centre of the universe - the dreaming

I'm sure you know by now that cenobyte has a flaming hatred of New Year's Eve. cenobyte does not celebrate New Year's by choice on a regular basis. The best New Year's Eve cenobyte ever had was the year she and her husband sat and watched the Tick until all the rum was gone.

The *second best* New Year's Eve cenobyte ever had involved being at the PPM, which was a rave/goth underground club in Saskatoon that, I think, saved my life during those years. That year, my lover and I went to the club, made a point of being in the bathroom at the stroke of midnight, and then returned to dancing.

I don't know if you really want to know all the reasons cenobyte hates New Year's Eve, so instead, I'll point you to one of my favourite stories from the annals of this here bournal. It's from New Year's Eve 2004, and it makes me smile: Assets My Ass.

So whatever you're planning for tonight, wherever you are, I'd like you to spit once for New Year's Eve revellers everywhere. Let the bitter reign down like bits of whale after some particularly stupid highway workers decided to get rid of the beached animal by putting several tons of explosive under its rotting carcass.

Labels: New Year's Eve

I was speaking to my friend, who was acting as my doctor, but my doctor from 1994. She was discussing with me all sorts of health issues, most of which are pretty good, until she shoved my file aside and looked me square in the face.

"Your problem isn't low thyroid. Your thyroid is fine."
"But I did these tests," I say.
"It's not your thyroid."
"Then what the hell is it?"
"You're depressed."
"No I'm not," I protest, although at the edges of my vision, the darkness begins to close in on me.
"Yes, you are. The good news is that there have been many advances in ..."
"No." I rise to my feet.
"I can't just let you go. You could be a danger to yourself or to others."
"You know who's a danger? Bloody drug companies that try to convince people that the biggest problem they have is that they don't feel *happy*. We're not supposed to be *happy*. Things aren't supposed to be all skittles and beer. If you get a moment of happiness in your *entire life* after the age of twelve, you should savour that moment, because it's not supposed to last forever. That's what makes them so precious. If you're particularly lucky, you might get a whole string of happy moments."
"You see? You're proving my point..."
"No!" I shout at her, dropping my accoutrements to the ground. "That's just the thing! It's not supposed to be miserable, either! IT's supposed to just *be*. If you can manage to do the things well and make something good happen for a few people, you're doing a bloody good job of things. What's a danger to myself and others are these huge corporations trying to sell everything from sex to continence to acne remedies. And maybe those three things are all related. Sure, some folks need medication; that's what they want us to believe. Sure, some of these drugs seem to help people. But you don't get to say I'm depressed because I don't have a Pollyanna view of the way things work."
"I wasn't..." she stammered.
"You *were*. Go hock your tawdry wares with someone else. I've seen that darkness; it's covered me before. It took five years of my life. Don't think I don't know when that darkness peeks out from the corners. Those are the days you hang the laundry on the line and open the house to the sun."

Then my children climbed into bed with me. Had they not, I'd have woken angry that some quack of a pysician tried to prescribe antidepressants after having had me in her office for no more than five minutes, and hearing the words "I'm more tired than usual". As it was, I woke to kisses and snuggles and one of those moments you live your whole life to find.

Labels: darkness, dreams, rants

Hope you had a blessed Feast of St. Stephen.

St. Stephen saw and heard all *kinds* of crazy things.

We saw and heard TUO and R:tAG, and even the Angry Redneck and Smarty Pants.

And we feasted, at home, on homemade turkey buns. Nothing like overnight yeast sponge (stop thinking about it *that* way. Sicko.) to make a great couple of dozen buns for transporting turkey to the stomach by way of mastication.

Labels: baking, mastication, St. Stephen

to the tune of "Greensleeves":

What guy is this who deigns to doze
upon my couch is resting
whom children greet with cheers and shrieks
and cats are plainly ignoring?

This, This is cenobyte's Da,
whom cats ignore; the kids' Papa.
This, this is cenobyte's Da
upon the couch is sleeping.

to the tune of "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen"
The cat is in the turkey
my husband's in the rye!
Kids have been viewing kung fu shows
since seven-thirty-five!
The tree's lopsided; the sink's a mess, and the laundry isn't dry!
Oh-oh tie things like ribbon 'round my neck, 'round my neck! Oh-oh tie things like ribbons 'round my neck!

to the tune of "Silent Night"

Eggnog and rum, Cola and rum,
Seven and rum! Juice and rum!
Shots of whiskey; shots of rye.
shots of vodka and glasses of wine.
Sleep in hazy peace;
Sleep in drunken peace.

Merry Christmas everyone. I made some songs for you.

Labels: Christmas, music, rum

I've mentioned this before.

Christmas Eve, to me, is a day for all women. Because, as the story goes, a young woman was labouring, with no women to attend her; alone but for her new husband, a handful of barnyard animals, and the ethereal breath of God.

It is a day to know that you are strong beause you are a woman. In those times of labour, you are profoundly alone, yet at the same time you are joined as you will never be joined in any other way, to a completely separate person. You must give over your body to this powerful movement within you. And while you picture this woman labouring on the road, in a stable, with no midwife and no doula, you also realise it is the perfect scenario.

