium, and it's likely that you'll find a building paid for by the inhabitants of its neighbours. And yet, in cities that can't afford the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phoenix_Coyotes_bankruptcy" target="_blank">bankrupt teams they're hosting</a> or are <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/19/us/detroit-files-for-bankruptcy.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0" target="_blank">bankrupt</a>, themselves, people are convinced or threatened into believing that their cities need to help pay for facilities from which only billionaires will profit. <a href="http://www.psmag.com/business-economics/america-has-a-stadium-problem-62665/" target="_blank">As Aaron Gordon illustrates</a>, while new arenas and stadiums are built to pacify the owners of sports teams, the problems of the common people are ignored. Citizens of cities like Chester and Detroit, and counties such as Hamilton County, are expected by the state to carry a large portion of the burden, despite the latter's inability to support the former, whether economically or socially.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is nevertheless a perceived benefit (on the part of the former) to subsidising privately-owned facilities, however, in job creation and growth of the local economy. Is this economic benefit worth reducing education, police, and firefighting budgets? Economists argue that it's not, since most of the created jobs are "either temporary, low-paying, or out-of-state contracting jobs". Neither does a city like Chester benefit, when, after a game, "everyone makes their way to the highway that spans the bridge, not spending a dime" in the city.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Rather than continue to blather on, I suggest you <a href="http://www.psmag.com/business-economics/america-has-a-stadium-problem-62665/" target="_blank">read Gordon's article</a>, and check out <a href="http://www.fieldofschemes.com/" target="_blank">Neil deMause's excellent blog</a> on stadium funding if you're further interested in this "$2 billion a year" matter.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">◷◺</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Meanwhile, in Eibenstock, <a href="http://www.spiegel.de/international/zeitgeist/german-police-halt-bmw-converted-into-a-driving-swimming-pool-a-912799.html" target="_blank">police encountered</a> a BMW convertible that had been converted into a moving swimming pool, when a motorcycle cop noticed water spilling out of it as it rounded a corner. Filled with around 2,000 litres of water, the sealed pool was decked with wooden panels and railings, and decorated with (presumably plastic) flowers, allowing for a driver, two submerged passengers, and a third one, whom the officer found "sitting on the trunk, dipping his feet" in the water.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Interestingly, whether this vehicle is even illegal remains debatable amongst police experts, as <i>Spiegel Online </i>asks, "Is it illegal to drive a swimming pool?" Possible charges presently concern driving without insurance and under the influence of alcohol.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: x-large;">◷◸</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Staying in Germany, and returning to <i>Pacific Standard</i>, Brian Blickenstaff <a href="http://www.psmag.com/culture/the-most-hated-american-soccer-team-plays-in-germany-61466/" target="_blank">chronicles his experience</a> with the recent phenomenon of Bundesliga fans not concentrating their collective hatred on the monolithic Bayern München, but a team hailing from a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoffenheim" target="_blank">village of 3,272</a>. Just 13 years ago, 1899 Hoffenheim was a team playing in the fifth division, but in the following eight years, it managed to ascend to the highest tier in German soccer. The team is, for all intents and purposes, the Bundesliga's Cinderella, underdog team; a symbol of possibility to all of Germany's <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_football_league_system" target="_blank">33,633</a> amateur, semi-professional, and professional clubs.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The perceived problem, however, relates less to the concept of underdogs than the fact that Hoffenheim is not so much Cinderella as it is her cousin with an influential and wealthy stepfather. That is, 49% of the club is owned by SAP AG co-founder Dietmar Hopp, whose overwhelming investment in the club (over €250 million) is the main reason for its meteoric rise. Hopp's investment and the "near-constant speculation that [he] actually owns more than 49%" is seen to undermine the democratic nature of Germany's club ownership rules, which allow commercial interests only a minority stake in the team whilst the majority <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-22625160" target="_blank">belongs to and is run by the fans</a>.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The conflict, then, is between the incredible journey of an underdog and the perhaps undemocratic and unsportsmanlike manner of that journey. How does one feel as the fan of the club that was replaced by Hoffenheim? How would one feel had they the resources to turn their favourite team into a contender?