Money Driven

Apparently it's National Blog Post Writing Month. Seems pretty easy. And I, unlike the many lazy bloggers cluttering up the internet, will be finished well before November 30th. So here you go... Streimikes inspired by NBPWM. Perhaps you can look forward to another blog post next November!

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A few weeks ago I listened to an NPR story about kids from a Lakota reservation being taken by South Dakota state child welfare workers and placed in foster care. This was a common practice in the old days. Native kids would be restricted from practicing their religion, have their heads shaved, and were generally forced to assimilate. But things changed. The Indian Child Welfare Act was passed and there are federal regulations now about taking children from tribes. But this NPR reporter had dug up some profoundly disturbing things about what was happening in the Lakota Nation. In South Dakota, children were still being regularly taken away from the reservation. They weren't being placed with relatives or other Indian families. And there seemed to be very little communication or cooperation with the local tribal authorities about what was happening.

The journalist found out that the State of Dakota was getting millions of dollars every year from the federal government to help subsidize these placements. Federal matching funds are used to help pay for the very expensive foster care system. And every native kid was classified as "special needs" simply due to their race. That meant additional revenues for the state. The reporter also found former officials willing to testify that there was corruption. These officials went on record to say that South Dakota is a very poor state... and that the millions of dollars that were streaming in to pay for these programs meant valuable jobs for an industry-poor region.

The story went on to talk about one family's fight to get their children back, and about a plucky lawyer willing to fight the state government's unwritten policies. But mostly, it was just a sad story about what happens when money trumps humanity.

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Naturally, this made me think of dentists. I have been amazed by the pressure all dentists seem to exert regarding night guards. It's not that I think night guards are a bad idea. It just seems preposterous to pay $500 for one. People have argued that they have to cost this much because they are molded perfectly to your mouth. But the $5 athletic mouth guards that I wear playing softball are also form-fitted. I heat up the new mouth guard over steam until it's pliable, then put it into my mouth and bite down on the softened plastic. It cools and hardens in the exact shape my mouth requires. This amazing technology costs peanuts... and yet dentists push the $500 night guards on everyone. I have never heard a dentist suggest the $5 version to a low-income client... and I've overheard a lot of conversations between my dentists and the other patients sitting ten feet to my left or right.

Recently I got my first crown. I decided that I trusted the dentist's word. He said that I needed it to avoid a future root canal. But it really bothered me that between my insurance and me, I paid over $1200 for a procedure that took the dentist about an hour. To be fair, it also seemed to require about 50 cents worth of porcelain. Given the profitability of this procedure, what would stop dentists from prescribing crowns to almost every person that walked in... regardless of how necessary or helpful they would be? Why should I believe that money isn't trumping humanity here as well?

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This line of thinking made me want to call that NPR reporter... But not because I want him to investigate dentists and the corrupt night guard and crown manufacturing industries. I've decided that everyone knows dentists are evil. That would just be beating a dead horse.

The story I want cracked involves the strange rates of emergency c-sections being performed on immigrant and refugee women. C-sections are a legitimate procedure when natural child birth is not an option. And there can be all sorts of reasons for this... but being an immigrant is not one of them. In my job I see a great many women (women who have already successfully given birth many times!) ordered to get c-sections. There is usually no justification given to these clients... just a doctor's recommendation.

A quick bit of research found this study from the State of New Hampshire. Here's a money quote: "The rate of c-sections nationally has increased 53 percent between 1996 and 2007, to an average rate of 32 percent. There is no consensus about the short and long term benefits and risks to the mother and infant, and even though c-sections are performed routinely, many patients do not realize that the procedure involves major abdominal surgery and is associated with surgical complications and maternal readmissions. C-section provider charges and payments are often substantially higher than for vaginal deliveries, increasing medical care costs to the patient, the insurer, and they health care system in general."

Has the birthing process also succumbed to the same level of greed that child welfare and dentistry have?! And should I fight this? Should I be fighting this trend in my work as a social worker and advocate for vulnerable refugee women in south Seattle?

