The Ugly

Chaz got robbed. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m a rabid Chaz Ortiz fan, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m absolutely biased when it comes to how he performs. With that said, he was totally robbed in the Street Finals — he went in #1 seeded, and they handed it to Sheckler. Why? For the same reason that every promo for the Street competition mentioned “Ryan Sheckler and the boys.” Sheckler is the big name, and having him win looks good. It’s as simple as that.

The Rally competition was a fustercluck. When one car in a field of a dozen or more is eliminated from a round, it’s disappointing, but to be expected. When all but two races end in an elimination, and one of those ends with a car breaking down, it’s not competition, it’s a waste of fans’ time. Changing up the course route four times in one day (practice, qualifiers, semis, and finals) is outrageous, and eliminating codrivers was one of the stupidest things the Games have ever done.

Shaun White seriously needs a fashion consultant. He looks like the love child of a bad three-way between Kenny G, Weird Al, and Carrot Top. Also, whatever girl he sole those jeans from should press charges — theft, and crimes against fashion.

Youth does not preclude awesomeness. A lot of the competitors in this year’s Games, particularly in skate, are still in school. Chaz, of course, is 16, and we all know what I think about him. But there were also 17 & 18 year olds, a couple of 15 year olds, and even a 14 year old in the park finals. What bugged me though, was the way the announcers talked about them as though it was a miracle that they were there.

I hate to be the one to bear the “bad” news, but being young doesn’t mean you can’t be awesome. That applies whether you’re a 14 year old, 4′10″, 75lb boy on a skateboard, an 18 year old guy on a motocross bike, or for that matter, a 28 year old disabled businessperson — you can still be awesome. While I’m at it, old people can be awesome too — my grandma certainly was. Awesome is not the exclusive property of the middle aged.

P. Rod wasn’t there. A skate contest without P. Rod just isn’t the same.

The Awesome

Jamie Bestwick rocks. I missed the BMX Vert competition, but I caught the highlights, and Jamie Bestwick tore it up. Not that it’s the first time — he’s won the gold the last four years in a row. Last year, he nailed it with two 49s out of 50, despite taking a nasty slam on his last run. (It took two weeks for him to finally recover entirely.)

Cam Sinclair rocks. Last year, during a competition in Madrid, Cam Sinclair attempted a double-backflip, under-rotated, and was almost killed. He ended up in critical condition, was in a coma for a week, had to re-learn how to walk, and doctors predicted it would take at least two years before he would recover. It didn’t, and on Friday, he pulled the double-backflip during the Moto X Best Trick competition, winning the Gold and providing no question that he’s back.

Paris Rosen rocks. Just minutes after Cam Sinclair pulled the double-backflip, Paris Rosen attempted a frontflip and didn’t make it, landing hard and motionless, and scaring the hell out of everybody in the arena, and all of us at home. He had to be carried off the track and out of the arena, and was rushed to the hospital. Thankfully, he was back Sunday night, handing out the medals for Moto X Speed & Style.

OMG, did that really just happen?There is no question that wild things are going to happen at the X Games – it’s the X Games! However, the race for the Bronze in the Moto X Speed & Style Final has to be the most awesome motocross race I’ve seen. In the space of about fifteen minutes:

• Jeremy “Twitch” Stenberg finishes up his last semi-final race, and forgetting that he has to race again for the Bronze, ghosts his bike, busting the handlebars. (Ghosting refers to revving the bike up and letting it go so that it does a wheelie or flip with a “ghost rider”, i.e. riderless.)
• Because Twitch’s bike is busted, they award the Bronze to Ronnie Faisst, who Twitch was supposed to race against.
• Twitch’s team replaces the handlebars on his bike so he can ride again. The officials de-award the Bronze and set up for the guys to race.
• The race starts, and Twitch pulls ahead of Faisst, but then slides in the first turn and falls.
• Faisst now half a lap ahead, slows down to a cruise, assuming he’s nailed the win. The announcers call the race early.
• Twitch, back on his bike, makes like a madman for Faisst, who is still cruising along. As a result of his cruising, his bike stalls, and Twitch overtakes him.
• Faisst gets his bike started again and goes after Twitch, who crosses the finish line — which is just before two big ramps with a gap between them — just ahead of him. Neither take the jump.
• Twitch again celebrates his win by ghosting his bike — this time off the top of a 25′ dirt mound.
• As Twitch and Faisst are doing the “Good race, man” thing, one of the other racers rushes out on the course to tell them that until they make the jump, the race isn’t over. (It’s not clear whether that was actually the rule, or if the other guy pulled a really good prank.)
• Both scramble to their bikes (Twitch’s now again busted by ghosting), ride back, and make spectacular jumps.
• It took a good five minutes for the officials to work out who had actually won the race, though Twitch was eventually awarded the Bronze.

Kevin Robinson rocks. One of the things I like about action sports is that even though everybody is trying to win, you can tell they’re friends and genuinely concerned about each other. On Friday, Kevin Robinson dislocated his shoulder three times during the BMX vert competition. Despite that, he went on to compete in the BMX Big Air, which for those who have never seen it, involves riding a BMX bike down an 80′ ramp and jumping either a 50′ or 70′ gap, pulling a trick in the air, landing safely, and pulling a second trick on a 27′ quarterpipe, again landing safely.

That in itself is awesome enough, but what really caught my attention was that, despite the fact that he dislocated his shoulder a fourth time during the competition and had to pull out, when one of the other riders bailed hard, he was out there — dislocated shoulder and all — to help him up and off the ramp.

Ashley Fiolek is awesome. Ashley Fiolek is a female motocross racer, and was the defending Super X champion this year — and will be next year, as she won the gold on Thursday night.

What is different about Ashley is that she’s a deaf rider in a sport where listening is vital — riders listen to their bikes to know when to shift, and to know when something is wrong, among other things. (Instead of listening, she feels the bike’s vibrations.) That she didn’t, and doesn’t, let that stop her is awesome.

Moto X Step Up is amazingly entertaining. What exactly is Step Up? It’s kinda like the pole vault — on a motocross bike. I don’t really think I need to say anything more.

