Happy New Year, Ebbybody!
Here's a question for you:
What was the highlight of your year? (or if you prefer, the lowlight)
I think my highlight was buying a house- it was so easy and hassle-free, contrary to conventional wisdom. One afternoon Michelle and I decided to go look at houses, just for something to do. We found the perfect house so we bought it. It was seriously that easy.
I think my lowlight was getting snmashed in the face at work, getting knocked down in the mud and seeing my blood dripping and not knowing if I was seriously hurt or not (I wasn't, thankfully).
I'll see you in 2007!

Best 6 Books
This was the hardest list for me since I read 60 or 70 books this year. And I'm not sure if ANY of them were actually published in 2006. I'll put the actual publication date in brackets.
1. Next of Kin, Peter Fouts (1997). This is the story of Washoe, the world's first talking chimpanzee (she speaks American Sign Language, as do many other great apes), and the scientist, Fouts, who spent his career learning from her and her family. Simultaneously hilarious, astonishing, and heartbreaking.
2. Olympos, Dan Simmons (2005). I've mentioned this book, and its predecessor Ilium, several times, and always somewhat inadequately. You can't really put such a book in a nutshell, dealing as it does with Homer, Proust and Shakespeare by throwing together Greek gods, robots, spaceships and monsters. On Mars.
3. Hitching Rides With Buddha, Will Ferguson (1998). Fellow Albertan Ferguson is rapdily becoming one of Canada's best loved writers, and this book shows why- it's a quirky travelogue full of eccentric figures and fascinating places as he hitch-hikes the length of Japan in pursuit of the cherry blossoms.
4. Serpent Catch, Dave Wolverton (1991). I tried reading its sequel first, The Path of the Hero, and found it pretty confusing, not realizing it was numba 2. Read in the correct order, they're great sci-fi fun, with Neanderthals and apemen and mammoths galore.
5. The Boilerplate Rhino, David Quammen (2000). How do you get this gig? Outside Magazine told Quammen to write a monthly column on anything science-related he felt like. This book is a collection of some of the best essays that resulted. Lucky for me there's another one out there.
6. Darwinia, Robert Charles Wilson (1998). I love Lost World stories, especially ones that have a unique mechanism for bringing said world into play. Special bonus- Wilson is a Canuck too.

I'm looking forward to reading a book that actually was published in 2006- Vincent Lam's Giller Prize winning Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures.

Top Movies of 2006
This list was a lot easier to make since I actually only went to three movies in all of 2006- X3, POTC:DMC and Flags of Our Fathers. We rented a handful more, such as V For Vendetta which was excellent; Ultraviolet was so terrible I stopped watching after 20 minutes (18 minutes too long); and Transamerica was a cool, quirky, sweet movie in the vein of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. But the best movie I saw this year was:
The World's Fastest Indian
Which might have come out in 2005. It's the true story of an Invercargill, New Zealand bloke who modified a 1920 Indian motorcycle till it was, indeed, the fastest in the world.
Speaking of Invercargill, I hope they make a movie about that Swanson guy. He, or possibly she, is best known for playing hockey. In fact, that's ALL that's known about this mysterious kiwi. That, and (s)he gives old hoodies to the Invercargill thrift shop.

Top 6 CDs of 2006
This was a tough list to make, since between Michelle and I we must have bought thirty discs this year. Though some of her discs (Josh Groban, Faith Hill) I doubt I will ever listen to. So, in more or less random order:

1. Angels and Airwaves, We Don't Need To Whisper. Blink-18who? Recommended track: Start the Machine
2. Beck, The Information. Hey, wasn't he on last year's list? That's alright, I'll include him any time he cares to make an album. Rec Track: Think I'm In Love (But It Makes Me Kind of Nervous to Say So)
3. Red Hot Chili Peppers, Stadium Arcadium. It's not their fault that radio is playing this to death. Rec. Track: If
4. Rob Zombie, Educated Horses. It inspired art. Rec. Track: Foxy Foxy
5. Johnny Cash, American V-A Hundred Highways. The Edmonton Sun's Fish Griwkowsky gave it five stars, saying he automatically grants this rating to any disc that makes him cry. I agree. Rec. Track: God's Gonna Cut You Down
6. Loreena McKennit, An Ancient Muse. Did you know she sounds exactly the same live, if not better? Rec. Track: Beneath A Phrygian Sky

Honorable Mention goes to The Tragically Hip for World Container, which gets better with every listen.

Something called Edge asked a very interesting question of some of the worlds' foremost scientists and thinkers:
WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IS TRUE EVEN THOUGH YOU CANNOT PROVE IT?
There are some pretty interesting answers, though I haven't gone through them all. I especially like Tor NØrretranders' answer.
My own answer, without taking too much time to think, is I believe Neanderthals survived until as recently as 5000 years ago, rather than going extinct 25,000 years ago as currently accepted.
So what's your answer?

