A handsome piece of deformity.

…and now Albertans. People baffle me.

…and to think I used a lyric as my previous subject line. Rest in peace, John.

The past few days, I’ve been distracted, irritable and grumpy and, overall, an unpleasant person to be around. Or, rather, at least that’s my perception of how I’ve been. In a valiant vague effort to apologize to the lovely young lady with whom I cohabitate and am engaged to marry, I did my damnedest this afternoon to explain why I’ve been acting the way I have.

Just as I told her earlier today, starting Wednesday afternoon, I’d been experiencing an unexplainable sense of dread.

Now, bear me with me. As I type, all the windows in the apartment are open, the fan is running and the dryer’s on, my feet are wet and my stomach’s grumbling.

Starting mid-Wednesday, I was seized with an unshakable anxiety, a certainty that something bad was going to happen. It was a spontaneous thing; one moment, I was fine, chipper, top of the world and braced for a long weekend of relaxation. The next, I was distracted, paralyzed by a fear without face or form, ruminating on every little thing happening in my life in an attempt to account for the fear that had settled in my mind. I’m not one to pander to paranoia, but I’ve come to trust my instincts over the years. I…

Argh. My fingers are freezing, as are my feet, I’m hungry, and — in all honesty — I can think of at least half a dozen other things I should be doing with my time right now. I’ll try to cut this short without removing anything of importance. Those of you who, like me, are nitpickers for tense in verb are likely to have noticed that I have been speaking of this feeling, this dread, in the past tense. That’s because the premonition of ill-action that was weighing on me has passed. Something bad happened, and just how bad of a thing it is remains to be seen.

This afternoon, my father came to the apartment to assist me in tightening a leaking faucet. Simple though it may seem, I needed someone with the tools for the task, having none suitable myself. Call placed, coffee on the go and Amy already at work, I sat back to kill the time by grading some papers.

Dad arrived. As a precaution, we sought to terminate the water flow in the apartment. Unable to find the kill-switch, went to find on-site managers for the information. No managers found. Decided to proceed with tightening the faucet regardless, as the work required was simple. Tools out and ready to roll, the last things I heard prior to all hell breaking loose went something like this… rrrrrrrrrrumblethe hell…tinkFWOOOOSSSSSSSSH!

I’ve never run so fast in my life. From the fourth floor, I was on the first in a matter of seconds, yelling at the height of my voice for an on-site manager to kill the water main which, within two minutes of that fucking fwoooossssssssh!, was done and accomplished.

My formless anxiety, an intangible fear, became something very real, and very tangible. The tap in my bathroom exploded a few hours ago. The damage to my suite — which, as mentioned above, is on the fourth floor — is minimal. Two of the suites below me sustained, at first glance, minimal damage. The apartment on the ground floor, however, was not as lucky. A lot of the water is pooling down there, wetting the carpet. I’ve been on major damage control all afternoon and, between shivering from the combined cold air coming in through the open windows and my wet clothes, I’ve been hoping like hell that the initial assessment of the damage — minimal — is accurate and that this is as bad as it gets. I’m praying that I’m not billed a few thousand dollars for dry-wall, ceiling, and carpet repair; hoping that they won’t be necessary.

One sense of dread has been replaced by another, but at this time I know what it is that I am afraid of.

UPDATE: I’ve just learned that one of my sisters was in a car accident today, as a passenger, due to the carelessness of the driver of another vehicle. I’m glad you’re alright, kiddo!

Given the day, I wish I owned an XBox. Hearing everything I have about Halo 2 — I do work in a junior high school, afterall — has made me rather keen to play it, what with me being such a gaming geek and all. Ah, well. Suppose I’d need to own a television first, yes? I shall have to console (oooh, is that pun? I think it is!) myself with Half-Life 2, come November 16.

Have been witness to a number of movies since my last update.

Let’s see… Ghost in the Shell 2 was excellent, if a little puzzling; movies of such a philosophical nature should not have subtitles that fly by at a mile-a-minute, as time is needed to appreciate and ponder the implications of each weighted statement. Ah, well. A rewatch will do wonders for my enjoyment of the film, I’m sure. It’s was visually stunning, with the bold contrast between the two different styles of animation employed working wonders to reinforce the theme of the movie, had the same cool factor as the first film, and really made me ponder the age-old sci-fi query: what does it mean to be human? Well worth the watch, and viewing of the first movie is, barring a bit of context, unnecessary.

The second film viewed of late was Pixar’s The Incredibles, and it was exactly what the title indicates. It’s been several long months since I was so entertained at the cinema and, time and again, I found myself thrilled by what I was witnessing. As both a fan of comic books and fine films, I heartily recommend this movie to anyone with even a passing interest in either. Seriously, what the hell are you waiting for? Go out and see this!

Beyond that, I’ve been spending far too much money on books of late. Hardcovers, hardcovers, hardcovers… :)

ADDENDUM: Thanks, love, for inadvertantly providing such an inspiring title.

