“Creating a life that reflects your values and satisfies your soul is a rare achievement. In a culture that relentlessly promotes avarice and excess as the good life, a person happy doing his own work is usually considered an eccentric, if not a subversive. Ambition is only understood if it’s to rise to the top of some imaginary ladder of success. Someone who takes an undemanding job because it affords him the time to pursue other interests and activities is considered a flake. A person who abandons a career in order to stay home and raise children is considered not to be living up to his potential—as if a job title and salary are the sole measure of human worth. You’ll be told in a hundred ways, some subtle and some not, to keep climbing, and never be satisfied with where you are, who you are, and what you’re doing. There are a million ways to sell yourself out, and I guarantee you’ll hear about them.” — Bill Watterson

Several wonderful things transpired during Friday’s episode that were notable. Amongst them is Seth MacFarlane’s near-perfect Shatner-esque delivery of a speech regarding war, nearly ripped word-for-word from the original Star Trek episode, “A Taste of Armageddon.”

(Thanks to TrekMovie.com for posting an article with the YouTube embed!)

A second item was Seth MacFarlane’s response to Sarah Palin’s fake outrage where she pretends to be a defender for those affected by Down Syndrome. The YouTube embed is disabled, but I shall offer this link. Clicky, clicky. (MacFarlane’s comments are segued by Real Time‘s skit on what various celebrities have written on the palm of their hand, Palin-style.)

Now, I did see the Family Guy episode in question, and I found nothing in it that made fun of anyone with Down Syndrome—including Pailn’s son, Trig. Now, I’m not a heartless bastard, although at times I may come off as one, as I feel sorry for Trig. I feel sorry that Trig received the short straw and ended up not only with Down Syndrome, but with an idiot like Sarah Palin as a mother.

Trig’s just fucked—and it has nothing to do with MacFarlane or his cartoon.

If anything, this whole thing reminds me how fortunate I am to be surrounded by people who actually like me for who I am—in that regard, I am far better off than I was more than a year ago—and that I have my health.

Regardless, this fake outrage is just another attempt by the Alaskan Drama Queen to gain attention to herself and her laughable political ambitions. Sad, really. What’s even sad is that people still talk about Sarah Palin, as if she’s the new face of the Republican party.

So, to my fellow Americans who believe themselves Republicans, I state the following: When the late Republican president Abraham Lincoln spoke of being able to “fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time,” Lincoln did not refer to parading around the imbecile who effectively euthanized McCain’s campaign. (Not that this is the first time that Republicans tried to kill a McCain presidential ticket… during their previous attempt, they trotted out a metal deficient who masqueraded as a Texan and Governor Bush assumed the White House.) However, being the RINOs that the present Republican Party now are, I’ll give them credit for borrowing from former Republicans. It would be embarrassing if they borrowed inspiration from Stalin and the SOP from Gulags.

Then there’s also this, which gave me a laugh, because it will never come to pass.

Obama is a weak-willed, inexperienced pissant who, I believe, will be remembered as the Jimmy Carter of the new millennium. I want to feel sorry for Obama, since he did walk into a pile of shit not of his own making, but he’s simply either impotent or incompetent. He took the job knowing the risks, and ergo I can’t feel any empathy for him, for empathy isn’t going to fix a fucking thing. Decisive action is, even if it is unpopular.

A majority of Obama’s initiatives—like a public option for health care—are now pretty much dead (leading me to question if they ever really had life at all) and, sadly, the economy is only getting weaker… so Obama’s battles have already been lost before they were waged. This being the case, Obama should throw out any of his attempts to be bi-partisan and become a dick. Since Cheney is all but bragging about torturing human beings—lest we forget that, for better or for worse, these people are human—Obama should really piss off the Repugnantcans and string Cheney by his pubes for war crimes. Hey, they did call their actions integral parts of the “war on terror,” after all.  Ergo, it is a war crime!

What is the worst that can happen? Impeachment proceedings? And even impeachment, in and of itself, isn’t going to get Obama jettisoned from the presidency. So… he’s already lost everything, and he should just go down fighting, like any honorable bloke would do.

It’ll never happen of course, but one can always dream. Aside from hope, dreams are the only thing that a majority of Americans really have left at this point.

And on a slightly lighter ancillary subject, the only downfall from Friday’s Real Time program was this: the discussion of the Kevin Smith’s issue with Southwest Airlines by discussing the erroneous story as if it were fact. I’ve never liked Southwest Airlines anyway, as their customer service blows chunks… and Kevin Smith’s issue wasn’t with his weight, but with how he was treated and how Southwest continues to cover up their employees’s errors with piles of steamin’ lies.