As of 7:00 this morning I can check another item off my list of things to do in 2006:

Buy a house
Be declared Time's Person of the Year
Work 88 nightshifts

Yup, last set of nights for the year. Actually I only have two more shifts left for 2006! That's pretty great. What pretty sucks about it is that they're on the 24th and the 27th. So, Saturday night I drive 300 kms to Hinton for Christmas Eve dayshift, then drive home for Christmas, then Boxing Day I return for one more shift, then come home the next day. Oh well, what can I do?
Come to think of it, I could
Ask for the time off

No go, though. Oh well. Those four days off every week help ease the pain.
Still to accomplish on the list:

Cook Christmas turkey dinner for 14 people

When Michelle married me, she became my unwitting musical padawan- she was exposed to bushels of music never before heard by her ears. Today I think I will promote her from padawan to jedi knight. She came home to find me listening to Beck's Mellow Gold, specifically track 7, 'Sweet Sunshine', and she remarked, "This reminds me a little of Slipknot, in a way." And indeed, 'Virus of Life' and 'Iowa' both have a similar vibe, believe it or not, to that song. An astute observation!
I'm so proud!
Of course, it works both ways, as I am now something of an Oprah acolyte, knowing who Oprites such as Dr. Oz and Steadman are. I even watched Oprah's Road Trip episodes all by myself when Michelle was working late, coaching volleyball. In fact, Oprah is on right now so I guess I should go.

Three Years, and 2000 Miles
Michelle and I were two of the lucky few who were able to get tickets to Holly Cole's sort-of-annual Christmas concert with the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra last night. It was fantastic- she's so talented and innovative. And she has the sexiest voice ever.
I confess I teared up a little when she played 2000 Miles- my favorite of her Christmas songs (it's a Pretenders cover). Three years ago, I was scheduled to speak at the gathering during the Christmas season, and I asked my friend Deb if she would perform that song for me. The night before, Craig and Deb came over to the Woodsy Crypt to visit gabrielle, and Poe, and me. A fun time, we were sitting around talking when I got a phone call from my Grandma. Her youngest son, my uncle, had died quite suddenly and unpleasantly. In fact, he hanged himself. I made arrangements to help her take care of things and hung up. Craig and Deb stayed late into the night, just to be there. Craig said he would cover for me speaking-wise. Poe, the cat, even came and cuddled as I just sat on the couch. In the morning, gabrielle, my room-mate, made me coffee and gave me a poem she had written. Then I left to drive to Hinton, then Calgary, then Hinton, and eventually back to Edmonton- a distance of not quite 2000 miles, but far enough.
Anyways, when Holly Cole sang that beautiful song last night, and those tears welled up, it wasn't totally a response to sadness, but also a sense of gratefulness for the friends who are there for you in the long, cold winter nights.


He's gone 2000 miles
It's very far
The snow is falling down
Gets colder day by day
I miss you

The children will sing
He'll be back at christmastime

In these frozen and silent nights
Sometimes in a dream you appear
Outside under the purple sky
Diamonds in the snow sparkle
Our hearts were singing
It felt like christmastime

2000 miles
Is very far through the snow
Ill think of you
Wherever you go

He's gone 2000 miles
It's very far
The snow is falling down
Gets colder day by day
I miss you

I can hear people singing
It must be christmastime
I hear people singing
It must be christmastime

(lyrics by Chrissie Hynde)

Do I have to change to the new Blogger? It sort of implies that I do. I don't want to.
Anyway.
The real reason I signed in to Blogger tonight was to ask you guys to keep an eye out for my toque. Toques, actually. I lost my Yankees toque tonight, the one I got in New York and was wearing because the All Blacks toque I got in New Zealand got lost last year. Prior to that the toque I got in a case of beer and wore to China and Tibet got lost at a football game (probably stolen by a Roughrider). Not to mention the great toque I bought for when I went up to Churchill to see polar bears back on my cross-Canada hitch-hiking trip almost a decade ago- I lost that one after I got home a polar bear stole it from me and gave it to her mammoth friend.
So if you find one of my toques, please send it to me. I miss them. For some reason they remind me of traveling. I also like how they keep my head warm.

This week's Ten Word Challenge is up if you want to play. If you're not part of dA you can tell me and I can pass the link along. Or you could just join deviantArt.
My own challenge for today is called "Clean the Bathroom or Face Wife's Wrath". Wish me luck.

You know what there aren't enough of? Neanderthal songs. In fact, I can't think of even one off the top of my head, though I am sure there are some out there. So that's your assignment for today- find me some caveman songs. Eithre songs written by Neanderthals, or about them. Whichever.
Here's one from National Geographic- "Cannibal Neandertal". Catchy.

And check out what I found when I was over at Amazon- video of Loreena McKennit performing a song from her new CD, An Ancient Muse! Lovely. I assume you got her disc a couple weeks ago when it came out but if not it isn't too late to correct this grievous oversight. I've already pretty much worn out my copy.

