May 2004 Archives

«a href="http://deskmerc.com/pixors/sat0529-01.php" onclick="window.open('http://deskmerc.com/pixors/sat0529-01.php','popup','width=1000,height=455,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false"»«img src="http://deskmerc.com/pixors/sat0529-01-thumb.jpg" width="250" height="113" border="0" /»«/a»

Click to enlarge. Only Terragen and Photoshop for this one.

Update: I did another.

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We are all shit, you know. The government has been taken over by fascist neoconservatives who seek only to fatten the bank accounts of the hyperwealthy and drill oil off the backs of sweating third worlders. We terror bomb cities, rape and plunder our way across far flung lands most schoolchildren can't even find on a map. To hear some say it, this country is so bad, twisted, sick and evil, that we need to have ourselves blown up so the world can be placed back into balance with nature.

If that's so, why are generic citizens of this rat infested hellhole pseudodemocracy putting new myomer powered arms on the armless?

«img alt="25-bush-inside.jpg" src="http://deskmerc.com/pixors/25-bush-inside.jpg" width="200" height="180" border="0" /»

Look at that, "Bushitler" himself shaking the hand of someone who had no hand a couple of weeks ago. The man who now has a nice plastic and metal prothsesis lost his original hand for the crime of doing business in US currency.

Oh, we're such a bad, evil country.

He'll even get to keep the hand after the photo-op.

So, if Bush was "selected, not elected", will that make Kerry "obfuscated, not nominated?"

So I'm here recovering on H's couch flipping through channels on the TeeVee. I've got the laptop here on the table propped up in such a fashion so I can browse and watch the Box at the same time. Nyar! This is the true path to healing both the body and soul.

And I'll watch bad movies.

There was Logan's Run this morning. I actually stayed awake to watch that garbage. I can't be arsed to sit through Chicago, but I'll force my eyes open for Luddite post apocalyptic terror utopias. The really interesting thing about this movie is that it was released barely a year before Star Wars, but can you tell? In Star Wars, virtually everything is grubby and unkempt. People live and work in places that see wear and use, just like real people do. (Unless, of course, you work for the Empire directly, but that is a different proposition.) But for the people who live in the Alpha Complex that is Logan's city, one is hard pressed to find a dusty surface. And what does that have to do with anything? Nothing, nothing at all. It's the codeine talking.

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I keep trying to blog, but I fail. It hurts to sit up and type, and I can't seem to arrange myself to set this laptop up in such a way to facilitate anything but mouse usage.

But when I take a pain pill, I can sit up with relative ease and type all I wish...it's just that what comes out is quite incoherent. I keep erasing the evidence of my inebriation, I feel somewhat embarassed that I must take some medication and don't want anyone reading a drug induced rant and thinking that I must be a crazy, stoned person flying off at the handle. And as the haze of opiate bliss fuzzes out the remainder of my consciousnewss, I stop caring even about that.

It's nice to know that Patrick Stewart is getting work doing commercial voiceovers. Drugs and tires!

Did I just hear someone on Fox News tell me they are going to market a new kind of condom, but one that you can only stick to liberals? What? The? Hell?

Mmmm. Codeine. I never knew they made Tylenol #4. Works very well. I can hardly feel that somoene had a hole in my neck. It also gives me an odd clarity of vision.

I think O'Reilly is much funnier while I'm under a narcotic haze. There's some Reverend Osagyefo Sekou right now babbling nonsense at him, and he's totally outclassed. Marxist claptrap, and O'Reilly is just being steamrolled.

Points go to little wierd Reverend. I've never seen Bill so totally nonplussed and outrambled.

Well, that's okay. Four hours of surgery. Two days of recovering, which I am doing now from a secure undisclosed location.

It is time for my pain pills. Details of the entire event will follow later. Meanwhile, It's great to be back.

Mmmm...I'm in a warm, fuzzy place. All is dark. I'm comfortable. I can feel my breathing, my heartbeat, all normal for the moment. A peaceful feeling, like I was floating in orbit. I can't move, but I don't want to move.

Pressure. Something is pushing at my back? What is it? Why am I being disturbed in this serene state?

"Orblay?"