So, if Bill wants to apologize for not going with all the facts, he’ll probably do it live next week.

At least, I dream that this is the case.

1. Pasta Dinner Benefit

Ticket to the benefit.

I attended a spaghetti dinner last Friday for Noah McClain, a two year old boy who was diagnosed with Guillian Barre Syndrome and Cerebral Palsy. The dinner was held by the American Legion post that my grandmother belongs to, and so I went to the dinner with my parents and grandmother. What makes Noah’s predicament even more harrowing is the fact that his father lost his job (and with it insurance benefits) just a few days after finding out about his son’s condition, and so the McClain family needs help paying for Noah’s medical expenses.

As a member of the Legion—for McClain’s father served in our military—the fine folks at the Legion organized this event. I’m not sure how much they managed to raise, but given the high turnout, I wouldn’t be surprised if they raised a good deal of money to help!

At the dinner, I was also pleased to interface with some members of the community. One of them was a one of my father’s present clients who praised me on the work I did on the virtual tour of their home, so that certainly made my night.

2. Spending Time with Friends

In the vein of spending time with friends, I’ve been participating in weekly trivia events at the local Hurricane’s Bar and Grill. That is until the owner there canceled it for affecting “season business.” Now, I’m not sure what kind of “seasonal business” two hours on a Monday night is affecting, because Monday is typically the lowest turn-out for sports bars. So… I’m not sure what we’re doing on Monday nights, other than hanging with my friends watching Chuck.

I also attended my friend Andrea’s birthday, from which I was called away from just as we were going to eat cake because my brother needed help prior to his trip up to Tallahassee. None-the-less, good times were had.

3. Staying Positive

I’ve been pretty positive and centered so far this month, which is great. I’m honestly getting to spend more time with myself again, which will be a good thing as once I start up school again in the next few months, I doubt I will.

Between that and a few reality checks, I believe that I’m on the right path.

Which reminds me… I have a poem attached to a wall in my room, right next to the door. Somehow, despite the fact that I walk past it on a daily basis, I haven’t gone back and read it until just recently. It’s just… been there.

I was given this poem by one of the adult aides at a community center where I volunteered my time at during my middle school years, and I had it laminated. It’s been with me for the past decade, and I want to share it with all of you, since I take it quite to whatever heart I have remaining.

Read it here.

Good night, and good luck.

Since this is Sunday and, like the Head Cheese upstairs, I should rest on the seventh day; I figure that this should be fun and less thought-provoking than my previous posts. Ergo, this clip in question.

(For those of you readin’ through Facebook, click here for the clip.)

And, no, I do not care who won at the Globes. I do not care for 24. And I do not care for green eggs—but I do care for ham.

I’ve had a few events in my life that can classify as “near misses.” Fortunately, there are very few, but I’d like to focus on one that happened to me on Wednesday afternoon.

Let me take you to the town of Sebastian and to a property my father listed. The property was priced to move, particularly as the original owner had passed away of natural causes, and it was placed into a trust bequeathed to the surviving relatives. Within a few days of listing, the sellers received a very solid offer and the property is expected to close next month.

Anyway, the surviving son and his wife cleaned up the place before they had to head back to their own home, apparently in another state or somewhere within considerable driving distance. My dad was the first to check it out in the early afternoon, and while there fate had just happened to sneak up on him: one of the wire shelves in the garage was overloaded, so the simple act of opening the door leading from the house to the garage apparently broke the clips. This resulted in cans of paint unceremoniously hitting the garage floor. Some of this splatter went on my father’s slacks and dress shoes. He was pressed for time as it is, because he had another engagement he had to attend, so he was unable to clean it up himself.

Here’s where I come in. My dad comes home and tells me the situation, and so I head there. Before I left, he also asks me to take pictures of the interior, as the relatives were cleaning out the place when it was first listed. I was also told that the relatives headed back home yesterday, and as such I’m not expecting to meet with anyone there. Armed with this information, I break out my old work clothes, seeing as I’d have to be cleaning up paint.

I go there, assess the situation, and start cleaning up. It takes about 15 minutes to clean everything up, and another couple of minutes to wash the paint from my hands. (I should have snagged some latex gloves, but that’s a moot point now.) With everything squared away in the garage, I start prepping the interior so that it can be photographed.

