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Friday, December 30, 2011

Alma Mater and Tannenbaum

Yes, I know, I missed last week.  My apologies.  But I have been frightfully busy.  This has been a joyous time for me, one of great excitement and breaking fnords.  And not just for the usual holiday reasons.

I became a college student not long ago, and I am still working out the wrinkles.  Trying to be sure that my prerequisite classes will fit the program I want, checking to see if I will have money in time to pay these people, and so forth. 

And then there was Christmas, with children and friends and family, and deftly dodging any obligatory social gatherings yet again.  It pleases my solitary nature.  

* * * * *
Using my actual name on my weblog might seem to fly in the face of that last.  In fact, there are certain rules of the Internet I routinely ignore.  But Lauren and I still seek a major publisher for our books (links to your right).  Thus I am much like the One Ring: for all that I claim no master, I want to be found.

However, there are certain matters of consideration regarding the privacy of others that I also prefer to follow.  For the most part, referring to my associates just by their first name works dandy.  And whether I am annoyed or pleased with the people I write about, only those who Know will Know, as they say.  But as time goes on, I’ll have things to write about, good and bad, pleased and frothing, regarding my chosen Institution of Higher Education.  And I’m sure that there are people there who would prefer to maintain a discreet distance from my comments, at least as far as out-of-towners might go.

I am therefore both pleased and triumphant to announce my enrollment as a full-time student in the internationally acclaimed halls of Wossamotta University. 

Ah, good old Wossamotta.  The ivory stairs, covered in carpet.  The sports fields, freely adorned with wandering athletes, scouts, and moose.  I can only hope and aspire that within the unscalable walls of this time-honoured bastion of learning, I, too, shall achieve the right and privilege to claim as my own the Alma Mater of Wossamotta U.

* * * * *

Looking back to my One Ring comment brings me to Christmas.  All families have their Christmas traditions, and we are no different. 

First, the Magnificent Offspring decorate the Christmas Branch (all right, it’s a small plastic tree) with an assortment of different knickknacks, some hand-made, some not.  No lights, please.  There are gifts under the tree for everyone, and the stockings are hung with care on the bookshelves.  We gather popcorn and cookies and sodapop and munchies galore.  And then, when the moment is right, we all gather round . . .

And we watch the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, extended versions, over a three-day period.

File:Foxtrot - Sauron Tree.GIF

It is, too.  And yes, our tree is topped with an Eye of Sauron.  Lidless.  Wreathed in flame.  Bless you, Peter Jackson.  You made Christmas a holiday again.

Tama Shud,
--Coyote

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Internet Censorchip


Greetings.

 I am given to understand that this week Congress is debating whether to grant themselves the power to censor, even completely dismantle, certain aspects of the Internet. Sites such as YouTube, Wikipedia, and of course MoveOn.org.

 If enacted, these new laws would force Internet Service Providers to block websites that any corporation suspects violates a copyright,  or even suspects doesn't monitor it's users' content close enough for copyrighted materials. That means that any website, foreign or based in the U.S., could be wiped out on suspicion and made unavailable to everyone in the world.

 I am also given to understand that, depending on how the law is ultimately worded, prison time is in the offing for those who post material offensive to the sensibilities of those companies.  People behind thatguywiththeglasses.com , for example, would be in big trouble.  This is a step towards terrorizing the people over their posted content, and certainly the loss of the Nostalgia Critic would be a shame. 

But more than that, this is a step towards greater information control throughout the Internet.  And if corporations have greater rights of self-expression than individuals (corporations are given “freedom of speech,” but you cannot jail a company) what injustices may follow?

 This is not a law begun by lawmakers interested in promoting justice.  This is a law pressed for by the lobbyists of powerful corporations who have too much influence over government, news, and media as it is.  The Internet is a threat to their monopoly of data disbursement, and they are moving against it.

 Accoding to deathandtaxesmag.com:

Both PROTECT IP Act and SOPA were drafted in order to stop online piracy with groups such as the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America) heavily lobbying Congress for passage.

It is believed by many, from Google to EFF, that blacklisting sites with pirated content will adversely affect the channels of communication used by activists, rebels and whistleblowers.
While SOPA is stuck in committee, the under-the-radar PROTECT IP Act has been fast-tracked out of committee and is set to be rushed through a Senate vote, according to EFF. In the Senate, only Rand Paul, Maria Cantwell, Ron Wyden and Jerry Moran have voiced opposition to the bill.”

I have read that Senator Ron Wyden from Oregon has promised to start a historic filibuster of the Internet Censorship Act.  Apparently he will read the names of every person who signs a petition against Internet censorship. I have signed my name, using the link below, and urge all of you to do likewise.  In addition, I urge you to seek out information regarding SOPA, the other version of this bill.

Writing letters is also highly recommended.  I am composing my missive to Mister Obama even now.  And if you're afraid of getting your name on a list - and some people are - then fighting this effort and others like it should be that much more important.

There will, no doubt, be those who will say that such a law could never pass.  Not here.  Not in America.

