-funroll-loops

I have discovered that is possible to get Sympathy Burnout about one’s own problems.

In a related discovery, I’ve again noticed that what’s important is eating, shitting, and sleeping. Other things may temporarily seem more important but this is entirely illusory.

In a related related discovery, it is bliss to be ignorant and folly to be wise. If you know about something, it’s because it’s broken. Do you really want to know about your duodenum, the intricacies of microvolt-level electricity in the human brain, the idle air control valve in your 2002 Honda, the connections between the strong dollar and the perceived threat of a nuclear Iran? No, but you do, because you’re barfing bile, your emotional responses are unreasonable because the EEG is fucked, the Honda guy says it’ll be $280, and your country is about to go to war over currency trading.

This place where I live is the victim of premature optimization. It’s like someone said in 1975 or so “okay, we got this down, CRANK IT UP ALL THE WAY” and ever since then it’s been increasing wealth, increasing engine displacement, increasing solipsism, increasing illiteracy, increasing beauty, increasing greed. They forgot to check what they were optimizing before they hit the button.

The end of the old library

Mariners Library Sign

They closed my childhood library and opened a newer, bigger one next door.

I haven’t been to the new one yet. Apparently they didn’t buy any new books but there are laptops and iPods and expansive expanses of formica. The library is now to be run like a business by business-like people, and multimedia is the future.

Mariners Library Closed

I was well-educated in our local public schools and by my parents, but the real autodidactic core of my learning happened at this local branch library. I first read through the children’s section, checking out as many books as I could carry each time. Classic children’s fiction, books about cars and guns and planes, biographies, history books, science, the whole damn thing probably except for the girly books and the sports stuff. I have a vivid mental image of the children’s librarian, a very large redheaded woman with impossibly big arrms covered in freckles.

I then moved to the adult section and chewed on it for a decade. When I got interested in a subject (history of architecture! the invention of the atomic bomb! Wales!) I went through the Dewey Decimal number for that and related interests and read every book that was not obviously stupid. I haunted the new books shelf for anything I knew was coming. I read all of the science fiction, all of the nonfiction on any subject that interested me, and a good two-thirds of the fiction. I went through the records and found peculiar worlds and visited them: who is this Warren Zevon? What does Blue Öyster Cult sound like? Why would someone switch on Bach?

Mariners Library Checkout

The library employees all knew me, and they were my friends. I’d go back and forth in that checkout, sometimes more than once in a day. The paper library card with the little metal number stamp in it went CLUNK! as each book was checked out, and they said “Now remember to read them all!”

The park outside the library contained my first ever school, a play group for pre preschool kids. It was the site of countless family picnic lunches, a thousand ball games, the annual 4th of July Bike Parade, and later on for long reading stretches after school and before I went home to deal with being a teenager.

Mariners Park

I left and moved to Los Angeles for a decade. When I came back I had got out of the library habit, which still bothers. Mariners Branch was part of my past by then anyway. It was a small place with a small collection, and I’d read most of it. I’m sad to see it gone, though. When I left that place and went out into the world, I was as prepared as books can make a boy.

Mariners Library - Looking Out

Other pictures in the set are here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ch/sets/72057594129847160/

We had the flag with us

One of the best things about an oppressive, unaccountable government is the humorous situations. Inevitably, one part of the mechanism will crash into another, resulting in a laff riot. In this case, the evil, stupid robots in charge of the TSA and the No Fly List encountered a condensed symbol of American patriotism and defiled it really, really hard. In the butt. This article is from the Marine Times. It could only be better if each Marine had been holding a crying eagle and a model of the WTC.

TSA detains Marine escorts
Trio escorting body of fallen comrade are stripped of dress blue coats, searched at airport

By Gidget Fuentes
Times staff writer

It wasn’t the city of “brotherly love” for a trio of Marine noncommissioned officers escorting the body of a fallen Marine through the Philadelphia airport.

Each decked in their blue dress uniforms, the three enlisted Marines made their way through a security checkpoint at the Philadelphia International Airport about noon on May 3 when they were pulled aside by security workers with the federal Transportation Safety Administration.

