Sense of Adventure

Holy carp! It’s dark out there, people.

I was driving north about half an hour ago after seeing Hellboy II with some friends (good movie, not great) when suddenly the streetlights went out. So did most others.

Some lights still remained on - generator-powered, I’m guessing. My part of town is really black.  Eerie.  Not so comfortable for a dude who writes lots of after-the-holocaust stories.

Biggest excitement hereabouts since the Great Bosque Fire of ‘03 (how time flies!) That one made the national news - my editor for the MechWarrior novel I was writing emailed to see if I was in danger.  I wasn’t, but indeed the fire was burning not more than a couple miles from where I live.

Not much happens here. Which, on the whole, is probably a good thing.

KRQE 13 News says much of Albuquerque is black. Apparently PNM believes there’s a hitch with electricity coming into town.  KRQE’s studio lights flickered but service quickly came back, which is odd if the whole city’s power is affected.

Radio stations were still broadcasting when I came in, so we don’t seem to be dealing with an EMP or anything. Plus, hey, my computer works!

No biggie. (Fingers crossed.)

As long as the battery holds. So sayonara for now…

Update, 11:43 PM:  Lights on.

So along about 20-25 minutes ago I was lighting the last, recalcitrant candle in my bedroom (and roundly cursing it, though not the dark) when with a plaintive sort of flicker light returned to Jupiter. Artificial light, anyway.

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Amazon.com does something smart! Not that that’s a huge surprise…

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I really want this utterly swell “I Still Want My Flying Car” t-shirt. As well, of course, as my damn flying car.

Not pictured: a flying car I can actually buy

Having a fairly reasonable appreciation of which I’m likely to get first, if not at all (hope springs, and comes not unsprung) I was pleased when Amazon added a new and very shrewd feature: one which enabled me to link to the shirt on my Wish List even though Ammie doesn’t sell it.

How smart is that? Umm, real. Unlike some entities trying to do business these days, Amazon has realized openness sells. Specifically: the point to allowing users to make (and what’s really valuable, manage) wish lists, is manifestly to encourage others to buy them presents from Amazon.com. They make it very quick and convenient to do so, and I really like it when my friends post these lists, and encourage you all to do so if you haven’t yet.

So why would Amazon let you link to completely separate vendors? Well, just for starters, let’s look at a totally random sample wish list: mine. (How’s that for an almost subtle plug?) Notice that everything else on the list is available through Amazon. (Quickly and conveniently. Just thought I’d mention that again. Reinforce the message and all.)

Granted, that’s so far; and I’ll undoubtedly add other off-site items to the list. But clearly this capability creates additional value for users, and hence is likely to attract more eyes to Amazon.

And that’s a good thing for all concerned.

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At least, the one that looks most as I envision her:

Annja Creed: Lookin' good!

For a peep at a bigger pic, click here.

And to preorder, not to mention to support this site (and this writer, plus his really popular and appealing dog Emma), click here.

Anyway, as for the book … well, I think it’s a hoot. Of course, I would say that. As usual, I first learned of its impending publication when the UPS guy dumped it on my porch a couple mornings ago.

From my spy in the library system (Gail Gerstner-Miller - don’t tell anyone!) I learn that the Rogue Angel books are incredibly popular and they have trouble keeping them on the shelves. Pretty cool.

To my fans and readers who haven’t encountered my RA stuff yet: if you like my other books, you’re likely to enjoy these. They’re lightweight - so? I always try to give the reader characters they care about in conflict before a well-drawn backdrop. Even if I am weak on internal design. And I always try to make what I write the best I can for what it is.

So why not give these a try?

And don’t forget - if you do like my books, feel free to hop on over to Amazon and say so. And if you don’t, please still feel free, of course. Just, you don’t have to make it a priority, y’know.

As you might imagine, I’ve been mighty dilatory about turning the old compost of late. So today I decided I’d get to it. I’m feeling better, and physical activity helps sharpen my mind. And something sure has to.

Because even without being turned – i.e., aerated – the stuff in the bin smelled mostly like nice, sweet soil, I figured it was time to screen it. Which of course is a somewhat arduous process.

So I was out about that for a while. And being me, I started to suffer doubts. Was I doing this right? Was it all right that the screened stuff – putatively compost itself – was moist when I put it in the finished-product bin? And I couldn’t help but notice that a lot of stuff that seemed mighty compost-y was sticking together in big clumps no matter how I munched it with my gloved hands or whacked it with a hoe. I’ve got too many twigs and branches in there, which show small sign of degrading in less than geological time, and they tend to hold the more dirt-like stuff together.