It was maybe 5 minutes into this when I hear a man’s voice. “Hello, anyone here?”

I stop what I’m doing to meet the guy at the front door.

He has a gun pulled out. It’s not aimed at me, but it’s out.

(It is times like these where vulgarity is more than appropriate. Fuck.)

What happens next was a bit of a blur, for I went into autopilot. In my head was a voice wanting to scream. I felt my heart begin to race, in conjunction with all the other little things that go into the flight-or-fight response. I remained calm and introduced myself as working for the listing agent, told him that I was his son and that I was there to take photos.

Oh, and in the confines of my tiny brain, I also asked that I’d not be shot. Or, failing that, if I were shot, that it would be quick.

Fortunately, the gun was holstered and I remain physically unscathed. I proceeded to work as normally as I could from the experience; I informed him and his wife about the shelving issue in the garage, and that I would be back sometime later or tomorrow to fix it. Real simple, as I’d just need to get new plastic clips from Home Depot. I went around to open blinds, make sure things were presentable, and began snapping photos. They left again.

My mind was wanting to race out from my skull at that point. I debated on whether or not I should inform my father of what had happened, or whether or not I should even bring it up at all. Nothing came from it, so I just continued doing what I was sent there to do.

It was as I was wrapping up that I received a phone call from my father.

“So you met the sellers, huh?” he said.

I replied in the affirmative, and in the course of the conversation he revealed that the seller called him and told him about what happened. As you could imagine, my father didn’t react too kindly to having a gun pulled out at his son.  My dad also has the ability to joke about things, and so jokingly told me that he would buy me a new pair of pants. We laughed and that phone conversation soon ended.

Yet my mind still reeled, knowing full well that the situation could have turned out badly. I could see all sides of the event that I’ve described, all the whys and wherefores. That doesn’t really disturb me. What disturbs me is all the unknown factors that could have come into play. I don’t know the guy; the guy didn’t know me.

So I don’t know his mental state, what level of training he has with firearms, or his disposition. For all I knew, he could have been a robber, seeing as I had never met the sellers before. (Normally, I meet with most of my father’s sellers as well during the listing process.)

Now he didn’t know me either, as I’ve already noted. However, my car was out in the driveway, and from it he could have surmised two things: one, my last name was Beaudoin (because the name’s on the vanity plate at the back of the car, spelled semi-phonetically in six letters), and two I was related to a Realtor, since I have a plate at the front of my car that says “Consult a Realtor.”

I’m unsure about what thought process went into the seller pulling out his weapon and entering the house. I’ll never know, so I try not to think about it… However, it crosses my mind from time to time.

Honestly, with all the things that could go wrong, it scares the shit out of me some days. This event certainly jarred me from my complacency. I never really think that something is going to go horribly wrong with me, or that I might involve myself in a bad situation. I don’t think most people act that way, otherwise who would want to wake up from their beds?

Yet this event unsettled me, and it still does. It’s not debilitating but it gives me pause, reminding me to be thankful for all the good things in life—even if life can sometimes kick you in the jewels. Or have a gun brandished about your person.

Upon returning to Florida in the spring, I visited the Indian River Mall to find that the Starbucks—itself having been, in a previous life, a Barnie’s Coffee and Tea—near the food court was closed down. The signs on the outside had been removed, and you could tell it had been a Starbuck’s by the configuration of the holes and subtle lines that the signs left behind. Even through the dark windows, you could see the empty room and the naked counter. That was a bit sad, although there was a Starbuck’s right on the road in front of the Indian River Plaza, which was a good 10 minute or so walk from the mall. Not a total loss. Not as much as the next store I noticed.

In December (and into January), I saw these depressing signs that were inside the Vero Beach Waldenbooks:

Sunuvabitch...

This does hurt me a bit on a personal level because of my love of the printed word. I grew up on having a Waldenbooks in the mall I could go to.

While it wasn’t this specific one, I grew up with the one in my hometown of Manchester, Connecticut. I went there a few times a month as a tyke, brought there by my mother and grandmother. I would always walk into that store with some of my chore money (my father paid me a “wage” of $1/hr), pick up a science fiction book I wanted to add to my collection (either Star Trek, Star Wars or a comic) and walk out with a small, plastic white bag with “Waldenbooks” on each side.

I also met a few authors at my Manchester Waldenbooks—yes, I used that possessive adjective, deal with it. I remember getting my copy of Robert Greenberger‘s book, The Romulan Strategem, signed by Mr. Greenberger all those years ago.

