It's May 15th, when Bloggers Unite for Human Rights.  I had a difficult time deciding what to write about in support of human rights, because there's an awful lot to be fighting for right now.  In our "civilized" nation, we're stealing our own constitutional rights on such a regular basis that it's scary.  There's Myanmar: a country in need of aid, but the aid is being repressed by the government.  There's atrocities in the middle east, where there are so many gun-toting factions fighting for what they think is right (including the US) that it's hard to keep track.  The world is falling into a state that depressingly resembles a game of World of Warcraft than any sane person's ideal for society: we fight among ourselves in each other for personal advancement and profit, with no clear goal or purpose other than self gratification.

Rule #7: Don't be a Shit

I went to put away the snowblower and lock up the chickens last night (basically, taking the opportunity to widen the path while combining two chores into one ... you know to make room for the next storm, which is coming tomorrow), and I noticed that all of the chickens were lined up out side the door to the coop in a big semi-circle, with our two runner ducks in the front. Now, this is strange, as chickens will typically go to roost at night, rather than hang around outside in sub-freezing weather. The coop is lit on the inside, and the snowblower has a headlight, so there was this bizarre semi-silhouetted arc of chickendom spreading out from the open coop door.

Smelling trouble, I park the snowblower and run over to the coop. The inside is empty, except for a (relatively) small owl, and one headless chicken, upon which said owl was perched. It was headless because the owl, apparently, thinks the head is the tastiest part and had eaten it clean off, leaving nothing but a bit of sinew and part (but not all ) of the skull.

First thought: yuck.

Second thought: how am I going to catch the owl and get it out of there? owls have beaks that look nasty-sharp (and can crack through chicken skulls, it would seem).

Third thought: how ironic that I am in a coop with a headless chicken. I half expected it to get up and start looking for its braiiiiins.

TO make a long story a little less long, Brave Wife arrived on the scene with a wool blanket, which we used to catch the owl. The thing was terrified, somewhat terrifying, and also completely beautiful. I had never seen an owl that close before, and I can now honestly say that they are absolutely stunning. I wished it hadn't eaten one of my chickens, but hey - this winter sucks for owls, too. Of course, we can't let it keep eating all of our chickens, so it went into a dog crate for the night, and will hopefully be re-located to a safe (for the chickens) distance away. Not being owl experts, we're leaving the "what to do" details up to Fish & Game.

I've spent every waking moment doing one of the following things: commuting through crappy weather; working; some requisite hours of eating/sleeping; clearing snow. There is so much goddamn snow (and, living on a farm, so much of it that I have to move) that I literally spent over six hours clearing snow this weekend. The path out to the chicken coop is like a trench, and I feel more than a little bit like Red 5 when I walk out there.

I'm sick .. again. This is either the third cold I've had within five weeks, or I've had one long cold that seems to get better, but is really just taking a rest every so often. I'm getting very sick of being sick. I feel like crap. I want to care about things like drooling boogers again: right now, I'm numb to it. "Um, excuse me, did you know that you just hacked up something yellowish, and it's dribbling down your chin?" Who, me? Couldn't care less. Why wipe it up, it's already invited all its friends over and they'll be here any minute. Yup, here they are know, squirting out of my nose. And my eye. Have you ever blown your nose and had boogers shoot out of your eye??? I tell you it's not fair. I want to go to sleep and wake up healthy. In the summer. Or in the Bahamas.

I live on a farm. That means I have animals. Animals need water. This isn't so bad in the summer, when outdoor plumbing works, but in the winter it means buckets. Lots of buckets. At least 5 buckets of water a day, carried from the kitchen sink either to: the donkeys, through a door, up a narrow set of stairs, through another door, across the barn, and through a stall door; the sheep, who get their water in a pasture that is accessed through the donkey stall, after hoisting the bucket up and over the electric fence (cautiously) or through another gate; the chickens, who live through the first door, out the back door of the barn, and across the yard to the coop.

We went away to Boston for the weekend. We had fun, but more importantly, we didn't carry a single bucket.

Am I talking about terrorists? Nope. I'm talking electoral campaigns, not military ones. Presidential campaigns, to be precise. Our own.

I'm not a political activist, but it occurs to me that we are under attack — not by terrorists, or the insurance companies, or Lead Paint Barbie, but by our own presidential candidates. Consider the word "freedom." As you ponder what it means to be free, let your thoughts wander over to words like "privacy." We have laws to protect both of these highly subjective things, but there is one very important loophole that is currently being exploited, and it pisses me off. I'm talking about the national do-not-call list, which aims to protect our right to have dinner without being called by some jerk salesperson. It's a nice law that protect us from the frustration known as Dinus Interuptus, and it was put in place by our beloved politicians, because they love us and have our best interests held close to their hearts. Oh - except they're exempt, themselves. And this election season, they are abusing that exemption.

Thank the powers that I am not a registered independent: if I were, I would be receiving calls from both parties candidates. I'm currently only a one-party guy, and I'm getting (no shit) about 3 calls on average every single freaking night. I got one on New Years Eve, and that particular candidate is lucky that I was so drunk I hit "end" instead of "call" because I was fueled by alcohol into giving 'em a piece of my mind! (It was New Years, after all)

Ranting aside, how can we trust any candidate when they are all deliberately doing something that they know we disapprove of? If people wanted to be called at home, the Do Not Call registry would never have been created. If a candidate deliberately pokes us in the eye over and over again, how could they possible want to fight on my behalf in the context of [taxes, education, foreign policy, health care]? I mean, these people obviously live in a very different world than we do, or they'd leave us alone. And they obviously don't care.