What is that noise? Now I'm being shaken. The peacefull bliss of my body begins to change, becoming more active. The fuzzy feeling is fading, and I can see a dim light.

"Jay!"

A voice. I know that voice, it's calling me from where I am. Where am I? Suddenly there are images...some sort of fabric, black fabric. My head rests on a soft silky thing. I sense more of my body now. I can move.

"Jay!"

Oh, I'm awake now. I immediately forget the dark place I had been and started to take in mu surroundings.

Evidently I had fallen asleep on H's couch. That's okay, I had planned to. What time is it? Why am I awake now? I stand, groggily, and try to focus.

"Jay, I'm sorry to wake you..."

Uh oh. That particular phrase means something different. It really means "Wake the fuck up. There's a problem and I need to see if you can solve it." I've heard it many times.

"...but my car won't start, Do you know anything about cars?"

Know anything about cars? Yeah, of course I do. A car is an automobile, a chassis propelled by an internal combustion engine, fueled by gasoline. Steering is done by a wheel...wait a minute. Something's wrong with her car?

"Uh," I begin to say. "Uh, what?"

"Look, if you don't know anything, I need to know so I can call Harry so he can come get me and Connor."

Connor? Oh, he's standing right there, I realized. Shit, it must be early. She's gotta take him to school! That's what the problem must be. Her car hasn't started, and she's got to get him to school and take a flight out later today. This is serious!

"Yeah, of course I know about cars. What's wrong? What happens when you try to start it?"

"It makes a noise. Come on."

I'm still a quarter unconscious, and not quite thinking clearly. I wonder why she think I may know know anything about cars. She must be really upset to not remember. Then I realize that, despite the many years we've known each other, I've never had to display that knowledge to her. She's never had a screwed up car for me to fix. Oh, I've done things to this car, but I've always been lazy and took it to a place to have the oil changed, and things like that. I've never had to break open the hood and troubleshoot. No wonder she didn't know, 'cos she didn't know. Hah! What a thing to wake up to.

We reach her car and she gets in, tries to start. "KLIICKCKCKCKCKCKKKCKCKCKCKCKCKCT"

She gets out. "Can you fix it?"

Yeah. "That's the solinoid. It's not turning the starter."

"A what?"

"Solinoid, a switch. There's not enough electricity in the ignition system to turn the starter motor, so turning the key activates a solinoid that then switches on the starter and cranks the engine."

"So what does that mean?"

"Starter could be messed up, or the solinoid itself, but it's making noise. It's probably a dead battery."

"Are you sure?"

I don't answer, but get into the driver's seat. The dome light is on. Windshield wipers are also turned on, turn them off. Close door, the light goes out. Turn key. "KLICKCKCKCKCKCKCKCKCKT."

Hmm. Where's the battery gauge? Ah, there isn't one, just an indicator light. Shit. Than I notice the clock...

Yeah. Dead battery for sure. Maybe there's a sneak in the wiper system, draining current if they are turned on even while the car isn't running. Maybe. One thing to try before we have to jump start. Foot on brake. Turn key, cycle the automatic transmission a couple of times. Place back in park. Turn key to start....

Click, spin, whirr, whurr, rarRARrarrarRARRARRARfoom. Hey, it's running! Hah!

I get out. H is visibly relieved. Put Connor in car, H gets in car. "Look, I don't know if the battery is charging properly or what. The alternator seems okay, but I can't tell if there's a blown link anywhere because I don't have anything to test with. Fuzes seem fine. Just don't turn off the key at some stoplight. You might feel tempted, thinking that you can get away with it because everything is fine, but don't do this."

"I won't."

"Seriously, don't do it. It really is tempting. I know."

She smiles at me through the open window. "Thank you so much. I really need to go, and I will call you later. I'll be at Harry's all day."

And off they went. I wandered back inside, collapsed on the couch, turned on the TV. No way I'm going to get back to sleep now.

Five minutes into Fox & Friends the phone rings. "Yehlow?"

It's H. "I just needed to tell you something."

"What's that""

"You are a GOD."

Heh. Of course I am.

In about a week, me and part of my parathyroid will end our lifelong relationship and we will part ways. Its been on my mind lately, even if it is minor surgery. And evidently my subconscious has been having a field day with it.