Maybe you read Daniel Keyes' short story "Flowers For Algernon" in high school, or saw one of the tv shows or movies based on it. The original short story won a Hugo award in 1960. Certainly a classic.
But I bet you've never read the story that came in second in Hugo voting that year- Philip José Farmer's "The Alley Man". I came across it more or less by accident as it was in one of the many short story anthologies I buy for a buck in used bookstores that serve me so well on nightshift at the coal mine.
The alley man is Old Man Paley, the last surviving Neanderthal, a one-armed bottlepicker who lives off the refuse of us False Folks, worshipping the Old Guy in the Sky and patiently waiting for the time when he can rise again.
Or maybe he's just an ugly and demented old derelict whose biggest dream is to be a wrestler on tv, billed as the Awful Apeman.
Anyways, a great find. You should read it- the real pleasure is listening to Old Man's constant stream of chatter as he recounts his people's history to a wide-eyed anthropology student. Obviously I ate it right up since it was about Neanderthals. Or probably was about Neanderthals.
Speaking of Neanderlit, I recommend Dave Wolverton's Serpent Catch and Path of the Hero, which has Neanderthals and mammoths and all kinds of crazy things.
I'm sure you've at least heard of, if not read, Clan of the Cave Bear. Good book, could have used more actual cave bears though. Still, it has plenty of Neanderthals.

Finally, an Illustration Friday-type thing for writers like me! And you? Maybe! Much as I love browsing the IllFri, not being able to draw hampers my ability to take part by 100%. But I can write. So take a look at the Ten Word Wednesday challenge. You get ten words you have to incorporate into a poem. I jotted the words down on my notepad and went to the nearby SCup and came up with this- a poem loaded with fun and horror, if not literary merit (required words in unobtrusive grey):

Again, the ancient abomination awakens
virile vileness, destruction distilled, poetic putrescence
an ode to obscenity, reality’s requiem
its carapace a spiked and spiny agglomeration of illogical hues
the interstices of a thousand incisors crusted with remnants of exotic nourishment
neutronium-eyed, its stomach a black hole, a pulsar for a brain
it roars and the soundless vacuum shudders
the celestial spheres stop spinning, dismayed
as the unvanquishable avatar of avarice and annihilation
arises from the ooze, emerging from the dark matter that was its lair
in answer to an inexorable summons from the lesser dimensions
a tiny sprite, wingéd and naked, whistles a trill
and giggles in glee when her puppy comes running

Anyways, I just have to tell you how much I love Sinéad O'Connor's "Emperor's New Clothes." Thanks to XM Radio for introducing it to me. No thanks to FM radio for hiding it from me.

Some words from the artist who made me the beautiful paleo-art you see to your right- the mighty Wenzmaster!

"My real name is Renzo Rivadeneira. The "wenz" thing? Well, let's just say it's a long story. I am an Art Director and I have loved to draw since I was a child :3
I got started on drawing thanks to X-Men comics. I remember the day I bought my first comic book; that day everything changed! My influences range from classic American comics, passing through to Manga and Anime - I would imagine that all of this mixing has resulted in my own style - the Wenz style. :)
I would love to make my own comic book with my own characters and watch them on Cartoon Network.
Finally, don't forget that Peru is a country full of creative artistic talent and GREAT food!"

Be sure to check out his gallery, especially Snow Jumping, which was the picture that first drew me to him. And remember, he is available for commissions.
While you're over at deviantArt, you can read my new poem Working Outside in Winter, inspired by my last week at work. I wrote it for a Seasons writing contest.
Speaking of Peru, I finally got around to watching Kronk's New Groove today. It was pretty good for a Disney sequel, which usually are pooey. It helped that all the voice actors came back. As much as I love visuals I'm finding more and more that voice acting can really kill an animated movie for me. Although in the case of Cars, which we watched last night, the voice acting and visuals were completely fine, it was just the insipid story that ruined it.

Polar bears and woolly mammoths were contemporary, though just for a very brief period. Mammoths came out of Africa nearly 5 million years ago, and then died out probably around 10,000 years ago, though the most recent mammoth remains, from Wrangel Island, date to as recently as 3700 years ago.
Polar bears evolved from grizzlies about 30,000 years ago. Which possibly makes them the youngest species of megafauna on the planet, though I don't know for sure. Wood bison might be younger (but are they a species or a sub-species??), or some other beast. Anyways, the point is, for about 20,000 years polar bears and woolly mammoths frolicked together on the tundra.
Did you know woollies are more closely related to African and Asian elephants than the two types of elephants are to each other? Crazy eh? And there's a population of grizzlies on Alaska's ABC Islands (Admiralty, Baranof and Chichagof) that is more closely related to polar bears than mainland grizzlies. Thus it seems likely that maritimus evolved from this isolated population of horribilis.
I'm not a geneticist so I only have a murky grasp of how they figure those things out.

Very briefly (I have one more shift this week so it's past my bedtime), allow me to introduce you to Renzo Rivadeneira- Wenzmaster! I asked him to draw Homie Bear riding a Woolly Mammoth, since I believe it is a paleontological fact that bears and mammoths were good friends back in the Ice Age. As you can see, they liked ice cream! Though ice cream is rarely preserved in the fossil record.
Maybe when I get home I'll post some more info on my Peruvian artist friend. He is available for commissions, btw.