In some ways, it doesn't matter whether you have women attending you, because when it's time for the birth, it's time, and as a labouring woman, it's your job to allow your body to do what it needs to do; you must willingly give up control of yourself, of your body, and give yourself over entirely to the forces that work around you. It used to be that people worshipped the universal mother, she who creates life.

And this day, I am in awe of her; the mother of God, and I am in awe of mothers everywhere.

Before and beyond all, there is the momentous and mysterious decree, that we were to be saved by "The Child-bearing," Not without the instrumentality of a woman would the Great Almighty God vouchsafe to be made Man, "God sent forth His Son, made of a Woman" through His mother alone partaking of the substance of our flesh ; of a woman vouchsafing to be born, of a woman to be nursed, and in His man's nature cared for, and educated, and ministered unto, by a woman.
-from "Women Labouring in the Lord: a Sermon preached on St. Mary Magdalene's Day, 22 July 1863"

Labels: Christmas Eve, labour, mother

Here's another thing I don't get (welcome to cenobyte's week of mundane revelations): why do folks choose careers they don't like?

Why does it take some guy in a three-thousand dollar suit to tell you to build on your strengths rather than trying to repair your weaknesses?

There are times when you have to take a job in order to make ends meet. Jobs and careers are different...at least, *I* think so. But what really gets me is people who tell me they hate their jobs...folks who are worse off at the end of every day than they were at the beginning of the day. And we are blessed when we find a career that embiggens us. Right?

I love my job. There are times when it is incredibly frustrating, and there are times when I avoid doing what needs to be done. And this is something I don't do very often on my bournal: I rarely talk about my job or my work. Mostly, it doesn't make me comfortable to talk about my career...the actual stuff I do for which I get paid every day. I'm not the sort of person who staunchly draws a line between work life and private life...which is to say, pretty much everyone at my office has met most of my friends, and my co-workers (and some of my board members) have been to my house on more than one occasion. But, and this is going to sound a little weird, even though some of the people I work with do read me, I consider my bournal to be more on the 'private' side of things. Wow. That *is* weird, since this is, inherently, a public forum. Anyway...sorry for the siderail there.

I love my job, and I love my career. I am a writer and an editor, and I get to work with book publishers. That is both what I love to do, and what I *do* do. There are days, like when I've let the bookkeeping slip behind, or when we have six different places to be and only two people to be there, or when things aren't going smootly with our grant applications and reports....those are the times when I want to get in to the office late and leave early. Those are the days I'd rather just cuddle on the couch with The Captain and Sneepy (Yet Another Thing We Call The Nipper).

And there are days when I seriously think about not working in an office anymore and opening a daycare in my home.

But who doesn't? Loving what you do doesn't mean you don't have wonky days. Of *COURSE* you'll have wonky days. I don't think I would stay in a career I wasn't passionate about, honestly. It might mean I'd have to rethink where I live or what I drive or the bad habit I have of buying things at Paderno. But if I was going home angry and stressed every day, every *single day*, I'd be seriosly rethinking my career choice.

On an utterly unrelated note, my bad cat has taken to playing piano.

Labels: bad cat, career, job

It has been my experience (she says, noting that she sounds less like an intolerant prat when she says something like that) that whenever a big box chain store opens up, all the independent stores suffer. They suffer to the point where they close down.

Now, capitalists say this is a good thing. They say "Rah! Rah! Free Enterprise!" They say, "If Mom and Pop can't survive in the world of business, they should get out." They say, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen."

But that's not entirely accurate. Free Enterprise, first of all, assumes that everyone kind of gets the same *chance* to survive. Independent stores don't have huge budgets to throw at advertising; they don't have huge budgets to throw at ginormous stores in overpriced real estate markets. They don't have the kind of liquidity from "head office" to hire real estate speculators and interior designers with MBAs in "where to put stuff", and they don't have liquidity from head office to buy more stock than they know what to do with, or will ever be able to move.

I don't think there is anywhere in the world that has a true "Free Enterprise" system. Somewhere big business doesn't get corporate tax breaks, civic property tax incentives, government buy-outs, etc., etc., etc..

Independents are important, because they provide choice for the market. And what happens when a big box retail store moves in, is that all the "Mom and Pops" end up closing their doors, which means that now, you only have the choice of products offered at the big box retail stores. So if you're looking for locally-grown produce, you're SOL. If you're looking for a book published by a local press, or (often) written by a local person, you're SOL. If you really want to buy bath products made without chemically scents with all natural ingredients, you're SOL. You have to go to the Big Green Store (and most of the stuff in that store is probably not grown or produced in Canada, so you're sending your hard-earned money to Taiwan and Florida and California) or the horrid bookstore where they put Robert Kroestch's The Studhorse Man in the SCIENCE FICTION SECTION, or you're going to the brand-name warehouse store or kitchen/bath focus store and you're looking at hand lotion called "Vanilla Scent" that smells like rancid motor oil.

Losing independents means local producers have nowhere to distribute, sell, and market their own products. It means consumers don't even have the *choice* to support their local producers and industries. It means that the people who suffer most are the people who live in the same area/town/region.

Something else you don't hear about often (but should) is that local independents tend to support local charities, teams, nonprofits, events, and organisations far, FAR more than the big box chains. When was the last time you saw the Superstore™ minor hockey tournament, or the Indigo™ book festival? I can tell you from experience that independents *do* support these things. With more dollars that they can't afford than big box retail.