And so the World Must be Remade

As I wrote over at the Little Spark blog, it's the end of an era. Shortly after my last blog post on November 10th, my five-year romantic relationship with Olaiya ended. A week later I announced this momentous change to the universe by updating my Facebook status. The world has come undone, so the world must be remade.

The last two months have been spent thinking about what stays and what blows. I find myself lacking so much and wondering how to replace what's been lost, and about how to staunch the bleeding after half my identity has been ripped away. But the process has come with surprising clarity. I knew I needed to reorder my space (my apartment and my head.) I knew I needed to reconnect with things that I'd lost along the way. I needed to remember laughter at dinner parties and game nights, art projects, exercise, music, and what it feels like to have a good day at work. I built myself a new bed frame. I scoured craigslist for comfortable chairs and found coffee mugs at Value Village. I reached out for help from old friends and found it easily given and comforting.

I remembered this blog... and how, despite being on life support, it's actually older than my relationship with Olaiya. And it is something that I wish to return to. But to do that, I think I have to examine the roots and the trunk of this old tree. I don't want to breath life into new branches or paint vibrant Spring leaves until I'm satisfied with what's already here.

So my next project, self-indulgent though it may be, will be to go back and reread every Stave It Off entry, eliminating the boring, the unworthy, the pointless. I know there are posts that I'm proud of and I will leave those standing, but I may have also written a post or two about what I was intending to have for lunch that day. Those must die. I don't know if the urge to write will return in earnest, but I know what it feels like when your house is out of order... how impossible it feels to do anything when you don't even know if you own a can-opener anymore. It feels good and necessary when you buy that new can-opener. I spent a half hour picking it out after looking at four different models. If nothing else happened that day, I know that I took that small step in remaking my world.

Just as I have redesigned my apartment to match my tastes and my needs, so I will reorder my online diary. Maybe I'll repost old favorites to Facebook in the hopes that a reader or two will also enjoy the fruits of this exercise.

Thanks Jim

The last blogger standing has elected not to turn off the lights, but to shine a little instead.

Yojimbo, who writes Lets Not Talk About Movies, never flinched as the casual blogosphere meekly acquiesced to a nation drunk on Facebook. Defective Yeti hasn't posted in a month and missed all of April. Last Plane to Jakarta has downgraded from fever pitch to just tepid. And I've had to delete the links to all of my friends' dead blogs. But as so many of us gave up the rigors of weekly posts, sculpted essays and original thought, Jim continued to write at a faster pace than I can read. He has developed a loyal following and has even received sponsorship offers. LNTAM continues to blossom and I couldn't be happier for its meticulous curator.

So I was pleasantly surprised when he gifted me an ice cream sundae worth of praise. Thank you for honoring me as one of your "versatile blogger" award recipients Jim. I suppose I am the "very definition of versatile." It's a blessing and a curse. I often berate myself: "If only I could care more about a single topic, I could really get somewhere." Then I think on the long-standing success of Orangette, and the new-found success of LNTAM, and feel a welling of self-pity. These writers bring nuance to their observations that can only come when a person has dedicated a lifetime to their chosen topic. Woe to the ADD writers of the world! Woe to us that must hunt our topics the way pigs snuffle for truffles.

Perhaps Facebook will suffer a backlash. Perhaps I'll find inspiration to start writing in a new vein. Perhaps someone will leave the perfect comment that spurs me on. But more likely, I'll continue with Stave It Off at my own churlish pace, stubbornly insisting that I write for an audience of one: My own future self who will someday look back on these posts and smile.


PS Not sure why, but I hate being known as the guy that posts gnarly-looking sports injuries. It represents about 5% of my posts, and ought to only count as 5% of my blogger persona... but for most people it seems to be the most impactful thing on Stave It Off... which makes me sort of sad.

Blogging about Blogging and What I Had for Lunch

Updating Stave It Off has become embarrassingly erratic. I'm having a creative crisis when it comes to determining what should be considered worthwhile content. I've long refused to write about the minutia of my day or even give voice to the sorts of "random thoughts" posts I once indulged twice a week. Sadly, having higher standards seems to have resulted in only posting once or twice a month. It's only rarely that I feel like fleshing out a full-fledged essay (or bothering to play with alliteration in a sentence.) And even if I'm playing more guitar these days, I'm not exactly planning to post a new song each week.