... I wonder what real estate prices in New Zealand are like?

I've been completely absorbed with "the book" lately. First, the mad rush of final edits and book design, and then the initial marketing efforts -- all on top of a full-time job. Now, the first round of review copies have been sent out, and the looming event of Christmas is the only thing to think about. It's been a nice and very welcome bit of relief.

With the new year, there are a lot of things to do on the writing front: readings and signings need to be arranged, and of course there's the next book ... but there's also a lot of other things to do, and my New Years resolution is to re-focus a good portion of my energy to those things. Things like: getting to the dojo more often, and/or the gym; finishing some of the bigger home improvement projects that have been piling up; and spending more quality time with my loving and beautiful wife.

No... not a new chapter in my book, but a new chapter in my life. After close to a decade, I'm leaving my job and moving sideways through the tech industry. Actually, it's a downward move pay-wise, but there's more to life than money, right? It's tough leaving an office that you've put down roots in: though the old company had been acquired (twice), I've worked with the same people for so long its almost scary. I'll miss them, that's a certainty. It's also tough packing everything up and cleaning out my desk. No, seriously, I mean it: I adhere to the "piles" method of organization and I've been in that same desk for many years now.

The new job is exciting: I'll be working for a start-up again. Not the "we call ourselves a startup, even though the company is eight years old, and there's almost 300 people on staff, and everything is wrapped in politics and red tape" kind of startup, which describes the company I just left. This is a real entrepreneurial adventure, where everyone pitches in towards the common goal of growth and success. I'm looking forward to it.

I love playing poker with my friends. It's always a good time, and always a friendly game. There's a big game coming up, but I'm tired of relying on one particular friend to bring the chips and cards. So, with some X-Mass cash in pocket, I decided to buy my own set of quality playing cards and chips.

They should be here early next week, and in anticipation, I also went shopping for some quality cards. After reading some reviews online, I chose the Dal Negro Freedom, a plastic card that is known for its "paper card feel". Plastic cards are either love-em or hate-em, but in my house, they win because off durability. And lets face it, cards aren't expensive products, so even expensive cards are still, in the grand scheme of things, inexpensive. The review I read went something like this:

"The Dal Negro's have more of a 'paper' feel to them than the other plastic cards I have reviewed. The texture feels similar to COPAG cards but have much more of a 'sandpaper' feel. The cards feel less 'plasticy' than the other decks and anyone who handles them up immediately notices the difference in feel. When you look closely at the paper, it looks like particle-board.

Dal Negro's have a unique feel for a plastic card. The cards have more of a fuller, chiseled feel to them than other plastic playing cards. The corners are more rounded than a KEM. They feel like little pieces of cardboard and are the thickest and heaviest cards I reviewed."

OK, it went exactly like that. That is a direct cut-and-paste from a review at HomePokerTourney.com.

So, the wife is a veterinary technician, and after many long years of dutiful service in that particular occupation, the inevitable has finally happened: one kitten, 9 weeks of age and paralyzed due to a spinal injury, has been brought into our home for (at the least) love, and (at the most) recovery.

His name is "Kermit the Reeves", because when he sits up, his little stick out funny and he looks like Kermit the Frog. At the same time, he is a bundle of joy, full of life and happiness; he doesn't even seem aware of his loss, yet at the same time he is making slow and steady progress. He's a fighter, worthy of the Christopher Reeves reference.

We fostered him exactly one week ago today, just for the weekend, but when the owners decided that they couldn't take him, we decided to adopt him for good rather than put him to sleep. It's not like he's suffering - he scoots around faster than our oldest boy cat (who is a bit fat) and is quite agile considering he's dragging half of his body around behind him.

There's hope. Not much hope, but some. One week ago, he had no feeling in his legs or tail at all. Now, one week later, he can actually kick a little on his own, and will pull his foot clumsily away if you pinch his toes. At the moment he is getting constant care: frequent physical therapy to try and keep his legs strong, and regular bladder expressions (think: decorating a cake, but with a cat). He likes the former, and hates the later. But we do what we can, 'cuz the little tyke deserves it.

The Armored Combat Suit League of New England (ACSLNE) had its second succesful event this New Year's Eve. Just after sundown, while we could still see a little bit, we had round one of combat, which was held between veteran ACSLNE champion Captain T.W. and newcomer Shogun Knapp (thats me). TW fought in a sleeker box-built robot armor suit than last year's model, while my first-time suit was built from panels of heavy duck canvas covered with duct tape and then aluminum tape. TW definitely looked like a robot, whereas I looked like some sort of accident between a Samurai and an aluminum foil factory.

I heard a rumor that the universe was created by a Flying Spaghetti Monster, who is worshiped by pirates and lives among us manipulating science on-the-fly through his invisible but omnipotent noodleness.

I'm not an exceptionally religious man by nature, but this just makes sense to me. After all, everybody likes noodles.

www.venganza.org

I'm in memphis. Haven't seen Elvis yet. But it's inevitable.

On a different, I am nearly ready to submit my final manuscript to the publisher. The deadline is Oct. 20, which I should be able to make easily. See the web site for more details.

This week I'm in Orlando. It is overcast and has been raining on-and-off. Too bad I sprung the extra $10 to upgrade to a convertable. That's just my luck.

On another note, I went to FAO Shwartz on International Blvd. (the "can't afford Disney" strip) and was surprised to see a stuffed replica of one of my co-workers.