The subject line of this post was found yesterday by m’love at the local supermarket, plainly written on a (not-)bag of Halloween candy. I wish I could make things this stupid up but, alas, it seems that every stupid thought I can possibly conceive of, some lawyer has already thought of, likely in anticipation of a potential lawsuit. Yeesh. The mind boggles at how far the justice system is willing to go to remove any sense of responsibility from the individual…

Speaking of lawyers, the cynic in me can’t help but wonder how many are currently sharpening their fangs in preparation for the outcome of America’s presidential election. I mean, I’m hoping and praying — atheist though I may be — that the world — let alone American itself — doesn’t have to suffer through a repeat of the 2000 debacle, but still… the boyscout in me tells that, though I may hope for the best, I should prepare for the worst.

Non sequitor ahoy, Amy and I were blabbing the other day and we had a good few minutes of conversation covering the following topics. I pose these questions here in the hope that those reading — the proud, the few, the foolish — can contribute something of meaning to the comments. Thus…

• what is the meaning of the word artistic, and what are its limits;
• how does one define science fiction, and;
• what does it mean to be well-educated?

Alternately, each of the three topics raised can be ignored on the basis of, “pah, who needs rhetorical questions, anyway?”

There’s something terribly ironic about me getting a cavity before Halloween. I mean, da fug?! I care for my teeth scrupulously — religiously — and this is what I get for my efforts?

Colour me grumpy.

EDIT: Emergency abated. Those of you on the edge of your seats may view the comments for details.

Since viewing Bambi for the first time at a young age and bawling my eyes out, I’ve tried my damnedest to live my life consistently by — and rarely compromising — the maxim, “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Doing so often leaves me chewing my tongue to prevent it from spilling an inappropriate comment at an inopportune moment. However, in my twenty-odd years of doing this, I’m sometimes consumed by the need to speak, maxim and manners be damned, else run the risk of chewing off my tongue and choking to death on it. Thus, to avoid complicating further the life of the person closest to me via my own untimely and needlessly self-afflicted death, I must unload my emotions, Thumper be damned.

All relationships, be they intimate, personal, or familial, are subject to conflict. Conflict stems from disagreement based upon personal perception of the workings of the partnership, home, world, or any combination thereof. Personal perception amounts to opinion and opinions are far from ambiguous, especially if considered worth fighting for. People are often resolute in their beliefs, having amassed a great deal of first-hand experience to support their assertions; hence, the potential for the arousal of conflict in an otherwise intimate working relationship.

But what happens when the source of conflict is an unknown x? Is not verbal sparring a way of expressing opinion, of voicing the rhyme and reason for disagreeing, of attempting to convince the party to which you speak that, though they may not necessarily be wrong, you are more correct than they? What happens when, rather than being based upon rational and well-considered conjecture, conflict is based in contradictory and malicious intent?

Though this may seem to be a series of rhetorical questions, that is not the case. Behold the power of the parent and the abuse of said power. Reading the first linked post carefully, one cannot help but notice the obvious: missing is any discernible motive for such malice and anger. I…

I’m too upset at this point to possibly maintain the façade of coherency that, somehow, I’ve kept up to this moment. Thus, I shall drive swiftly to the points I wish to make and close my argument before I say anything that I may regret with time. Compromising a personal maxim or no, I shall not stoop to the level of the person I have issue with through the statement of unsupported and hurtful rhetoric.

Anger must be justified and explainable. Lashing out suddenly and without provocation eliminates the possibility of any meaningful discourse taking place and destroys any hope of satisfactory resolution. In the absence of any plausible or significant motive, people attacked in this fashion will typically approach the transgressor, cautiously asking for clarification as to why they’ve been attacked. The attacker, at this point in time, will often choose the coward’s exit, which doubles also as an opportunity to spew further vitriol, citing “if you don’t know, then I’m not going to tell you.” Translation? She has no clue herself and, even if she did, has no desire to reach a resolution for she is in a position of power.

Expectations must be voiced and consistent. Human beings are not capable of reading minds as a literate person may read a book. Consistency in expectation leads to consistency in action and, in the event of inaction or inappropriate action, consistency in the execution of punitive measures with the intent of nurturing responsibility in the individual. Not voicing or inconsistently enforcing expectations is similar to having an ill-equipped person run across a minefield; the most likely result is an injured person.

Finally, independence is not a negative trait. How being independent translates to being “selfish, disrespectful, ungrateful and self-centred” is beyond me. Leaving home… what better ode to good parenting, what better tribute from a grown child to a nurturing parent can there possibly be, than the happiness and success sufficient to exist beyond the boundaries of the home? Independence should not be reviled, particularly by the parent of an outstanding child; it is to be lauded.

