| (no subject) |
[May. 3rd, 2005|02:18 pm] |
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Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît pont. |
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| Quote |
[Oct. 20th, 2004|08:47 pm] |
"After all these years, I see that I was mistaken about Eve in the beginning; it is better to live outside the Garden with her than inside without her... I should be sorry to have that voice fall silent and pass out of my life"
-- "Extracts from Adam's Diary" (Mark Twain) |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 14th, 2004|04:37 pm] |
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Ug.... I caught Sebastian's tummy virus! |
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| Orion |
[Oct. 9th, 2004|01:23 am] |
I just got home and right before walking in the door, noticed Orion high and bright and clear, with the Pleiades over his shoulder.
Hello old friend... you've been missed. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 9th, 2004|08:59 pm] |
The first real rapid below the dam at Chili Bar is "Meatgrinder". It's kind of longish (couple hundred yards or so) and not as bad as it's reputation, but it was still worth getting out of the boat and scouting. Walked up on top of the little ridge at river left and looked it over so I could come up with a plan.
It's so rarely in my life that I've known doubt, but sure 'nuff, there it was. Yeah, I know, it was just "Meatgrinder", but it was to be the first "real" rapid I'd run in two years. Could I still brace? Could I still pick a line? Could I still span a hole without getting thrashed? Hell... could I still combat roll when it counted?
Sometimes it's easy to forget that a part of each of us is the people we have known and loved. I sat in my boat at the entrance to the rapid trying to convince myself I could do this, and was granted the gift of this singular thought: I've been to the dark corners of the earth and into the high, thin air in the company of gods disguised as men. I could practically hear Roger Nelson's voice saying "what are you waiting for?"... not in a condescending tone, but in the simple unquestioning manner of someone who took for granted that this was within my capabilities, piece of cake. I could see the goofy, boyish grin that Ulrich would flash at the top of some bit of wicked water, a grin that always said "This is gonna rock... I'm so glad you're here with me!". I could hear Ronnie's "You're gonna die... but not today. Besides, you wanna live forever?" (followed by my mandatory reply "No, but I wouldn't mind surviving until lunch!")
For anyone that cares, Meatgrinder is a hey-diddle-diddle, straight-up-the-middle, and when you feel the water pushing towards the rooster-tail off DeathStar, drive hard for 4 and punch the holes, they're flushy. :-)
It's kind of an awesome thing about being human... even when your brain doesn't remember all the details, you're body does. It's been two years... and when I stopped *thinking about paddling* and just *paddled*... it was like I'd just been on the water last week. The body remembers. |
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| Has anyone noticed... |
[May. 7th, 2004|04:44 pm] |
That the default colors for an LJ are the colors of the LeatherNation flag?
*Grin* |
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| New Neighbors |
[May. 5th, 2004|12:58 pm] |
So, I work a few hundred yards from the Sunnyvale dump and historically, as the weather gets hot, it has occasionally smelled rather... well, "dumpish".
I noticed a new smell a few days ago... rather farm-like.
Now the smell of cowshit is, if not unpleasant, no usually associated with the same warm memories as say, the scent of fresh-baked cookies. But, as someone who grew up in the midwest, I can say this: it's a good, honest smell. There's nothing artificial or man-made about the smell of compost and animal shit... it's a 100% natural, organic, smell.
I took a good close look at the hill a couple days ago (the dump is atop a rather large hill that is the accumulation of 50 years of trash, earthed over, and covered in grass)... and discovered that someone has been haphazardly mowing the (once tall) grass.
While out doing my "prayer-wheel" walk today, the breeze brought me a familiar sound (and a familiar smell) from that direction... the new "gardners" are sheep! The hillside is full of'em! What a great idea... take care of the out of control grass by let a large flock of sheep run wild over the hill. (What I thought was the scent of cowshit was obviously sheepshit. Does I lose mid-west boy points for that?)
I walked over to get a good look... and now I know where the expression "innocent as a lamb" comes from. I just stood there for a bit checking out the sheep, while several of them checked me out of return (I think one of them may have been flirting... or maybe just looking for a little hay.) A few feet away lay an incredible small white lamb... just looking at me with big lamb-eyes, not moving, not looking particularly inclined to bolt.
I stood there for awhile. Sheep are honest.
Being a shepard would be good honest work. Sheep can provide everything a man needs: companionship... a sense of responsibility... food... clothing... sex :-) (Sorry, a little Scottish heritage showing through, there!)
Of course, the downside of all this is that never again will I be able to enjoy a good lamb-shank. Never eat what you couldn't personally kill.
Damn bloody morals.