Then it came to me, like Boethius, to seek consolation in philosophy. After all, if I succeed totally and brilliantly, what do I wind up with? Dirt. Dirt deluxe, to be sure: premium quality dirt. But withal, dirt.

And if I fail utterly, what do I have? Well, dirt. If not such a high-toned variety of dirt.

Indeed, I thought, what are we but dirt rearranged? And in time, no matter what prodigies of plasticization we perform, at shocking expense, under the name “embalming,” we’ll eventually be sorted back into dirt.

At which point I realized philosophy was becoming more depressing than consoling, so I decided to pitch it back in amongst the organic fertilizer. It had served its purpose.

And of course I’m not failing. Indeed, I produced perhaps ten more pounds of nice, crumbly, dark soil-like substance which I can only presume is compost. Which is the point, yes?

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Not the Sufi classic of that name, nor yet the Chaucerian tale, but my own backyard. See what I mean? Not only can you find adventure in your own backyard, but enlightenment too. Such a deal!

So around 2 PM I wandered into the kitchen. It’s cloudy and not hot outside today, although humid, and while it hasn’t rained yet there’s been enough thunder to discourage me from cinching Emma up in her harness and taking her for a walk. For light I opened the blinds.

And was astonished to see the backyard full of birds. There were dozens of them, perched picturesquely on stumps and the bushy dead treelimb I left for that very purpose by the galvanized tub of water set out as a birdbath, or wandering around pecking assiduously at something. They ranged from mourning doves through chickadees, a few pretty red-headed house finches, and a horde of what birders call LBJs, for “little brown jobs.” Who are what they sound like, little dust-colored guys, weavers and finches and sparrows, oh my. There was also a big bird – by which I mean robin-sized – that hopped around aggressively. From its size and its long, sharply curved beak, and the fact that my NatGeo bird guide says they live here, I’m surmising it was a curve-billed thrasher:

Not pictured: thrashing

And yes, in fact, I do still want my flying car:

Occasionally at SF cons I get somebody, at a panel or something, tasking me with the genre’s various failed predictions. “Where’s my flying car?” they ask. And I tell them, “Hey, I’m still waiting too, y’know!”

Actually, I’m quite enamored of many of the shirts at this site. Wish they sold ‘em at cons. A tad pricy at $27 a pop, but they’re definitely nifty designs.

In entirely unrelated news, I note that my birthday’s coming right up here directly. August 3rd. Yes, indeed.

Actually, what I really, really want is one of these:

Almost full size!

They’re even hatched here in Albuquerque!

And, all right, I don’t really expect an Eclipse Concept Jet. For one thing, they won’t be available until 2011. And they cost $1.35M.

I’m saving up.

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The elements made sport of me today. In midafternoon I decided to try for an early walk. In process of putting Emma out to tend to business before we set out I stepped onto the back porch. And a mighty crack of thunder pealed out.

So I decided the time wasn’t propitious. I waited an hour or two. Then let Emma, who by this time was eager to go for her walk, out the back door.

Only to discover it was raining. She didn’t even want to leave the porch.

Somehow Emma has discovered in rainwater caustic properties, not found in water which is properly lying down, such as we find in ditches and rivers, which threaten to dissolve her broad Lab butt. Despite the fact that she rejoices in soaking in running water up to her wildebeest neck.

I may give the impression, in my account of her foibles and phobias, that Emma is a timid person. She’s not. She just had a rough puppyhood that left scars. And in fact I still seem to recall she didn’t especially fear loud noises when she came to us. I suspect a neighbor, accidentally or on purpose, shot a bottle rocket or something similar at her, possibly scorched her and definitely traumatized her.

Anyway, I was fixing to be grateful that the thunder had warned us away from walking earlier, except that it turned out to be a solo shot, whereas once we got fairly embarked on the ditch it started to flash and crack and rumble like the Bowling Alley of the Gods.

As every schoolchild knows, the Hairy Thunder-Deities Jove and Jehovah enjoy a friendly rivalry. But if you know the respective mythologies you also know that both hate to lose, and neither is above working out his anger issues on hapless random mortals. So I was a bit trepidatious.

Still, I persevered. As I may have mentioned Emma’s a lot less fearful of rain and thunder when we’re out walking. Unless either or both start to get really overt, in which case she seems to decide Daddy’s protective magic isn’t measuring up. Which is true enough, as far as it goes.