Independents aren't about the bottom line, usually. Usually the folks involved in independent retail are folks who actually kind of care about what they're doing. At least, that's incredibly true for bookstores and hardware stores and organic/local produce stores.

One more thing. Independents also shell out a hell of a lot more money in advertising dollars to local print (newspapers and magazines), radio, and television stations, and even to local web advertising companies. They contribute more to the local economy, they tend to have less staff turnover (which is a good thing in the long run), they support local producers (part of supporting the local economy, I guess), they tend to have better quality merchandise, and in many cases, a much better selection. Better customer service, and folks more dedicated to their business.

So.

Shop locally. Shop independents. Spend your money where it's going to have the most impact on your own local economy.

Labels: economy, independent retail

Ever since I was wee, for as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be African.

In particular, South African.

My mother, when I was young, when I was very very young, told me about Apartheid, and I always wanted to see this beautiful country that had been rent apart. I desperately wanted that gorgeous, radiant dark brown skin. I wanted to look like those women in their beautiful brightly coloured dresses and turbans. I wanted a throaty, husky voice, and that smooth, intoxicating accent.

I understood that African women were being killed and raped and their children were being torn from them, and their husbands murdered. I understood it was not the sort of place you should want to live. I knew about Nelson Mandela and that he was being persecuted. I knew all that, and still I desperately wanted to be a South African woman. I wanted to dance in the dust of the parched earth with my sisters, the soles of my feet kicking up whorls with every step. I wanted those rhythms and those harmonies; I wanted the spicy scents and the dry, desert heat.

Labels: Wishes

I had a Very Strange experience today that leads me to believe I have crossed the threshold from 'slightly intolerant left-leaning hippie-type" to "rest home fodder".

After a quick jaunt to the bank to make a deposit, and having to wait 20 minutes for the bank to open, even though I was there at a *perfectly respectable hour*, I decided to get some lunch-ish items for work. I went to a grocery store. Nay; I went to the Big Green Store.

Now, I'm sure you know this, but the last time I was in that particular brand of store, I was, as Road Rage puts it "all hepped up on goofballs". Actually, I don't think she's ever said that. I had a "few extra beans in my coffee", if you will. I was out of my gourd on LSD, in other words. *blush* Oh, those crazy 90s, right? Let me just tell you: NEVER DO THAT. [[shudder]]

Okay, so I enter the Megalomart and stand there, agape. There are *no groceries* in this store. Usually when you enter a market or a supermarket even, there is a whole section of produce basically right in front of you (at least, that is the case in all the markets I frequent). OR at least crackers. I have just walked in to a display of tropical plants, buffeted by a display of snow shovels, and confronted with a display of pillows. I begin to walk around. Lightbulbs, caustic chemical cleaning agents, more pillows, towels, dustbins, mops...flatware and silverware, CDs, batteries, electronics...I am beginning to wonder if I'm not in the wrong store. Then I see it. AN ENTIRE WALL OF CHEESE!

"Oh joy!" I think to myself. "Cheese! I love cheese! I'll get cheese for lunch!"

But all the cheese is in pre-cut slices. Or it's a funny colour, like bright orange (not 'cheddar' orange; 'nuclear fallout klaxon' orange, and that's not a normal colour for cheese). I look around again. Pre-packaged food. Sandwiches made on light and fluffy bread the colour of a virgin's breasts, hermetically sealed in stuff that will never break down in nature. The glorious trays of seal meat and shrimp, packaged together with orange hummus (what IS it with orange-coloured food? What in nature is...oh wait. Okay, um. What in nature that isn't a fruit or vegetable is orange? You know what? Never mind the question). Or beige spinach dip (which is guaranteed to taste nothing like the mana from heaven that Snoozy used to make).

I'm dazed; the wind has been knocked out of me by the strange place that I have just walked in to. I envision I feel like those children felt, walking in to Willy Wonka's candy factory. It was marvellous and horrible all at the same time. I was at once terrified and full of wonder. Disgusted and amazed.

And the people! Oh Lord, the people! They were all pushing their carts and scowling and grabbing things and racing to get the next bunch of lettuce because there *clearly* weren't enough bunches of lettuce to go around. The Produce was wayyy the hell and gone at the other end of the store, which made me very confused. And most of the produce was either things like nuts and chocolates or it was rotting fruit and brown vegetables.

I stood and looked at the people picking over fruit grown in Some Other Country far, far away, and I thought, "what a lot of waste". What's going to happen when the food is actually going 'off'? Do they just dump it? Do they give it to the food bank before it goes bad? Because I'm pretty sure that even if every person who lives in this city went to one of the Big Green Stores and bought one apple, there would STILL be too many.

Then I started to think about what would happen if a kid got separated from its parents in there. You wouldn't find each other for WEEKS.

Is it just me, or have these places grown and become more and more annoying? Really. I got seriously freaked out by that place, and by how impersonal it is. The checkout person didn't greet me or thank me or chat me up (do you know how ODD that is?). Nobody said "hello!" in the aisle. They looked at me really funny when I said "Excuse me, please," if I had to walk in front of them.

Labels: grocery shopping, Megalomart, weird

Not in *general*, because pretending *in general* is a good thing.