I could fill these pages with the news that yesterday was very sunny, and I played tennis for the first time this year. I could comment that I'm preparing to brew my own beer (I'm in a bottle gathering stage - collecting five gallons worth of resealable "flip-top" bottles.) I could tell you that I'm excited about the onset of softball season. I could babble on and on about how nervous I am about the prospect of trying to buy a house this year.

Or I could post links to cool videos and let YouTube do my job:



Soapy says he already posted this last summer, but I discovered its glory last night.
Also, I had the vegan chicken salad from Madison Market and a multi-grain roll for lunch today.

But frankly, I'm my own most consistent reader, and I bore myself when I write about these things.

Oh Yeah, I Still Have a Blog

Sorry about the lack of content lately. I've been all wrapped up in playing fantasy baseball. This is something that I've avoided for the last three years because of how addictive it is. I used to spend my afternoons refreshing ESPN.com updates on every game being played, looking at how all of my players were doing. It was worse than crack. So I walked away and vowed never to return.

But a funny thing happened this year. I started getting very involved with a blog called Lookout Landing. We actually get together and play softball, whiffleball and football year round. We meet up at the bar occasionally to drink beer and have developed some nice friendships. Some of those guys invited all the Lookout Landing regulars to play in a fantasy baseball league. Next thing I knew, I was signed up for three different teams!

So... the official baseball season actually began two days ago. The Oakland Athletics and the Boston Redsox opened the season by playing a two-game series in Japan. The rest of the regular season doesn't start for another week or so. This was just an exhibition thing. Guess who was up at 3:00am this morning to catch some of the game live (I had to see how Rich Harden was pitching, since he's on two of my fantasy baseball teams.)

Luckily, I'm fully aware of how cracked out this behavior is (and OMG I'm tired today.) I'm hoping that no intervention is necessary. If I decide to completely abandon Stave It Off, or start only writing about fantasy baseball, someone please punch me. Mebbe I can chalk it up to how much I just love baseball.

BTW, Olaiya is playing on my softball team this year! That totally rocks. I always wanted to date a softball player.

People More Talented Than I

Irish Molly's step-da Greg has posted a very stylish little website showing off his drawerings. Click on the sample to load up his page, then click on "The Daily Drawings" to be wowed. So far, he's talking about printing a book, but I have no idea if he's selling anything.




Meanwhile, Olaiya's almost step-da Brian is sharing his art on his own new blog,
The Art of Being Brian. Both are inspiring.

Movies, for Real Dude

Our very own Yojimbo is attempting a foray into the world of "real blogging"... This is when you pick a topic you actually know something about and just write on that subject. Pretty soon people will come to your blog in droves and then you get the lucrative book deals... followed by the babes, the money and the sportscars.

The new project (to which I've been invited to contribute!) is called Let's Not Talk About Movies and I hope you'll check it out. The content will largely be straight movie reviews. Though I'm sure Jim will publish occasional reflections on the industry as a whole. There's also a link to a review index under the heading "Looking for a Movie" which will let you see all the films of which he's posting original reviews.

Non-Sequitur

A few months ago, as an experiment in "random noise humor", I asked the posters over at Lookout Landing to indulge in a "non-sequitur only" conversation thread. There was a healthy response, and some fun reading that came out of it. You can see the results here.

A couple of things stood out to me... first: it's damn hard to make truly random responses. Most attempts at random thought generation are actually based on abstract (or hidden) neural connections. If I say "angry" and you reply "popsicle" it may sound random, but there's probably a connection in that grubby little mind of yours. Sometimes these hidden connections reveal something about the writer... sometimes they reveal something about how the reader fills in the gap. Either way can be entertaining from a psychological perspective. Sometimes the most humorous posts are the ones where a secret meaning emerges purely by accident. This can be entertaining in the same way that the Garfield Randomizer is. I wish there were more venues to continue this kind of experiment.

