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I saw a movie last night, for those of you that didn't already know, I rented Shrek 2 and The Last Samurai from Movie Gallery and watched just Shrek 2 last night. No, still haven't seen the Tom Cruise Samurai yet; don't spoil it for me.
Honest to gosh, I really didn't like Shrek 2 that much. I guess that I just had to be with at least one other person to make it worthwhile; I fast forwarded through some of it. Not a lot of it, just some of it; I didn't see the Princess Bridge allusion that Puss in Boots made, but I'll just keep the humor of it that I got from other people talking about it instead of watching the movie over again.
I remember the line "I'm Puss... in boots" the way other people have said it and laughed about it, but in the movie it just didn't strike me as being as funny or memorable as when my friends say it. I just wasn't feeling the whole "that's funny and adorable" thing. However, yes, seeing him with those big eyes and purring and everything was classic.
I like the movie for being a collection of jokes, but not as something I'd like to watch from beginning to end, to summarize my opinion of it.
That was all last night though, not tonight, not even today.
Today at work was not that bad really, I got a lot more riding in on the 4-wheeler and got to play around with the picture phone, which btw, even takes video clips. Made sure to take a clip of one of our more infamous employees operating his machine with a voice narrative saying "That's [name] in his machine... and this clip is proof that he really does work sometimes..."
Fun stuff; he, of course, only knew I was fidgeting with my phone, and probably just thinking I was doing picture taking stuff.
As for ringtones, because no phone is not cool without cool ringtones, regardless of what your wallpaper is, I've been carefully sifting through songs today, picking only the ones that were cool AND unique. Of course, as coolness goes up, sometimes uniqueness goes down, but right now I have ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" as my main ring and then two other rings for people. When either one of my parents call it plays part of "Crazy Train" (now sampled into the rap song "Let's Go") complete with the Ozzy "Aight" yell, it's great. I think that's called "enhanced" when it does stuff like that.
The choices out there are crazy, I'm tellin' ya... There were voices on there too, and I almost got some of them but they seemed too much like a novelty. You know, it's cool the first time, but lame after the first week or so of hearing it over and over again. One was Cheaney talking about Sadam having Weapons of Mass Destruction, and then another one I came SO close to getting was Ronald Reagan giving his famous "My fellow Americans, I am pleased to announce that Russia has officially now been outlawed from the United States. The bombings start in 5 minutes."
Also, to round it off, when Tracy calls, she's been deemed worthy of receiving the "Pink Panther" theme.
Speaking of Tracy, I was right last night about her being in rehearsals for a while; it was 11:15 when she called me when she JUST got out of rehearsal. Tonight she's at rehearsal again so that leaves me to my wiles yet again.
And thus I am taking full advantage of it.
I got a chance while baby-sitting Bosco tonight to read out of my new Writer's Digest, and there's this article in there that was this Grand Prize winner's dude's entry. J.K. Mason's short story: "My Own Avatar"
Ok, to give an idea of the competition, his entry was chosen from 17,584 other entries in 10 different categories (He was grand-prize winner, remember, he competed in ALL 10 categories). He won $2,500 and a trip to NYC to meet the Editor of Writer's Digest and FOUR other editors/agents about his work.
Now, I read this short story and I found "J.K. Mason's short story about life, death, and e-mail" so amazing I had to include it here, but for your browsing convience, I have it cut right below.
"My Own Avatar"
By J.K. Mason
In the CHAPEL window, I click on the gold binoculars, and a box labeled "VIEW DECEASED" pops onto my screen; inside, a bier and coffin sit against a backdrop of white carnation and red ribbons. I click the coffin and roll my mouse forward, swinging the lid open. Uncle Bob appears, and for an instant, I doubt my decision to attend his funeral online. I push ZOOM and his face fills my screen. The skin is bruised and lulmp, as though maggots are at work under the surface. His hair seems superglued to his scalp, and his mouth forms a puckered "o": a final bit of astonishment, or maybe his favorite saying -- "Man, oh, man" -- cut short. I thought this would be easier online, less real, but it's not. I feel tears welling, a fist clenching inside my chest.
Uncle Bob wasn't my uncle. He married my mother when I was 11, lifting us from poverty. Sure, he was an alcoholic, but he was also the only dad I ever knew. He drove the car -- "cruising blacktop" he called it -- that first night I got drunk and stoned; he taught me how to throw a sucker punch after some G-LO gang-bangers kicked my ass and stole my pocket PC at school; and he paid for the hooker who took my virginity on a Southern California beach. Maybe he was old-fashioned or clichéd, but to me he was a damn good father figure. Soft organ music plays through my speakers. A red neon LED in the corner of my screen ticks softly: 32, 31, 30.
I click ZOOM-OUT.
Depressing my mouse button, I drag left, and the camera pans a 360, dizzyingly. The chapel appears full, and I feel as though I'm looking at a photo through a magnifying glass, the center nauseatingly detailed, the periphery a blur. I aim into the pews and see Charlie Colburn, his face puffy and pale, looming large and timorous. Charlie was Uncle Bob's drinking buddy, and today he looks worse than Uncle Bob. I put my crosshairs on his nose and click ZOOM. Oops, too much -- the window fills with large blurry squares, two shadowy nostrils in the center. My neon LED ticks down to all zeros. The organ music stops.
I click the blinking chair, and I'm repositioned into the pews -- next to Becca, my sister, who seems a bit wan today. I aim my Point of View forward and crane through heads toward the minister, standing at his podium in front of the chapel.
"O Lord, you who are the Mother of comfort and the God of all mercies; look with compassion, we pray upon all gathered here now, that our minds and hearts shall..."
***
During my follow-up chat with Mr. Keenan, the funeral director, he asks: "I understand these are difficult times for you, Mr. Beasley, but were you satisfied with the quality of the interactive funeral?"
"To be truthful," I type, "I did find it interesting, so I'm glad I tried it, and it was a lot easier than traveling all the way out to California, but it was difficult not being there. I'll probably attend my next one in person."