</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">◷◹</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In 2010, Sacha Dunable explained to me that the reason for his band's absence on Spotify was because bands as small as Intronaut (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EGkQtWP6jkI" target="_blank">a fact</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iRZGP6KZgc" target="_blank">that is</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t821hy8WCXw" target="_blank">criminal</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tusdiggLU64" target="_blank">I tell</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vDxI8X_4TI" target="_blank">you</a>) saw little return. In fact, this was the case with larger bands and applicable across Century Media's (Intronaut's label) roster. Fast forward, and Nigel Godrich and Thom Yorke have removed a number of their albums from Spotify,<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/sashafrerejones/2013/07/spotify-boycott-new-artists-music-business-model.html" target="_blank"> citing the same reasons</a>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The problem, according to Godrich, is that Spotify's streaming model benefits only a slim minority of bands; those who don't depend on the generated revenues to fund subsequent music:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Pink Floyd’s catalogue has already generated billions of dollars for
someone (not necessarily the band), so putting it on a streaming site
makes total sense. But if people had been listening to Spotify instead
of buying records in 1973, I doubt very much if “Dark Side” would have
been made. It would just be too expensive. </blockquote>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Article author, Sasha Frere-Jones, expands by, rather than separating the bands who need to recoup now from those for whom streaming merely provides extra profit, looking at whether artists should be depending on recordings to generate profit, let alone income, considering even "large" bands struggle to recoup the investments made in their albums. Damon Krukowski <a href="https://twitter.com/dada_drummer/status/357000106379194369" target="_blank">states</a> it more explicitly, "I actually believe free music is the solution - not for how to pay artists, but for how to prevent corporations from vacuuming up all the $". But how, then, are artists to make a living when even the pittance received from album sales and streaming services isn't enough? Unfortunately, Krukowski doesn't know, but suggests trying will hurt less than anticipated:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I sincerely think we won’t know till it happens. Or then again, maybe it
has already happened, without our realizing—recordings are already
essentially worthless in the marketplace—and it’s these heavily
capitalized businesses like Apple, Spotify, and Pandora that are setting
the agenda for the new order. I don’t think they have a claim over it,
not in a moral and I am pretty sure not in a legal sense, either—but
they are the ones loudly staking the claim. What I’m thinking is, What
if we call their bluff? Maybe no one will end up being paid for
recordings, in that case—but as it stands, musicians aren’t anyway. </blockquote>
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">◷</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">◿</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Meanwhile, in Alberta, <a href="http://youtu.be/AihvuZiDhsg" target="_blank">this</a> is what bears get up to when you're not paying attention:</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='640' height='532' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/AihvuZiDhsg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Besides cavorting with trees, they're also <a href="http://deadspin.com/bear-steals-dumpster-from-restaurant-twice-in-24-hours-1001128290" target="_blank">prone</a> to the odd bout of thievery:</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='640' height='532' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/frxFH6A4LxQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-91068295557071678182013-06-01T06:10:00.000+00:002013-08-29T01:53:39.687+00:00'Breaking Bad' Gives You an Out, Do You Take It?S<div style="text-align: justify;">omething I enjoy putting in almost all of my writing is an out. An out is, as one may expect, an opportunity to escape a situation. In <i>The Subliminal Hand</i>, the protagonist, Daniel, has an encounter with another character who rather violently implores him to give up his mission. In the following scene, a broken Daniel returns home and has a bath and shave. I leave it up to you to consider what this signifies, but I know what it means to me. Daniel is offered an out, and I believe he is considering it. Nevertheless, midway through his shave, things go awry, and his out becomes trickier. Compared with the drama of the surrounding scenes, this scene seems like an unneeded pause, but, in fact, it's the most critical (and personal) moment in the story: the simple decision Daniel makes in it will govern the rest of his life.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The out is an important mechanic, not just for a character, but the reader (or viewer, <i>et al</i>.), as well. This bathroom scene is also important for you, because you're also being offered a chance to quit. From this point, you can believe two things: that he will quit, or that he will continue. The results of these two things are also up to you. So, if <i>you</i> quit, you can believe that whatever happens next will be great and the bad guys will fail and everyone will be happy. Or not. It's up to you. But, if you choose to continue, then you're putting all of those beliefs and wants in the story's hands, and conceding that whatever happens next, that will be what happens. Those beliefs and those wants will be nothing, and what will happen, will happen.