It’s not that I’m not able to get my books elsewhere. I can. There’s a Books-A-Million in the small plaza to the east of the Indian River Plaza, next to the Publix. It has a bigger selection of books. It has its own little Joe’s Coffee shop. (Yes, it’s named Joe’s Coffee. Clearly, no relation.)

I could also go to the library, which I have thus far neglected doing since my return to Florida, but there’s something about owning a good book and having it on your bookshelf that is immensely satisfying. More than some trophy or worthless paper award to be placed on some wall.

And if I wanted to go the online route, I can go to Amazon and buy it there without paying sales taxes. But there’s something to be said about seeing a book on the shelf with portals to all those worlds. Worlds that groups of people took the time and energy under the exacting toll of immeasurable frustration to create and get published. There’s a process there that most people don’t realize. I’m all too familiar with getting something published, as I’ve been responsible for the creation of two books. All that pain and suffering that went into it, all the long hours of writing and revising… Most people give up.

However, I’m flying off on another tangent there, so let me regain some semblance of control.

You can buy your stuff online, and I’ve done that with DVD and CDs, as well as the occasional book. With books, I find that I enjoy the tactile sensation, to feel the weight of the book, to feel the edges of the pages as I flip through them. Then there’s the rich aroma of the paper that wafts from the pages and fills your nostrils, if you let it. It’s a wonderful smell and while the new books have that “book aroma,” I find that older books that are well kept have a richer smell… like aged wine tastes versus newer vintages.

There’s also the fact that you get to physically meet people in a bookstore and, perhaps, strike up a conversation with them. We can say that we have message boards, blogs, and other “social media” outlets, but there’s nothing that can replace our need for physical contact, even if it is a chat. You can’t mirror truthful facial expressions in emoticons, or hear someone’s laugh, or hear someone sigh over troubling content in a book… You just can’t.

And so I find myself melancholy at the prospect of a bookstore closing down, even if it is part of a chain. It saddens me because it reflects the economic woes of our times, as well as the inevitable change where more and more people flock to the internet for whatever tickles their fancy. It is yet another reminder that our technology and our lust for better/faster/stronger change has outpaced our hearts and the potential worthwhile abilities of the human race.

So let’s begin. I awoke this morning to find that a core theme of mine manifested itself. I’ll give you five cubits to figure out which theme it is.

One was in the form of a private message from the Quorum, The Colonial Fleet‘s message board; I received a message from one of the kind prop replica makers there, who went out of his way to thank me for creating the Battlestar Wiki. It made my morning when I read it, if only because it is a testament to a resource that I and many, many people worked on over the past five years to create and maintain.

The second was the discovery of a very interesting fact. It is a fact that was revealed when I posted yesterday’s blog about the Battlestar schwag—Dr. Kevin Grazier was never given a copy of the Battlestar Galactica Cast & Crew Yearbook.

It is a discovery that disturbs me a bit, seeing as I had received one with thanks to my friends at NBC Universal, Propworx, and the former Battlestar production office in Vancouver. When I received my copy, I had been informed of the following: it was one of the last copies up in Vancouver not given to anyone, and that everyone who worked on the series received one. Given this information, I’m a bit distressed to just find out more than a year later that Kevin seems to have been overlooked. Honestly, my involvement on Battlestar is not to the extent of Kevin’s and, let’s be honest, he had far more to do with shaping the show than I (or anyone connected to the Wiki, really) ever did.

So before I received a copy, Kevin should have received one. That would have been logical, fair, and… look, the human factor throws all that out the airlock. Whoosh!

I’m not blaming anyone for this oversight, because these things do happen. However, since we know that the issue is present and I feel that it should be corrected, I’m going to at least open my mouth about it—if only in the hope of the right person at the right place, and at right time, becoming aware of this and having the power to fix it.

So, for those of you who read this and have any worthwhile connections at NBC Universal, please make it so that a book ships to Dr. Kevin. There might be an extra one lying around somewhere. Also, if someone is thinking of selling their copy, please strongly consider sending it to Kevin.

Let’s make this happen. Call it a late Christmas present, if you’d like. So say we all.

However, I find that the notion about compartmentalizing events between “last year” and “this coming year” is cathartic. Once the act is done, it is truly like releasing the shackles, blinders, and weights from one’s body. As I write this, I feel a sense of exhilaration that I have not felt in a very long time; I’m ready for the metamorphosis.