I respectfully refer such persons to the use of sniper towers and boiling water cannons to lock out unionists at the Homestead Steel Works.  I refer them to the living and working conditions at the railroad towns prior to its being fought down by such champions as Clarence Darrow. 

I refer them to the trial of the Chicago Eight, the exploitive use of the truck system in company towns, the imprisonment of Japanese Americans in concentration camps during World War II.  I refer them to McCarthy and his infamous Black List.  And most recently, I refer them to the Patriot act and Guantanamo Bay.
Anything can happen if you let it.

“If the come for me in the morning
They will come for you at night.”



Tamam Shud,
Coyote

Friday, December 9, 2011

"What Shape is the World?"


As I’ve mentioned before, I’m going back to college.  So many questions, and so many cautions.  It’s a foreign system to me, a maze of rules.  And I am learning the rhythm of its walls and mirrors as quickly as I can.

I started out online at their website.  I sort of flailed about randomly at first, trying to get the hang of the philosophy behind the site’s organization.  After a while, I started being able to find things all right.

There were a few stumbles, there always are.  For example, I misread the order of operations for Student Registration, and instead of completing the registration form and then immediately moving on to the next step, I waited for the registration process to complete.  And it looks like there may be a delay in Financial Aid because of when everything is going down.

Ideally, I would sit down and talk with a councilor and get a better feel for the situation, have a palaver and gain direct advice.  Alas, I can’t do that, or enroll in classes, until I complete my assessment tests.  And I found out tonight that I am not allowed to take them in the usual way.

I arrived early in the evening, feeling chipper.  Which was good, since they’ve changed the layout of the place significantly since I was on-campus last.  I entered from College Blvd, followed the signs, and got spit right back out onto College again.  Fortunately, I was able to find a member of the local constabulary and ask about the Student Centre’s location. 

People complain that there’s never a cop around when you need one, but I’ve never had any trouble finding them.  I think it’s just my natural charm that attracts them.

In any event, he was kind enough to walk me to the building I was after.  He asked me what I was seeking, and I told him “Physical Therapy Assistant.”  Then, seeing his puzzled look I re-assessed the context of his question as being situational rather than environmental.  I apologized, and told him I sought the testing facility in the Student Centre.  Oh, well.  We talked a bit as we walked along the grounds, and he revealed that he’d been working there for a good thirty-five years.  Turns out since I’d been there last the building count went from around eight to around eighteen.

Yowza.  He was kind enough to drop me off at the centre, explain four or five times how to find my way back (which was appreciated, believe me), and so I bellied my way up to the service desk. 

Sasparilla, my good man, I thought.  The lovely lady at the desk gave me a card for my number (I have a new number, a student number, huzzah), and a half-page form to fill out.  I thought to my self:

 Self, I thought, this seems pretty painless. 

I waited, relaxed and unconcerned.  The testing area was sparsely populated, and the people were friendly, courteous and knowledgeable.  The woman helping me explained that I would have to yield my hat and phone to the lockers outside (another new development), and even as I was removing my magnificent chapeaux to comply with the rules of the house, she finished, saying:

“. . . and you’ll have to take off your sunglasses.  Just leave them in the locker with the rest.”

Ah, nutbunnies.

“I can’t do that,” I explained.  “They’re for medical reasons.”

Right about now is traditionally when the beaurocrat starts going a little nuts.  And I am not too proud to admit that I tensed a little, in anticipation.  However, she just blinked and said she’d talk to her supervisor and see about getting me an okay.  She smiled, I smiled.  Life was good.

Her boss finished her call and then called me over.  I have problems with authority and I know it, so I monitored my reactions carefully.  She called me over, and she told me about their strict policy regarding no sunglasses in the testing area.  

My eyes are, for those of you who do not know, incredibly light sensitive.  Which means that what for most people is normal light, for me is blinding and painful.  You can imagine why I value polite police so much, with their Mag-Lights of Doom.  And you can imagine the static I’ve gotten from a fair cross-section of xenophilic pencil-pushers in my time.  I’ve had some harsh encounters over my eyes in the past, and lost at least one job.  Bloody hell, was it going to start all over again?

I must confess, I did the worst thing I could do at that moment: in response to what I felt was her preparing to Lay Down the Law, I got tense.  I was braced for her to get weird about my glasses, I was uncomfortable because I’d just removed my hat in fluorescent overhead lighting, and I got tense.  And I suspect, though I cannot truly know, that she was braced for me to throw a fit about my shades.  Working customer service sucks, and I can only imagine what kind of attitude she gets from some of the students throughout the day.  We had a magnificent positive feedback loop of stress burn between us for the briefest of moments.

“I need them for medical reasons,” I said again.  I was ready for her to get indignant, which was usual.  Outright hostility was not out of the question.  This is one of the reasons I usually avoid places with rules and regulations, as well as one reason why I was and still am nervous about returning to school.

Instead, she took the moment in her hands, and broke it.  Smashed it like candy glass.  She blinked, and became genuinely concerned.

“Oh,” she said, “In that case, you’ll need to talk to . . .” and here she gave me the name of the testing service I need to contact, a name, and a phone number. 