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Whoa!

It’s now 2:01 AM here in the Mountain West. I was up already, way too late - the All-Star Game went on forever (and the National League lost again, darn it!)

A bit over ten minutes ago I heard a serious gunshot. Sounded like a 12-gauge, and as if it came from, like, a block to the northwest. Loud and authoritative.

Emma was in the backyard. As I went to let her in - this time around I wanted her in as badly as I knew she wanted in - I heard a second shot. Sounded like the same weapon, from about the same location. Sometimes loud noises trick me as to their direction because of what open windows or doors I happen to be nearest. This one I’m fairly confident about because the back door was open and I’m not sitting too far away.

So that was alarming. Sirens started to go off within a minute or two of the second shot. I thought they were coming in response to the shots (surprising that they responded at all, let alone that quickly), and indeed it sounded as if a siren did stop on Fourth Street, a block west of where I thought the shots came from.

Then I saw red flashers go past the front window. Not as if they were on my street - that tends to light the whole place up and startle the crap out of me. Anyway, they went south to north, which is the opposite direction from how they’d usually come down this street. I can often see traffic on Second Street, another major north-south thoroughfare, past my across-the-street neighbor’s driveway. Behind their back wall runs a ditch and then an undeveloped strip, and then Second. So I peered tentatively out the front window.

Only to see white smoke billowing out from what appeared to be the vicinity of where the railroad tracks cross Griegos, several blocks to the northeast. It was billowing pretty fiercely and gave me the impression it had begun rather recently. The smoke was lit up yellow; I didn’t think anything in particular about it at the time, but when I just went and looked again there was no sign of smoke or yellow illumination in that direction. Either that was fire lighting the clouds, or maybe fire trucks lighting the scene.

That’s a pretty quick resolution.

I thought a few minutes ago I could smell burned plastic, and now I just smelled something like damp ash. Both might’ve been my hyperactive imagination.

I’m not sure there could be any sensible connection between the gunshots and the fire. Still, it seems highly coincidental for two such unusual events to break out so close together in such a short period of time. Doubt I’ll ever find out what actually happened.

And now I’m jagged on adrenaline, and I’m never gonna get to sleep…

Fortunately, I got better.

I don’t know about you, not being psychic; I’m one of those people for whom a computer problem - especially with a device or feature I use every damn day - gripes me like something stuck in my teeth. I just can’t concentrate on anything else until I’ve dealt with it.

My Palm TX suddenly and for no known reason quit being able to Hotsync with my notebook PC. That basically means they can’t talk to each other. That means no transcribing notes I’ve taken on the PDA into Word documents, and no new e-books added to the Pilot.

This annoying inability manifested over the weekend. I sucked it up and lived with it for a few days. Then tonight I was overcome and just had to fix it.

Which turned out to be more involved than I thought. It’s intrinsically boring - it wasn’t fun to do; how would it be fun to read about? - so we’ll jump to the fact that finally, after completely uninstalling the Palm Desktop software from the PC and reinstalling it, the damned machines started talking to each other again.

One relief was that I didn’t even have to copy my data files back over from the back-up I’d made, following thoughtful and useful advice from Palm’s website.

So we seem to be good, and going again. Whew.

Now if I could just find a good handwriting recognition program to replace that annoying Graffiti 2.0…

Bastille Day. There’s a holiday we can still get behind.

The All-Star Break is upon us in baseball, and tonight for electronic wallpaper I have on the Home-Run Derby. While I love baseball I’m not terribly interested in the Home-Run Derby, except inasmuch as it means ESPN is finally going to stop running its terrifying station promo for the event. Supposedly spoken by Yankee Stadium, it sounds way too much like Dr. Girlfriend from The Venture Brothers begging for bukkake: “Squirt your line drives all over my bleachers! Festoon my façade with your home-run balls! Cover me with your powerful white blasts!”

Okay, that’s not what it actually says. But it might as well be. Creepy.

(Hey, do I know Search Engine Optimization, or what? Of course it will backfire. The Spiders from Google will be all, “Whoa! Bukkake! I’m so there!” and then they’ll be all, “Hey! There’s no bukkake anywhere on this blog! What a rip!” and then they’ll sink me tracelessly in the search-result rankings in retribution. But this’ll still doubtless be the single most-viewed post in site history while the moment lasts.)

Anyway. Dragging a bit today yet. Maybe I can get to sleep at a decent hour tonight…