Whatever happened to the Neanderthals? They used to dominate Europe- imagine a social predator with the mental capacity of a modern human coupled with the brute strength of a gorilla. Common wisdom says they died out around 30,000 years ago, possibly at the hands of Homo sapiens- though another theory suggests they were ill-adapted to the post-ice age climate. National Geographic has a news item that suggests Neanderthals and sapiens interbred, and that the Neander population was genetically absorbed into ours. The bottom line is, we don't really know what happened to them.
What if they survived much later than the fossil record shows? Everyone knows the fossil record is more of a broad spectrum tool rather than a precise measuring rod. A difference of, say, 25,000 years is miniscule in geological terms. I've always thought this little throwaway paragraph in the Bible was intriguing:

The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown. Genesis 6:4

Certainly the massive Neanderthals would have seemed godlike to the much smaller sapiens. To me, the cryptic nature of this passage suggests two things- that the Nephilim were fairly common knowledge and wouldn't have needed to be explained much beyond that description, and that whoever they were, they interbred with "humans".
What do you think? I'd be proud to have a little Neanderthal blood in me.

I'm home for the first time in two weeks! It's just how I remember it. Tomorrow or the next day I think I will treat you to my ruminations on sasquatches and Neanderthals, but until then join me in congratulating my good friend Zimmy for being awarded a well-deserved Daily Deviation!


Waiting For Judgement- COLOR by *zimeta08 on deviantART

You can check out the interview I did with her a few months ago.
PS- I am graciously accepting PS3s if you have any to spare. Also HDTVs too please. Not much sense without Hi-Def. Heck, I'll accept PSPs, even. I'm very generous.

Yay for Jasper!
We had a pretty nice weekend in Jasper. The photo above is from our ill-fated expedition to find the sandstone hoodoos and tunnel-like notch through a cliff towards Pocahontas. It was ill-fated because we trudged through kilometers of hard, crusty snow looking for said landmarks, only to turn back in defeat and see them, plain as day, right near the start of the trail. So many things depend on angle and perspective. Oh well. Next time.
Our main focus was just relaxing and getting away for a while, and we accomplished that masterfully. There's a mammoth tusk on display in one of the storefronts so that was really all I needed to make me happy. Oh yeah and the black wolf we saw on the drive out. The bears, of course, are having a rest.

Another work week done. It was kind of a crazy one, too, but I won't bore you with the details. It's enough to say that everyone went home safely. Sometimes that's all you can ask for.
But now I'm on days off! Tomorrow Michelle is coming out here and we will then head to Jasper to take advantage of the off-season rates and just spend some quality time in les montagnes. That's Japanese for the mountains. Which reminds me that I'm reading Will Ferguson's Hitching Rides With Buddha, in which he hitch-hikes across Japan. One of his rides confidently asserted that he was going to North America to climb every one of the Rocky Mountains.

"Every mountain? Are you sure? I mean, that's a lot of mountains. Jeez, there must be . . . "
"Every mountain," he said, and looked over at me with a cross look, as though I weren't holding up my end of the conversation.

It's a great book, and Ferguson is a great writer, he's even from Alberta, so check him out if you get a chance. I love reading about all the characters he met while hitching. I met some too when I thumbed my way across Canada, maybe I'll try to remember some stories to tell you. Anyways, have fun in Jasper! Oh wait, that's me who's going.

The Edmonton Journal is having a poetry contest, judged by our very own Poet Laureate, Alice Major. You can enter one, and only one, previously unpublished poem. So I am having trouble deciding which one to enter- I suppose I could write one for it but between work and my other writing projects on the go I doubt I will have time. Since rhyming poems aren't taken seriously by anyone these days, I won't enter any of my funny little rhyming couplet poems. So I need your help and advice- I have narrowed it down to one of the following non-rhymey poems, and would appreciate your feedback as to which one I should enter.
First, there's E=mc², one of my favorites. I wrote it in anticipation of the trip gabrielle and I took that I mentioned a few days ago.
Then there's Love Poem, With Robots. I like it because it has my traditional fun whimsical element, but is also a semi-seriously romantic poem.
Finally, my favorite poem, but maybe one that's a little too strange for this contest: Cadaverous Cattle.
Thanks for your feedback- even if it's to say that I suck!
And when you're done, go check out this Japanese video that purports to show a Megalodon , and decide if it's really the ancient terror of the deep returned to life (they occasionally dredge up unfossilized Megalodon teeth, you know!) or just some other, more mundane species of shark. Either way it's pretty crazy.
And a local man says he has a sasquatch on tape! The next holy grail of cryptozoologists will be a video of a bigfoot wrestling a megalodon. And maybe I should write an epic poem about this titanic match and submit it to the Journal.