Last night I had a horrible dream...I dreamt that my parathyoid knew I was coming for it. It fears excision, it doesn't want to be evicted from it's warm, moist home. It hates me now, and will do everything it can to prevent it. An ignomious death for a parathyroid gland, to be removed and placed in a pathology jar, perhaps to be used as a teaching aid.

So it's putting up a fight, even though it is at a distinct disadvantage. I am big and strong, the parathyroid is small and weak. I have arms and legs and a brain, while he is a cluster of hormone producing cells the size of a small pea. I can fashion a club, he lacks opposable thumbs.

But he's still putting up a fight.

I don' t blame him. But I have to downsize for my own health, and I'm cutting him from the payroll without severance or benefits of any kind. I can't even say I'll be outsourcing his position for cheap overseas labor.

I was told in church so long ago that we are reunited in heaven with all our loved ones after we die...assuming you pased the Hell gauntlet properly. I was even told that people who lost arms or legs would find them regrown and whole. (I was told that severed limbs would wait for you in heaven, and I instantly needed to know if peopl ewho were born without arms or legs would get new ones, and I was told yes...and I complained, as this seemed unfair, they would get essentially a free arm, and I wanted a free arm too, but I was pretty blasphemous at a young age.) If this is the case, then will my parathyroid be waiting for me in heaven too, to unite with me once again and give me high blood pressure and elevated calcium for all eternity? What if next week my parathyroid is removed, and the bit of soul attached to it goes straight to hell, and for some strange reason I convert and become Saved the next day, and then the rest of me dies? Will my parathyroid be trapped in hell, while I enjoy paradise? That hardly seems fair..my parathyroid played no role in any of my massively dinful decisions. How about the inverse, someone Mormon baptises my parathyroid into heaven but not me? Is that allowed?

This is, of course, why people never talk to me about theology. I'm an apostate nonbelieving heritical agnostic infidel. I only hope my parathyroid is as well. It would be most unfortunate for everything to turn out like a Jack Chick cartoon, and my parathyroid appears in the Book of Life, and I am cast into the lake of fire...and I will cry out "let my parathyroid dip his pea sized self into water, so that he may cool my tongue?"

I saw the video of Nick Berg today, just before I left work. I can do that, somehow. I don't get queasy at the sight of such things. I've seen others just like it in different videos, different people, but one thing stays the same.

I'm pretty pissed off.

The first one I saw was long ago, shortly after I left the military. It was a crude film of what appeared to be a Russian soldier getting his head removed in a similar manner, although it was hard to tell exactly what was going on. These were mujahedeen in Afghanistan, and at the time I felt somewhat morally ambiguous about it because I knew darn well the Soviets had done things just as bad, if not worse, to the Afghan population.

But there were more. Until recently the most infamous one was the Daniel Pearl video. I watched that one too, and now we have this one.

Nick Berg read his statement, no doubt assisted by his captors, and then he knelt there on the floor while people in hoods and masks ranted in a language he didn't understand. And when they were finished with their rant, the dragged him to the floor. He knew he was about to die, you could see it on his face. But it was too late for any resistance. The apparent leader pulled out a large knife, and sawed off his head.

It took time. I'm sure the initial shock of what was happening to him brought about a swift unconsciousness. They weren't careful in their actions, just crudely chopping away and flesh and bone until the head came right off.

And then the guy held it up. End of video.

I watched that bit of digital media without expression or emotion. I just took it in, a part of my mind thinking "he's having trouble with the vertebrae", "he's done this before" and other such incidentals. And when it was done, I packed my things and left work, walking slowly home in the rain. That's when I started to feel again.

I feel anguish for what his family must be going through.

I feel a profound sense of loss, as this was an idealistic man doing idealisting things, bringing technology and knowledge to places where it had never existed.

I feel very bitter towards certain people who are sure to use this as a political football to further their own ambitions, careers, agendas, and what have you.

I feel contemptuous towards those subhumans who did this thing.

To them, it wasn't pointless, it is an attempt to alter the course of American action. To some of us, it is a vile thing, a hateful and pointless act that served nothing. To others, it will merely be another arrow in a quiver full of politcal ammunition. That disgusts me, that a person so brutally murdered can be used as a bullet in some Powerpoint demo to embarass elected officials. And to an even smaller, but no less vociferously vocal minority, a justification for all the imagined ills the United States has draped across the planet. For myself, I hope they find all five and execute them on the spot. I do not care how it is done, only that it is done.