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As Daniel places his life in his choice, you place your enjoyment (or not) or enthrallment (or not) in the story in your choice. Daniel's fate, as far as you are concerned, is tied to the choice you make during the bathroom scene. You will choose whether he succeeds or fails.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a name='more'></a>Well, all of this is a very roundabout way of saying that I recently watched the Season 4 finale of <i>Breaking Bad</i>. If you've watched it, too, you may realise why I found immense enjoyment in it. <b><i>WARNING: </i>BREAKING BAD <i>SPOILER FORTHCOMING.</i></b> With the fifth season being the last, Vince Gilligan gave the end of the fourth season a conclusion that is, really, as happy as we could have hoped. Enemies have been vanquished, families are safe, and the loose ends that remain untied at present seem irrelevant. After so long, Walter has achieved that for which he has striven. With his freedom and health, and his family's safety and security, what more remains? It's a perfect ending.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, what's the problem? Well, it seems the show has shot its wad prematurely. It's a perfect ending, and yet, it's occurring whilst another season remains. What is clear (and I am assuming, because I've yet to see anything beyond the finale for the reasons stated in this article) is that Gilligan is setting you up for the final season, but what I prefer to discuss is the out the show has provided. What more than the characters' safety and security could we want from the end of the show? Presumably, wealth and power, but let's believe that they no longer desire them. What we're left with, then, is a high point from which things can only descend, and instead of leaving us with a cliffhanger, Gilligan has left us with something much more powerful: choice. At the end of this season, we're being given the opportunity to quit, while we can believe that everything will turn out great.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">As far as I (the viewer) know, everything is fine. I don't know what happens next, I just know how things are now, and if I quit now, that is how it will remain. Walter's family will be safe and secure, he will no longer have cancer, and he will be free. What more can I want? I can believe that the fifth season will be a high comedy about Walter's highjinx as the owner of a carwash, the most violence he faces being the force of water blowing apart the soap suds atop windshields. I can believe that he will return to cooking (of <i>that</i> kind), but this time learn from his mistakes and get by without a scratch. I can believe that he won't learn from his mistakes, but nevertheless ascend to be the most powerful drug lord in the world, and live to die a quiet, dignified death beside his grandchildren. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Or, I can continue, and live with the knowledge that all that I want for this story will be for naught: it will be in the unreliable hands of Walter White and his family and friends.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Whether they mean it or not, the makers of <i>Breaking Bad </i>have created a dynamic that leaves viewers with a powerful, but likely fruitless, temptation. The opportunity to leave now, while things are as rosy as they've been for years, is perfect. Gilligan has opened the door for his audience, and invited them to leave without repercussions. But he knows us. We're not going to leave. The purpose, then, is simple: by staying, the choice of what happens next is ours. Only doom follows, and by staying to witness it, we have condoned it. However it ends, whatever heartbreak, breathless twist, and infuriating result, we can always come back to this moment and remember that we had a chance to escape it. We had better plans for Walter White and Daniel Jenkins, but our own needs to see it end took priority. However it ends, Season 5 is on us.</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Alfa Slab One; font-size: 40px; text-align: right;">
End.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9GgHjaKc0mE/Uak6Sv7-PtI/AAAAAAAABu0/73aZ4yqoh7M/s1600/breaking_bad_bryan_cranston_aka_walter_white_wallpaper-HD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.ggpht.com/-9GgHjaKc0mE/Uak6Sv7-PtI/AAAAAAAABu0/73aZ4yqoh7M/s1600/breaking_bad_bryan_cranston_aka_walter_white_wallpaper-HD.jpg" width="100%" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.amctv.com/shows/breaking-bad">Breaking Bad</a> <i>is currently on hiatus midway through its fifth and final season, and will continue on AMC in the U.S. on 11 August, 2013. The first half of the season will be released on DVD and Blu-ray on 3–6 June, 2013, depending on your region.