Secondly, I encountered this graphic, which was posted as a non-sequitur response to a previous post, but also includes an attempt at absurdist humor based on a non-sequitur within it. I've been ruminating on this cartoon far too much over the last month so I need to write about it.


This brought to mind an old routine by George Carlin. He once said that anything was funny, even rape. To prove his point he told his audience to picture Bugs Bunny raping Elmer Fudd. You were supposed to laugh. You were supposed to concede the point. The problem, for me, was that Carlin's routine wasn't actually funny. He didn't prove anything.

Now to my confession... When I first read this cartoon I contorted with laughter. In fact, I revisited it the next day and LOL again. How is it that this four panel cartoon succeeded where George Carlin failed? My conjecture is that the humor in this cartoon has nothing to do with actual rape (unlike the Carlin bit) but instead relies on shocking the reader with massive changes of tone. To begin with, Doug (a Nickelodeon cartoon about a sixth grader) should never be talking about date rape. This juxtaposition alone is like much of the humor found at the Garfield Randomizer site I linked to above (where Family Circus characters are made to quote HP Lovecraft.) But it's the final panel that hits hardest: when we are suddenly pulled back into the typically goofy cartoon world after reading through a scene involving serious emotional gravity. It may actually be the beads of sweat on Doug's brow that sells this cartoon more than anything else. It's those drops of sweat that reinforce that this isn't just a random panel mashup... Doug is still freaking out, but Doug's friend has suddenly reverted to 6th grade shenanigans.

So... is it funny? If it is, does that mean that rape can be funny? Or can I rest assured that rape is still unfunny, and this cartoon cracks me up for other reasons?

Becoming More "Real"

My virtual world and my real world collided this past weekend.

I spend a lot of time over at Lookout Landing... a Seattle Mariners baseball blog. Recently, a poster over there started organizing a softball game for regular readers. Naturally, I jumped all over that. My softball season ended a couple of weeks ago (with more of a whimper this year than a bang) and I miss playing.

When the day came, I stuffed my backpack with essentials: batting gloves, mouthguard, mitt, cup, and as many Henry Weinhards as I could carry. I walked over to Garfield at 23rd and Cherry and found a rugged, athletic bunch of computer geeks all getting warmed up. I had never met any of these folks before (actually I had met Phil down in Portland several years ago, but that hardly counts) and I wasn't sure how things were going to go down. I figured out who a few people were by their screen names, but I was basically lost in a sea of virtual community suddenly materialized.

I gazed around the field, instantly spotting the guy who claimed to be "as tall as two men" on the blog. He was actually only about 6'8" but I could see his point. Overall, they were a younger lot than I expected, with many minors in the crowd. And they seemed to be a mixed bag of those who actually played baseball, and others who just liked watching baseball.

Then a weird thing happened. Chas, the guy who started the idea over at Lookout Landing, called everyone in and said we should pick teams. Immediately, a sense of dread overwhelmed me as I replayed all those cliches about establishing schoolyard pecking-orders in my mind. This group was pretty clearly mixed in terms of jocks and geeks and I worried about who was going to get picked last. Someone else said, "Let the two biggest guys be captains," referring to me and the "tall as two men" guy. This gave me an opportunity to do something different. I immediately suggested that since we didn't really know each other (and I didn't want to wind up taking the scrawniest-looking guy last,) that I would just take all the guys to my right, and the other half would "go with Paul Bunyan over there."

From that point on, everything was very cool. When it was obvious that they had a bit more talent on their team, they suggested a trade of one of their big hitters for one of our average guys to even things out. We also agreed on no walks and no strikeouts to prevent anyone from feeling bad. Of course, this backfired when one guy swung and missed about 30 times in an excruciating at bat. Again, friendliness prevailed as no one gave him a hard time. Experienced players gave him some encouraging words... and when he finally hit the ball (and beat out a basehit) everyone cheered. It was awesome to see jocks being cool to geeks. I guess that happens once you're out of the school environment.

I was pretty jazzed about the game this whole weekend. I posted a bunch of photos over on the Lookout Landing blog, and I'm hoping we play again soon. I don't participate in many virtual communities, other than Walaka's informal blog ring... so this was a surprising turn of events. I don't know if other people have had the experience of actually meeting their virtual communities, but I recommend it highly.