DeviantArt's Nashya is featured in a new book, Mangaka America. In fact, that's her art gracing the cover! But she isn't the only artist in it, it's got a bunch of other American artists of the manga style. Not that I really see her art as being specifically manga, but that's alright. It's enough to know that it kicks ass.
You might recall that I commissioned Nashya to make the artwork for gabrielle's blog, so head over there, admire the art, and say happy birthday to her- it's not too late because here on our side of the world it is still her day.
Isn't it cool how the book cover matches the polar bear?

Due to the International uh . . . what's it called? Dateline? My brains is all fuzzy because I am still awake from yesterday. Well, it's actually tomorrow down in New Zealand right now. Whoa timewarp- definitely a paradox. Which means it's time to celebrate the birthday of one of my best mates, the vampirenomad! Happy birthday! A little over two years ago we packed up the Woodsy Crypt, said farewell to F.A.N., threw a couch over the balcony, left Ted in charge and made our way to Malaysia and New Zealand. After a few months I came home and eventually got married, while gabrielle lived up to the nomadic part of her nickname and stayed behind. I've been going through my journal trying to find a good story to tell from the trip, but there's too many. Wedge. Why Wedge was Named Wedge. Why He Could Have Been Named Leak. Barefoot cinema patrons. The town square hexagon in Dunedin. Whales. Dolphins. Sea turtles. Dangerously inept diving-school classmates. Fell beasts. One Rings and One Ringgits. Coppelia. Tongariro. Hobbiton. "Hey it's a gay bus tour!" and "Oh, my mates stayed behind to do each others' hair". Kura Tawhiti. The Twizel Office of Development (as well as its famous bakery where the menu is apparently just for show). Cheep birds. Kea birds. Sheep- so many sheep. I could go on and on and not even scratch the surface of the good times we had- and that's not even getting into the Woodsy Crypt era. Happy Birthday Lt. Nixon! I still haven't located Private Blythe- he remains MIA. Winters out.

Congratulations to Phil Carnehl, the Rebel Penguin, who was awarded a Daily Deviation for one of the Yeti pieces I commissioned him to do for a children's story I wrote. It's truly deserved. Seeing all the positive feedback has reinforced my desire to try and get that sucker published. I've been dragging my feet because I'm not convinced trying to get an agent is good for one's soul. I love Miss Snark, but reading her just drives home the point that publishing is a dog-eat-dog world. Well, I'm a bear with a yeti on my side so I guess there's no need to be timid.


Snow White Shepherd by *rebel-penguin on deviantART

Here is the interview I did with him last month which has now fallen off the main page into the archival abyss.
And check out Shane Cheffins' new work- he's the guy who did the robot bear you see to your right.

Nothing new to tell you about the screaming ghost girl. Here in Edmonton there's been another mystery going around concerning a University of Alberta professor who's gone missing. Seems he called in sick and then went to Hawaii to do some adventuring, only he never got there. Everyone figures he met some misfortune while hiking, but what everybody forgets is, he's a nanotech researcher. To me it's obvious that he downloaded his consciousness into billions of tiny, self-replicating robots who will now go colonize the universe.
Which reminds me of a short short story I wrote about nanotech once. Not quite as short as the 6-word stories Cass mentioned, but pretty close.

Anyways, here is the first entry for my bloggiversary contest:

Infamy.
A Halloween Story
By Gabrielle

“Look, all I’m saying is that I do the same thing he does! He gets all the press. I just want my due.”
“I understand that, Mr. Durt, but there are mitigating circumstances to consider.”
“What circumstances?” Mr. Durt paced the room with a plodding gait. He sighed heavily. “There’s only one difference between us.”
“Blood.” The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose and peered at his client.
“Yeah. And that’s it.”
“Mr. Dracool is claiming that centuries of history and development enmeshed his family, if you will, in their heritage. He says you have no such claim. He has substantial evidence to support his case.”
“Evidence?” Mr. Durt was exasperated. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
“The foreign property holdings, the folklore of the region, the centuries of precise knowledge… the list goes on but you can see in these transcripts that it is all well documented. You have no such proof.”
“We’ve been around just as long!”
“Proof, Mr. Durt, is what courts are looking for. Not emotional hearsay.” The lawyer stacked papers into his briefcase and snapped it shut with an air of finality. “I can’t take your case to court. There’s nothing to go on. We’d never win. Bring me something substantial and I’ll reconsider. But until then, I must decline to represent you.” With that, the lawyer left the room.
Mr. Durt groaned and sank into a chair. He stared morosely out the lone window and his thoughts uncoiled slowly, with a hesitant air, until at last they were laid straight and clear before him. “I don’t need a lawyer,” he said then. He felt a bit triumphant. “I’ll try this case in the court of public opinion. I’ll go to the papers! All it will take is a little publicity and bang – I’ll be out of Dracool’s shadow for good.”

* * * *

The headline on the next day’s paper read as follows:
DURT: JUST LIKE DRACOOL
“Mr. Durt claims that the Dracool family have been ousting him from rightful popularity since the early 1900s. In our exclusive interview, he reveals the shocking lack of difference between he and Dracool. No longer content to wait in the wings for the dregs of Dracool’s success, what Durt wants now is equality. Story on page 6.”
The circulation of the papers spiked noticeably and the editor of The Chronicle knew a golden story when he saw one. He sent his best journalists to obtain a rebuttal interview from Dracool.
The day after Durt’s story the headline read as follows:
DURT LIVES UP TO NAME SAYS DRACOOL.
“Mr. Vladimir Dracool spoke out against claims by Mr. Durt that his family had been leeching fame off Durt since the early 1900s. According to him, Durt has neither the brains nor the style to wrest the Dracool family from their status. He says Durt is “just a cretin fumbling for his day in the dawn”. Story on page 3.”
The papers were snatched up. The public loved a battle royale. The headlines bopped back and forth like a verbal ping-pong.
DURT ACCUSES DRACOOL OF BATTY LEGACY.
Then: DRACOOL DECRYPTS ILL WILL
And the following day: DURT: GRAVE ACCUSATIONS BY DRACOOL
Followed by: DRACOOL SLINGS FRESH MUD
The public ate it up for a good two weeks. There appeared to be no resolution to the quarrel nor indeed did either party seem particularly interested in a cease-fire. Durt and Dracool merrily exchanged barbs and innuendo with a revolving door of journalists and The Chronicle circulation nearly doubled. But then came a plateau. And then the decline. There was nothing new to say. Old jabs were re-worded into new headlines and the public’s appetite waned. Until one day, nearly three weeks after Durt’s initial foray into the public arena, sales of The Chronicle suddenly spiked again. The public were in a frenzy to get at the story behind the latest headline. Dracool, in his mausoleum, and Durt, in his plot, frowned at the news. Neither had given a new interview. They ventured forth to buy copies of the paper. The headline screamed:
MR. HARRY’S MOONLIGHT SERENADE TO CONGRESS
“By the light of a full moon, eccentric millionaire Mr. Harry pleaded his case to a very special Congressional gathering last evening. The address was deemed a howling success by one party member in attendance and the banning of the use of silver in ammunitions manufacture is now the issue of the day on Capitol Hill.”
Mr. Durt’s phone rang. It was Dracool.
“Our fifteen minutes are up, my friend.”
“So, truce?” Durt sighed.
“You’ve always been the brains, you know.” Dracool chuckled.
“Funny.”
“I’m taking the redeye to Transylvania tonight. Take care of yourself, Durt.”
“Yeah. You too. We’re bloody well two sides of the same night anyway, aren’t we?” Durt listened to Dracool’s laughter over the line before the other signed off. And that was that.

The End

A coal mine can be a creepy place, especially at night. When I'm on water truck, filling up the tank, I always have to remember to do a quick scan for bears, wolves or cougars before I get down. And usually I forget. So I've gotten a good scare more than once from being down on the ground in the pitch dark when a sudden movement not ten feet away startles me- it's always just a deer, but for a split second you don't know and it raises your hackles.
So I'm pretty sure I would have been freaked right out if I had been there last night (this week I'm on dayshift) when everyone heard the garbled but terrified voice of a little girl on the two-way radio screaming for help, saying something about a brown bear and possibly her dad being on the ground. Then a bloodcurdling scream, and nothing.
When we got on shift this morning various versions of this story started going around, and my first reaction was a little shiver, and, "Cool Hallowe'en ghost story!" and then, well, I don't know what to think. There's been no reports of missing little girls, no evidence of a mauling, nothing. They searched around and called the police last night, but what more can you do at night when you have no idea where even to begin looking?
And why is a little girl out at night in the wild? How did she happen to have a radio tuned to the mine's frequency? Is it a hoax? A tape? A ghost? If not, what? I talked to some of the guys who were working and they didn't think it was a fake- they were all freaked right out- enough to call the cops (who said there was nothing they could do without a missing persons report). I didn't even know if I should blog about it until there was more info. If you hear or know anything (like you can identify the horror movie the soundbite was taken from) let me know. There's been quite a few poachers hanging out, so maybe they were screwing around to get revenge for us calling the cops on them. Who knows? One thing's for sure- I'd way rather it was a poacher, or hell, even a ghost, than a real little girl.
Creepy.

Happy Four Years!
Pooing in the Woods turns 4 today. Yay for Homie Bear!