But specifically, let's just stop pretending either that Christmas is a secular event or that Christmas is not a secular event. Let's get all our horses going in the same direction here, before the waggon spills our flour all over the trail.

Either Christmas is a time of sharing, giving, togetherness, and reflection/meditation/prayer regardless of whether you believe in the Great Heebie Jeebie or not, or if you do, how you worship him/her/it/them, OR Christmas is none of the above and shouldn't be celebrated at all.

Face it. The word "Christmas" has lost its meaning. It's become the Great Hallmark™ Consumer Sales Push, regardless of your religion (or disregard thereof), denomination ($100s won't be accepted because of counterfeit bills in circulation), or culture (whatever's in the fridge that USED to be eggnog. Last year). We all pretend like there's this great love of humanity and love for one another that surfaces during the third week of December for some magical reason, but ultimately, we all know the truth. Behind that forced smile is a cuss word waiting to leap out of your mouth.

I know...I KNOW! I have it too.

So I don't get what the big deal is with people getting all irate if their kid's school does or doesn't mention Jesus or the Menorah or Muhammed or freaking Ras smoking gange on a beach. IT DOESN'T MATTER, people. The only "reason for the season" is to boost the economy. You know it; I know it...the Prime Minister knows it. Everyone knows it. Oh sure, you get all teary-eyed when you watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas, but that's just nostalgia. You're in line with everyone else buying that CD or DVD or fancy pair of underpants.

And there's nothing wrong with it, really. Boosting the economy is a good thing, right? Because if we spend more, the government tells us, the economy will roll over and we'll be out of this recession. That's all it takes. Just one person to buy another fridge magnet that says some derogatory thing about men in the kitchen. It really does matter if you shop, Johnny, because even your five dollars counts!

This is so much easier to sell than 'you should vote because it matters', isn't it? Because there's instant gratification. I know how hollow and pointless your life would have been had you not received a package of razors in your stocking. Folks running the country claiming parliamentary democracy is illegal? Doesn't matter. What matters is that the ten-spot you dropped on flavoured coffee for mum-in-law is going to be packaged up and left under the counter along with the flavoured hot chocolate from last year. The rum always seems to go, though...odd.

The kids *need* to have presents under the tree, otherwise they'll feel left out, or marginalised, or it won't be as much fun. And just remember, when you were little, *you* always had presents under the tree, and we couldn't afford much back then, but we always managed to scrape together enough for a new pair of socks, though what we'd have done if Old Mrs. Murphy up the street hadn't been able to knit them from the remnants of Granddad's ratty old blanket, I don't want to think about. You know, our feet all went cold the year she had a stroke and couldn't purl anymore.

So do it for your country! For the good of your family! For your children's well being! Buy that stir stick with reindeer horns! Shell out some dough for the latest edition of Pretend To Be In A Band software! And wrap it all up in brightly coloured wrapping paper that was made from trees harvested in Canada and sold for less than their market value to mills in other countries who underpay their employees and overprice their products. Because that's what Christmas really means, isn't it? You're not up in arms because your kid's school made wee Arthur sing about baby Jesus. You're not upset because it's so hard to find a good Menorah these days. It hasn't anything to do with the marginalisation (nay, vilification) of Ramadan. It's about how you're pissed off because the asshole in the Dodge stole the parking spot you've been waiting for for two minutes outside the store that just sold the very last one of the latest Whores 'R' Us Bratz™ doll that your sister's new husband's daughter's niece said she'd DIE if she didn't get. Guess you'd better stop at the funeral home to pick out a nice coffin.

So let's just stop the lies. It hasn't anything to do with religion. You know it and I know it. We could debate for hours about how the Christians tagged their own brand of lunacy on to solstice celebrations. We could argue about how **ACTUALLY** the fir trees used to decorate our homes are **ACTUALLY** representations of the boughs of cedar the druids used to use to celebrate being blind drunk in the middle of winter and how the actual reason we light the Menorah has nothing to do with the rededication of temples and pressing olives, but how that tradition was STOLEN from some EVEN OLDER group of worshippers who lit each other on fire because it was so Goddamned cold outside for eight straight days. In fact, we could argue about pretty much anything, but let's just make it easier on ourselves.

This is the shopping season. That's it. That's all there is to it. We call it "Christmas" because it's convenient, and because deep down inside, we like to argue about what it all means. It is the culmination of the 11 months of credit card payments we've been making throughout the rest of the year, and it prepares us for the upcoming 11 months of credit card payments we will continue to make. It is the season that reminds us that we give gifts to make other people feel shitty about not having got you anything; the season of one-upmanship.

So here's to dirt in your eye, my friend.

Merry One-Upmanship Season.

Labels: Christmas, consumerism, dirt in your eye, rants

What I *didn't* mention yesterday was that when I got home from the Spa, I was Feeling Like Ca-rrrap, with the chest congestion and the nasal congestion and the sneezing and the dry eyes and the coughing and the hey-hey-hey-it-hurts-me-lord.

So what's a Good Thing to do when you're under the weather (and around here lately, 'under the weather' means 'beneath the cold and oppressive sting of absolute zero)?

Build a skating rink.

yyyeeeeaaaahhh.

Good news: the cold and oppressive sting of absolute zero has frozen the ice to a depth of four or five inches in the low parts of the yard. Overnight.