Levi Sherwood can streeeeeetch. “Extension” is the official term for how far a rider can come off his motocross bike during a trick. Whatever you call it, Levi Sherwood can really do it — with his bike upside down over his head, he was stretched out in a position that resembled a rubber trapeze artist more than a motocross rider.

Chris Cole wasn’t there. I hate him. That is all.

The Other

Journeys & I made up. I spent much of mid-July in a Twitter feud with Journeys Shoes over the black & yellow Macbeth Brightons I ordered on July 8, which were supposedly on backorder until the 11th, then the 22nd, and finally the 27th, despite the fact that they were promoting them as though they were in-stock. (Macbeth ended up intervening on my behalf, not that it did any good — they want pictures of my shoes, too. )

We made up on Saturday during the BMX Big Air final, when a tweet from them about Chad Kagy (“Chad Kagy just tore. it. up. Such style. Such FLAIR!!!”) prompted a The Nanny parody from me (“♫ …He’s got style, he’s got flair, that’s how he became the Kagy… ♫”). They were suitably amused and suggested it to the X Games as a new theme song, but unfortunately, nothing official ensued.

There’s probably more I’ve missed, but those are the things that stand out at me. Despite being (quite vocally) disgusted by the ugly, the awesome made it an, well, awesome weekend. I can’t wait for next month when I’ll be front and center to see the same kind of awesome at the (Dew Tour) Toyota Challenge in Salt Lake City.

When I was little, Grandma had five rosebushes in a bed right outside her back door, along the side of her sun-porch. There was a red climbing rose around the corner at the end, and then small white, yellow, and pink bushes coming down the line towards the door. As she got older and couldn’t tend to them, these (except the climbing one) all slowly died.

At the very end of the bed, right next to the door, was a large pink rosebush. Of all of the flowers in her garden, this rosebush was the most special. Pink roses were her favorite, and this particular one was a Mother’s Day gift from her third son.

Two months after that Mother’s Day, he was killed in a car accident.

That was in 1975. A single pink rose has appeared on that rosebush for Mother’s Day every year since — not once in thirty-five years has it failed. It wasn’t necessarily the first of the season, but she looked forward to that bloom every year: It was a special connection between them.

As some of you know, Grandma passed away this past November. When she left her house to go to the hospital shortly before Thanksgiving — for the last time, as it would turn out — there was a single pink rosebud on that rosebush. It would have been one of the last things she saw as she left.

When she passed several days later, there was still a single pink rose in bloom on that bush. The funeral was another few days after that, with a windstorm in the interim, but there was still a single pink rose on that bush. I clipped it and had the funeral director put it in her hands.

Roses, by the way, don’t bloom here at the end of November.

As is always the case, we all had certain things we wanted from the estate, things that were important to us. One of the things I asked for was to have the iris and gladiola bulbs dug up before the house was sold — and, of course, the rosebush.

We got around to selling the house in early February. We expected that it would take some time to sell, given the current market, but we were wrong: It sold just two days after we put the “For Sale” sign in the yard.

Roses don’t like being moved. They really don’t like being moved in February. They reach the floricultural equivalent of lividity at being hastily ripped out of the ground and unceremoniously stuffed in a bucket in the middle of February. Sadly, there wasn’t time for delicacy.

We were all prepared for the bush not to make it — in fact, there was a certain amount of feeling that it would be appropriate if, with her gone, it never bloomed again.

As it happened, it didn’t die. It grew a foot and a half in the bucket in the garage — we had to move it out a bit earlier than we would have liked because it grew so much. We transplanted it to a spot at the very end of a bed outside our back door.

Still, the question remained: Would it bloom? More importantly, would it bloom for Mother’s Day?

Late in April, the first question was answered when two pink buds turned up, almost overnight. Being prone to a bit of sentimentality, I thought it was particularly fitting that there were two — one for each of them.

Roses don’t last forever (unless they’re waiting for a funeral), so those two had their time, then slowly faded away — by early last week, they were gone. The question returned: Would it bloom for Mother’s Day?

Earlier today, I dropped by the cemetery for a quick visit. It’s been in the 80s here for weeks, but it dropped into the 50s overnight, so I couldn’t stay long, but I wanted to go by. And I left something behind.

Happy Mother’s Day, Grandma.

I’m not afraid to say it:

I love Tom DeLonge.

I’m talking madly. Probably inappropriately, but when has that ever bothered me?

I also love his band, Angels & Airwaves (A∀A). If you don’t know that they released their new album Love on Valentine’s Day, then you obviously weren’t paying attention to my tweeting, because I was having Tweetgasms all over the place.

Even more exciting, on the 16th they posted the dates for their Spring Tour. I’ve been waiting for them to go on tour forever, and now, finally, they are.

I. Can’t. Wait.

Even though some of the shows are actually closer to me, I’ll be seeing them in Columbus on April 22nd. Even even better (or even better better), my ZOMG BFF Kattni is going to go with me!

I’m. So. Stoked.¹

This will actually be my first real concert.² I won’t have a clue of how to act, and will be hiding at the back (have you seen what those kids do in the pit?) but I’ll be there, and Kattni will be there (ZOMG).

Did I mention I’m so stoked?

Today is a day of grief for Linux Journal. This afternoon, Associate Editor Shawn Power’s home burned down — though we don’t know many details yet, we do know that Shawn, his wife Donna, and their three girls are escaped unharmed, but their pets were lost.

Shawn is one of the warmest, kindest, and most big-hearted people we know. Anyone who has met him, in the offline world or online knows that he is an amazing person, and is constantly focused on others. We at Linux Journal are privileged to know him, and compelled to offer whatever assistance we can in this troubled time.

The Linux and Open Source community is filled with generous individuals, and we are asking those who are moved to offer their help to Shawn and his family to please do so. We have set up a ChipIn page at helpshawnpowersfamily.chipin.com to collect donations — it is a testament to the generosity of this community that in less than three hours, almost $2,500 has been raised.