Here's a children's Hallowe'en story for you, based on a sketch Hermitchild drew me - she called it, "He Made it Himself". Enjoy:

Hallowe'en was approaching and all the cubs of Hudson Elementary School were excited to see the announcement on the school's bulletin board:

Costume contest!
Win a bag of lemon-flavored lemmings
for the most creative costume of the year
Dress up as your favorite monster,
movie character or mythological figure!
Wear your costume to school on Friday
for the lunchtime Hallowe'en party

"Wow!" said Berg. "I'm gonna be a pirate! No, a cowboy! How about you, Cousin H?"
Little Homie Bear replied, "I don't know- how can I choose? I have this cool book at home of all these mythological creatures, I think I will be something from that."
"Like a dragon or something?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"Ooh, ooh, how about a troll or a demon or a zombie? I changed my mind I'm not gonna be a cowboy I'm gonna be a vampire! No, a ghost! I mean, a werewolf. Yeah . . ."
Little Homie Bear left Berg to his quandary and wandered home, deep in thought. He didn't even stop to chase all the little seals who all took a vasive action when they saw the polar bear cub approach. When he arrived home to the ice cave, he asked his mom if they had any sewing stuff. She showed him some old scraps and needles and stuff that was still lying around from the previous occupants of the cave, an Inuit family.
Little H got to work, putting on his red goggles like a welder pulling down his mask. Fabric flew and needles broke as he tried to get his big bear paws to do the delicate motions required, but Little Homie Bear's concentration never wavered, his tongue sticking out thoughtfully. Every day that week he would go straight home from school to work on his costume.
Finally Friday arrived, and Little Homie Bear proudly donned his costume and went to school. Berg and all his friends were there, all dressed up in a dramastick variety of costumes.
"Wow, Berg," said Little Homie Bear, "I thought you were going to be a werewolf."
"Changed my mind," said Berg. "I decided I would be Cruella DeVille."
"Oh. You look great," said Little Homie, as he took in Berg's dyed black fur on half of his head and his feather boa.
"Thanks! But what about you, what are you supposed to be?" But just then the bell rang and everyone rushed to their desks. No one liked to be late for Mr. Baffin's class because he was a mean old bear. But class was a little unruly as everyone was too excited about the Hallowe'en party and contest. At last the lunch bell rang and everyone rushed to the gymnasium.
Hudson School's principal, Mrs. Aurora, went from student to student, praising their costumes and passing out candy. She was the judge of the contest. When she got to Little Homie Bear, she was perplexed.
"And what have we here, dear?" she asked.
"I'm dressed up as my favorite mythological monster," Little Homie Bear proudly said. "Legends say this unfathomable creature lives upside down beneath us on the other side of the world, and it has wings but it can't fly cause it's upside down so it just walks for miles and miles and they make noises like this: SCREECH SQUAWK and they eat, well, I don't really know what they eat. Pixies, maybe. Or lemon-flavoured lemmings, which is my favorite too."
Mrs. Aurora was no match for this verbal onslaught, and she was impressed by the little cub's enthusiasm, if not his sewing skills. "Did your mom help you make this costume?"
"No, I made it myself!"
"Well, very good job. First prize!"
Little Homie Bear, dressed as the mysterious and mythological penguin, shared his lemon-flavoured lemmings with his whole class.

On deviantArt there's a meme going around where artists offer free sketches to anyone who wants one (up to ten, usually) so long as any takers offer the same . So I've taken up a few people on their offers, but rather than sketches I offer poems in return, since my sketches would be a terrible blight on the world. Here is the sketch Travis Hanson did for me, since I was in a mastodony mood last week:



And here is a poem I wrote at the request of Hermitchild, who also drew me a sketch that I will try to write a poem for as well, so I won't show it to you yet:

Little lemming, lemme in, lemme in
Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin
I'm not a big bad wolf and you're not a little pig
So just open up your door, quit being such a prig
No, I'm sorry, but I'm a little indisposed
which is why you can't come in and the door is staying closed
Listen, little lemming, just a second then I'll go
You're probably a salesman so my answer still is no
Little lemming, little lemming, please just let me in
No! Now my patience is starting to wear thin
You keep standing at my door, yammering and talking
I say go away and still you keep on knocking
Sorry little lemming, I know I am a boor
But I won't go away until you open up that door!
I know what you did, how you let those lemmings die
You led them off a cliff by claiming they could fly
Now little lemming, lemme in, lemme in
So I can serve you this subpoena so you can pay for your sin!

The two typefaces are to distinguish voice, which you probably figured out on your own. I wanted to make use of the obvious lemming stereotype while still doing something a little unique.

The Storyteller by Travis Hanson

Okay so, the creative challenge: My Fourth Bloggiversary contest! The assignment I gave the grade 7s was to pretend they were the little boy in Travis Hanson's Storyteller print. What story is he telling that has all the forest creatures so enrapt? So your challenge will be the same, but with some parameters.
Write me a story about anything you want, so long as it has some element of the fantastic, or whimsical, or, well, you know what I like. Courtroom dramas? Not so much. Courtroom dramas where a vampire is suing a zombie and a robot is the judge? Perfect. Take advantage of the fact it's Hallowe'en!
Post the story on your blog or email it to me at nwaddell (at) gmail (dot) com and I will post it here if you don't have a blog. It's open to anyone so even if you are some lurker I have never heard of, or whoever. Tell your friends!
Deadline is flexible but my bloggiversary is the 22nd I think, so around there but definitely before Hallowe'en.
The winner will get to choose between an actual Storyteller print for their wall, or the brand new Seven Devil Fix CD!
Oh yeah, bonus points for using Dramastickly and other examples from the Grade 7 lexicon.