Bad news: coupled with the sitting rinkside in Balgonie and cheering on our team (we won; 5-1, and The Captain nearly got two goals on d-line breakaways), I'm coughing up solid bits of what I assume to be my lungs.

Also bad news: soon, I will post the photos of 'stuff that came out of my nose after using a neti pot'. Well. That one's bad news for you. I find it strangely fascinating.

Labels: chest congestion, skating rink

Watch me now - I'm making our skating rink!

Y'all are going to be upset with me. I've been praying for really really really cold weather for about three weeks.

Labels: skating rink, stupid cold

I've heard some rumblings. And the rumblings are coming from folk who're interested in playing "The Game". In case you've forgotten, "The Game" is called Kingdom Come, and it's about fallen angels. We always play on the last Saturday of the month at the Northeast Community Centre, as part of FRAG's Games Days (Flatland Regional Association of Gamers, that is). It costs you fie'bucks to play if you're not a FRAG member; three dollah if you are a FRAG member.

There is a Facebook group set up for the game (Providence), and there is a game blog and game forums. There are no published rules as yet, but if you email me, we can talk over character concepts and game setting.

We would love to have you join the game. Even if you've never played LARP before, give it a wing. It will open your eyes and make you dream. Right, Jenn?

Labels: Kingdom Come, LARP, Providence

Although I am rested, so is my immune system.

Ergo, I have congestion of the ample chest.

Ow.

I'm *pretty sure* rum really helps in situations like these...

Labels: ample chest, rum

I have actually never watched this program, but the idea that it's okay to outlaw civil marriages for gay folk because a) the bible says you can't or b) the purpose of civil marriage is to breed is pretty much just laughable.



"At what age did you choose to not be gay?" That's gold.

Labels: gay marriage

It is a Bad Idea to leave the oil change in your car to four times later than it's 'susposed' to be. For one, the fellows at the oil change place give you that look. You do so too know that look.

Okay, well, if you're a fella, you might not know that look. It kind of goes like this:

Oh. Um. right.

Well, it's that very patronising and annoying "[VISIBLE SIGH]Women drivers...." look.

And it makes me rather peevish, because it has nothing to do with my being a woman. In fact, the only reason I didn't change my own damned oil is because I've nowhere to put the effluent. But, the fact remains I was 20,000 klicks over the 'we really really REALLY recommend you change your oil' point. And I discovered that if you leave it that long, your car begins to sound like a diesel. Which is fine if you're driving a diesel, but not so good if you're driving a gasoline engine.

So.

Oil's changed, spark plugs checked and cleaned, engine flushed, fuel lines flushed, fuel filter changed, air filter changed, new wiper blades (the old ones were shameful), and newspaper read while I waited. My car now sounds like it ought to.

hello.
welcome to my odd theory about part of what's happening in north american economics right now.
i ought to say right at the outset that what makes this different from the mad ramblings of a paranoid schizophrenic is that i fully admit this is somewhat of a crackpot theory postulated by someone who has no formal education nor experience in that of which they speak.

there are a few people who control the oil supply in the world. a handful of relatively obscure, mind-bogglingly rich people. add into that milieu a few ridiculously large corporations. this handful of people get to decide the 'price point', more or less for oil as a commodity. they also, it is rumoured, more or less kaiboshed or delayed development (or at least promotion of development) of alternate energy sources, particularly in the automobile industry. the big auto corporations didn't actually put any energy-efficient or alternate fuel source vehicles on their design block because 'big oil' didn't want them to. 'big oil' wanted to continue to reap capitol gains hand over fist.

big oil kept raising the price of oil. artificially inflated it. why? because they could. and don't fault capitalists/consumerists for wanting to exploit the system that reaps them the most benefit. it's the nature of the model.

eventually, the artificially inflated price of oil began to actually hurt the big auto manufacturers. nobody was buying their big, expensive, inefficient vehicles because nobody could afford to run them. auto companies began laying off its employees. those employees began to not be able to pay their own bills. which added to the already distressing 'credit crunch' (or: "in which folks buy things they can't afford, with money they don't have, and rack up interest they don't understand"). when the auto manufacturers realised that nobody wanted to buy their crappy cars, they went to the government for a 'bailout'. which essentially is giving taxpayers' money to auto companies to subsidise them for the crappy cars none of the taxpayers wanted in the first place.

have you ever read kafka?

as the realisation sunk in that the artificially inflated price of oil was actually harming folks who could more or less control a large part of the consumption of oil, big oil figured they'd give consumers a break for a while to build false confidence in the market.

the crux of what i'm saying is that this 'crash' in commodities and resource markets is entirely manufactured by a handful of extremely wealthy individuals who control massive corporations.

please eat this message as soon as you are finished reading it.

Labels: big oil, conspiracy theories

One of the difficult things to do when you're running a game is to try to balance everyone's interests. It's a classical small-'you' utilitarianism argument, really. As a Storyguide, you do your best to maximise the amount of happiness generated by participation in your story. And so when folks express dissatisfaction with what you're doing, it's very difficult sometimes not to attempt to also minimise unhappiness.

But in a game, that is a mistake.

