Said and Done

I heartily recommend that you never go
through a miscarriage. Ever.

Let me put this into perspective for
you.

When I was 9 years old, and my mother
sat me down one day in the summer and said, “Son, I am taking your
sister and we are moving out. You are going to stay here with Daddy.
We're getting a divorce. That means we're not going to live
together anymore. Your sister and I are leaving.” I sat there at
the kitchen table and thought, “Well, at least all the shouting and
throwing things will stop.” And I felt that having your mother
leaving you was as bad as it could get.

And, a year later during the divorce
proceedings as I sat in the courtroom listening to my parents scream
out every slight and sin that passed between them as they fought for
custody of my sister I thought things had made it to a new low. But,
when the judge announced he would not separate the children the
argument changed from who got my sister to who had to take me I knew
I'd made it to the lowest point life would get.

Then when I watched a woman who was
more of a mother to me than mine die by inches over the course of a
year, I figured I had it whipped. That this was as bad as it was
going to get.

Then the miscarriage started on Monday.
And I knew I was wrong. It can always get worse. You don't think
it will mean much to you, a little bump of flesh. It didn't even
have a name.

But it does matter.

It does mean something. And you feel
so helpless and guilty all at once. That maybe there was something
you could have done. Something you should have thought of. That secretly, this was all your fault. But there isn't. Isn't anything you can do. Nothing you can say.
Except hold your wife while she fountains out blood for seven hours,
and listen to the doctor say, “Yeah, that's normal.” and “Oh,
yeah! Make sure you catch her when she faints.”

It rips you up inside like some tired
old napkin that's been used too much and just flakes away. And no
matter how much you dab at the stain on your shirt, it just leaves
small pieces like a trail across the landscape and doesn't take care
of what you needed it to do. Until, too quickly, you're left with a
useless mass of wet that can't do anything.

But sit on the edge of the bed and
silently cry. Because it's 5 in the morning and the pills have cut
the pain enough that she can sleep and you don't want to wake her up. And you do your damnedest to not think about what you pulled out of her and flushed away.

So, when I tell you this is the worst
thing- believe me.

It is.

Never Was?

So, as most of you know my wife reported she was pregnant about two months ago. We have been trying for kids for some time now. And, by trying I pretty much mean we stopped using birth control awhile ago and didn’t worry about it.

And, after the better part of a decade we thought it was never going to happen. All the women of her generation on both sides of her family have had trouble conceiving. We had even started to look at adoption. Until recently. With the pee stick giving us the good news, we have been smiling and happy in a way we didn’t know we could be happy. I pride myself on always being able to find the words for things. To be able to say, ‘it was like eating the best meal your mother ever made.’ or ‘it was like being told you were not only the great at your job, but the very best at what you do’ or 'congratulations, you have achieved the highest score in the history of mankind. You are the smartest person ever.’ It was a sense of accomplishment. But it was more than that. It was exciting, exhilarating, and any other ex word you want to use. All that and more.
And, it was one of the few times in my life my father was actively engaged in what was going on. He called every few days to see how we are doing. He actually called my wife’s phone after we were supposed to be out of a doctor’s appointment. He’s never called her before. Ever.
I had a sublime sense of completion while at the same time being dizzyingly overwhelmed.
Have you noticed I’m using the past tense yet?
Because this week we got some bad news from the doctor. My wife’s progesterone levels are falling. Not low, but falling. And that more than likely means it is a non-viable pregnancy. Which is not to say she’s had a miscarriage. Not yet anyway. But her levels are falling, when they should be rising. But she's still getting morning sickness. She's not having any cramping. Or any of the other signs of a miscarriage. So, we still have hope.
But then, hope was one of the things inside Pandora's Box, wasn't it? You know, the thing that contained all the evils that prey upon mankind. That box. Hope is just the paper mâché mask of despair. You hope tomorrow will change because today is terrible. You hope that things will be different because you do not know how much more you can bear. Yeah, that hope.

We tell ourselves that it's nature taking care of things. That if this is happening so early, it was never meant to be. That it doesn't have eyes. Or a brain. That it will never have a broken heart. Or fall in love. You tell each other that it is for the best. That there is always tomorrow. That things can change.

But it doesn't help.

Not one bit.

Oslo People

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So, I heard back from the Oslo people.

They're not interested in my anymore. I guess I don't jive with what they want. Which is cool, I guess. I appreciated the time they spent with me. Whatever, I am awesome and they're missing out, the fools!

And, secretly, I am relieved.

I didn't really want to move to Oslo. Although, I would have if I'd gotten the job. But the logistics of it would have been crazy. I mean, there's only so much shit you can take over with you. And, a house is definitely not on that list. Nor is a washer and dryer or a fridge.

Normally, I'm all for purging junk and things from your life but this would have been tough. Not because I'm attached to it, but because of the sheer magnitude of selling everything you own to move to another country.

I don't know how my sister does it all the time.

Maybe the key is never to have more than what can fill a studio apartment. I've got a three bedroom house full of crap. And a kid on the way.

I mean, think about that. If the kid had been born in Oslo, they never could have been President. And that's a career that is on the list for "daddy's little retirement plan".

Which is the middle name I am shooting for since I can't have Ator the Fighting Eagle as a first name. Although that would make for a heck of a name plaque "President Ator the Fighting Eagle Daddy's Little Retirement Plan Goodson".

Maybe I should pitch it like that?

Anyway, no moving to Oslo and I can confess I wasn't too enamored with the idea now that my wife is Preggo. (Thanks Jackie).

Missing the Point

So, the other day I was logging into Myspace to check out this and that and to deny the latest sex trade Spam invite that has graced my inbox when I see something new. Something that quite frankly stuns me.

An ad for Fight Club T-shirts.

And then I thought, “No, that can't be right. Oh yeah, I saw someone with one on the other day and I thought they sorta forgot the first two rules.” I don't have to repeat those two rules to you here. However, I went on to think how can you make a t-shirt about a movie that cried out against relentless consumerism and then sell it on the Internet? I know they made a video game, but a t-shirt?

Well, apparently someone did, and you know me, I had to check it out.

There were, in fact, over 175 different items of apparel or dinnerware available. All covered in pithy slogans from the movie. All the best lines were there, neatly printed across the chest or around a Paper Street Soap Co logo. You are not your day job. You are not your khakis. You are not a unique and beautiful snowflake. I am the all singing, all dancing crap of the world.

I want to say I was Jack's Complete Lack of Surprise. But I can't. I was shocked.

This book and movie had a profound effect on me. I re-read the book yearly, and watch the movie soon after. Did they miss the point? The things we own end up owning us. That we can't be IEA slaves that look for that perfect couch. And if we ever do wonder what sort of dining set defines us as a person, we must buy it and then smash the glass blown plates from wherever to tiny bits and grind them back into sand.

Nihilism is not selling a fucking t-shirt on the Internet!

And then I thought what the hell would Tyler do?

Well, he'd punch someone, that's for sure. Then he'd probably laugh, do the Brad Pitt hand pointy thing and say, “That's what I'm fucking talking about. Wear your fucking slogans, pretend like you're doing something when all you're really doing is keeping the system going. Keep polishing the brass on the Titanic.”

And then he'd launch a DOS attack on the EPA's website, and hack it's data base to show that used tires make excellent shingles for the home. And how car exhaust was a great aerosol fertilizer for your house plants. Anything to get you to destroy the things you love the most. Love more than people.

Because that's what happens when you get stuff. You live in fear someone else will take it from you. And then it owns you. You sit in your house and wait to go to a crappy day job you hate to get more stuff you don't want.

So, maybe they missed the point. Or maybe they get it. Maybe the pithy slogans neatly printed on a heather grey hoody are really here to tell us to let go. That nothing really is something worthwhile. That what matters isn't our cars, but our relationships with other people.

So heed the warning. Our lives are ending one breath at a time. Go do what you've always wanted to do. Have something to say for your life. Don't go into the grave a perfectly preserved corpse, but come in with a screaming skid and yell, “That was one hell of a ride!”

And buy me the Day Job coffee mug.

Was I too honest?

So, I had an interview at a local video game developer- not bioware
unfortunately- for a QA position on Friday. Which, is low level play
the game all day long looking for bugs position. Not a lot of bank,
but potentially more than I'm making now and a better future fur shure.


And,
the team lead that I would have been working for and whom was
conducting the interview asked, "so, why this company?" he leaned
back, and grinned like he wanted me to blow him right then.

And,
what flashed through my head was, "this guy wants to hear that this
company is the coolest. it's the best place to work at, and gosh how i
feel so lucky blah blah blah. screw that, I'm telling the truth for
once." and I said,

"Because you're a means to an end. Once I'm
in the industry, I'll spend a year doing this job and work my writing
skills even more and begin submitting material to other developers for
a staff writing position. It's a personal point of pride that I do the
best job I can no matter where I'm at, and if there's someone better
than me I'll work tirelessly to be better than them. I'll be the best
on the team within 2 months, and within 6 I'll be the best in the
company."

I mean, why shouldn't I be honest? Isn't that better
than feeding him a line of horse shit about how much I care about this,
and how I'm so passionate about that? no, I care about a few things
and in this context it's playing a fun game and writing, and not in
that order.

And then there was silence.



He looked like someone just walked in and said, "You're dog's outside,
and it's dead." It was that kind of shocked and dazed expression.

After a moment of me staring at him, intensely, he followed that with, "um. Okay. Do you have any questions for me?"

and
I said, "Nope. I've researched this job thoroughly, and I know it in
detail from an outsiders perspective. I know I can do it. Here's how
much money I want for it. And thanks for the water." I shook his
hand and held the door open for him so he could walk me out.

after I got home I sent out a some thank you emails to everyone I encountered and wished them all a good day.

So, was I too honest or just honest enough?

Seeker: The Dark is Rising

I am a fan of the series, and of that
particular book. And, when I heard there was a movie adaptation out
for release I was kinda scared. But, I reminded myself about the
care the Potter and Tolkien series had received and that maybe this
children's adventure story will receive the same treatment.

Wow, was I wrong.

The Dark is Rising is not a terribly
complex book. It's standard fantasy fodder- magic powers, quest to
find a thing, got to stop the dark evil people from destroying the
world. And there's like two plots through the whole book.

Yet, the producers felt it necessary to
juice it up. Now the boy has “great strength”. And it an
annoying American actor instead of a humble English kid. And somehow
they turned the light plot into a sketch of itself. Rushing through
points that should have been lingered over to retread scenes from the
Matrix and Commando. Dad isn't a simple jeweler anymore, now he's a
physicist writing about “light and darkness” and talking about
how it's best not to know! Best not to know!

And they added a twin brother. Added a
twin! With a lame kidnap story. One that the whole family sorta,
kinda forgot to tell the main character about for 14 years! In 14
years no one let slip, “oh, Will, by the way. You had a twin
brother that was kidnapped out of your crib when you were but months
old. Did anyone mention that to you, at all?”

And the scenes in the books that would
have been great set pieces were dumbed down. I tried not to judge
this film as a fan of the book. I don't think I did too good of a
job because it departs unnecessarily from the source material. I
could tell they did it to differentiate from Potter, and they didn't
need to.

This movie is terrible because of the
decisions made by the producers.

Shun it. Make it sit in the corner to
think about what its done.

Flyboys: a review

Put out way back in 06, I totally meant
to go see this in the theaters because it was the first serious film
to deal with WWI in over 40 years. Also, it's based on the true
events of the Americans that volunteered to go to France and learn to
fly- before the US entered the war.

But I completely missed it until last
week via Netflix.

However, it was just the right mix of
interesting flying dogfight scenes, and boring cliché ridden
war movie scenes. They had a rich guy, a poor guy, a rich racist
guy, a black guy, and an old veteran that didn't want to be their
friend. Oh, and then they had some other guys that showed up after
15 minutes to round out the set- you know, religious guy, and might
be a spy but really isn't guy.

And, like Saving Private Ryan, or any
other cliché ridden war movie, you can tell the order these
guys are going to die in. You know, first they won't talk about
themselves but then 10 minutes later they have a quiet moment and
reveal something personal and touching about themselves to another
character.

And 5 minutes later they're dead.

It also has some completely over the
top moments that are so unbelievable they must be true. I won't
spoil that for you so you can see it for yourselves.

This movie does it all: it conquerors
racism, social class, post traumatic stress disorder, and strained
international relationships between the United States and France.
And not in that order. Of course there are some raging historical
inaccuracies, but if you're not a WWI plane geek you'll never know.

But, the flying scenes are top notch.
Except the one where the pilot uses his “airbrakes” to take out a
German plan. No, those plans did not have airbrakes. Just some
wheels, canvas wings, guns, and an engine.

Overall, if I had seen this in the
theater, I'd be mad. But, since I got it through Netflix it wasn't
so bad at all. So, ultimately I give it a rating of: m'eh.