But keep this in mind, whether you are angry or sad or even happy that this happened, for whatever reason. Those people wore fabric over their faces. They hid themselves behind a mask and killed a man who did no harm to anyone. They hid behind hoods and severed a head for a political statement. They wore those hoods for a reason.

The reason? They know damn well what will happen to them if we knew who they were. They fear that. They fear that most intensely. They know that death can come for them in the middle of the night, by bullet or Hellfire missle or precision bomb. They did behind a mask because they are afraid. They don't want to die in a manner of our choosing. They know that we will come and kill them.

We should teach them more ways to fear. Because if we don't, this is what is in store for all of us. Because apologies didn't save Nick Berg. Appeasement will not stop this thing from happening again.

Killing them all will.

FEH!

I was modeling a nice female with leather trenchcoat and M4 and Glock, when all of a sudden everyting went to hell memory-wise. I need more memory, more processor, more more MORE!

Here's the only surviving render I made.

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Someone remind me to create a personal paranoia meter.

I was unable to get hold of my Mom today for Mother's Day. NO answer on her cell, and no answer at what I think is her home line. I suspect she may have been involved with my other half-sister's graduation ceremonies, but I dunno. I couldn't attend in any case.

Nor was I able to attend a friend's wedding, in which I was specifically invited.

Shit, I guess I'm just gonna miss out on everyone's life changes.

One hopes the week can only improve from here.

Much ado has been made recently about outsourcing. Well paying jobs are being stolen from overseas, we are told, leaving only work that illegal immigrants will do in their place.

In a sense, this is true. Lots of decent jobs are being done for pennies in other countries, where the value of the dollar to their puny currency holds greater sway. If a job costs, say, $10 and hour plus benefits here in Texas, and you can get someone in India to do it for $3 an hour and no benefits, then it starts to make sense to export that job to India and let the other guy do it. Three bucks can buy you an awful lot of chicken from KFC in India, but won't even score you a proper McDonalds Value Meal here.

Some jobs you can't export. I defy anyone to export bus driving jobs to India.

Some jobs are easier to export, namely rote functions that require a minimum of technology to maintain communications. An example of this are the handful of jobs outsourced to India at my place of employment. It is only because of my high level of skill and great resources of personal charm and arrogance that enabled me to continue working there...a lesser of two evils to be sure. Since none of us ever see a server (the datacenter is located 30 miles away) our jobs are baseed around remote management tools, a ticket system, and phones. If these tools are present, you can do this work. Thing is, those tools can be located here in Texas, or in Nebraska, in Hawaii, on the top floor of a parking garage, in India, or even in orbit if one wanted to export jobs there. (India is probably cheaper than orbit.)

A concern many people have is that this will create selection pressures that will enable the local folks of say, India, to do better work than us Americans and take away even more jobs. This may be so, but...the education of such people must come first, and without that, they won' tbe untangling string for the Nike corporation, much less troubleshooting Linux and Windows servers.

So I'm not worried. Why? Because of «A HREF="http://internationalreporter.net/scripts/linesDetails.asp?id=156"»this«/A»:«BLOCKQUOTE»Astrology is Science, and is allowed to be taught in Indian Universities for degrees and research work for interested students. The Hon.'ble Supreme Court rejected the plea of scientists that Astrology should not be taught in Universities as a subject of science. The Full Bench accepted Astrology as Science and allowed the Universities for teaching and issuing degrees and research work in Astrology.

In a landmark judgement, a full bench comprising Justice S. Rajendra Babu and Justice G.P.Mathur dismissed a petition filed by scientists in the matter of P.M. Bhargava and others challenging an Andhra Pradesh High Court Order that Astrology is not science and should not be taught in the universities. «/BLOCKQUOTE»And I thought attempts to remove evolution in schools and replacing it with Ignorant Design was bad.