I think it's a mistake in any endeavour you undertake that involves more people than just yourself. I mean, really, you are responsible for your own happiness. You can choose to participate in what pleases you, and you can choose not to participate in what does not please you. Other people are not *really* responsible for your happiness. And running a game is really no different.

You write a story, a story in which most of the main characters are, as at the time of writing, undefined. You provide a venue for people to unravel the story as they propel it forward. You provide interpretation and adjudication for settling altercations...this last bit is known as 'the rules'. If people like your story, they keep coming to games. But if someone doesn't like something, the temptation is for you to make concessions (so-and-so doesn't like that character, who is an NPC, so if I remove that NPC from the game, so-and-so will be happier, which will increase the general pleasure in he game). It's not a good idea to make concessions (if I remove the NPC from the game, three other people, who are creating plot lines of their own that involve the NPC, will be upset, thus reducing the total pleasure in the game) because, just like in a novel, you need to stay true to your story. If you don't, you do your players (the characters) a disservice, and you do the game itself a disservice.

If a player is upset enough that they come to you as the Storyguide with their issues, you can sit down and talk things over. You can offer suggestions and you can ask for suggestions. I'm certainly not saying you should ignore the unhappiness of your players. I'm saying this is the balance you have to figure out. At what point do you realise that the players aren't enjoying themselves? And at what point do you 'capitulate' and admit that what you're doing isn't working? When one player is unhappy? When four players are unhappy? When most players are happy but one or two would like some subtle changes?

An RPG, and in particular, a LARP is a constantly changing, dynamic, living, breathing creature.
It takes on a life of itself, and that is the most exhilarating part of running a game. Like writing a play, but it doesn't have to end after one act. Or three acts. Or five acts. As long as people enjoy themselves, the play goes on. Like a novel, but with characters that are out of the author's control. Like poetry, but the imagery comes in the characters that the players create, and the realities they make; the power of language comes in the dialogue in which they engage.

But managing a LARP is a little like running a cruise ship, I expect. Some people are going to get seasick. Others have the best time of their lives. And as the captain of the ship, you must decide how many motion sickness bags you're going to provide before you put in to port.

Labels: LARP, sailing

Tell me you remember.

You remember that song by Tom Waits called "Hold On"? You remember there's a lyric in that song ..."With charcoal eyes and Monroe hips..." oh wait. No, that isn't the lyric I'm thinking of. It's the lyric:

He gave her a dimestore watch and a ring made from a spoon
Everyone's looking for someone to blame
"You share my bed you share my name
Well go ahead and call the cops; you don't meet nice girls in coffee shops."
She said "baby I still love you.
Sometimes there's nothing left to do, but you've got to hold on.
Take my hand; stand right here. You gotta hold on."

You don't remember?

Hm.

Well, here's the video to refresh your memory:


Remember a while back I said I wanted a ring made from a spoon? In fact, just yesterday I said that to my saucy co-worker. Well, guess what I found today at Sundog?

That's right. I found a ring made from a spoon. It has made my whole day.

Labels: lips, ring made from a spoon, sauce pocket

Yesterday, I saw someone I'm not fond of. I mentioned to my work buddy, "Gah. There's someone I'm not fond of. I hope that person doesn't recognise me." And really, there's a good chance I would have been able to stay relatively incognito. But then I started thinking 'this is ridiculous. I don't live in fear.'

So I approached the ghost and re-introduced myself, made some small talk, and the ghost went on its merry way.

This is significant for a couple of reasons (I'm in point-form mood lately; please bear with me):
1) There are very few people I dislike. It really takes an awful lot for you to prove to me that you're not worth my time and energy. My ghost managed to do so in eight months, which I think is a record.

2) I've discovered in the last few years that I do, in fact, hold a grudge. But usually not against people who wrong *me*. Usually it's against people who harm someone else. I still hold a bit of a grudge against my ghost...obviously, because my initial reaction was to hide.

3) It proved to me that all the confidence that my ghost stripped away from me over six months or so has grown back. Thank you, family, friends, and career!

I'm hoping tonight to see Road Rage and my BFFFCWPUWMSFY (Best Friend Forever From Childhood Who Put Up With My Shit For Years) whom I haven't seen in seven years. I'm excited about both.

Thanks for the prayers and good mojo and meatballs. I think it's helping.

Labels: BFFFCWPUWMSFY, ghosts, grudges

I'm not good at asking for help. In fact, if I can avoid asking for help when I *really* need it, I will do so at all costs. I'm not talking about "hey, would you please carry this into the house for me?" help. I'm talking about "there's something going on and it's difficult, and I need something. Please." kind of help.

Well, I need help.

But actually I don't. Someone else does. But I'm asking you to help me help someone else. There's this family I know, and they're going through darkness.

How?

If you believe in prayer, please pray.

If you believe in mojo, please send good mojo to them.

If you believe in magic, please weave good energy.

If you believe in nothing, please think good thoughts.

If you believe in the flying spaghetti monster, please send meatballs (I say this, tongue in cheek, not to make light of the situation, but because I want to be inclusive. I know some of you are pastafarians).

I want it all to go away for the family, but I want it to end as well as it can. I want it to be right. I want their path illuminated (preferably in gold leaf, but right now, I'll settle for a the light of a match).

Thank you.

Well, my first reaction to the prorogation of parliament is this:
"Fuck."