We know technology donations will be greatly appreciated, and if you have equipment you would like to donate, please email Linux Journal’s publisher, Carlie Fairchild.

Shawn has been posting updates to Twitter and photos to Natuba, for those who would like to follow the situation. Please feel free to leave words of encouragement and solidarity in the comments here — you can also do so on his Facebook page.

Please know, this isn’t Shawn asking for help — he has no clue we’ve organized anything. This is the Linux Journal team, as a family, asking our community to aid one of our own. We appreciate your generosity, and we know Shawn will too.

With appreciation,

The Linux Journal Team

I have a number of obsessions and the accompanying compulsions. One I’ve had for years — long before it was diagnosed — was the obsession that something awful was going to happen to my Grandma between the time I left and the next time I saw her. I had no idea what specifically was going to happen, but it was something awful, and it was imminent. Of course, I knew nothing awful was going to happen, but that didn’t change the obsession — it was there, it wasn’t going away, and it created a great deal of anxiety for me.

For years, every time I left, she would tell me she loved me and to be careful. Eventually it developed into the compulsion for my obsession. The ritual went like this:

Grandma: I love you.
Me: I love you too.
Grandma: Be careful.
Me: I will.

Now, I’m not stupid — I know that saying those lines in that order isn’t going to influence the Fates in the least. If something is going to happen, it’s going to happen, ritual or not. But, it relieved my anxiety, and we always went through it. I forgot until I was in the car on a couple of occasions (and nearly knocked the door off the hinges once to get back in). I forgot entirely once — only once — on a Monday. Grandma fell and broke her hip that Friday.

This past Monday, Grandma went into the hospital for pneumonia brought on by the cold everybody in the family has been fighting for weeks. I went to see her on Tuesday, and we had a long visit, with a lot of laughing and joking, just like always. She’s been housebound since she broke her hip (a couple of years ago), and has been unable to walk or stand at all for over a year. My dad and his brothers have stayed with her 24/7 (with the help of some hired ladies to sit with her during the day a couple of days per week).

I already knew, from previous conversations, that she wanted — desperately — to go. She’d spent several years staring at the wall with nothing to do but wait for Death and the next meal, whichever came first. She knew her sons were giving up most of their time — time with their families, time to do things they needed to do — to stay there with her, and were staring at the wall all day just like she was. Though she was grateful that they were, she didn’t want them to need to be there. Having had a long (87) and happy life, she was ready to go, to see again all the people who had already gone.

We talked about her wanting to go, about not being able to go until it’s your time, and about her hope that she would go peacefully, in her sleep, when nobody was there. We joked a bit, about her living to be ninety or more, outliving all of us, that sort of thing, as we always did. When I left, we did the ritual just like always, and we even joked that, although I had the cold like everybody else, I couldn’t have given it to her, because the last time I left we did the ritual, and so it couldn’t be my fault.

On Thursday, she took a turn for the worse, and was moved to the ICU. I didn’t really want to go back to the hospital, because we’d had such a good visit, and if something did happen, that’s what I wanted to remember. Still, about 11:30 Thursday night, I needed to go, even if it was just to sit there while she was asleep.

I got there about midnight, and she was awake because she was taking a breathing treatment. She knew who I was, and I gave her a hug, then went over to sit down. When her treatment was finished, she went back to sleep, which was fine with me — she needed her sleep, and I didn’t go to visit, I went because I needed to go. I stayed until about 2:00 (AM), when I had to leave because I was on the verge of being too tired to drive. (I’d gotten an hour’s sleep Wednesday night into Thursday morning.)

Before I left, I went over to her bed, and held her hand. She was still asleep, but that wasn’t really important. I told her that if she got the chance to go Home, that I love her, to be careful, and that I would see her when I got my chance.

This morning, at 1:23 AM, the hospital called to tell us she had taken a much more serious turn for the worse, and that it was probably time for the family to come in. I didn’t go, having said what I needed to say. I asked Mom & Dad not to call me to tell me, that I wanted to be told in person. About 3:30, they came home, and as soon as they came through the door, I knew. She went exactly as she wanted to: peacefully, in her sleep, before anyone could get there.

As expected, I’ve had plenty of people offer their condolences, thoughts, and prayers, and I appreciate it greatly. There have also been a few that have been confused that I’m not sad.

My Grandma was a wonderful lady, selfless, kind, caring, and full of love. For a lot of us, when we were young she was our mom, while our mothers were working. I learned more from her than I could ever convey, much of it about being a good person. To live up to her example is impossible, but if I manage even the tiniest fraction, I will have achieved more than I could ever hope.

I already miss her deeply, and will for the rest of my life. I’m not sad, though, because she got to go Home, where she wanted to be, to be with all the ones who had already gone. I’m happy for her — there is nothing else to be. Others are sorry for my loss, but I haven’t lost anything — all the things she taught me, all the fun we had, and all the love she gave are still here, and will be for as long as I choose to keep them. Even though she went Home, she is and will always be here — Death, disorders, not even the Fates themselves can take her away.

Welcome Home, Grandma. I love you too, and I’ll be careful.

1. Where is your cell phone? Left
2. Your hair? Suck
3. Your mother? QVC
4. Your father? Bondo
5. Your favorite food? Meatloaf
6. Your dream last night? Lascivious
7. Your favorite drink? Cucumber
8. Your dream/goal? Escape
9. What room are you in? Padded
10. Your hobby? Métier
11. Your fear? Existence
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Behind
13. Where were you last night? Always
14. Something that you aren’t? There
15. Muffins? Goalpost
16. Wish list item? Grip
17. Where did you grow up? House
18. Last thing you did? Above
19. What are you wearing? Warning
20. Your TV? Noise
21. Your pets? Inquest
22. Friends? Unmet
23. Your life? Paused
24. Your mood? Li₂CO₃
25. Missing someone? Fifth
26. Vehicle? Moves
27. Something you’re not wearing? Pasties
28. Your favorite store? Targét
29. Your favorite color? #0000fe
30. When was the last time you laughed? 01:19:14
31. Last time you cried? Gone
32. Your best friend? Mew
33. One place that I go to over and over? Splash
34. One person who emails me regularly? Google
35. Favorite place to eat? Bed

Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear.