I’m tired and grumpy and miss the hell out of daylight. I’ve been bushed all bloody week due to sunlight deprivation. Alarm clock chimes denoting 7AM, yet the abscence of light in the room does wonders in convincing my body that it’s 5AM. It doesn’t take a genius to determine which I’m more inclined to trust…

The perpetual darkness I’ve been living in has really affected me. My body — and worse still, my mind — has shutdown, leaving me a drooling zombie that’s too damn dense to realize it shouldn’t be up and about. Pantomiming the motions of a man doth not a man make. Taking dull metal to my face does wonders for combating physical fuzziness, but in the face of mental fatigue, what’s there to do when two and two begins to make five and, worst of all, make sense?

Argh.

Why are humans the only animals to go to bed when they are not tired and to get up when they are?

Silence is not indicative of a lack of things to say, but rather, a lack of inclination to speak.

A handful of days and ~850 pages later, and I’ve conquered the Tower.

I am keen on discussing the final volume, and the entire series, with all those I’m associated with that have read the previous six. Until then, I’m not breathing a word…!

I am not easy to anger, yet this has done so.

Caught wind of it through my mate Jon, and had the flames fervently fanned by a few mailing lists to which I belong (Ad Noiseam, Ant-Zen, Frozen Empire Media, et cetera).

This site popped up, seemingly overnight, offering — for a fee — mp3s of various electronic- and industrial- related items, both easy-finds and rarities. In theory it seems like a great idea, except that JetGroove never asked permission of any of the labels or musicians whose material they’re set to profit from. Not only is this apprehensible, it’s also in direct contradiction of their self-penned and on-site policy, which states that the “music is licensed and the artists are compensated.”

I’ve got no problem with mp3s — none whatsoever, particularly if what’s being shared is no longer available — but for the proprietors of JetGroove to be selling mp3s without the consent of the labels and artists involved, nor to offer them compensation for said action, is morally repugnant.

Speaking as a label-head who sees one of his releases available on this site, I can tell you flat-out that, prior to today, I’d never heard of JetGroove, never been contacted by JetGroove, and most certainly never gave permission to JetGroove. I can only imagine how the various musicians learning of this site must feel.

UPDATE as of 5:08PM:

This just in… particular items of note in bold.

“Dear Sirs and Madams,

“My name is Ulukman Mamytov and I am the attorney for jetgroove.com.

“I bring you apologies from JetGroove for making you worry about your copyrights infringements and your music repertoire being presented on our website. I want to assure you that jetgroove.com having started a new Online Music Download Service pursues the objective of making your music more wellknown [sic] and accessible and ONLY BY LEGAL MEANS.

“That means we DO NOT SELL any of your music without obtaining a proper permission (License) from you or other respective rightholders. You can easily check this by trying to purchase any of you [sic] music. Everything that you choose to put in your cart will have status: ‘Not Available For Purchase Yet’. It could only be put ‘ON HOLD’. And we do not change that status untill [sic] the contract is signed and your permission is granted. In this case all of your music will be given ‘Allowed for Selling’ status and people who have it in their shopping carts will be able to buy it.

“The experince [sic] of showing your music on our website without distributing aimed to draw your attention to us, with further goal to make contacts with you on friendly terms with a perspective of mutually beneficial partnership. [EDITOR'S NOTE: Behold, syntax as broken as my ass is cracked... and is this person even a lawyer? That aside, this is truly a winning strategy. Their attempt at endearing themselves to potential business partners will go over very well, I'm sure.] We’re glad to inform you that your music is getting popular indeed through our website and we can let you know at any time how many of your tracks were put on hold and which ones.

“However, we deeply understand your concerns and would like to assure you, if you find our relationships impossible, we will IMMEDIATELY delete all of your music from our music collection.

“Hope you’ll find our offer to make your music more popular through us rather reasonable and we can start that mutually beneficial partnership.”

Two other quick (quick!) notes.

My kid-sister is totally ace, buying for me what may be the coolest birthday gift I’ve received in years. It is, without doubt, the most industrial lunchkit that a rivethead could ever ask for, and came complete with a series of heart-warming photographs of m’love and I inside it.

And, speaking of m’love, it must be said: dear, you looked exceeding sexy when I saw you today. Zounds! Beautiful, delicious, and knows where I live, indeed!

Following this link, you’ll see that Valve Software is offering, for pre-order, Half-Life 2. Careful examination of the various digital distribution packages available — Bronze, Silver, and Gold — reveals that you get access to Counter-Strike: Source immediately and, with purchase of the Gold bundle, the chance to win a trip to visit Valve.

I’m tempted to purchase the Gold set, as the chance for a free flight down to the States to hang out with the Valve crew is, well, it’s really cool. To be specific, though, it’s the possibility of picking the brains of one Dario Casali — an employee of Valve and one-half of the team that crafted Final DOOM’s fucking brilliant The Plutonia Experiment thirty-two level episode — in person that really has my interest. Dario’s an old-schooler DOOMer who, on a handful occasions, I’ve had the privilege of swapping e-mail with. He’s one helluva guy, and bloody, bloody talented.

That, and I get Half-Life 2 out of the deal… plus a whole slew of other goodies. Hmmm.

Damn you, Stephen King. I’m going to be a zombie tomorrow!