My second reaction is a heavy sigh, and more and profound disappointment in our head of state. You know, we should phone the Queen and tell her, "Shit's going down, man. Heavy shit."

Labels: Canadian politics, disappointment, prorogue

When it's a duck.


Now that that's over with, and my day is made, there's also the gender analyzer. It believes cenobyte is a dude. Dude! Dude. Granted, it's only 68% sure of that.

Didja watch the news last night? Didja watch the political leaders talking about why you should be very afraid of the separatists or the Tories, depending on who was talking? I did. I was glued to the television. And you know what I thought?

First, I thought it was odd that Stephen Harper chose to deliver his paranoia-inducing blathering from Casey's treehouse. Second, it was unfortunate that Stephane Dion was forced to film his speech in the rumpus room. What really struck me last night was how different these things are in our country. In the States, f'rinstance, they have a room that's dedicated just to press conferences. It's all blue curtains and wired for sound and kinda made for someone to film the president (or the president-elect...how does that work now, is Barack Obama living in the suite over the garage until Mister Gee moves out?). But in Canada, you're lucky if you get a zero-white balance from the camera guy before the shoot starts. In fact, I'm pretty sure if Batman Jack wanted his address to have been filmed in the loo, his cameraman would have been all too happy to comply.

On to the meat of the issue.

There should be no surprises, after I've outed myself as a pinko socialist (actually, I'm far more red than pink; if you thought the epithet 'pinko' would insult me because it implies that I'm a bit of a leftard, you've sorely missed your mark. The epithet 'pinko' insults me because most of the 'pinkos' I know are far too right-wing), that I was more or less disgusted with what Stephen Harper said, which was a whole bunch of nothing. Not only does the guy not know his Canadian history (or possibly he just conveniently forgot that this is not the "only time in Canadian history" that the opposition party has attempted to form government), but he sat in his Smug Spot and tried to convince Canadians that if the opposition forms government, it will be the End of Canada As We Know It (with all due respect to R.E.M....since Canada's copyright laws are so wonky, I'm not sure if I should be concerned that Michael Stipe is going to come after me with a war baguette or if I should be concerned that absolutely nothing is going to happen). There was nothing in his address that made me say "you know what? I hadn't thought of that. Hmmm." Nothing that would make me even think about considering changing my mind that the possibility of the Tories being ousted is even remotely a Bad Thing. Not one single thing that cast doubt upon the idea that his losing his jaerb is what this country needs. In fact, when he was going on and on about how allowing SEPARATISTS to participate in a coalition government would certainly be the undoing of our nation, I started to laugh. Because he certainly didn't feel that way any of the numerous times he used the Bloc's voting power in parliament to shore up his own agenda. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Stephane Dion's address...well...he obviously looked uncomfortable (which made me wonder, Stephane, why did you choose politics? You kind of always seem to be the guy whose underpants are just a shade too tight). He said what I expected him to say. I wish the network I was watching would have aired the french version of both addresses. He mentioned how Harper and his Tories have steadfastly refused to address the economic crisis looming over our country. He made some promises I don't know if he can keep, and he referred to Stephen Harper in much the same way as many have; calling to question his refusal to actually co-operate with anyone and his insistence in basically being a parliamentary bully whose attempts to squeeze everything he can get out of the parliamentary system are finally coming back to kick him in the arse.

Okay, Stephane Dion didn't say arse. Well, not intentionally. I think he was trying to say something else.

A good friend of mine wrote to me and said, "you don't seriously support the coalition, do you?" And I wrote back with an expression of glee over the sheer anarchy on Parliament hill right now. And he replied with concerns because of what the federal Liberals are doing in Alberta (which is where he lives) and how a handful of his friends had all lost their jobs, and how he fears for his own job. You know what I wrote back? Because I understand that political flux is causing change. I said something like, "I understand why that freaks you out. If there *isn't* a change in government, I'll probably lose *my* job."

There's always going to be oil production. We're living in a resource-based economy. Even if he lost his job (he's an engineer) with the company he's with, I'm *fairly* certain he could find something else. As could I. But it's much, much more difficult when the only people who have respect for the letters after your name are the ones who believe that quality is more important than quantity.

Wow. Got siderailed there. Anyway. If you didn't see the political leaders address the nation, you should go to your Googles and let them do the finding. Then you can do the watching.

Oh. And I'd like to invite you to go read James Laxer's post on the topic. Laxer is an economist and professor of Political Science at York University (thanks to Elder Gamer for the link).

Labels: Canadian politics, coalition government, llamas, Mr. Dressup

So now, the Tories are suspending Parliament and are running a bunch of ads about the SOCIALIST THREAT and SEPARATISTS TRYING TO OVERTHROW THE GOVERNMENT in an attempt to convince Canadians about something. A delay tactic which shows their cards.

I don't know why everyone is in such a tizzy about this. Non-confidence motions and the ability to change the ruling party of government without an election is a tenet of parliamentary democracy. It's what happens when the majority of elected officials feel that the ruling party isn't doing their job properly, and it's a Good Thing. It's why we don't have to put up with folks like George W. Bush for four years at a time. Another nice aspect of parliamentarianism is that an election can be called any time. In fact, in 1974 Trudeau forced an election by introducing a confidence motion with his minority government's budget. He was pretty confident he'd win the resulting election, which he did.