"I understand completely," he sends, "and have you made a decision on the perpetuity option?"
Mr. Keenan is referring to how Uncle Bob will be remembered. First, there's a time-honored Headstone With A Carved Epitaph -- definitely not for Uncle Bob. Second, a solar-powered LED gravestone that displays up to 20 rotating epitaphs, posies or catchy phrases about the deceased, programmed at burial time with input from the mourners. My mother has this setup, and we're not happy with it. Once the messages are entered, they can't be changed, so spelling and grammar errors rotate repeatedly, like she was illiterate, forever.
Next is a Web site that periodically sends out e-mail messages -- eulogies or humorous vignettes about the deceased -- to a list of family and friends. If we choose this option, someone (yours truly, I'm sure) needs to maintain the mailing list and compose new e-mails every few months. And this makes me uneasy because if I get lazy with my maintenance, Uncle Bob's remembrance fades away; he kind of dies all over again. And who needs that mental baggage? I certainly don't.
Then there's the automated Internet Presence: for a few extra bucks, Uncle Bob -- or, more accurately, a computer program that emulates his personal style of communicated -- continues to "thrive" on the Internet, no maintenance required. Once created, his presence will initiate and respond to e-mail, participate in chat sessions, and proactively travel about on the Net, joining special-interest clubs, chat groups and other Web-based organizations on its own. In effect, "Uncle Bob" will exist in cyberspace, in perpetuity or until we quit making the annual payments. It comes with a direct Internet connection and an all-weather monitor that mounts on the headstone in case a family member of friend wishes to stop by the gravesite and see what Uncle Bob is up to.
"We decided to go with an Internet Presence," I type -- "We" referring to Becca and myself, the sole family survivors. Becca lives in California with her husband. Uncle Bob stayed with them for the last three years of his life.
"Excellent," types Mr. Keenan. "I'll send you an e-mail message with documentation and the attachments you'll need to e-sign. The main requirement is that you make your stepfather's PC accessible so we can establish a fingerprint for him And also, you'll need your credit card or automatic debit information for the initial account setup."
What Mr. Keenan means by "establish a fingerprint" is that they'll analyze Uncle Bob's files and spreadsheets, his e-mails, chat transcripts, file transfers, Word documents, purchasing records, credit reports, medical history, and all the logs of his World Wide Web travels and Internet transactions to deduce his personal style of communicating, then imitate and re-create his predilections and propensities. Uncle Bob wasn't what I'd consider an avid Internet user. He spent most of this time out drinking in bars and cavorting with Charlie Colburn, so his PC doesn't contain an abundance of data, but we have some hard copy to supplement it with. According to the Presence documentation, the run everything through a parsing program -- a highly sophisticated grammar checker -- to identify his figures of speech and other words or phrases that constitute how he communicated -- his methods of persuasion, his particular way of arousing an emotional response. A style sort of thing.
"Yup. I have the Internet address for his PC," I type, "and Becca has the PC at her house if you need it."
"We won't need it -- physically. We'll access it from the Net. If you and Becca will send us digital scans of his handwritten letters, andy photos or memorabilia that might reveal things about him, scribbled messages and so forth, we'll need those, as well. The more we have, the better the fingerprint."
During my next chat with Becca, I type, "You know that big box with the pictures and scrapbooks and newspaper clippings Mom kept stored in the garage? Get all the letters from Uncle Bob out, and any pictures of him, and scan them. E-mail everything to Mr. Keenan, and copy me. I'm sending him what I have here."
"I'm not feeling so well today, Carter," she says, "but I'll get this done somehow. I promise."
"OK. Chat later. Bye. ;-)"
Late in the evening, I'm going through copies of what Becca has sent. A picture of Uncle Bob standing beside Lake Elmo: He's holding a giant fish on a stringer; I'm the only one who knows where that goofy fish came from, and it certainly wasn't Lake Elmo -- he bought it at Shop-Mart for a joke. A picture of Uncle Bob at the reunion: He has one arm around Becca and the other around my mom, who's holding a pink wine cooler and laughing; that was taken after they split up, so he was bout 50 then, his smile bright against his tan skin. A copy of a letter he sent to the cable TV company:
DEAR SIRS,
YOUR DAMN PHONE LINE IS ALWAYS BUSY, SO THIS IS MY WRITTEN COMPLAINT ABOUT YOUR CRAPPY TV SERVICE. WHO THE HELL NEEDS IT! JUST NOW WE TREID WATCHING THE GAME AND GOT NEITHER HEADS OR TAILS FROM YOUR DAMN CHANNEL. SO HERE WE SIT, WITHOUT TV AGAIN, I HOPE YOU HAVE CUSTOMERS WHO PAY OR ELSE YOU ARE GOING OUT OF BUSINESS, AND FAST! BECAUSE I WON'T PAY! LOOK, YOU BETTER GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER! FIX IT! WE WILL PAY NOTHING MORE UNTIL YOU DO! THERE YOU ARE, I SAID IT. DON'T EVEN TRY!
BOB BEASLEY
All I can dig up is a low-resolution digital photo of Uncle Bob standing with Becca and me in front of Burger King, so I send it in. I know he used his PC for e-mail, and he shopped online for fishing gear. Hopefully, they'll glean more information from that.
***
I receive my first e-mail message from "Uncle Bob":
"DEAR CARTER,
I HAVE FINALLY QUIT MY DAMN DRINKING, SO HERE I SIT. LOOK, I HAVEN'T HEARD NEITHER HEADS OR TAILS FROM YOU LATELY, SO I'LL GET RIGHT TO THE POINT. I EXPECT SOME DAMN E-MAIL, AND IF I DON'T GET IT, THEN FORGET YOU! I WILL WRITE YOU NOTHING MORE UNTIL I DO! WHO THE HELL NEEDS IT! THERE YOU GO, I SAID IT. I'M ALSO AVAILABLE FOR CHAT UNLESS YOU ARE TOO DAMN BUSY. I'LL BE AT THE LAKE NEXT WEEK SO DON'T EVEN TRY ME."