Doing what I love the most.

Oh, what a crappy fan am I

Not only have I not been posting much, I haven't been reading/watching stuff either. I just went to Ze Frank's site today thinking I'd check back in on his video blog... maybe watch the last week's worth of episodes.

I was shocked to discover that the project has been terminated. He finished his one year vlogging project on St. Patrick's Day. So I watched the last 6 installments that he did and cried a little at the awesomeness. I cannot even fathom galvanizing a community the way that he did. I'll miss having The Show, even if I sometimes went a month between check-ins. Sigh.

Comcast Bombast Cockmask

Cableman come, internets werk good.
Cableman leave, internets not werk so good no more.

Apartment man call cable company and complain.
Cable company give area around bush good beating but no solve problem.

Three tries later, cable man come again and fix internets.
Also give man free extra channels again.
Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart make apartment man happy.
Now that internets werk again,
fewer excuses for neglecting apartment man's blog.

Blog Insecurity

Last Plane to Jakarta is halfway through publishing 30 poems about his favorite Black Metal Band (all of which are better than anything I've ever written.) Defective Yeti is serializing his progress as he finally wades through all 500+ pages of Moby Dick. And Tormented By Demons recently implied that I never finish anything, other than an occasional critique.

The blogosphere is collectively telling me that I must embark on some meaningful project!

But, lacking inspiration right now, WTF shall I do? Lately I've been squandering my time maniacally scrambling to finish a videogame that I started a month ago. I can't believe I haven't beaten the damn thing so that I can delete it and never think about it again... It's just so colossally huge, and breathtakingly realized. Stupid Oblivion game... Thinks it's so tough... I'm going to kick its ass, and then I'll go start some mindbogglingly ambitious, blog-documented project that'll blow everyone's socks off. Yeah, that's exactly what I'll do.

I'm just not sure what it'll be yet. One possible wisp of inspiration: my mum and da just sent me another surprisingly generous present... a digital video camera! Now I just have to figure out how to use it, get a firewire port for my computer, and learn how to import, edit, record sound over, and export my home movie as an .avi or .mpeg, and then learn how to post on YouTube! Simple as pie.

Added 50 pixels of width

To celebrate the extra wide, here are lyrics to Binary Star's battle rap opus: KGB
(Just because there's one line about "wider" being "better".)

[Malaki]
The KGB make this stage twice as dangerous as these streets
Malaki and Binary form all these spontaneous beats
Formed the lyrically elite, piece to the conquistador beats
When we unsheathe the swords and the One Man Army brings beats to boards
We tell you angrious beats, defy your atheist beliefs
Malaki could get a crowd of paraplegics outta their seats
When I strangle the mic, I mangle your ass slow and painfully
Be thankful you still alive while the faithfully by the frames catch records eye
You choose to live dangerously - tangle with me
You can hang out make Jack the Ripper look like your guardian angel
Anger me, I give you enough light cable to hang yourself
Place your name on the waitin list for hell with the rest of the cel gangsters
And gashes on your back with the lashes with the mic cord
Warlords, storm stages making lightstands by bombs
and all em dogs on Crylon cans meet my demands
Or you'll have the Michigan mic masses to roll your ass

[Senim Silla]
Bio-hazardous agent on Sillas airborne
Infectuous rhyme lectures spit quick and effective
Dangerous, lethal languages of slang I kill Murder he wrote,
an assassin would remain my skill
Senims a rough son of a gun keep razors under my tongue
Strike with enough force to puncture a lung
Im lyrically harmful, literally speaking
Emcees Im browbeatin, demeanin and ill treatin
Get introduced to mines and meet your demise
I despise rap guys and all they whack ties
Cause in my eyes, all men are not considered equal
Especially if you ain't one of Binary's people