The Marines — a sergeant and two corporals — were escorting the body of Sgt. Lea R. Mills from Dover Air Force Base, Del., to his family in Gulfport, Miss. Mills, who was married and lived in Oceanside with his wife, was killed in Iraq on April 28 by a roadside bomb. He was one of three leathernecks killed that day in Iraq’s Anbar province.

They were brothers-in-arms. Like Mills, the Marine escorts are members of the Camp Pendleton-based 3rd Assault Amphibian Battalion.

The trio had to go through the terminal’s security in order to reach their flight that would take them to Houston and make sure that Mills’ body was properly placed on the airplane. While their uniforms likely would trigger the metal detector, they had figured they would be able to zip through the screening process and get on with their business.

“Wearing the blues, the metal detector is going to go off,” said Sgt. John Stock, a mechanic, who was accompanied by Cpls. Aaron Bigalk and Jason Schadeburg.

But as the Marines went through the initial screener in their dress blues, they were stopped by several TSA agents. Each was told to remove their dress uniform blouse, belt and black dress shoes, which were scanned by the detector, as the agents scanned them with hand-held detecting wands.

“They had me take off my shoes and ran them through the screening,” Stock said, speaking by phone May 5 from Gulfport, where the men are helping with Mills’ family and funeral support. “We all got searched.”

Then they were taken to a nearby room, where TSA workers patted them down.

At one point, Stock’s shoes disappeared, leaving him to frantically search for them and retrieve them from a TSA agent. Separated from their belongings, which included the flag that they bore that would drape Mills’ casket for the rest of the journey home, they worried about getting to the gate in time to ensure his safe placement in the airplane.

Time, it seemed like a half-hour, clicked by. “I was like, hey, we need to be on the tarmac,” Stock recalled. “It just took longer than it should have had to take.”

The agents said nothing to explain why all three were singled out for additional search and the Marines didn’t protest. “We were just trying to get there as quick as we could,” he added.

In all, it was a humiliating experience that left them angry.

“They could probably tell that I was pissed off,” said Stock, who noted that he’s never encountered that kind of search when going through airport security in uniform.

“I understand if I was in civilian clothes. But with what we were wearing and what we were doing … ,” he said, noting that “we had the flag with us.”

A call into TSA’s public affairs office in the D.C. area was not returned as of press time.

“The Marine Corps is currently cooperating with (TSA) to resolve this matter,” the command said in statement issued May 5 and provided by 2nd Lt. Lawton King, a 1st Marine Division spokesman at Camp Pendleton.

Yor starevay lice on the vispring vind

A mad dutchman has memorized “Stairway to Heaven” in reverse, then filmed himself karaokin’ it and reversed the film. The result is a mesmerizing video.

I audiohijacked the sound so you can have this artifact wherever you go in audio form: Backwards Stairway (8.7M .mp3). Please save to hard drive rather than streaming thx.

Thanks to the null device, and to eyeteeth for the transliterated headline.

hair

I was at Café Ruba tonight looking at the freaks. They have VH1 Classic on a big screen TV in there, and said network was playing old metal videos. I don’t think I’d ever seen Dio’s “The Last In Line” video and it was spectacularly bad.

I think the “worst video”, “worst hair in a hair metal band”, and “stupidest song” awards have to go to Boyz Are Gonna Rock by the Vinnie Vincent Invasion. Also Worst Makeup. Also Lamest Attempt To Be Badass.

skate and/or destroy

As I was entering the hardware store yesterday there were some 12ish-year-old boys outside loitering. They looked at me and I said “Hey what’s up” and a couple of them said “Hey” and then I went into the store.

One of them called out “Hey…” to me and I turned around. The kid asked “Did you used to skate?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I thought so,” he said knowingly, “because of your style.”

I grinned and and they grinned back and I went into the store.

I guess he was right. I was wearing Vans classics, jeans, a t-shirt, checked pendleton overshirt, and a tiny stingy brim straw hat.