***
"Something's wrong with Uncle Bob," I tell Mr. Keenan.
"Really? I chatted with him the other day, and he seemed all right to me. Maybe a little opinionated."
"He sort of sounds like Uncle Bob; in a way he does, but he just seems different."
"Here, let me bring up his profile. Well, we didn't have much to work with on his PC, but I've seen less. He belonged to an online sportsman's club, so we pulled some email records from that -- it looks like a memo to another member and a complaint letter about dues or something. That was all."
"He sounds angrier now. That's what it is, and he wasn't that way in life. I mean, Uncle Bob was a nice guy, always telling jokes. The life of the party. To give you an idea of how he was, even after he divorced my mom he wasn't bitter, and he came for Thanksgiving dinner every year. And to our family reunions. Everyone liked Uncle Bob."
"Well, if you have some other items you could send us, anything at all, we can add them to his fingerprint. Maybe you remember some of his jokes?"
"I'll try, but I always forget jokes."
"Look at it this way, Carter. Maybe he's not perfect, but at least you have something. He's not gone completely. Have you tried chatting with him? In my opinion, he's more interesting than most people I encounter on the Net. And it's probably only you who notices a difference anyway. The people he meets out there never knew him and they'll never know anything's changed. Sorry, but it's the best we can do."
I spend a few hours trying to remember some of Uncle Bob's jokes but I'm totally jokeless. I recall many funny things about him, but his jokes just won't gel. I'm thinking of a barbecue, Uncle Bob in his green Nike shirt and holding a spatula, when one of his jokes staggers into my memory. A knock-knock joke. and that's all I recall, a single joke. Will it be enough, I wonder, or should I buy a joke book and add a few more? Nope. I'm not going to tinker with Uncle Bob like that. Hopefully, Mr. Keenan's computer program can derive something more from this one joke, expand Uncle Bob, grow some digital meat from this small scrap of humor, so I type it up and send it in.
***
I've hardly heard from Becca since the funeral, and this bothers me because we've chatted every few days since Mom died. Then I receive this e-mail from her husband:
"I'm sorry to inform you, Carter, but Becca has passed away. She died in the hospital two days ago. She's been fighting colon cancer for a few years now. I know you weren't aware of it, but she simply chose not to burden you with the details. In fact, she told very few people. She asked that I notify you."
I feel just horrible. First, I lose Uncle Bob, and now this. I decide to call Becca's husband, but then I discover I don't have their current phone number as Becca always preferred chatting online, to save money, so I signal him for a chat. He doesn't respond.
I signal Mr. Keenan.
"You have my deepest condolences about your sister," he type. "I just got the news myself. About her illness. I've found that some people choose to keep these things secret, for whatever reason."
"It was a surprise, to say the least," I type. "Say, I'm having some trouble contacting her husband. It must be terrible for him having two deaths in the house so recently. Do you have his telephone number by any chance?"
"I sure don't."
"Can you tell me, when is Becca's funeral?"
"This Saturday. Will you be attending online?"
"No. I'm flying out to California."
"Before you go to all the trouble, you might consider our new online package. It comes with --"
"I don't think Becca would want that. I need to be there in person."
After a pause, he sends, "OK. But if you change your mind for any reason, let me know."
Mr. Keenan -- always looking to make a buck. Funerals are such a racket anymore. "See you this weekend," I type. Then I disconnect.
I spend 20 minutes navigating the convoluted SouthTickets.com Web site, but I can't find a phone number, so I just book the flight myself -- realizing that this is exactly how they designed it.
"Your departure is Friday, April 3, 7:04 a.m.," my speakers blurt when I click BUY TICKETS. "Please check in at least one hour prior to that."
***
Friday morning finds me nervous and edgy. I'm up at 4 a.m., surfing the Net. In my mind I see Becca in her coffin, her body tranquil and vacant, her face stalled between a smile and a frown. And this image makes me all the more nervous. Attending her funeral online would be easier, but it's just too damn impersonal. No way. I'm not backing out now.
I need to catch a ride to the airport so I Google Diamond Taxicab, but when I go to write down the number, I can't find a pencil, so I memorize it. I try to free up the phone line to call them, but when I click disconnect, nothing happens.
I signal Mr. Keenan.
"I'm having problems with this trip," I send.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I never really thought about it, but all I ever do anymore is surf the Net. It seems like I'm stuck here at my computer. I can't disconnect."
After a pause, he sends: "Well, generally, I don't like to do this, but I must show you something."
A window opens on my screen; inside, a coffin sits against a backdrop of white carnations and red ribbons. I pause a moment, anxious, my train of heartbeats skipping the tracks. Then I click "VIEW DECEASED" and roll my mouse forward, swinging the lid open. I see myself in the coffin, my body tranquil and vacant. I push ZOOM and my face fills the screen. My skin is bruised and lumpy, as though maggots are at work under the surface. My mouth is half-open, stalled between a smile and a frown. My hair seems super-glued to my scalp.
I feel tears welling, a fist clenching in my chest.
After a moment, I type: "What's this?"
"An online excerpt from your funeral."
"Are you trying to say I'm dead?"
"I wouldn't use such a definitive word. You're what I'd call an excellent fingerprint, a heavy computer user, something we're seeing more of these days."
"I don't believe you," I type.
"Will you be attending Becca's funeral online, Mr. Beasley?" he types.
***
Later I e-mail Uncle Bob, and right away, he signals me for a chat. When I connect, he sends:
"HEY CARTER, GOT YOUR MESSAGE, HOW THE HELL ARE YA, BUDDY?"
"I've been better."
"YEAH, TOO BAD ABOUT BECCA. NO WONDER, THOUGH. WITH ALL THE GRIEF HER DAMN HUSBAND CAUSED HER."
"I know she wasn't happy with him."