[Texture]
I'm what you asking for I'll give you that plus a classic more
Hand delivery, verbal total package raw
The mental matador Mic heavyweights to shake the planet core with one verse
Got you thinking, 'Yo cancel the war' You flirtin' with death
Better off dancing with wolves
Or stab yourself in your vocal chords with cancerous swords
After this track, I hit the streets recruiting new thugs
'Cause we got your squad holding hands in group hugs
The die harders and orbits like a monster in your closet
Challenging us is like playing a opossum with the carcus
You could never win. Hopin' your DJ specialize in medicine
'Cause the athletic army conquers and divides your regiment
The MI residence is known for talkin' shit
Got my reputation ripping in the heart of the mint
A fortunate gift Bent lies that'll force you to quit
Drop the mic and have you writing for the source or some shit

[Elzhi]
These niggas backstab like they Benedict
Drag they face in the mud til they mouth looks like they bit a brick
Butts like magnificent seven on horseback
Unsigned but find my rap portables in a source ma-
gazine for fiends who fiend for guillotine sword stat
My tongue is a stinger, my brain is a stun gun
Its deadly as the one you put your thumbs on
And squeeze from the bottom
With fatigues but I'm high in the trees so high I can breath on a falcon
Jump down, sneak up on a emcee from the rear
A predator with the literature It shows through my signature
Deliver more digits for your click Whats even more sick is I'm a visitor
And plus they be diggin more Scopin the perimeter
Sink within the floor Terminator 2, split your brain in two
While you snore Keep sleepin, my train of thought is heat seekin
Facing your squad like drippin' ink from a pen and adding Clorox
Murder emcees and leave my fingerprints on doorknobs
The court finds me guilty, might be different in the Lord's eyes
An evil genius, I play your villain in a movie
Fingertips touch the cylin from the refillin of the uzi
And its bloodsport open up my mouth and watch those slugs walk gracefully
Where your head reside is now a vacancy
Elzhi on, cut the head of a python, with a butcher knife long
When I die I want my third eye born

[O-Type Star]
A sip of liquor, the flow take it with sensational wool and skin like brass
The gravitational pull of two stars that's rotatin like space
Vinyl had me on the train like Lionel Richie
Broke then rich again, Illinois to Michigan
Spartan conditions I wont bitch but switch again
Style like tracks to smack who cant stab me
I build excitement like Pontiac Grand Prix
Wider is better, Iller is deffer
Im trying to count zeros and hoes like Hugh Hefner
The O-B-A-F-G-K-M My squad all stars, suckas we slave them
O type Star I blew spots when I said things
My thoughts take flight like black hawks with red wings
I'm slicka then a oil refinery
I hit your whole system when I shine with the Binary

[Lacks]
And I'm in the presence of perfection I could give a fuck about you lyin
Saying your style is free when its tense like Les Nesman
A freshman at this game but we trying to graduate
I blow minds but you be blowin funk from the last ass you ate
Now let me ask you straight before I start trippin,
Is it me or does something about your lines sound like Nas cause it was bitten
Your motor skill is outright and meanin to act faster
I hump rhythms while you couldn't Poke a Tone with Trackmaster
The rap bastard without Wu-Tang. Though, realistically most males are
The differences is I don't judge my manhood by what my sales are
If its about the boldest , Im the most out coldest since winter
To make you stop the tape and 'Inspec-tha Deck'
like you down with the RZA nigga
So I advise you to remember your roles
And tell your crew if they got beef, then I can bring the dinner rolls
Over federoles with swing snares and fat drum kits
I sing sweet soliloquies of souls and hold up chicks
I mean chickens runnin off in chickens like beastiality
And for any nigga that want it
I drop the beat for you to battle me
Accepted the proof at your expense,
I be the shit
Squeezin squares into little pieces like cheese nips

[OneManArmy]
A whack emcee is something I could never be
That's like growing dreadlocks while you taking chemotherapy
Theoretically pen and paper is the recipe
Alphabetically I'm coming after you like the letter V
If you ever step to me, the worst is yet to come
You'll never get the best of me
Call it like a referee Call it destiny, check the melody
Break the law of gravity And lyrically catch a felony
I make it harder for the next emcee that's my specialty
Rappers better be tryin ta rap ahead of me I'm a hard act to follow
I could prove it medically I'm sick in the head
I could move a crowd with mental telepathy
Expect nothing less of me, top pedigree
Rap assassin, blastin'with syllable weaponry
Shoot the sheriff then the deputy Don't be testin' me
Whoever think they fat can get the Dick Gregory