In any case... I like sheep. And you can quote me on that. (And I'm *certain* that someone will... and out of context, no doubt. *Grin*) |
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| Log in |
[Apr. 30th, 2004|10:13 am] |
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If you're reading this (and you know who you are), log-in. The entries a locked to everyone but you. |
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| God of Small Places |
[Jul. 30th, 2003|02:02 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  contemplative | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Runrig - Pog Aon Oidche Earraich | ] |
There should be a god of small places. There should be someone to watch out for the small plots of grass and shrubbery that go unnoticed on an urban street-corner... someone to smile over a copse of two or three trees at the edge of a shopping center, or the little grottos between the hedges (known only to rabbits and such) that grow in the median of a freeway. There should be a deity who's only purpose is to watch over the tiny patch of shade ( just big enough to give respite to a single soul) that resides beneath the solitary maple, standing unremarked by the people who march past in the course of their daily commerce.
I noticed today that my office, like all offices, smells of... nothing. Not of dirt, nor of trees, nor moss or crumbling leaves, or of a breeze wet with the anticipation of autumn and rain.
I think I need to hug a tree :-) |
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| Bad Day |
[Jul. 8th, 2003|12:01 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  anxious | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The whir and hum of a GeneXpert | ] |
I'm saddened by good friends that are breaking up, I'm anxious and worried about someone I love who's in great pain and won't talk to me, I'm kicking myself for having contributed to her pain, the Iranian twins died, work is annoying at best, I don't feel motivated to do *anything*... the world just kind of sucks right now. |
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| Thought for the day |
[Jul. 3rd, 2003|10:32 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  busy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Wicked Tinkers - Hammered | ] |
"So many of our dreams seem impossible, then improbable, then inevitable" - Christopher Reeve |
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| Self honesty |
[Jul. 2nd, 2003|11:01 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  cheerful | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Lucinda Williams - Big Red Sun Blues | ] |
So, I have a group of friends who are WONDERFUL, bright, funny, intelligent guys. Wouldn't trade them for the world. We all ride motorcycles, and the subject of helmets and helmet laws came up the other day. While I agree that the government simply doesn't have the right to tell a grown adult that they must or must-not where a helmet, my friends also tried hard demonstrate that the act of wearing a helmet is inherently more dangerous than not wearing a helmet. I made my best defense, then (not wanting it to turn from a debate into an argument) let the subject drop. But my friends, here's what I wish:
I wish you would all be honest with yourselves. Wearing a helmet is plainly safer than not. Motorcycles themselves are inherently more dangerous than cars... yet we ride because the sense of joy we derive from two wheels outweighs (for us) the risk of injury. The decision to not to wear a helmet stems from the same place... not out of a sense of safety, but out of a concious (I hope!) decision that the risk is worth the reward.
'nuff said. |
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| The first law of engineering |
[Jun. 27th, 2003|02:51 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | busy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Icicle Works - "If you want to defeat your enemy, sing his song" | ] |
Never let a machine know you're in a hurry. |
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| Who knew? |
[Jun. 27th, 2003|11:26 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  content | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Beethoven - Romances for Violin | ] |
So, a good part of last night was devoted to building and decorating my first targe (a Scottish battle-shield)... and a good part of today (probably the best part of today) will be devoted to rebuilding a sword.
Who knew I'd be the kind of guy that likes to work with wood and leather and steel? This comes as a complete surprise to me! |
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| The best thing |
[Jun. 26th, 2003|05:57 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  melancholy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | John Hiatt - "Fly Back Home" | ] |
The two best things that have happened to me today:
1) Waking up and finding the air redolent with the scent of warm green things in bloom.
2) Sharing a piece of cheesecake with a friend.
Now, if you'll 'scuse me, I've got to go look for my missing bits. |
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| I wonder... |
[Jun. 25th, 2003|03:29 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  curious | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Mahler - Symphony #2 | ] |
Red Haired Girl, do you read this LJ? |
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| The "Playing God" rant |
[Jun. 24th, 2003|05:20 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  annoyed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Beethoven - Romances for Violin | ] |
So the other day I was talking to a new friend, and she discovered what I do for a living. (I build machines that are used for genetic research and analysis. To over-simplify a long story, these machines are used to make exact copies of genes or snippets of genes). Her first reaction was "aren't you playing God?" (For the record... the machine I played a hand in building doesn't manipulate genes... it just makes a whole boatload of copies of them... and usually not even entire genes.)
Friends, mankind has been manipulating the genes of other species for millenia. Do you really believe there was a time when roving packs of poodles and dachshunds roamed wild and free? The corn you eat several times a week (as corn on the cob, or ground and processed into other forms) can't even reproduce in the wild anymore... and hasn't been able to do so for centuries. The common barnyard chicken? Hasn't been able to survive in the wild since before Columbus sailed off the map and into the Carribbean.