I saw an article this evening about a promotion Ball Park Franks is running to raise funds for the Athlete Recovery Fund. They’ve produced a two-minute video about the Fund and what it does, and for every person who watches it all the way through, Ball Park will donate $1, up to $100,000. If you’re wondering what the Athlete Recovery Fund does, its purpose is to:

To provide professional athletes in BMX, FMX and Skateboarding with financial support after a severe injury and granting funds for rehabilitation, equipment, long-term disability and educational scholarships.

I’m always skeptical about things like this — they remind me of the “Forward this and Heinz will donate baked beans to starving children in Ethiopia” chain emails from the 1990s. However, I checked it out and it certainly seems legit, not to mention that tracking streaming video views strikes as pretty easy to do. These guys definitely have earned two-minutes worth of watching a video for the performance they put on event after event and all the kids (and adults, too) they’ve inspired.

The ARF video is immediately below — I hope you’ll take the time to queue it up, even if you just leave it to run while you go get a fresh cup of coffee. Below that I’ve included a couple other videos for those a bit more interested in the topic.

If you’re wondering exactly what the Fund might need to respond to, here’s a good example from last month’s X Games. Jamie Bestwick, arguably one of the best BMX Vert riders in the business, bailed hard during his final run in the jam session of the BMX Vert competition. As he came down from a 540 tailwhip, he clipped the edge of the ramp with one wheel and slammed into the bottom of the ramp. Much to the relief of everyone watching, he was able to walk off, a bit scrambled, but basically okay, and went on to win the gold. He was lucky — it could have been much worse, and that’s what the Athlete Recovery Fund is there for.

Finally, if you’re wondering why extreme athletes would need educational scholarships, I have a two-word answer: Chaz Ortiz. Chaz is 15, goes to public school in Chicago, takes out the trash after dinner, and worries about his algebra homework — he also wipes the floor with the biggest names in professional skateboarding and picked up $90,000 last year as the winner of the 2008 Dew Tour. This kid is a phenom, and I’m more and more impressed every time I watch him skate. If there’s anyone who shatters stereotypes and demonstrates the positive effect of skating on young people, it’s Chaz.

The video below is from last week’s Wendy’s Invitational, which he won while slaughtering the competition.

click for larger image

I tweeted earlier tonight that I emailed Verizon to ask when my contract is due to expire. They sent an email back telling me the date — August 7 — but it included a line I bet they wish they’d left out:

Is there any particular reason that you are inquiring about your customer agreement end date? I show that you have been valued customer since January of 2006 and I hope we can continue serving your wireless needs.

I’ve actually been a valued customer since July 2005, and an irate one since August 2007. Since they asked, I told them — in detail. I thought you guys might find it interesting.

Thank you very much for the prompt answer, it’s greatly appreciated.

As you asked, I’ll explain why I want to know, though I expect you’ll come to wish you hadn’t asked: I will be waiting on T-Mobile’s doorstep when they open that day.

I have been with Verizon for several years, and for the first two, I was a very happy customer. I came to Verizon from what was then still Cingular because I was consistently treated in a rude an unacceptable manner by Cingular customer service. I was pleased with my phone service, I liked my equipment, but I refuse to be treated rudely. And so I switched to Verizon, at the nearby Verizon store on a very hot day in July. I have returned to that store for all my needs for the last four years, despite moving some distance from it, because they provided excellent customer service, and I value that above all.

I stayed with Verizon through two moves. In 2007, shortly before my contract was due to expire, I purchased an LG VX9900 – the “enV” – and paid the full $500 price for it (I think there might have been a $50 rebate, but it was certainly much more than the two year contract price) specifically because I didn’t want another contract. I have a tendency to move somewhat regularly, and I didn’t know if I would find myself in a Verizon service area in two years.

I discovered a few hours later that Verizon does not have service in the area I live in, and although my shiny new $500 phone could take phone calls, and I could use the shiny QWERTY keyboard to send text messages (through the extended network), it was unable to use any of the data-related features it promised unless I drove 100 miles north or 100 miles east. I wasn’t able to use it for the purpose I purchased it for until six months or so ago, and I learned then that all of the phone’s features had been disabled or gerryrigged to force users into paying $2.99 a month plus data usage for any application they might want to use.

In August, I found my usage increasing dramatically because of business use of my phone, and after a particularly large bill, I called to increase my plan. I was informed that, having spent $450 to avoid a contract, I would now be forced to either continue paying obscene bills for over-plan usage, or submit to a new contract in exchange for the privilege of paying Verizon twice as much per month. As my account no doubt reflects, I was furious at being forced to choose between having a $500 brick, because phones are locked to companies, or having a contract I’d paid to avoid. Verizon paid my cell bill for several months after that because I insisted on being reimbursed for the difference between the phone’s contract price and what I had paid. I have not forgotten, nor will I.

I am quite aware that contracts help subsidize the cost of phones, and that coupled with promotions like “New Every Two,” they serve to avoid the need to retain customers by any other means. However, when I pay, out of pocket, an obscene amount of money to avoid a contract, my phone hasn’t been subsidized, and there is absolutely nothing about a customer service rep clicking two buttons to increase my monthly minutes that rises to the level of requiring a new contract. It is purely a matter of putting greed above customer satisfaction, and as I said above, I refuse to be treated in that manner.

It may well be the case that contracts provide for customer retention for every single one of Verizon’s other customers, but not for this one. It should be common sense that if you force a customer who has gone to great lengths to avoid one into a contract, they probably won’t stay with you past its end. I told the representative that day that Verizon would lose my business the day that contract ran out, and I intend to hold to that. My contract expires on August 7, and on the morning of August 7, the T-Mobile store in town will find me standing outside when the doors open, Visa card in hand, ready to pay the no-contract price for the HTC Dream/T-Mobile G1, a Google Android based, and by extension, Linux based phone for which I can write my own applications, and which has an application store filled with free applications that require nothing more than a data plan to operate. I checked some months ago that they offer service in this area and that their data network has coverage here.