"TELL ME ABOUT IT. I'VE BEEN TRYING TO SIGNAL HIM ALL MORNING, AND LIKE ALWAYS, I GET NEITHER HEADS OR TAILS FROM THAT MAN. SO HERE I SIT. WHO THE HELL NEEDS IT? NOT ME. I HOPE HE HAS OTHER FRIENDS TO HELP OUT WITH THE FUNERAL BECAUSE I WON'T! THERE, I SAID IT."
"Uncle Bob?"
"YEAH?"
I'm sad about losing Becca, too. You need to relax. Think about the happy times we shared with her."
After a moment, he sends: "I CAN LIVE WITHOUT THAT ... MAN, OH, MAN, HAVE I GOT A GOOD ONE FOR YOU. I HEARD THIS ONE DOWN AT BURGER KING. KNOCK KNOCK."
[end]
Legal stuff: "My Own Avatar" by J.K. Mason, the included (but cut) copy I've typed up found in Writer's Digest, November 2004 edition, pages 42-45.
If you want an index card in Bibliography format, you're out of luck, just ran out =P
I did, however, go through a lot of work to get that story up here on my lj, so I better hear some comments and feedback about it once you get a chance to read it.
As for tonight in news with Sam, I was going through the kitchen for whatever reason, and my mom had started up some sausage on the skillet and they had just been flipped for the first time to give an idea for how long they had been in there. anyway, I saw them cooking with the spatula nearby and it just seemed so natural for me to just reach over and grab the spatula and pick up from there, cooking them the rest of the way.
Omg, they came out perfect too, burnt JUST right and all.
lol, seriously, Wafflehouse sometimes doesn't get sausage this good. Actually, on average they don't, so call it beginner's luck if you'd like.
Part of the sausage was dealt away with via a sausage sammich, some of it by mom, and the rest of it by me and dad with some syrup on the sausage.
Mmmmm....
Good stuff.
Gotta cook more often, in fact, that just came so easily.
More stories, different subjects.
I was having a lot of fun with the ringtones after hours while mom was doing something-another with finishing up the cash register and closing it out, so I said something about listening to a ringtone and she snaps back at me about being busy right now and doesn't have time to play around. I said I was sorry for bothering her, and closed out the ringtone stuff on my phone, while she's replying with "no you're not." so I just stop a minute.
I don't say "I'm sorry," a lot, and in fact, I probably honestly apologize for something about as often as my mom snaps at people. Actually, a little less. So when she says that, I got into a "all right, I'll prove it to you then" mode.
I put up my stuff and I just leave the office, putting the stuff in the car. As I'm getting up she's giving me an inquisitive look, so I say "I said I"m sorry for bothering you while you're busy, and I meant it." and I left, going outside and putting my laptop in the passenger floorboard.
I offered to get her a coke while I was getting one, she was leaving the office right behind me.
She didn't want one so I went to my car and left, checking the side gate and making sure it was closed and locked. I turned around and starting going, but I noticed her car wasn't outside or anything. I get closer to the gate and I see that she's walking away from her car and back to the office. Just a minute ago, she was getting in her car and getting ready to go.
I pull my car beside the gate, get out, and check out what's wrong. Turns out that the guy that was washing car today also walked off with her keys. She needs a ride, and she needs to ride with the son she just snapped at less than 10 minutes ago.
Good thing I have an easy temper with some people.
Family, over anyone else, gets a large portion of patience (( I'm around them more, I HAVE to have more patience with them )).
I give her a ride home, and she apologizes few more times about snapping at me, but we both find amusement in the irony of the whole situation, which is a plus.
The cool air today felt so good, it was perfect. I remember being outside and drinking the last part of my Dr. Pepper and thinking "You know, this is why God created cups for us to drink out of, so that when we're already thinking about how great it is that we have some thirst-quencing liquids trickle down our throats we're finishing it off and ta-da, there is a great big beautiful blue sky smiling overhead. Kinda like a good letter, the drink, and then God signs it at the end, where you tilt your head back to get the last drops.
Everything that went well today went very well, I mean, even my hair was great.
How cool is that?
It feels great too. You should try it.
I gave over my Christmas list to dad tonight, by special request. He started asking me in the same way he was going to interrogate me for doing something horrible wrong or something, it had me pretty scared. Not at first, because I knew it was just a front for something, you know? But as he actually started talking more and more I began thinking "umm... he's leading up to something here... probably something I did..." and then *bam* he asks about Christmas, lol.
I told him the main things I wanted, which I only told him, because there's something weird about how I think of things I want for Christmas. I didn't want these from anyone else, I wanted it to be from dad.
Anyone else do similar stuff? People ask you what you want for Christmas and you don't tell them certain things? Or you tell them things that you normally aren't telling everyone else that's curious about what you're wanting for Christmas?
I walked around tonight with dad while he was walking Bosco and it was great to just walk around barefooted out there in the cold like that, getting dirt on the bottoms of my feet and all. Sure, it wasn't comfortable, but it was sooo great.
Reminds me of a quote I saw tonight: "Comfort the Disturbed. Disturb the Comfortable."
Makes one think.
Speaking of potentially-spiritual stuff, Tracy told me last night that she was so glad that I was going back to church again. She said she really didn't like it when I was out of church or when I was just visiting different churches.
I can't really explain WHY she likes me going back to church, as in, I don't understand it at all.
And I think that's a good thing.
If I understood it, I might start going to church for the wrong reasons, just to impress her or make her like me more, you know, things like that.
But I don't understand what she would like about it. I like going to church because... of a lot of reasons. I'm not going to list them here, I'll just bet that you can relate if you can relate, and you wouldn't understand if you can't relate.
I like being more spiritual too, gets me thinking more about Yoga, gets more thinking more about meditation, gets me thinking more about.... meditation. Ummm... that was the only metaphor I had nearby. Tracy and Anna know what I'm talking about.
But as much as I like those things, and as much as I like a lot of things, I can always see someone liking me better because of it, you know? But not church. That's the one thing that I like that I just can't see WHY or HOW someone would like me better because I go to church, I just go because I like going.