All right, all right… In the interests of clarity and factual information, I have gone to cons before. As a young boy, I went to one of those Creation Cons with my mother and grandmother. I can’t remember when this was, or where it was (I am going to assume it was somewhere in Hartford, CT), and it wasn’t a memorable experience for me. All that I can recall is that Robin Curtis (Saavvik from Star Trek III: The Search for a Quick Buck) was a guest there and that just about every piece of Star Trek “memorabilia” was massively overpriced. With regard to the latter, not much has changed in the past decade-and-a-half—barring, of course, monetary changes due to inflation.

Consistency is key, I say.

Ah, yes, now that I’ve disclosed that worthless information, you may now file that under “why did I waste my time reading that for?”

In any event, the reason I’m going to this thing is to see what it is all about. That, and the fact that I’m going out there to hang with friends and meet people who I’ve talked to for years online and on the phone, but never in person.

That’s the only reason I’m going to this thing. Otherwise, I have to say that Dragon*Con has no other appeal to me. People prancing around in costumes from television shows, movies, and the like has no real appeal to me on a geek level. Actually, I find the whole thing rather bleh, although some people are most certainly creative! And I don’t have anything against anyone who partakes in cosplay. It’s just not something I feel I want to participate in.

Then again, I haven’t tried it either. Last time I tried dressing up was for a Halloween party, and that was at Best Buy back in 2006, when I dressed up as Randal Graves from Clerks II and put “Merch Monkey 4 Life” on the back of my Mooby’s shirt. Yes, I have a Mooby’s shirt. It’s an actual, honest-to-goodness piece of merchandise I bought more than 3 years ago. It’s still good. I even have the nametag, and a hat. Not the yellow visor hat, but one with the cow.

Oh, and for those of you wondering: there were pictures of me with that shirt taken, but I don’t have any of them.

I will have that shirt at Dragon*Con. And I just realize that this makes me out to be a hypocrite. While the whole dress-up shtick has little appeal to me, who am I to be a kill-joy bastard and not join in? Therefore, I have come up with two costumes.

One, as you might have already surmised, is a costume of a Mooby’s worker. Someone has to represent those fictitious fast-food minions. Since I don’t know of anyone else doing this, I might as well take the lead.

The second, coolest costume is something that is relatively cost effective and from one of my favorite love-it-and-hate-it science fiction series of all time, Jump the Battleshark Galacticrap. In the, finale of this blockbuster skiffy series, a cameo appearance by its creator, Ron D. Moore, graces the final few minutes of the show’s finale. I won’t spoil it for you, but apparently nothing experienced by the intrepid, rag-tag members of the Fleet meant not one a damn thing, since “God (who doesn’t like that name) did it all.”

As you can see below, here is the schmuck I’m going as.

Schmuck I'm going as hovered over by a blonde and a stoner wearing sunglasses, as seen in "Logicbreak, Part Deuce."

I’ve already ordered old back issues of National Geographic from eBay (what would you do without eBay, really?)Â and located a similar shirt that will work. Best part is that, not including the wig, I’ve spent only $20 on the costume. I have a dark gray undreshirt, I have a silver chain, I’m growing a crappy beard, and I have some denim pants, so I’m already covered there.

The RDM-ish shirt!

I’ll post more on this when I care to.

]]> http://www.joebeaudoin.net/2009/08/12-days-to-dragoncon/feed/ 0 http://www.joebeaudoin.net/2009/07/thank-you-harlan/ http://www.joebeaudoin.net/2009/07/thank-you-harlan/#comments Mon, 13 Jul 2009 07:15:28 +0000 joebeaudoin http://www.joebeaudoin.net/?p=176 There is no sense in writing what I think about my own personal philosophy on life when Harlan Ellison, one of the greatest writers in American history, summarized his philosophy as thus:

“My philosophy of life is that the meek shall inherit nothing but debasement, frustration and ignoble deaths; that there is security in personal strength; that you CAN fight City Hall and WIN; that any action is better than no action, even if it’s the wrong action; that you never reach glory or self-fulfillment unless you’re willing to risk everything, dare anything, put yourself dead on the line every time; and that once one becomes strong or rich or potent or powerful it is the responsibility of the strong to help the weak BECOME strong.” — The Harlan Ellison Hornbook, Aug. 9, 1973

And with that in mind, here’s a clip from one of my favorite movies that sums up my feelings on life, as they presently are: