marshall’s Friends and Family

The perils of poor judgment.

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 14:48:42 -0700

Accountability is often something many people are found willing to take only after every other option has seemed to disappear from view.

I was listening to NPR earlier today and chuckling at the response of former Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick to what has been a long, public, humiliating and ridiculous soap opera mayoral drama that one would only hope to see sandwiched between morning talk shows and advertisements for dish soap. The very public event appears on it's slow descent into old news, but the lingering effects of his response reminds me of one of my biggest pet peeves ever.

Accountability, specifically the lack thereof.

Too often, it seems the simplest way to address what appears to be a gross violation of common sense, decency, integrity and ethics is to offer the trite phrase...

"I exercised poor judgment."

I guess what bugs me about it is the implication that somehow...this is aberrant behavior for you. That typically you make good choices but on this one, you managed somehow to reaallly miss the mark. It is smug, and almost reasons away a potential character flaw as a hiccup. I call bullshit. Don't get me wrong, we are not infallible. We are all going to screw things up. Make poor choices. Act sometimes selfishly and purposefully in pursuit of something not all that favorable. Just don't offer up such a trite and nearly condescending semblance of accountability when you are engaged in something knowingly morally corrupt and potentially harmful to a slew of others besides yourself. Do not offer it when what you've actually done is more akin to...heinous, horrid or at the very least impossibly stupid.

I am making no judgments on the case I mentioned above. I'm making a case for accountability.

When you fuckup, have enough character to just call it what it is. Don't wait until I've caught you in a nest of lies. Don't wait until there's no one else in the room to whom you can wave a disdainful finger. Don't wait until you have no one to measure your mistake against to determine the severity of your general fuckedupness. Own your stuff. Hell, you can even be belligerent about it. I'll look the other way for a moment because I know it is sometimes painful to bear witness to your own stink.

But if you're at least willing to do that, then perhaps I can reasonably spend some time working up the ability to actually forgive you for it.

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Moshi is Officially okay!

nobody@vox.com(LeendaDLL) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 14:37:53 -0700

Got the lab results while I was driving in to work: No bacteria, no blahblahblah, no other blahblahblah, high protein level but that's normal after an infection, recurrence NOT likely. HOOOORRRAAAAAAYYYYY!

Glad I took the call! I almost didn't because I was driving and didn't know if I had my earpiece with me (nor where it would be if I did). Finally, I figured what the hell... risk the fine... I was mostly stopped in a traffic jam anyway. But, despite my speed demon habit (driving to/from work at about 85mph), it was really difficult for me to consciously break the law.

Still stuck in the traffic jam, I followed up the call with deciding to eat my lunch (burger), and promptly spilling it all over myself. Classy!! I think it's a nice accent to my office attire of flipflops, weekend pants, and Vox shirt. Granted, it's "casual friday" - but I still took it to an extreme. I'm justifying that move with "I have a LOT to do tonight; the comfier I am, the more I'll get done!"

Got to work and found, surprisingly, nothing was ready for me. Then we had a false fire alarm (2nd this week!)... which resulted in me getting a tentative invite to vacation in Jamaica. Probably won't work out - but nice to know the option is there!!

Despite my insane efforts to get the new test tables ready by last night (worked till almost midnight), the software and other tables aren't done. So I have a wee bit of a respite right now. But I'm still coming in this weekend to get a jump start on testing because I don't want to be sweating results at the 11th hour (Sept 18).

What else, what else, what else?

The KCRW concert was cancelled. Refunds are pending. Ticketholders were emailed with first opp for an intimate mini-concert with k.d.lang but I can't decide whether or not I want to go to that. Opinions?

Miss Kitty's is returning, as a weekly club, on Sept 12. Hurrahhhh! The kinda-montly option wasn't working out for me - they always seemed to be held when I had other plans. A weekly option is MUCH better!! It looks like Christo, one of my favs of the group, may no longer be part of it. That bums me out - but I need to do some investigating before I know if that's really true.

Now that Moshi is outside all day, Boo has finally begun to mellow out - far less hissing and attitude. She tried to pick a fight with ME last night (she got on the bed, rolled into me, then got pissed off that my body was touching hers) and was quickly reminded that it is not appropriate behaviour. I guess the Feliway didn't work on her. But it was still remarkable as far as helping Moshi and mellowing Espressa!!

I got a big lot of nothing else so I think I'll harrass Ryan then get to work.

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iheartfink is very happy!

nobody@vox.com(pillboxproductions) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 13:59:15 -0700

iheartfink - mini indie

this dress made it to the finalists on etsy kids sweepstakes. very exciting!

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'79 highscholl mix

nobody@vox.com(wickeddoll) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 13:42:47 -0700

'79 highscholl mix

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Not so funny, You.

nobody@vox.com(Nacwolin) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 13:29:37 -0700

Because I ~~procrastinate~~ ~~am forgetful~~ am just too busy with important things, I tend to forget to cover the grill after it cools.

So. The rain bands associated with Hanna began to inundate us with the wet stuff this afternoon. I realized my too-oft occurring blunder concerning the contraption that gives us tasty fire-touched morsels o' meat, and decided to watch the weather radar ~~obsessively~~ carefully for a break in the precipitation.

One came a few minutes ago. I dashed to the deck with an old towel, and began drying off the outside in hopes to avoid some extra condensation.

I tossed the damp towel aside with a flourish, and felt a drop. Then another. Then another.

"Oh, no, please, just wait a little bit longer..."

No sooner were the words uttered from my lips when the skies opened up in a deluge.

Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor?

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A good-looking cocktail

nobody@vox.com(Krissy) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 13:18:04 -0700

No idea how it tasted, it wasn't mine.

photo.jpg

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QotD: Inspiration

nobody@vox.com(ancora impara) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 12:47:52 -0700

Where is the most inspirational place you have been?
Submitted by Seventh Rain

For much of my life, I had dreamed of going to Ireland. My mother's father's family was Irish, and my great-great grandfather Terrence always seemed the most interesting ancestor of the tree of which I am a mere twig. Travelled to America with his younger brother, at the age of nine, fleeing the famine which killed the rest of their family. Fought in the Civil War. Invented weapons used in the war. Became that Irish rancher you always see in those Westerns, with the largest spread in southeastern Arizona. Founded the bank which became the largest bank in the state of Arizona. Flew in a biplane in his seventies. And committed suicide, suffering from illness, at a campground of a Southern California religious cult, setting off a wave of devastation from which that family branch never truly recovered (but that's another story).

The problem with my ambition was that I could never get off the bar stool long enough to make it to a travel agent to buy tickets for a trip. (For my younger readers, a "travel agent" is an actual person who facilitates the planning of structured journeys from home.) Truth be told, I never got off the bar stool long enough to do much more than to stumble to the bathroom. But in 1987, I stopped drinking. And after a few years of learning how to, once again, become a moderately functional human being, I finally plucked up the courage to plan a vacation to the land of my family's tears.

I arrived in Dublin in the middle of May, having planned the trip to avoid the summer crowds, but to still have reasonable weather. After one night there, I picked up my rental car, and hit the road. My family was from Donegal, the northwesternmost of Ireland's counties, part of the Republic, but still traditionally considered Ulster. My plan was to go north, along the coast and through Northern Ireland, and ultimately to Donegal. In those days, the "Troubles" were still very much a part of the fabric of the island. But it was the quickest way to get to Donegal.

The first day, I drove as far as Omeath, a small town just south of the border, located on the Cooley Peninsula, famous from the Red Branch myths as the site of the greatest deeds of the Achilles of Irish lore, Cuchulain.

Thence over the border into the North, accidentally crossing on an obscure quiet country lane unmarked by a checking point.

After having been followed at least twice by strangers, and shot a murderous look by a garbageman at a town intersection (due to my Republican license plate, no doubt), I ended up in the small town of Donaghadee, a small fishing village in the heart of extremist Protestant territory. I actually had an opportunity to spend some time with some of the locals. They asked me how I was enjoying my vacation. I replied that I loved Ireland, at which point one of the fellows welcomed me to the United Kingdom. His friend to my left nodded in agreement, as I noticed something that his skinhead had distracted me from, namely a large tattoo on his right arm which pronounced United Kingdom or Death! I resolved to me more careful in my conversations.

The following morning, I made haste to take to the road, hitting Belfast in the late morning. It was the first time I saw soldiers in any great number. They were in armored personnel carriers, stopped right in the middle of the highway, with their machine guns idly pointed downwards, eyeing each car as it passed. By the middle of the afternoon, I was at the Giant's Causeway, one of the great natural wonders of the world.

I took dozens of photos, and it was nearly dusk by the time I was ready to return to the parking lot. I strode off on the path to the left, which I assumed would bring me back to the parking lot. No such luck. I found myself on the top of the bluff, with a small trail running along its lip, and a fence separating me from sheep idly eyeing me. It took me about half an hour to make it back to the car, and I resolved to pull into the first hotel in the first town I ran across. When I reached the hotel, it was nearly dark. I had dinner in the hotel restaurant, then slipped off to bed, revelling in the irony that I had come to Ireland a free and sober man, to find myself spending the night in the town of Bushmills.

For those who have never gone to Northern Ireland, allow me to tell you that it is a lush green fertile land. It is no wonder that Cromwell's forces claimed it for their own. I finally came to the border between the divided counties of Ulster, guarded by more young men with steely eyes and large guns. The line of cars inched forward, until I handed my passport to a officer barely old enough to shave who, seeing the American eagle, engaged me in friendly conversation. I smiled as we chatted, while silently praying that he would not hold me so long as to make any Republicans too interested in me.
Finally, he waved me past the post, and I entered Donegal.

I stopped at a shop at the intersection with the road to Inishowen, the peninsula northernmost on the island, simply to ask for directions. (Londonderry had become Derry, and the signs were suddenly in Gaelic.) As often happened to me on this trip, a quick stop became a two hour conversation, as the shopkeeper engaged me with questions and stories of local doings. One of the local doings was a recent event where the IRA had forced a Catholic truckdriver commuting to (London)Derry to carry explosives in his cargo, with mortal threats against his family. They had blown the explosives at the checkpoint I had just passed, killing a number of soldiers, not to mention the truckdriver.

With that cheerful tale running through my head, I turned up the road, and into Inishownen. The land was savage and rocky. No longer the bucolic world I had seen in the North.

I drove for quite a time, and finally came to my hotel in Malin. After checking in, I drove north to the point of the peninsula. Malin Head. The point from which Terrance and his brother left the island of their ancestors on a coffin ship, leaving everyone else behind either dead or dying, never to return.

I looked out over the waters, as the sun came down. Here I finally was, standing where those left behind had stood, watching as their future disappeared over the horizon. Hope in a world of chaos and darkness.

I went back to the hotel, and stopped in the "ladies bar" for a lemonade, and to write in my journal. I did not wish to ruin my mood by walking through the door into the pub, raucous with laughter. I got a few glances, but continued to write for about an hour, then went upstairs and fell into a deep slumber, filled with music and the sound of waves.

Terrence and Edward landed in Philadelphia. I know this because I have seen their names in a logbook kept for arrivals, which I found in the University library. They were adopted, and moved at some point, to Iowa. There they joined the Union forces, Terrence in the Navy, and Edward in the Iron Brigade of Colonel Shaw which fought in the middle of the Hornet's Nest at the battle of Shiloh. He was killed at the Battle of Pleasant Hill, during the disaster known as the Red River campaign, He fell in the vanguard, protecting the army from an attack launched on the heels of a Union defeat the previous day. Edward is buried somewhere in Louisiana in an unmarked mass grave. Even though the Union army survived that day, they retreated to the river after the battle, abandoning the campaign, and leaving their dead and wounded on the field. I, as the first member of my family east of the Rocky Mountains since the end of the Civil War, have now stood where Terrance and Edward landed, and whence they came.

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Slightly Campy Nostalgia Item 1/1

nobody@vox.com(Simon Wistow) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 11:38:48 -0700

Back in 1991 Natwest decided to advertise their services using a series of glossy adverts about employees, set somewhat inexplicably, to the power strains of "Crockett's Theme" by Jan "The Hammer" Hammer.

Filling the Machine

The phrase "It's not all work, work, work" is seared indelibly into the collective national subconcious of the time.

I have no idea why this is currently stuck in my head but it is. So there.

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the eyes don't have it

nobody@vox.com(Waterbaby) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 11:28:04 -0700

New work. A bottle of gin. New glasses.

These are the top three things I need right now.

When I look through my glasses, images like this appear on the screen:

blurry vision

astigmatism

Does anyone really know what time it is?

And this is a big, big problem because my life revolves around computer activities. Writing. Blogging. Job searching.

I can barely read the text because these glasses are old. I can't remember when I got this prescription. That's another thing that goes on the decline with aging. Memory.

Anyhow, it's been a few years. At that time, I had the means to upgrade my prescription. Now I don't. Now I have the means to pay the rent and not much more.

Now to read the screen, I actually need to remove the eyewear and crane my neck to lean way in till I'm 8 inches from the screen. I measured. Try working in that position all day every day.

It isn't healthy for my psyche or body or work. I'm beginning to suffer persistent headaches and a general malaise that is draining.

There's that saying out of sight, out of mind. Doesn't apply here. Or does it? Because without sight, I am out of my mind.

Dear Universe: Please bring me work that pays abundantly. So that I obtain new glasses and see clearly again and do my work. The gin, well, I can make that drive myself.

Thank you.
Yours faithfully,
WB

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Shades of Dark by Linnea Sinclair

nobody@vox.com(janicu) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 11:25:27 -0700

Shades of Dark

Linnea Sinclair

This cover continues the "couple in the middle of space" theme that all Sinclair's books have now. I noticed that there is nothing on the cover to let the reader know that this is the continuation of the story that started in Gabriel's Ghost. That information is inside in the acknowledgements, and not everyone reads those. I know this isn't the author's fault, so why is this, publishers? I don't see how this can help but antagonize people who don't know and buy a book to find that it's book 2.

This review may have spoilers for Gabriel's Ghost.

My review of that is here - livejournal | vox.

Shades of Dark does pick up right after Gabriel's Ghost leaves off - Chasidah Bergren, ex-Fleet officer and her lover Gabriel Ross Sullivan are fugitives trying to clear their name and fight a corrupt Empire. There is some backstory explained at the beginning, but I hadn't read Gabriel's Ghost in a while so even I had problems remembering who was who just from the names. It took me a little bit to get back into the world, but throughout the book I still couldn't remember all the enemy factions - Darius Tage and Hayden Burke, Sheldon Blaine and the Farosians.. so it's worth making a little chart:

Enemies:

1. Darius Tage - bigwig in the Empire, xenophobe who is willing to breed jukors (mindless killing beasts) to have a weapon against the Ragkiril (usually Stolorths with telepathic powers, but Gabriel is a human one). In cahoots with Burke, has Emperor Prew's ear, and has been manipulating him to his own ends and destabilize the Admiral's Council (which controls the Fleet).

2. Hayden Burke - Sully's cousin. Playboy, in cahoots with Tage. Interested in discounting anything Sully does for their family's sizeable inheritances, wants power, also involved in breeding jukors.

3. Sheldon Blaine - claims he is the rightful heir to the emperor's throne (currently held by Emperor Prew). Is imprisoned in the planet Moabar, where Chaz was sent to at the beginning of Gabriel's Ghost. He is supported by a small group of Farosians.

4. The Farosians - Terrorists. A small faction on the side of Blaine, who want to free him from capitivity and take over the Empire. Call themselves Sheldon Blaine's Justice Wardens.

5. The Emperor/The Fleet - Because of the mechanisms of Tage and Burke, Sully and Chaz are considered terrorists and are on the run. Anyone on their side is on the wrong side of the law, dispite the powers being corrupt.

6. Purity Englarians - fanactical faction of Englarians who follow Abbot Eng's teachings and believe Takas are to be "guided" by humans and Stoloroths hated - and all Ragkiril's should be killed. A big problem for Sully and Chaz in the first book.

7. Mutunious crewmembers - Certain members of Sully's crew are not happy that there is a Stoloroth on board (Ren), who they think is a Ragkiril. A possible enemy within.

Do you see? How this is complicated? There's a lot of things going on despite much of the story taking place on Sully's spacecruiser, the Boru Karn. The book isn't short - 410 pages because of all the things going on. And besides all the intruige and incidents that happen in space because of their enemies and because they are wanted people, Sully and Chaz are also dealing with Sully's gifts as a Ragkiril. This is a darker story due to this. Sully has so much power, a power he feels is growing and which could corrupt him. Actually, it made the love story more complicated and interesting because of what Sully is going through. Now he and Chaz are ky'sara and ky'sal, they have to learn about it as they go along. Pushing matters further along, they meet Del, an exiled Stoloroth prince who wants to teach Sully, but who makes Chaz uncomfortable (I found him really creepy and sexual harassment sprang to mind).

Anyway, overall, I think this is a darker toned book that Sinclair's previous ones. I prefer the lighter stories, but this was more realistic because of the dark parts. There are a couple of shockers in here regarding some decisions Chaz makes in order to do the right thing. No spoilers, but things got really interesting in the last 30 or so pages. I didn't find the book as uncomfortable a read as some reviewers did, but I was disturbed by some things. The more I think about that, the more I liked this being part of the story.

It also felt like there were two distinct parts of the book that both focus on problems that are related to Sully's gift, like there were two big plots revolving around certain enemies, and because of them Sully is forced to deal with his Ragkiril nature. Once one major plotline was done with, the other one started, but both involved the darkness that comes with Sully's power. The only problem I had was that this book was pretty long, and there were lulls in the action. It that had to happen, but those parts felt slow to me. From the other reviews I see, I'm the only one who noticed though.

ETA: ALSO I noticed a lot more sex scenes in this book than any prior Sinclair novel. FYI.

This story continues in Hope's Folly, which is out in February 2009. It will focus on Chaz's ex-husband Admiral Philip Guthrie as he heads ex-Fleet, now-rebel forces in combat against the current Fleet. There's a teaser for this at the end of Shades of Dark, and it looks good.

Other reviews:

Ramblings on Romance

The Book Smugglers

Jace Scribbles

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