Humans aren't blessed with wings. Were the Wright Brothers playing God when they gave us heavier-than-air flight? Humans aren't (usually) born with gills. Was Cousteau playing God when he gave us the SCUBA regulator than enables us to breath beneath the sea? How about Ben Franklin's invention of the lightening rod? Surely, if we're to be accused of thwarting the will of God, the redirection of lightning bolts must be at the top of that list! Should we consider the soul that invented the incubator that saves the lives of countless prematurely born babies every year as one who is interfering with God's plan? (Oh, and for the record, I'm Christian, and I'm willing to bet that a God who is capable of designing this universe isn't going to be given pause by a lightening rod or an infant breathing machine!!)
If to "play God" is to control the world in which we live then, (as a species) haven't we been endowed by our Creator (whatever your vision of that Creator may happen to be) with the natural drive to follow in his foot-steps? Don't most faiths in the world (Christianity, Islam, Judiasim, paganism) recount the creation of man in the His (Her/It's/Fill-in-the-pronoun-of-your-choosing) image, or at least as a natural part and integral part of all that surrounds us?
I don't want to imply that "technology" is automatically good in it's own right. Every person that invents, every person that creates, every person that seeks to advance our understanding and control of the natural world must keep in mind (and bear responsibility for) the consequences of their invention. Because a thing can be done, doesn't mean it should be done. As creators, as inventors, as artists... we must take care that we understand the consequences or our art, lest we accidently play Pygmalion to an unknown and dangerous Galatea.
But as a race, it is not in our nature to remain static. We will, in the course of time, either develop the understanding and technology that will enable us to one day terraform and colonize other worlds... or we will return to the caves and trees of our evolutionary ancestors. |
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| Common Interests |
[Jun. 24th, 2003|03:45 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | content | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Greg Brown - Songs of Innocence and Experience | ] |
I just looked at the LiveJournal.com list of common interests. By the numbers, "sex" ranks above "singing", but just barely. And it ranks well below both "dancing" and "poetry".
This says something lovely about the LJ community. (But if they heard me sing, sex would have outscored singing by quite a bit more!)
"Civilization killed Old Vincent the Ripper. He choked on a concubine."
"Err... I think you mean a cucumber?"
"Yeah! One of those whatsits!"
"There's a big difference in the salad-making department!"
-- Terry Pratchett, from "The Last Hero" |
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| The last thing to emerge from Pandora's box |
[Jun. 24th, 2003|11:37 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  confused | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Madama Butterfly | ] |
My anonymous friend, whoever you are... thank you so much for that reminder. The last thing to emerge from Pandora's box was "hope". (And I am nothing if not hopeful... to the point of stupidity occasionally.)
These are very, very random thoughts... something more coherent later.
Woke up this morning feeling vaugely ill... knowing that it's because of a blow-out that just took place with a certain RHG. (Red-Haired Girl.) Something has gone very, very wrong, and I don't have the foggiest notion of what!
Some things I know to be important:
1) Break the cycle of hurt and retaliation. When struck by someone you care for, it's important to not strike back.
2) Go learn something about depression. (The RHG in question suffers bouts of depression that are black like the center of hell)
3) If I can't figure out something intelligent to do... do nothing at all.
I sat in bed this morning and pondered the people I love... especially the RHG and my girlfriend. The RHG is simply the most all around beautiful person I've ever met.... but my GF is the kindest person I've ever met (and beautiful in her own right), and better at loving me than any other person in the world... and she keeps me from going mad.
I love to write... but this is a *very* strange medium indeed. I feel like I'm writing TO someone... but I don't know who. (And I refuse to write to empty space. It's too much like talking to one's self). Anonymous stranger, whoever you are (and I'm pretty certain you're NOT the RHG... so I can't imagine who you are!), thank you for opening the box.
I really need to get my head straight, and get away from this "wistful" drivel... because there are things that deserve to be written about. Last night, someone accused me of "playing god" because I create machines that (among other things) clone genes. Trust me... there's a rant coming about THAT one!
I'm going to a play tonight ("Proof") that's gotten very good reviews. I'll let you know how it is. And tonight, after the play, I'm going to go home, grab a sword, go out into the night in my back yard, and practice sword by moonlight. I've never been particularly enthralled by firearms... but it's remarkable the way a good blade sings to me when its in my hand.
Stranger... whoever you might be... if you have an LJ and you dare.. show yourself. :-)
Back to work with me. The sky is falling, and it's my turn to prop it up. |
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