It turns out that I need to arrange for a proctored test in a private room.  Which sets me back a little more, granted, but it doesn’t grind me to a halt.  She also made it abundantly clear that there was no offense meant about my vision – though her demeanor had already confirmed that nicely – and we shook on the matter and parted ways. 

As I took my leave, my only concern was if I was to shake her hand or offer her reverance.  The angle at which she gave her hand implied the latter, but this is the 21st century, and neither of us was in period garb.  I compromised, bowing slightly while gently gripping her hand.  It does not do to offend a lovely lady who is helping you.

That glass-like tinkling sound you hear is the tension in the room.  I was careful not to step on any of the pieces on my way out.

So, I will call on the morrow, and see what I will see.  I have my councilor appointment this coming week, two days before enrollment deadline.  I still need to get a few ducks in a row, including my financial aid.  But I think I’m getting the hang of this place, its dance, its tempo, its rhythm and pulse. 

And it is a lovely thing to be treated politely.

--Coyote.


PS: I have not put in entries of all the little delays and trip-ups I have encountered in my travels, not wanting to bore anyone.  I have no intention of starting now.  But I will, in closing, reproduce here the email I sent earlier today (the day following the post above) to the Access testing service.  If my schedule had permitted I would have just gone in person.  Sensitive data is of course omitted . . .


"Good people,

Greetings.  My name is Coyote Kishpaugh, and my student number is XXXXX.

I am sending you this missive in the hopes that you can help me take the assessment tests needed for me to see my councilor and enroll in classes before it is too late.  It has been a quiet misadventure.

The latest chapter unfurled Thursday evening, when I arrived at the testing centre and was informed that I would not be permitted to  take the tests while wearing dark glasses.  The ladies there were very polite and understanding, but apparently there are rules about such things.  My eyes are quite light-sensitive, however, and unfortunately I cannot effectively take the test without my glasses. 

I understand that I should take the tests proctored and in a private room, and will need your assistance with this.  I was therefore given a phone number to call, and told to ask for (NAME).  The phone number was XXX-XXXX.  Alas, this number seems to be disconnected.

Checking the college web site, I retrieved a different phone number for your office: XXX-XXXX.  Here, too, I got a message that the number was disconnected.

If you would be so kind as to contact me at your earliest convenience, I would appreciate it. 

Thank you for your consideration,
--Coyote"

And so the struggle continues gamely forward.  Thank the gods of silicon for the Internet; I used to have to chase from department to department all day on foot.  XD

--C.

"I dunno, I'm-a from out of town."


It's been a little while since I've posted.  I've been getting ready to go back to college, and that's been quite a distraction, among others.  Suffice it to say that I persevere, I abide, and I ultimately conquor.

I'll write more about that later, because it's late and I'm tired.  But here are a few thoughts before I withdraw.




Writer's Block


Somebody please help me knock this thing out

I don’t have any heroes
Valiant and bold
I’m not riddled with self-loathing
And hostility is old
I’m not wired for self destruction
I’ve never been to jail
I’m not in love with innocence
I’m not convinced I’ll fail

I’m not recovering from addiction
Assault, illness, or abuse
I’m not depressed or hating life
I’ve never paid my dues
I’m not obsessed with pain
Or from the tough part of town
No one’s died near me lately
And I’ve never yet found God

Somebody please help me knock this thing out




Time

I like to think about time.

It isn’t a line, you know.  At least, it’s not just a line.

Here. 

Take a piece of thread. 

A nice, long one.  Hold it by one end.

That’s how people like to pretend time is.  A straight line, with a little curve here and there. 

A start, and a finish.  No flow.  Just a neat, tidy, thin braid.

How very dull. 

Still.

Take your thread.  Hold it as high above your head as you can.

Make it a pretty one.  Gold, maybe.  Or a deep forest green.

Now. 

Drop it.

Watch it glide to the ground, like a snake making love to the ocean.

That’s how time really flows, my friend. 

It doesn’t march, or fall, or run.  It glides.  It soarsIt writhes.

And then, when your thread coils on the floor, watch it carefully. 

(Before the cat starts playing with it, I mean.  Fell beast.)

You see how some parts overlap the others?

Time does that.  It loops, it coils.  It slips and slides.  It memory-chills and deja-vus, it prophets and past-lifes and forty thousand unsolved missing person-per-years.

Careful.  If you slip, there's no one there to catch you. 

But sometimes, just sometimes, you can jump.

From one coil to another.

Like a little flea.

Boimp!

Oh, it takes it out of you, no mistake. 

But it can be done.

Not too far
, though.  No one needs their first stroke at age twenty-six. 

And for your father’s sake, please only jump forwards.  There are kinder endings than that. 

But I don’t mess with time much.  Not really.  Not any more. 

Because time isn’t just a thread, either.

It’s a web.

And when you walk across a web, glistening with gemstones like dewdrops, there is one thing you should always remember:

This . . . is not your home. 

And some of those threads

are sticky.

Beautiful Arachne is never far away.



And that’s not even mentioning the cat.






--Coyote