[J.U.I.C.E.]
Its countless how many rappers over vinyl we scar
I jus rotate and dislocate your spine if we spar
Even freestyle in French when I'm rhyming abroad
Im in the party rhymin off Bacardi lime and cigars
I rattle rappers, and battle rappers trying to be hard
Rap is black jack and JUICE is like a primary card
You secondary, that's why you gotta rhyme with a squad
But genetically our niggas is designed to be flawed
Yesterday I spit game at your dame and she paused
To let me see a thick frame and outline it with drawers
So the chance you been looking for is finally yours
But see Im deadlier than havin cyanide in your pores
I spin a rhyme, my hand is intertwined with the cord
Slowly the mic is ripped to bits, my dynasty tours
Big JUICE when signin off with the Binary Stars
The only person who could kick a doper line would be God

Computer Upgrades

Just before blowing $150 on illegal car-parking, I blew a similar amount on new RAM for my desktop. A couple of half-gig, DR400, 2CL sticks ran me $140 at the local hardware store. Upgrading from 256MB of ram to a gigabyte makes an amazing difference.


I also decided to follow the advice of practically everyone and install Mozilla's Firefox. I'm going to testdrive it by surfing for as much porn as possible over the next two weeks to see if I can infect it with something wicked. There can be no greater challenge for a browser than to sully itself in the dark waters of online porn and emerge VD free. If it passes that test, I'll consider switching for all my important browsing as well.

Audio Hosting

Perhaps the solution to this audio hosting problem is to go the old-fashioned route. So I'm trying an experiment. Though limited to 26 megs or so, my free web-page from Comcast allows me to host any type of file I want. Using their new Web Utilities for Dummies toolkit, I uploaded a self-produced music file.

Hopefully clicking THIS will stream an instrumental song to your 'puter. The tune is an homage to Roy Montgomery.

I promise, just like my comic strip and other artistic ventures, I'll put up a couple of things and then the novelty will wear off and I'll quit.
_Music

A Couple of Stylistic Changes 'Round Here

Hey, I figured out (ala Walter's blog) how to get rid of that Blogger Navbar up at the top! I also kicked off the "Powered by eBlogger" button. Now I'm ad-free... A condition almost as relieving as being lice-free or scabies-free.

Now if only I could figure out where to get free audio hosting so that I could post links to selected sound bytes. I've heard of some places, but they either seem very band-oriented or designed for lazy bloggers who want to (literally) phone it in. Instead, I'm looking to put up mp3s of original sounds (not necessarily musical) that I record on my own equipment... and I'm having trouble finding that service. Anyone have any ideas?

Monday's Weekly Musings

My toes are still purple. The bruising isn't clearing up nearly as fast as last time. Yesterday I bought a couple of ankle braces. Once all the swelling goes away maybe I'll be able to squeeze into them. Should make playing basketball; balancing on a rolling, half-submerged log; bar-hopping with Clay; and walking down the street far safer.

Went to see Good Night and Good Luck with Erik. No real review here... just saying that it did successfully fill me with nostalgia for the days when our talking heads could actually compose a speech. I remember reading somewhere that neither side in the Bush v. Gore debates ever spoke above a 4th grade level. But, the film bombs when it comes to emotionally connecting with it's cast. When a prominent character commits suicide, I just thought, "Well, it's about time."
_Cinema _Bodily Injury

Someone Else Pays Homage

Just imagine... my site could have looked like this.

FAQ YOU

In an effort to avoid answering explanatory questions, and to practice creating a post, here are a couple of explanations...

What does Stave it off 1, 2, 3 mean?

To what does the 3030 in my name refer?

As for the "bai" in my name, it means white in Chinese
and leaf in Thai...
but my usage is intended to be from the Sanskrit meaning "servant" and is a homophone with "bhai", meaning brother.
But it also refers to water or the god Varuna...
whose name has been given to the so-called Planet X
of our solar system.