</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-4987640553791699802013-05-21T02:46:00.000+00:002013-05-21T02:46:05.549+00:00Clarity through a Drop of Water<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7324/8759143249_ce57613375_c.jpg" style="margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em;"><img border="0" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7324/8759143249_ce57613375_c.jpg" width="100%" /></a></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7324/8759143249_c4b445273e_o.jpg">FULL SIZE</a> | <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44948252@N05/8759143249/">ON FLICKR</a></h3>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Everything in this image is distorted. Everything, but a small circle; the prism of a drop of water hanging from a leaf. I could use this opportunity to make some philosophical statement about the nature of water. How its integrality to life gives focus in an otherwise distorted world. How, in the desert of life, a single drop of water means everything.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But I won't. I will reserve my usual self-important grandiosity for a picture that isn't an interesting optical illusion and nothing more, interesting as it is.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-5453739130091972712013-05-02T05:56:00.000+00:002013-05-02T05:56:34.443+00:00Statuette beside Potted Plant<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8115/8699722557_d2b47c582a_c.jpg" style="margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em;"><img border="0" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8115/8699722557_d2b47c582a_c.jpg" width="100%" /></a></div><h3 style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8115/8699722557_6ee1be4173_o.jpg">FULL SIZE</a> | <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44948252@N05/8699722557/in/photostream/">ON FLICKR</a></h3><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">This statuette is no longer there. And neither is the plant. I don't know what happened to either; they just disappeared in between the time I last saw them and now. I'm reminded of <i>A Clockwork Orange</i> and <i>Bronson</i> (amongst many others), in which the main characters return home from a stint in prison, only to see that it is not really home. In Alex's case, the room is familiar, but the contents are different; belonging to everyone but him. In Charlie's case, conversely, the room is completely different, and the home has switched cities. Initially, all he wishes for is his old bed, decrepit but familiar. Ultimately, he learns that home is not a bed, but a city, the location in which his formative years occurred. Abandoned by his family and tortured by his friends, Alex finds that home is wherever he will survive.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">The attachment to possessions is not, in this sense, driven by materialism, but familiarity and comfort. You depend on them to be there when you need them, to provide you with that sense of ease. It's not that you have own them that counts, but that you have them. And that is why losing them, and your home, is such a profoundly traumatic experience. But, even when you are faced with the terror of unfamiliarity and no way to escape it, you learn to live with it. To find new things to which you can attach your sentiments, new blankets in which to wrap yourself, and new walls within which you can hang your frames. Home becomes where you are.</div><br />
<a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;">Only, that's not actually true. That walls are forgotten so easily means they are merely no more than bricks and plaster. That we can find new trinkets and plants with only the slightest thought of passing suggests an attachment to a state of being, not memory. And, really, a state of being is not home. Where you are is not who you are. Walls are just walls. Complacency does not equal comfort.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">The cliché, "Home is where the heart is," is no less true because it's a cliché. When I look at this picture, I realise that I don't care about that statuette, or that plant. Even though I spent years nurturing it, it is no longer here. Someone else has it now, and I don't yearn for its return. I learn that my heart lies not within this image, or the nurturing of its subjects, but with those whom I love, and that simmering heat and brittle cold we shared. It with the peace of silence. I see that, though I may learn to live within these walls, they are but walls. They are not mine. And this is not home.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850308344343058539.post-13615358457496438542013-04-02T02:09:00.000+00:002015-04-29T01:01:51.825+00:00Agents of Maize Maze<div style="text-align: justify;">Woe is I. I am looking for an agent, but none are to be found. Some are believed to be hiding in the maize fields, but those dang mazes. Maize mazes are the worst. So, all the agents are lost in the maize maze, and we need to catch them. Because I need one.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Partly, I want to eat one; I've heard they taste good in stews. But, mostly, I want to use one for its powerful persuasion properties. See, praying for more land like Jabez has failed, and so I am resorting to these elusive agents to procure it. Elusive agents in maize mazes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I remember in my youth, and this is a true story<span class="st">—</span>honest<span class="st">—</span>I wanted to be a boxer. I met a trainer who was a former boxer, having retired many years before his time. He was good, but only good, and so not good enough. Thus, he turned to training young fighters to live his dream for him. He was angry all the time; initially, we all thought that was all he was<span class="st">—</span>that and mad<span class="st">—</span>but eventually, there appeared to be a method to his particular brand of madness. Madness such as making me perform unorthodox training exercises that made little sense to me then, but would, Shirley, serve me well later as an important boxing and life lesson. One such exercise was chasing a rooster around my backyard.