I have been asked by more than a few people what I thought of my Verizon service. I have told each that I always received excellent customer service, that I have been very satisfied with the hardware, though I have been rather disappointed with the network coverage. I have also told each that I could not in good conscience recommend Verizon due to their contract practices, and that I would be leaving as soon as the one I was forced into expired. I will continue to recommend as much to anyone who asks me.

That is why I inquired about my contract end date – I don’t want to miss my opportunity to be standing outside the T-Mobile store that morning. The only remotely funny part of it all is that, had I not been forced into a new contract at what amounted to gunpoint two years ago, I would still be a happy Verizon customer. As I said, I value good customer service above all, and I have never received anything but superior service from any of Verizon’s representatives. It is greed, plain and simple, as codified in Verizon’s corporate policies, that has lost it what would have been a lifelong customer and advocate.

If I believed that large companies had the capacity to learn from their mistakes, I would hope that Verizon would learn something about treating customers with more respect. I don’t believe they can, however, and I fully expect that Verizon will go on doing the exact same thing to other customers. They won’t, however, do it to me. If I had the choice between going back to rotary-dial phones plugged into the wall or staying with Verizon, I would be looking for a Western Electric Model 302.

Yours,

Justin

Let me say, I have no reason to be upset with the customer rep, and I’m not — he was just doing his job. I’ve always gotten very good service from their customer reps, and have no complaint about them whatsoever. Regardless of how angry I am with the company, I don’t take it out on the poor guys on the front line. I know it does no good at all to tell them, but I do hope it gets bumped up in front of someone sufficiently senior to have it stick in the back of their mind the next time they have to deal with a situation like I went through two years ago.

All three have happened tonight.

You guys may or may not know that I’m a huge fan of Alton Brown and his TV show Good Eats. When I say fan, what I really mean is superfan. I’ve seen every episode of the show at least a dozen times, and I have some on DVD — one is in my DVD player right now. I was just thinking last night that I should buy the $500 54-volume set of every episode of the show to date. I’ve made more than a few recipes from the show, I have his first two books — I even have his salt cellar, and was incredibly excited to get it. I’ve bought cookware, utensils, and appliances because of his recommendation.

I know that, despite perpetual declarations on his show that “the only unitasker in my kitchen is the fire extinguisher,” he actually does have another unitasker — a green-bean frencher — because they’re one of his favorite foods. I know that he doesn’t use cue cards or a teleprompter on Good Eats, but rather records his dialogue beforehand and listens to it while filming, much like music artists do in concert. I know where his tattoos are. I know that his grandmother, Ma Mae Skelton, who appeared on several shows and reminds me eerily of my grandmother, passed away in 2001. I know that most of the extras on Good Eats are actually members of the show’s crew, but that Vicki Wong, who plays snarky, sharp-tongued kitchenware-expert “W,” is not the manager of a Bed, Bath, & Beyond store — she’s Alton’s chiropractor.

I know that Alton didn’t start out as a chef — he was a cinematographer for a number of years. I know that he got into cooking after watching cooking shows to alleviate boredom during shoots, and was dismayed by the quality. I know that as a cinematographer, he was one of the cameramen for Spike Lee’s film School Daze, and was the director of photography for the music video of The One I Love by R.E.M.

I used a clip from his show “Mission: Poachable” right here on UB while teasing Marcel “WFTL” Gagné about not being “a real mad French chef.” I know that he prefers Apple devices — and I forgive him for that. And, if I’m going to be entirely honest, I arranged my daily schedule, which is intended to help control my sleep disorder and minimize the effects of my other conditions, so that I would be going to bed with my “snack” (really a meal) at 2:00AM, when Good Eats airs. Sometimes I stay up until 4:00, even though it ruins the next day for me, so I can watch the episodes that air at 3:00 and 3:30.

In short — which wasn’t short — I’m a big fan. The show is quirky, funny, and completely unlike any other cooking show that I’ve ever seen, and beside the fact that it is incredibly geeky, it genuinely engages viewers, teaches them why things are done the way they are rather than just telling them blindly to do it, and does so in a creative, fun, and thoroughly enjoyable manner.

This evening, while chatting on IRC, I happened to mention that I was a fan of the show. The person I was chatting with wasn’t familiar with it, so I went to Alton’s website, altonbrown.com to get a link that would tell him a bit about it. (I ended up sending him to FoodTV instead.)

While I was on the site, I noticed a link titled Ask Alton – Atlanta Magazine: Reader questions and AB’s replies. Always interested in whatever Alton has to say, and especially the kind of behind-the-scenes info that fans usually ask about, I clicked through. They weren’t actually fan questions, but rather cooking scenarios seeking his advice. The first was:

My son is bringing his vegetarian girlfriend to Christmas dinner this year. I’m obviously going to have to think beyond my usual holiday ham, but I have no idea where to start. Any ideas?

Interesting question — I wonder what funny, quirky answer Alton will have. Allow me to share excerpts from the response:

The way I see it your responsibility to “obviously” provide an alternative, meat-free entrée might be valid if the young lady suffered from some sort of meat allergy. But she doesn’t. Her dietary condition results from socio-political dietary free will.

Do not coddle her or your son for that matter. It’s your family and your kitchen…run it lady.

And don’t forget a nice mac and cheese which goes fabulously with ham. I’d suggest a deep dish baked version constructed with a touch of nutmeg and good English cheddar. I’d probably make sure there was some bacon grease hidden in there too but that’s me.

Seriously, I can respect personal decisions like vegetarianism but I can’t respect the bad manners that often unfold when people who make such personal choices take it out on their hosts. That’s food terrorism and none of us should negotiate with terrorists.

I’m a vegetarian. I’m also on the verge of tears.