So this works in our favor, in a manner of speaking. Allowing frivolous subjects to be taught in universities draws away talent that could otherwise be productive. (You are invited of course to consider what might be frivilous. I have my own list...much fun will be had in debating said lists) With a smaller pool of properly educated citizens, the threat of brain drain and outsourced jobs becomes far less. Who wants to hire someone to secure Red Hat Enterprise by consulting a star map and worrying about Mars rising?

The same thing applies here in the ol' U.S. as well. On one hand I don't mind so much, I call it job security. ..an uneducated populace is highly unlikely to replace me in my job, and employers will pay a premium. On the other hand, a vast pool of idiots means slower advancement over all, as they must be coddled and shown how to use everything. Gripping hand, not all nations will be as stupid as India just was, and we need as many educated people as we can get to make decisions and create wealth for ourselves.

So don't worry about outsourcing just yet. When they outsource CEOs and elected officials, then we can worry. Meanwhile, let's educate ourselves.

Okay, so everyone has seen the fallout of the soldiers who did something to Iraqis, the torture, the humiliation, the whatever. I still maintain that any soldier engaging in these acts, where they are taking advantage of their role in a prison to taunt and play with the inmates. is despicable.

It's also unprofessional, a word I can use to expand the little net I'm casting over the players in this retarded game.

I would like to point out that interrogation need not involve torture. When you have the time to process a person into a prison system, jail him, and keep him in a cage, what use is torture at that point? Proper interrogation methods will lead to information...running a prisoner through the electrodes won't get you anything, just screams and lies. This differs greatly from something you might pull in the field, scaring the absolute shit out of someone if you need information NOW, like that one officer who pulled a gun on a recently captured individual to get tactical intelligence. It also differs from "black" operations that may be going on where this stuff might be handled far more covertly. But in a prison?

The brigadier who appeared on TV recently ro blame things on military intelligence folks is still wrong. If she knew what was happening, she should have put a stop to it nonetheless, whoever was ordering the activity to continue. It's not professional for regular tropps to be doing this sort of thing. It's one thing to have the troops ferry papers from one office to another, or to select a prisoner for questioning, it's another for them to actively participate in interrogation on their own, especially in this crude manner. She's a general for crying out loud, she can make things stop. If she was told not to interfere by someone with more stars on their shoulder, we need to know who he is so his head can be put on a platter.

The cries of "we were only doing what we thought we were supposed to, there were no guidelines" doesn't wash. We don't treat prisoners this way. It's wrong, it's unprofessional, and the Army is not a mob of thugs. The Army is composed of professionals, and they should have acted that way. The fact that they did not is a travesty. Fortunately, the system is working, and the perps are being punished, not promoted.

Well, why not? «A HREF="http://asmallvictory.net/archives/cat_micah_wright_is_a_liar.html"»Everyone else is.«/A» As usual, I'm behind the curve:

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An outstanding weekend! Yes! Finally!

I'll have to post in far more detail, but here's what happened:

Friday Night:

Bar hopping, wealthy style. Associated myself with a millionare murderer...he was jailed a long time ago for burying a hammer in a man's head. To be fair, the head was attached to a body that was engaged in sex to his girlfriend, but there was enough question about the incident that he spent 7 years in prison. There was another, older man that never smoked, drak anythiing alcoholic but nonetheless goes to bars where rich people hang out, while being utterly rich himself. These two and myself, along with H to keep me steady, visted bars downtown and in Rice Village, then returned to our home bar. There was much discussion about human relationships and I actually got to demonstrate the use of my own personal charm to prove that "lines", stock phrases to open conversations with women, can indeed work on the spur of the moment if properly used.

Speaking of which, just in case they just happen to be reading:

Natalie, I wasn't lying about the conversation, next time I will have one.

Leeann, yes, I was admiring you across the room, and next time, I'll do more than just ask you your name.

Saturday:

I spent that recovering from Friday. I was supposed to attend a party of a cow-orker, but my head disagreed with that concept and instead I raced digital horses at Dave and Busters. H broke one of the machines.

Sunday:

Watched an Astros game! They won! HAHHAHAHA! A come from behind win in the bottom of the eighth inning. Had suite seats, high up away from the proles. A blast.

I've been away from my own personal machine, so I missed out in photoshopping an asshat's antiwar posters, but I'm gonna do it anyway later this week.

And since when did Patrick Stewart start doing drug commercial voiceovers?