That's just amazing to me; is anyone else out there aptly amazed as well?
Honest to gosh, I really didn't like Shrek 2 that much. I guess that I just had to be with at least one other person to make it worthwhile; I fast forwarded through some of it. Not a lot of it, just some of it; I didn't see the Princess Bridge allusion that Puss in Boots made, but I'll just keep the humor of it that I got from other people talking about it instead of watching the movie over again.
I remember the line "I'm Puss... in boots" the way other people have said it and laughed about it, but in the movie it just didn't strike me as being as funny or memorable as when my friends say it. I just wasn't feeling the whole "that's funny and adorable" thing. However, yes, seeing him with those big eyes and purring and everything was classic.
I like the movie for being a collection of jokes, but not as something I'd like to watch from beginning to end, to summarize my opinion of it.
That was all last night though, not tonight, not even today.
Today at work was not that bad really, I got a lot more riding in on the 4-wheeler and got to play around with the picture phone, which btw, even takes video clips. Made sure to take a clip of one of our more infamous employees operating his machine with a voice narrative saying "That's [name] in his machine... and this clip is proof that he really does work sometimes..."
Fun stuff; he, of course, only knew I was fidgeting with my phone, and probably just thinking I was doing picture taking stuff.
As for ringtones, because no phone is not cool without cool ringtones, regardless of what your wallpaper is, I've been carefully sifting through songs today, picking only the ones that were cool AND unique. Of course, as coolness goes up, sometimes uniqueness goes down, but right now I have ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" as my main ring and then two other rings for people. When either one of my parents call it plays part of "Crazy Train" (now sampled into the rap song "Let's Go") complete with the Ozzy "Aight" yell, it's great. I think that's called "enhanced" when it does stuff like that.
The choices out there are crazy, I'm tellin' ya... There were voices on there too, and I almost got some of them but they seemed too much like a novelty. You know, it's cool the first time, but lame after the first week or so of hearing it over and over again. One was Cheaney talking about Sadam having Weapons of Mass Destruction, and then another one I came SO close to getting was Ronald Reagan giving his famous "My fellow Americans, I am pleased to announce that Russia has officially now been outlawed from the United States. The bombings start in 5 minutes."
Also, to round it off, when Tracy calls, she's been deemed worthy of receiving the "Pink Panther" theme.
Speaking of Tracy, I was right last night about her being in rehearsals for a while; it was 11:15 when she called me when she JUST got out of rehearsal. Tonight she's at rehearsal again so that leaves me to my wiles yet again.
And thus I am taking full advantage of it.
I got a chance while baby-sitting Bosco tonight to read out of my new Writer's Digest, and there's this article in there that was this Grand Prize winner's dude's entry. J.K. Mason's short story: "My Own Avatar"
Ok, to give an idea of the competition, his entry was chosen from 17,584 other entries in 10 different categories (He was grand-prize winner, remember, he competed in ALL 10 categories). He won $2,500 and a trip to NYC to meet the Editor of Writer's Digest and FOUR other editors/agents about his work.
Now, I read this short story and I found "J.K. Mason's short story about life, death, and e-mail" so amazing I had to include it here, but for your browsing convience, I have it cut right below.
"My Own Avatar"
By J.K. Mason
In the CHAPEL window, I click on the gold binoculars, and a box labeled "VIEW DECEASED" pops onto my screen; inside, a bier and coffin sit against a backdrop of white carnation and red ribbons. I click the coffin and roll my mouse forward, swinging the lid open. Uncle Bob appears, and for an instant, I doubt my decision to attend his funeral online. I push ZOOM and his face fills my screen. The skin is bruised and lulmp, as though maggots are at work under the surface. His hair seems superglued to his scalp, and his mouth forms a puckered "o": a final bit of astonishment, or maybe his favorite saying -- "Man, oh, man" -- cut short. I thought this would be easier online, less real, but it's not. I feel tears welling, a fist clenching inside my chest.
Uncle Bob wasn't my uncle. He married my mother when I was 11, lifting us from poverty. Sure, he was an alcoholic, but he was also the only dad I ever knew. He drove the car -- "cruising blacktop" he called it -- that first night I got drunk and stoned; he taught me how to throw a sucker punch after some G-LO gang-bangers kicked my ass and stole my pocket PC at school; and he paid for the hooker who took my virginity on a Southern California beach. Maybe he was old-fashioned or clichéd, but to me he was a damn good father figure. Soft organ music plays through my speakers. A red neon LED in the corner of my screen ticks softly: 32, 31, 30.
I click ZOOM-OUT.
Depressing my mouse button, I drag left, and the camera pans a 360, dizzyingly. The chapel appears full, and I feel as though I'm looking at a photo through a magnifying glass, the center nauseatingly detailed, the periphery a blur. I aim into the pews and see Charlie Colburn, his face puffy and pale, looming large and timorous. Charlie was Uncle Bob's drinking buddy, and today he looks worse than Uncle Bob. I put my crosshairs on his nose and click ZOOM. Oops, too much -- the window fills with large blurry squares, two shadowy nostrils in the center. My neon LED ticks down to all zeros. The organ music stops.
I click the blinking chair, and I'm repositioned into the pews -- next to Becca, my sister, who seems a bit wan today. I aim my Point of View forward and crane through heads toward the minister, standing at his podium in front of the chapel.
"O Lord, you who are the Mother of comfort and the God of all mercies; look with compassion, we pray upon all gathered here now, that our minds and hearts shall..."
***
During my follow-up chat with Mr. Keenan, the funeral director, he asks: "I understand these are difficult times for you, Mr. Beasley, but were you satisfied with the quality of the interactive funeral?"
"To be truthful," I type, "I did find it interesting, so I'm glad I tried it, and it was a lot easier than traveling all the way out to California, but it was difficult not being there. I'll probably attend my next one in person."
"I understand completely," he sends, "and have you made a decision on the perpetuity option?"
Mr. Keenan is referring to how Uncle Bob will be remembered. First, there's a time-honored Headstone With A Carved Epitaph -- definitely not for Uncle Bob. Second, a solar-powered LED gravestone that displays up to 20 rotating epitaphs, posies or catchy phrases about the deceased, programmed at burial time with input from the mourners. My mother has this setup, and we're not happy with it. Once the messages are entered, they can't be changed, so spelling and grammar errors rotate repeatedly, like she was illiterate, forever.
Next is a Web site that periodically sends out e-mail messages -- eulogies or humorous vignettes about the deceased -- to a list of family and friends. If we choose this option, someone (yours truly, I'm sure) needs to maintain the mailing list and compose new e-mails every few months. And this makes me uneasy because if I get lazy with my maintenance, Uncle Bob's remembrance fades away; he kind of dies all over again. And who needs that mental baggage? I certainly don't.
Then there's the automated Internet Presence: for a few extra bucks, Uncle Bob -- or, more accurately, a computer program that emulates his personal style of communicated -- continues to "thrive" on the Internet, no maintenance required. Once created, his presence will initiate and respond to e-mail, participate in chat sessions, and proactively travel about on the Net, joining special-interest clubs, chat groups and other Web-based organizations on its own. In effect, "Uncle Bob" will exist in cyberspace, in perpetuity or until we quit making the annual payments. It comes with a direct Internet connection and an all-weather monitor that mounts on the headstone in case a family member of friend wishes to stop by the gravesite and see what Uncle Bob is up to.
"We decided to go with an Internet Presence," I type -- "We" referring to Becca and myself, the sole family survivors. Becca lives in California with her husband. Uncle Bob stayed with them for the last three years of his life.
"Excellent," types Mr. Keenan. "I'll send you an e-mail message with documentation and the attachments you'll need to e-sign. The main requirement is that you make your stepfather's PC accessible so we can establish a fingerprint for him And also, you'll need your credit card or automatic debit information for the initial account setup."
What Mr. Keenan means by "establish a fingerprint" is that they'll analyze Uncle Bob's files and spreadsheets, his e-mails, chat transcripts, file transfers, Word documents, purchasing records, credit reports, medical history, and all the logs of his World Wide Web travels and Internet transactions to deduce his personal style of communicating, then imitate and re-create his predilections and propensities. Uncle Bob wasn't what I'd consider an avid Internet user. He spent most of this time out drinking in bars and cavorting with Charlie Colburn, so his PC doesn't contain an abundance of data, but we have some hard copy to supplement it with. According to the Presence documentation, the run everything through a parsing program -- a highly sophisticated grammar checker -- to identify his figures of speech and other words or phrases that constitute how he communicated -- his methods of persuasion, his particular way of arousing an emotional response. A style sort of thing.
"Yup. I have the Internet address for his PC," I type, "and Becca has the PC at her house if you need it."
"We won't need it -- physically. We'll access it from the Net. If you and Becca will send us digital scans of his handwritten letters, andy photos or memorabilia that might reveal things about him, scribbled messages and so forth, we'll need those, as well. The more we have, the better the fingerprint."
During my next chat with Becca, I type, "You know that big box with the pictures and scrapbooks and newspaper clippings Mom kept stored in the garage? Get all the letters from Uncle Bob out, and any pictures of him, and scan them. E-mail everything to Mr. Keenan, and copy me. I'm sending him what I have here."
"I'm not feeling so well today, Carter," she says, "but I'll get this done somehow. I promise."
"OK. Chat later. Bye. ;-)"
Late in the evening, I'm going through copies of what Becca has sent. A picture of Uncle Bob standing beside Lake Elmo: He's holding a giant fish on a stringer; I'm the only one who knows where that goofy fish came from, and it certainly wasn't Lake Elmo -- he bought it at Shop-Mart for a joke. A picture of Uncle Bob at the reunion: He has one arm around Becca and the other around my mom, who's holding a pink wine cooler and laughing; that was taken after they split up, so he was bout 50 then, his smile bright against his tan skin. A copy of a letter he sent to the cable TV company:
DEAR SIRS,
YOUR DAMN PHONE LINE IS ALWAYS BUSY, SO THIS IS MY WRITTEN COMPLAINT ABOUT YOUR CRAPPY TV SERVICE. WHO THE HELL NEEDS IT! JUST NOW WE TREID WATCHING THE GAME AND GOT NEITHER HEADS OR TAILS FROM YOUR DAMN CHANNEL. SO HERE WE SIT, WITHOUT TV AGAIN, I HOPE YOU HAVE CUSTOMERS WHO PAY OR ELSE YOU ARE GOING OUT OF BUSINESS, AND FAST! BECAUSE I WON'T PAY! LOOK, YOU BETTER GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER! FIX IT! WE WILL PAY NOTHING MORE UNTIL YOU DO! THERE YOU ARE, I SAID IT. DON'T EVEN TRY!
BOB BEASLEY
All I can dig up is a low-resolution digital photo of Uncle Bob standing with Becca and me in front of Burger King, so I send it in. I know he used his PC for e-mail, and he shopped online for fishing gear. Hopefully, they'll glean more information from that.
***
I receive my first e-mail message from "Uncle Bob":
"DEAR CARTER,
I HAVE FINALLY QUIT MY DAMN DRINKING, SO HERE I SIT. LOOK, I HAVEN'T HEARD NEITHER HEADS OR TAILS FROM YOU LATELY, SO I'LL GET RIGHT TO THE POINT. I EXPECT SOME DAMN E-MAIL, AND IF I DON'T GET IT, THEN FORGET YOU! I WILL WRITE YOU NOTHING MORE UNTIL I DO! WHO THE HELL NEEDS IT! THERE YOU GO, I SAID IT. I'M ALSO AVAILABLE FOR CHAT UNLESS YOU ARE TOO DAMN BUSY. I'LL BE AT THE LAKE NEXT WEEK SO DON'T EVEN TRY ME."
***
"Something's wrong with Uncle Bob," I tell Mr. Keenan.
"Really? I chatted with him the other day, and he seemed all right to me. Maybe a little opinionated."
"He sort of sounds like Uncle Bob; in a way he does, but he just seems different."
"Here, let me bring up his profile. Well, we didn't have much to work with on his PC, but I've seen less. He belonged to an online sportsman's club, so we pulled some email records from that -- it looks like a memo to another member and a complaint letter about dues or something. That was all."
"He sounds angrier now. That's what it is, and he wasn't that way in life. I mean, Uncle Bob was a nice guy, always telling jokes. The life of the party. To give you an idea of how he was, even after he divorced my mom he wasn't bitter, and he came for Thanksgiving dinner every year. And to our family reunions. Everyone liked Uncle Bob."
"Well, if you have some other items you could send us, anything at all, we can add them to his fingerprint. Maybe you remember some of his jokes?"
"I'll try, but I always forget jokes."
"Look at it this way, Carter. Maybe he's not perfect, but at least you have something. He's not gone completely. Have you tried chatting with him? In my opinion, he's more interesting than most people I encounter on the Net. And it's probably only you who notices a difference anyway. The people he meets out there never knew him and they'll never know anything's changed. Sorry, but it's the best we can do."
I spend a few hours trying to remember some of Uncle Bob's jokes but I'm totally jokeless. I recall many funny things about him, but his jokes just won't gel. I'm thinking of a barbecue, Uncle Bob in his green Nike shirt and holding a spatula, when one of his jokes staggers into my memory. A knock-knock joke. and that's all I recall, a single joke. Will it be enough, I wonder, or should I buy a joke book and add a few more? Nope. I'm not going to tinker with Uncle Bob like that. Hopefully, Mr. Keenan's computer program can derive something more from this one joke, expand Uncle Bob, grow some digital meat from this small scrap of humor, so I type it up and send it in.
***
I've hardly heard from Becca since the funeral, and this bothers me because we've chatted every few days since Mom died. Then I receive this e-mail from her husband:
"I'm sorry to inform you, Carter, but Becca has passed away. She died in the hospital two days ago. She's been fighting colon cancer for a few years now. I know you weren't aware of it, but she simply chose not to burden you with the details. In fact, she told very few people. She asked that I notify you."
I feel just horrible. First, I lose Uncle Bob, and now this. I decide to call Becca's husband, but then I discover I don't have their current phone number as Becca always preferred chatting online, to save money, so I signal him for a chat. He doesn't respond.
I signal Mr. Keenan.
"You have my deepest condolences about your sister," he type. "I just got the news myself. About her illness. I've found that some people choose to keep these things secret, for whatever reason."
"It was a surprise, to say the least," I type. "Say, I'm having some trouble contacting her husband. It must be terrible for him having two deaths in the house so recently. Do you have his telephone number by any chance?"
"I sure don't."
"Can you tell me, when is Becca's funeral?"
"This Saturday. Will you be attending online?"
"No. I'm flying out to California."
"Before you go to all the trouble, you might consider our new online package. It comes with --"
"I don't think Becca would want that. I need to be there in person."
After a pause, he sends, "OK. But if you change your mind for any reason, let me know."
Mr. Keenan -- always looking to make a buck. Funerals are such a racket anymore. "See you this weekend," I type. Then I disconnect.
I spend 20 minutes navigating the convoluted SouthTickets.com Web site, but I can't find a phone number, so I just book the flight myself -- realizing that this is exactly how they designed it.
"Your departure is Friday, April 3, 7:04 a.m.," my speakers blurt when I click BUY TICKETS. "Please check in at least one hour prior to that."
***
Friday morning finds me nervous and edgy. I'm up at 4 a.m., surfing the Net. In my mind I see Becca in her coffin, her body tranquil and vacant, her face stalled between a smile and a frown. And this image makes me all the more nervous. Attending her funeral online would be easier, but it's just too damn impersonal. No way. I'm not backing out now.
I need to catch a ride to the airport so I Google Diamond Taxicab, but when I go to write down the number, I can't find a pencil, so I memorize it. I try to free up the phone line to call them, but when I click disconnect, nothing happens.
I signal Mr. Keenan.
"I'm having problems with this trip," I send.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I never really thought about it, but all I ever do anymore is surf the Net. It seems like I'm stuck here at my computer. I can't disconnect."
After a pause, he sends: "Well, generally, I don't like to do this, but I must show you something."
A window opens on my screen; inside, a coffin sits against a backdrop of white carnations and red ribbons. I pause a moment, anxious, my train of heartbeats skipping the tracks. Then I click "VIEW DECEASED" and roll my mouse forward, swinging the lid open. I see myself in the coffin, my body tranquil and vacant. I push ZOOM and my face fills the screen. My skin is bruised and lumpy, as though maggots are at work under the surface. My mouth is half-open, stalled between a smile and a frown. My hair seems super-glued to my scalp.
I feel tears welling, a fist clenching in my chest.
After a moment, I type: "What's this?"
"An online excerpt from your funeral."
"Are you trying to say I'm dead?"
"I wouldn't use such a definitive word. You're what I'd call an excellent fingerprint, a heavy computer user, something we're seeing more of these days."
"I don't believe you," I type.
"Will you be attending Becca's funeral online, Mr. Beasley?" he types.
***
Later I e-mail Uncle Bob, and right away, he signals me for a chat. When I connect, he sends:
"HEY CARTER, GOT YOUR MESSAGE, HOW THE HELL ARE YA, BUDDY?"
"I've been better."
"YEAH, TOO BAD ABOUT BECCA. NO WONDER, THOUGH. WITH ALL THE GRIEF HER DAMN HUSBAND CAUSED HER."
"I know she wasn't happy with him."