I’ve been a vegetarian for almost a decade, and I have never asked anyone to cook me anything special when visiting — in fact, I have repeatedly asked people not to make something special, that I’ll be just fine with the side dishes, and they’ve done it anyway. Despite the fact that I’m vegetarian, I’ve let people bring food into my house that wasn’t vegetarian because I do my best to be a gracious host.

I’ve also been served food that I didn’t know had meat in it. The one I remember best was at my grandmother’s, a few years after I went vegetarian — she made a pot roast, with potatoes and carrots, and I didn’t realize that the vegetables had spent several hours soaking in the drippings. I ate heartily, and was violently ill for several days afterwards. Sneaking meat into a vegetarian’s food isn’t a little prank at their expense, it’s the equivalent of force feeding a jar of Planters to someone with a peanut allergy. Particularly after several years, our systems stop being able to handle meat products, and we suffer the predictable results. If a week-long bout of what strongly resembles stomach flu is your idea of a harmless prank, you need to get help — a lot of it, and fast.

I can’t remember most of my life, but in what I do remember, I have never been called a terrorist. Even if I was the kind of person — and I acknowledge that there are some, I usually refer to them as “militant vegetarians” — who wields their vegetarianism like some cross between a picket sign and a samurai sword, I hardly think it warrants comparison to the type of people who perpetuate the unprovoked murder of innocent people. It’s an insult to us, as vegetarians, and even more so, it’s an insult to the victims of terrorism and their families and friends.

I’m not naive enough to think that everyone on television is their character. I’m not even naive enough to think that TV stars who are supposed to be themselves actually behave on television the same way they do in real life. I did, however, think that Alton Brown was a nice guy. Not because of the personality he presents on his shows (and yes, I’ve watched all of his series), though that does play a part — if you genuinely seem like a nice guy, it’s hard not to assume you probably are.

More so, though, is the kind of show Good Eats is. The things he does, the depth in which he discusses things, the bizarre ways he devises to explain things, and what comes across as a genuine interest in his viewers — it all adds up, at least to me, to a picture of a nice guy. The behind the scenes views, the articles, the supposedly candid shows like Feasting on Asphalt contributed to the perception as well.

I liked that about him — there are a lot of chefs on TV who don’t just come off, but blatantly act like they’re better than everyone else because someone gave them a white hat and a spatula. Alton seemed down to earth, like the kind of person who could have been the goofy, geeky guy next door. It hurts to have critically misjudged someone, even if it is just a guy on TV. I’m incommunicably disappointed in someone I thought was better than that.

I probably shouldn’t let it upset me — I should shrug it off as one more example that what you see isn’t necessarily what you get. That’s rather hard, though, when you’re a serious fan. If he had announced he needed a kidney, I’d have cut out one of mine, myself, or went hunting for compatible donors and filleted them on the street — using a dishwasher safe polycarbonate cutting board and a granton-edged knife, of course.

There isn’t an address, email or otherwise, or a contact form on either his website or the Food Network site, so I can’t tell him how disappointed and hurt I am. (It makes me wonder, though, where all the viewer mail he’s supposed to have gotten went to — maybe they hid it in the macaroni and cheese.) I can, however, tell you guys.

I’m reminded of a scene from another of my favorite shows, Will & Grace. To summarize the plot, Will’s father, George, has just admitted that he told all his friends and coworkers that Will & Grace were married, so he wouldn’t have to admit that Will was gay. George offers the excuse that some of them are just so small minded, etc.

Will: All right, Dad, Dad, stop. I got it. It’s the Captain Lenny thing all over again.

George: What?

Will: You don’t remember Captain Lenny? He used to introduce the cartoons on Channel 4. When I was 10, you took me on that business trip to New York, and there in the hotel bar was Captain Lenny drinking a beer and hitting on a waitress. I was very upset, and you said to me, “Willie, he’s not really a captain. He’s just a guy.”

Alton is just a guy. I should have known he wasn’t a captain.

<@JustinRyan> “What are you thankful for?” “That the Fates used as much lube as they did.”

Not this time — they probably tried to buy it at Walmart.

My family have been big fans of Walmart for years. We’ve always shopped there, and my brother worked there at one point — he even found his second wife there! We’ve spent a ton of money — as has just about everybody else — and have generally been pretty satisfied.

Anybody who has lived in a fairly small town knows that there isn’t usually much to do. If you’re trying to do your doing at two in the morning, there’s even less to do. Most often, the do to do is Walmart. As I tend to be up and doing at two in the morning, I find myself at Walmart quite often, at least once per week, sometimes more. I actually like going at night — there isn’t the madcap demolition derby that goes on during the day. Also, they’re either in the process of or just finished stocking, so anything I want is on the shelf. I have a little routine — yes, an obsessive one — of how I go through the store, and I can spend two or three hours in there just wandering around looking at what there is to look at.

Given this, you might say I’m a bit more attached to my Walmart than the ordinary person. You can imagine, then, my horror when they announced they were going to renovate. The (slightly larger) town next to us has a Walmart that was renovated not too long ago (ours isn’t that old, so this is its first time up on the renovation schedule) and it’s absolutely horrible. It looks like it was laid out by a drunken monkey, with product selection contributed by a comatose llama with acid reflux. I can’t stand to have to go in there.

And, of course, that’s exactly what they’ve turned my Walmart — my Walmart — into. They haven’t moved the food section around — yet — other than switching the produce cases out with little decorative plastic bins, so it looks like its been on Queer Eye for the Farmers Market. They have, however, moved the whole general merchandise section around, and its even worse than the drunk monkey floorplan. I can’t find anything at all — I went looking for a bird feeder and found the toy department instead.

What really frustrates me, though, is that they pulled a Facebook: They changed it around without ever bothering to ask if we liked it the way it was. Some Executive Vice President in Huntsville — an MBA, no doubt — decided he knew what was best for us and @$#&*%’d the whole thing up. I don’t expect Walmart to bring in Gallop every time they want to discontinue a product, but a major renovation could have at least involved a “fill out and return if you’d like to” survey. If nothing else, it would have made us feel like we were being listened to — maybe not enough, but at least listened to.