Stephen Harper himself proposed a coalition government with the Bloc Quebecois in 2004, so why are so many people running around, tearing out their hair and gnashing their teeth about the SEPARATIST THREAT? Stephen Harper would have been all too happy in 2004 to OVERTHROW THE GOVERNMENT in partnership with the Bloc and/or anyone else he could find.

Now, it's fairly common knowledge that cenobyte is a bit of a rabble rouser. A bit of a rebel, if you will. Somewhat of a low-key anarchist. Part of my utter giddiness over everything that's happening in the Canadian parliament is just the sheer disorder of it all. I *love* watching Conservative MPs spit vitriolic epithets at the press about the UNDEMOCRATIC SEPARATIST COUP. I love watching Bloc MPs, calm and collected, discussing why replacing the current government is what's best for Canada - not what's best for Quebec, but what's best for Canada. I love hearing Stephane Dion say "Canadians elected 308 members of Parliament in October, not just Stephen Harper". I love watching the slow boil of panic on Parliament Hill.

I don't know what it is. Canada is not a country born of rebellion and war; we've always been a somewhat conciliatory place. Louis Riel stirred things up with his Resistance, and the FLQ. But really, it's not a country that does "things like that". You know, Good Countries Don't.

Check out the Yarn Harlot for a good explanation of how all this works (thanks to Melistress for the link): www.yarnharlot.ca/blog/archives/2008/12/03/what_is_happening_in_canada.html

Labels: anarchy, Canadian politics, coalition government

Forgive my sick fascination with what's happening in our government. On 8th December, our Governor General will have to decide whether Canadians are going back to the polls mere weeks after the last farce of an election, or whether she's going to allow A SOCIALIST COUP OF OUR NEO-FASCIST GOVERNMENT!!!

You know what? It was really, *really* fun to write that. I mean, I don't know that I actually believe that our current government is neo-fascist...or even pico-fascist. In fact, I don't think the Conservatives are fascists at all. I think Stephen Harper is a totalitarian control freak, but, you know, I didn't vote for him or for any of his lackeys.

And you know what else? I've been watching CPAC (yes, I've been watching CPAC), and I just heard an MP say something about how terrible the "Socialist coalition" is. This is nearly as bad as Jerry Springer. Seriously. I'm waiting for Jack Layton to throw a chair at Stephen Harper, and Stephane Dion to cower and scream like a schoolgirl. I just heard another Conservative MP from Alberta refer to the coalition as a 'banana republic', which is HILARIOUS. From Wikipedia:

Banana Republic is a pejorative term for a small country that is politically unstable, dependent on limited agriculture, and ruled by a small, self-elected, wealthy, and corrupt clique.

That pretty much sounds like what we have right now. And has nothing to do with the SOCIALIST THREAT. I'm randomly using all-caps because you should fear socialists. You should fear us like you fear toe fungus and sudden attacks of uncontrollable vomiting. You should fear us because we want to tear down your economic stability and take your money away from you so that we can give it to people who don't deserve it as much as you do because they have mental illness, social challenges, and/or historical inequity.

You should fear socialists because we're all clinically insane. We're all also of substandard intelligence because we simply don't *understand* the *reality* of how federal economics *really work*. And we don't understand human nature.

You should fear me, in particular, because I am a socialist. I want to restrict, nay, take away your freedom. I want to regulate every aspect of your life I want to harm your children by allowing them to be exposed to equal rights for all Canadians, regardless of the shape of their dangly bits, the shade of their skin, or the functionality of their minds. And you know what happens when people go crazy? They all turn into socialists and start typing randomly in all caps.

So many people are whining because the SOCIALIST COUP of the federal government is UNDEMOCRATIC and DANGEROUS because it involves co-operation with PINKOS, LOSERS, and SEPARATISTS. Because "well, *I* didn't vote for any of those three assholes". Well, you know what? The majority of the tiny majority of Canadians who voted in the last farce of an election that was (debatably) illegally called by a fellow who broke several of his own campaign promises immediately after taking office did not vote for the assholes currently in power. The fact of the matter is that what's happening now is the right of the opposition parties. It is a function of the parliamentary system. It is the right of the people who HAVE been elected by the majority of Canadians.

And I'm so damned happy it's happening. It's a bloody shame it had to happen over political parties getting funding from the federal government and not over something more important, but I'm really glad the straw has broken the camel's back. Because really, you should only allow someone to beat the crap out of you for so long before you take a stand.

I also think it's unfortunate that it's not Batman Jack who's going to be our interim Prime Minister, since I think he's better able to handle it than Stephane Dion. However, I have a little something for Monsieur Dion and Batman Jack:

Labels: Canadian politics, coalition government, SOCIALIST THREAT

So....let me get this straight.

You wouldn't stand up for the people of Canada when the government was talking about taking money away from programs that make life better for everyone in the country. And you wouldn't stand up for the people of Canada when the government was talking about cutting funding for the national food inspection agency. And you wouldn't stand up for Canada when the government decided to take money away from a newly-emerging economic powerhouse. But you'll stand up for the "people of Canada" when the government decides to take money away from you?

That's classy, Grits. That's REAL classy.

Labels: Canadian politics, coalition government