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Chickens are mean. My cousin is afraid of them. They peck your shins as though you're trying to abduct their children, or something. That's why my cousin is afraid of them. That, and the fact that he's a ninnie. Anyway, chickens are mean; roosters, doubly so. And my trainer let it out of its cage, and told me to catch it. It promptly ran out the backyard gate. Then my trainer told me to shut the gate, and then open it, again, and go buy another chicken.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The next one was spry, even resentful. I couldn't tell whether it was angry that I was going to eat it, or insulted that I was using it to play catch; perhaps I had disturbed it during an episode of <i>Cats Do the Funniest Things</i>. Nevertheless, it used this negative energy to consistently thwart my attempts to get a hold of it. Ducking, leaping, clucking, it was infuriatingly evasive of my ducking, leaping, and shouting. Then, just as I was about to rip it from the ground, it did a s<span class="st">pin-o-rama, allowing the full force of my inertia to meet the dirt. This chicken could have been a hockey player, were it not for the leg injury it suffered in pee wee, and its inability to make a decent pass or shoot straight. And that it is why I have a bald patch where the right side of my beard should be.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><a name='more'></a>So, I am not fond of chasing down elusive agents in labyrinthine maize mazes. The thought of it makes the poor stubble on the left side of my face tingle. But, as the expressionless adage goes, it is what it is. There are countless travellers like me, all with a similar desperate need to ingest the rich, full flavours of Agent in Ham Water. Many of those who travel with me will not make it to the end, and, really, I'm not certain I will, either.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="st"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="st">It's not a shock, though, frankly, that I'm finding these repeated attempts to skin an agent for my broth, nay stew, so difficult. I feel that the older I get, the less palatable my ideas appear to uninitiated eyes. <i>Space</i> was an attempt at formulaic comedy, and that turned into part-musical/part-tragicomedy/part-animation </span><span class="st">schizophrenia, with the only thing formulaic about it being its adherence to, nay acknowledgement of, the Aristotelian theories on tragedy held by Tarkovsky <i>and</i> Tartakovsky. Its<i> </i>follow-up, which we will call <i>Rion</i>, was about delivering pizza, until it turned into a trilogy about things I won't yet divulge. And anyone that's listened to my music knows why no one listens to my music.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="st"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="st">Yet, these works, they can't go any other way. <i>Space </i>evolved into what it did because it had to. <i>Rion </i>is going to be a thriller about boredom, wrapped in sheets that smell like garlic and look like, nay may very well be, cancerous tumours. And you know what? I love it. I have these repetitive images running through my head of Scale the Summit's "Colossal" in a concrete path surrounded by trees, Between the Buried and Me's "Ants of the Sky"<i> </i>below a monolithic apartment building, Alcest's "Sur l'océan couleur de fer" on a dark, grassy field, and I need to get them out. I see the bicycle wheel of the pizza delivery boy hitting a curb. I smell burning wood. The hear the trees in the wind. I see myself reading a book on poetry while taking a dump. This is life. This is infinitely interesting... until you have to sit through it in a cinema while the latest blockbuster is blaring through the walls of the adjacent room. Then people are bored, and their attention spans fizzle.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="st"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="st">Thus, the agents evade my capture. They want originality, but in packageable doses; creativity of the kind made by Chinese youths in grey cells. It is an uncomfortable truth for those like me that auteurs are rarely born. Instead, they blossom from the freedom given to them by a generation of bending to the will of their benefactors, the drug of their childhood dreams fed piecemeal, and the omnipresent threat of losing them draped over their heads by the less-willed alternatives. Those who don't accord, don't get by. And of those who slip through, if they don't burn out, they haven't burned brightly enough.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="st"><br />
</span> <span class="st">I'm standing in a field. On my left, is a green hedge. On my right, another. The leaves of these hedges are young, but their branches are old; twisted from hundreds of years of snaking slowly toward the sky. A path made of cobblestones is laid out in front of me, leading the way into a myriad dead ends and, more importantly, a single exit toward salvation, itself laid with the cobblestones of treachery. The maize is dead. Its earth rendered dust under the weight of stone. The Agents of Maize Maze watch on. </span></div><br />
<div class="end">End.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04037803431749065399noreply@blogger.com0