I don’t have a huge amount of choice in some things, because there just isn’t anywhere else in town with the same variety, but I firmly refuse to do my regular shopping there. Not as an act of protest, mind you — I just find the new layout completely unusable.

There is a regional superstore chain in the area that I actually like a lot better — they’re about twice the size, and have a much wider variety, both in food, especially produce, and general items. (In fact, that’s where I found the replacement keyboard I’ve been whinging about needing.) They don’t have a store nearby, though, and that’s the reason I wasn’t already shopping there. The closest one is 45 minutes away — “in the city” — and the one I really like is a bit further than that. (Each one has a slightly different mix based on the specific area it’s in.)

That there isn’t one close, though, isn’t entirely a bad thing. Because they are “in the city,” they carry a lot of things that there isn’t a big market for out here. “Health food,” especially vegetarian items, are almost non-existent — the grocers stock veggie burgers, but there’s no sense in looking for anything really specific. The same is true for ethnic foods: there are a few Asian cuisine items, like nori, and even fewer Latin American products, and a select few kosher offerings.

The chain I like, though, has an entire ethnic aisle (double the size of a Walmart aisle, and on both sides), with Kosher, multiple Asian cuisines, Latin American, and a tour of Europe: Italian, Scandinavian, Mediterranean, French, German, and my favorite, British items. If I asked for HP sauce or McVitie’s down here, they look at me like I’d just asked for skunk fillets — if I asked for Heinz Spotted Dick, I’d probably be arrested.

I intend to do all my regular shopping there from now on, either every-other-week or every-three-weeks — it’s a drive, but it’ll get me out of the house once in a while. (I’m more apt to do other things when I’m going that far.) I’ll still have to go to Walmart for this or that, but I intend to keep it light.

As for the bubbleheaded corporate TPS-report jockey that came up with this idiotic renovation, I’d like to say he should be dragged out back and shot. I’d like to say it, but it’s too pleasant a fate — I want him tarred, feathered, hung, drawn, quartered, and shot for good measure. If there’s any justice, he’ll have to spend all of eternity wandering a horribly laid-out Walmart at 900,000,000°.

So, it’s going to do what, drink my liquor and leave the toilet seat up?

What were you expecting, Shawn Powers?

While checking my RSS feeds this morning, I ran across a “10 Twitter apps you’d like to see”-type post, and skimmed through it. Among the apps was one called “Cursebird,” (PNSFW) which counts how often you use foul language in your tweets and then ranks your potty mouth against all the other wanna-be sailors on Twitter. I’m quite proud to have earned the designation “Swears like a Mute.”

I hate being left out, though, and there was something I’d been meaning to work on, so without further delay, behold my Manic Monday machination!

What, you ask, is that? Waaaaaaaaaaay back when Crystal posted the very first Manic Monday mission, she issued an open call for a graphic to represent Manic Monday. Since I didn’t get to participate in the regular mission, I seized the opportunity to put together a Manic Monday mascot as my submission.

Now all we have to do is wait for Crystal to see it, and hopefully spew her coffee all over her keyboard.

(Just for the record: I realize I actually did “hug” somebody who needed one, but it was a little bit different, and the person doesn’t know they’ve been “hugged” yet. And no, you perverts, it wasn’t like that.)

By my dear friend LisaH.

I don’t like memes.

The last time somebody tagged me with a meme, he ended up bound, on top of an ant hill, slathered in honey. Since that time, though, I’ve begun using Beep (a/k/a BPX-Dev a/k/a @bpxdev a/k/a Stu) for all my smiting needs — I find the angry Scotsman to be quite efficient. Take my advice, Lisa: If you hear bagpipes, smell haggis, or see men in skirts, run, and toss bottles of the Glenlivet behind you as chaff.

So, since Beep will be handling Lisa’s untimely — and with luck, unpleasant — demise, I suppose I can fill the time by playing along with the blasted thing.

Here goes nothing.

The rules:

1. Link to your original tagger(s) and list these rules in your post.
2. Share seven facts about yourself in the post.
3. Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they’ve been tagged.

#1 I will acquiesce to with pleasure: The soon-to-be-late Ms. Hoover can be found at the aptly-named lisahoover.com.

#2 is as follows:

1. Most of you know I’m completely cracked — you may not know, though, that I have doctors to back it up. Though I’ve always had it, I’ve been dueling with bipolar disorder for the better part of ten years. I started a new, aggressive line of treatment — including lithium — with a new doctor in 2007, and have not experienced an episode since. I also live with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, though it doesn’t bear much resemblance to what is seen on TV, I have a circadian rhythm sleep disorder, Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome, which causes my wake/sleep cycle to be offset from “normal” time by about fourteen hours, and Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. I take more medication each day than my grandmother.
2. I’m a security über-freak. I use unique, randomly-generated, 20+ character passwords for everything, with some topping out over 100 characters. I despise websites that limit special characters or character count, especially those that do so while insisting on one uppercase letter and one number in an max-eight-character password “for security.” Crystal (a/k/a @crredwards) can testify to the level of my insanity.
3. My avatars, which Lisa loves so much, take an average of 2-4 hours each to create. I use a service to provide the basic characters, and most of “my” clothing; I add in other elements to almost all, though. Anything added to my penguin, to the background, or to “me” other than general clothes has been added with The GIMP. I remove stray pixels from the edges by hand, usually a few hundred of them per avatar.
4. By far, the worst trigger for my OCD is the sight or mention of feet. They represent the pinnacle of filth to me, and the aversion pre-dates my diagnosis by several years. I believe flip-flops should be banned, and pedicurists and podiatrists put to death. No one is allowed in my house without socks or closed shoes; when I lived alone, there was a basket of socks in the coat closet, and anyone not appropriately shoed was issued a pair on entry. They were discarded, outside, on departure. Every obsession (and that’s an obsession, even though I despise the subject) has a compulsion, and I managed to train a mild motor tic I’ve had for years — it’s a head twitch, like a double take — as the compulsion. I literally start twitching when I see/hear about/think of feet. And yes, I’m twitching right now.
5. I read rabidly. I can’t stand to miss any information. I read every Twitter message from my regular circle, I read the logs of everything said in my IRC channels while I’m away, I read three or four hundred blog posts in my personal feeds daily, and between 500-1000 posts daily in my news feeds for Linux Journal. The first thing I do on starting my “day” or returning to the office is check what I’ve missed.
6. My fellow LJ-er Shawn Powers and I are eerily similar. Perhaps strangest among the similarities is that neither of us can remember the majority of our lives. Shawn was in a car accident and lost his — I lost the majority of mine after my first major manic episode, and additional portions after successive episodes. I can remember the last two years, and some of the previous one. The rest is best described as a photo album: I can see snapshots, though some are only partial, but I have no idea what happened in the time between those photos, and some only exist by way of stories I’ve been told.
7. My penguin’s name is Daniel.