"TELL ME ABOUT IT. I'VE BEEN TRYING TO SIGNAL HIM ALL MORNING, AND LIKE ALWAYS, I GET NEITHER HEADS OR TAILS FROM THAT MAN. SO HERE I SIT. WHO THE HELL NEEDS IT? NOT ME. I HOPE HE HAS OTHER FRIENDS TO HELP OUT WITH THE FUNERAL BECAUSE I WON'T! THERE, I SAID IT."
"Uncle Bob?"
"YEAH?"
I'm sad about losing Becca, too. You need to relax. Think about the happy times we shared with her."
After a moment, he sends: "I CAN LIVE WITHOUT THAT ... MAN, OH, MAN, HAVE I GOT A GOOD ONE FOR YOU. I HEARD THIS ONE DOWN AT BURGER KING. KNOCK KNOCK."
[end]
Legal stuff: "My Own Avatar" by J.K. Mason, the included (but cut) copy I've typed up found in Writer's Digest, November 2004 edition, pages 42-45.
If you want an index card in Bibliography format, you're out of luck, just ran out =P
I did, however, go through a lot of work to get that story up here on my lj, so I better hear some comments and feedback about it once you get a chance to read it.
As for tonight in news with Sam, I was going through the kitchen for whatever reason, and my mom had started up some sausage on the skillet and they had just been flipped for the first time to give an idea for how long they had been in there. anyway, I saw them cooking with the spatula nearby and it just seemed so natural for me to just reach over and grab the spatula and pick up from there, cooking them the rest of the way.
Omg, they came out perfect too, burnt JUST right and all.
lol, seriously, Wafflehouse sometimes doesn't get sausage this good. Actually, on average they don't, so call it beginner's luck if you'd like.
Part of the sausage was dealt away with via a sausage sammich, some of it by mom, and the rest of it by me and dad with some syrup on the sausage.
Mmmmm....
Good stuff.
Gotta cook more often, in fact, that just came so easily.
More stories, different subjects.
I was having a lot of fun with the ringtones after hours while mom was doing something-another with finishing up the cash register and closing it out, so I said something about listening to a ringtone and she snaps back at me about being busy right now and doesn't have time to play around. I said I was sorry for bothering her, and closed out the ringtone stuff on my phone, while she's replying with "no you're not." so I just stop a minute.
I don't say "I'm sorry," a lot, and in fact, I probably honestly apologize for something about as often as my mom snaps at people. Actually, a little less. So when she says that, I got into a "all right, I'll prove it to you then" mode.
I put up my stuff and I just leave the office, putting the stuff in the car. As I'm getting up she's giving me an inquisitive look, so I say "I said I"m sorry for bothering you while you're busy, and I meant it." and I left, going outside and putting my laptop in the passenger floorboard.
I offered to get her a coke while I was getting one, she was leaving the office right behind me.
She didn't want one so I went to my car and left, checking the side gate and making sure it was closed and locked. I turned around and starting going, but I noticed her car wasn't outside or anything. I get closer to the gate and I see that she's walking away from her car and back to the office. Just a minute ago, she was getting in her car and getting ready to go.
I pull my car beside the gate, get out, and check out what's wrong. Turns out that the guy that was washing car today also walked off with her keys. She needs a ride, and she needs to ride with the son she just snapped at less than 10 minutes ago.
Good thing I have an easy temper with some people.
Family, over anyone else, gets a large portion of patience (( I'm around them more, I HAVE to have more patience with them )).
I give her a ride home, and she apologizes few more times about snapping at me, but we both find amusement in the irony of the whole situation, which is a plus.
The cool air today felt so good, it was perfect. I remember being outside and drinking the last part of my Dr. Pepper and thinking "You know, this is why God created cups for us to drink out of, so that when we're already thinking about how great it is that we have some thirst-quencing liquids trickle down our throats we're finishing it off and ta-da, there is a great big beautiful blue sky smiling overhead. Kinda like a good letter, the drink, and then God signs it at the end, where you tilt your head back to get the last drops.
Everything that went well today went very well, I mean, even my hair was great.
How cool is that?
It feels great too. You should try it.
I gave over my Christmas list to dad tonight, by special request. He started asking me in the same way he was going to interrogate me for doing something horrible wrong or something, it had me pretty scared. Not at first, because I knew it was just a front for something, you know? But as he actually started talking more and more I began thinking "umm... he's leading up to something here... probably something I did..." and then *bam* he asks about Christmas, lol.
I told him the main things I wanted, which I only told him, because there's something weird about how I think of things I want for Christmas. I didn't want these from anyone else, I wanted it to be from dad.
Anyone else do similar stuff? People ask you what you want for Christmas and you don't tell them certain things? Or you tell them things that you normally aren't telling everyone else that's curious about what you're wanting for Christmas?
I walked around tonight with dad while he was walking Bosco and it was great to just walk around barefooted out there in the cold like that, getting dirt on the bottoms of my feet and all. Sure, it wasn't comfortable, but it was sooo great.
Reminds me of a quote I saw tonight: "Comfort the Disturbed. Disturb the Comfortable."
Makes one think.
Speaking of potentially-spiritual stuff, Tracy told me last night that she was so glad that I was going back to church again. She said she really didn't like it when I was out of church or when I was just visiting different churches.
I can't really explain WHY she likes me going back to church, as in, I don't understand it at all.
And I think that's a good thing.
If I understood it, I might start going to church for the wrong reasons, just to impress her or make her like me more, you know, things like that.
But I don't understand what she would like about it. I like going to church because... of a lot of reasons. I'm not going to list them here, I'll just bet that you can relate if you can relate, and you wouldn't understand if you can't relate.
I like being more spiritual too, gets me thinking more about Yoga, gets more thinking more about meditation, gets me thinking more about.... meditation. Ummm... that was the only metaphor I had nearby. Tracy and Anna know what I'm talking about.
But as much as I like those things, and as much as I like a lot of things, I can always see someone liking me better because of it, you know? But not church. That's the one thing that I like that I just can't see WHY or HOW someone would like me better because I go to church, I just go because I like going.
That's just amazing to me; is anyone else out there aptly amazed as well?