As when Shawn tagged me, I steadfastly refuse to comply with #3 & #4; again I’ll open the floor for anyone who wants to participate to do so and cite me as their “tagger.”

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an international phone call to make — anyone know the country-code for Britain?

As if it weren’t bad enough that Crystal & the rest of the Shirelles were incapacitated, the Coconut of Doom began spreading its evil effects via the internet. Just as Crystal was starting to return to abnormal, Jen (a/k/a LaRue a/k/a Chesty La Rue Gal) came down with the dreaded disease. Mass panic — well, at least among the several dozen regulars in #linuxjournal, was narrowly avoided.

Just when we thought it was over, however, The Fates decided to skimp on the lube, and sent the Coconut of Doom my way. A simple case of the sniffles wasn’t good enough for me, though; oh, no. Instead of the Philippine flu, I was visited by the subzero version, the Piña Colada of Perdition.

That’s right:

I got whammied by Crystal’s bloody coconut.

For those who didn’t notice, I disappeared about 7:00 Tuesday and didn’t reappear until after midnight Saturday morning. The authorities expect us to believe it was a rogue ice storm, but I know better: it was that blasted fruit! The storm knocked out our power, including the heat, as well as that of a couple hundred thousand other people. It also knocked out the power at the water treatment plants, causing the water company to buy from a neighboring water company — until their power went out too. Thankfully, we never went below 50%, though it didn’t really matter as there was nothing to heat it anyway.

We did stay at home throughout, though we were on duty with my grandmother, who requires 24/7 care, during the day. Thankfully, she has gas heat & hot water, and we were able to hook up a generator so the (electric) blower on the furnace would run. That proved to be a great help, as hot showers and somewhere warm to go remained available throughout.

Our power returned on Friday evening, about 6:30 we think — we were still on duty at the time. When the power went out, we had a full large chest freezer and a full refrigerator/freezer; we managed to save most of the food by loading it in to coolers and storing it outside in one of the cars. (It was 10°-20° outside the entire time.) What we couldn’t save (primarily ice cream and such) our insurance will pay for, though we doubt we’ll have met the deductible.

The outside wasn’t quite as lucky. We have a number of large trees around the house, and though thankfully there was no damage to the house, there is quite a lot to be cleaned up. Several trees in front of the house look like they were attacked by a mad gardener with ginormous hedge-clippers, and by the time we pick up all the branches in the yard, we’ll be able to keep the world in wood chips for several decades to come.
I took a few shots to give a little idea of what hit us. First is the ice — this is after it started to melt:

The next two are of branches that were brought down:

The last shows where branches like that were previously attached to the trees:

Part of the reason I think those images are particularly telling is that those branches weren’t blown down. The damage was caused by the ice — it was simply so heavy that the trees couldn’t hold the branches up anymore. If you look closely, you’ll see that they aren’t little branches either; some where six inches or more in diameter. That’s a lot of ice.

It was originally predicted that another storm would come through tomorrow; they’re now telling us it won’t come through here. We’re not out of the woods yet, though — a lot of people have gotten their power back only to have it go out again. Apparently, as the ice is melting, branches that sagged under the weight are snapping back and breaking off, causing a second round of outages (before the first round is even halfway over). Should we lose power again, I’ll keep sending updates to Twitter as long as I can from my cell.

We do have one defense, though, against a return by the Piña Colada of Perdition: My mom went out yesterday and bought the biggest generator she could find. I don’t know the details of generator ratings, but from what I understand, this one could power a small country. Hopefully I can at least steal a laptop’s worth while I sip my fondled-fruit drink.

Ignoring all that for the moment, I saw something today that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to post on. What I have to say is short and sweet:

That is all.

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This is the first one to have four panels, so you’ll definitely have to click for the full-size to be able to read it. Hope you get as big of a kick out of reading it as I did “drawing” it.

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Note: Each comic is based on an actual exchange either on Twitter or on IRC. This particular exchange took place during a conversation in #linuxjournal on a new law in the UK regarding government-access to encrypted devices.

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Case in point: Beep (a.k.a. BPX-Dev a.k.a. Stu) announced this morning that he is starting his own webcomic centered around a large fluffy bunny who basically gives people what they deserve. Now, I haven’t been planning a comic starring a large fluffy bunny, but I did have it on my task list to take the bizarre exchanges I have on Twitter and in IRC and turn it into an occasiodaily comic, something to keep the Underblog here a bit more regular. (Yes, my blog is constipated — can’t wait to see the comic for that one, can you?)

With Beep unveiling his first creation a few hours ago, it — and the discussion surrounding it — provided me with the perfect way to kick things off. It doesn’t have a name yet — I honestly haven’t even given it a thought — but one will pop up from somewhere I’m sure. I can’t draw anymore because of my tremor (not that I was that good to begin with) so expect that the cast of characters will likely change their look as I work with different strip generators and such. Individual backstories/personality will likely play an important part — in today’s, for example, it’s useful to know that Beep is a LARPer — as will the actual exchange behind the strip. I have a feeling that it will just have to build up over time; if I start explaining the context, it won’t be funny anymore.

Now, without further adieu, the first installment of [insert wittiness here] — hey, I like that! — dedicated to Beep and the big fluffy bunny.