Here's some more examples of creative spelling from the stories I assigned:

sueiside
vilant screeming
enzone (end zone)
bodem (bottom)
hew (who)
ricking havoc
concer (conquer)
metiore
hypers space
19teenth
Take a vasive action!
Neatherlands (a country that is at war with its near neighbour China)
shalk (shock)
quiquly
And my favorite, because it's a whole new word which I challenge all of you to use in a sentence:
Dramastickly

This is way too much fun! About 40 done, 50 to go! Seriously, though- I've been very impressed. The point of this exercise was to get their creative juices flowing and to have fun. Not to circle spelling errors in red ink and stuff like that. I was lucky enough to have teachers who really recognized and nurtured the creative spark in me so the one thing I wanted to accomplish in my brief stint as a teacher was to encourage the students to be creative, and they definitely did that.
How about YOU guys? Are you up for a creative challenge?

Michelle dropped a phonebook-sized stack of papers on the counter- 90 stories for me to mark from my field trip to her Grade 7 classes last week. Wow, how do teachers and professors do it? But at least these are an absolute hoot to read. I marked ten of them tonight, only 80 more to go! Here are some early highlights:

"It was a very bloody war and swords were flying everywhere with hands still attached.// Xerxes wept and sobbed and cursed at the Spartans.// All of the Persians piled upon the rangers killing them all and blood was everywhere but at least only 1 Persian soldier died but they gave him a proper burial." -Connor

"Deranged Snowmen from New Jersey took over the north they hadn't seen us because we camoflaged our igloos." -Ryan (I also liked his spelling- "slottered" makes way more sense than the true spelling!)

"Societies ruined, houses burnt down, blood curdling screams of horror is all that you hear in my town.// We were about to give up when we heard a scream it sounded like 5 year old lil Jimmy." -Haley

"After 5 hours of battle the snowmen came out with some sort of snowball plasma cannon. It was so sophiscated our troops didn't know how to dismantel it." -Zach

Anyways, I was really impressed. The stories had a fair bit of "sophiscation" to them. Quite a few students chose to use this drawing by Travis Hanson as a springboard (hence the deranged Snowmen from New Jersey), while so far only one used this one, which of course, I expecially dig. And sadly, the bear in that story is an antagonist:

"But Fuzz (a coyote) wouldn't come; instead he fought the bear, bitting and scratching, but Fuzz was no match to a bear. The bear hit Fuzz so hard he went flying into a tree with bruises, bumps, lumps, and blood all over him. "Nooo!" screamed Lily and Billy-Willy. The bear walked away with a happy look on his face, like he had accomplished a really hard task." -Carissa

Happy Thanksgiving- I'm Thankful For Elephants!
And for you non-Canucks, Happy Second Monday in October. Michelle and I went down to Calgary for some family, food and fun. It was great. So, know what I think is cool?
Elephants. According to the May 1991 issue of National Geogrpahic that Michelle let me steal from her classroom the other day, there was once a four-tusked species of proto-pachyderm called Primelephas, as well as mammoths and mastodons and other very cool mumakiloids. From that issue:

Of all the truly colossal beasts that once walked the planet, only these two remain [the African and Asian elephants). And they are disappearing even as we are just beginning to learn about their lives.

In the 20th century alone, more than ten million elephants died at the hands of humans. Sad, hey? But so familiar as to be cliche.
Anyways, I bought some cool-looking comics to see if maybe some Elephantmen get a little revenge.

Now I Know What Scares a Bear

I can stand up to and stare down a raving mad coal miner who's got fifty pounds on me. But a room full of gregarious giggling grade 7's, well, that's a little frightening. And then multiply that by three and you're looking at nine years of nightmares for me. Michelle had me in as her special guest speaker for her schoolkids today.
Actually I'm exaggerating- it wasn't scary, it was fun. Though I honestly don't know how my wife can do that every day. Crazy.
I spoke on the art and elements of storytelling, and I read them my Yeti story I blogged about last week. (The mp3 of my reading at the Gathering is online, if you're interested.) I also read this old poem, they liked the line about the poo crapping. I even assigned homework! Michelle said I could, but when I mentioned how we could mark them next week after Thanksgiving she stopped me and said, "No, YOU can mark them next week. All ninety of them. Have fun!" I basically said they could write a story about anything they wanted, so long as they could identify the conflict in it. I showed them some of Travis Hanson's artwork to inspire them a bit, and let them go. I look forward to marking them!
And, uh, if you see my autograph for sale on eBay, well, I tried to explain I wasn't actually a famous writer, but . . .

Homie Bear on Holidays!
Yup, so, I needed a vacation. Because of my four-day shift rotation, taking one set off gives me twelve days of freedom. Pretty good deal. This is already my third day off. Heading to Calgary for Thanksgiving, but until then I'm just hanging out here at home, doing some writing, some reading, some running and some relaxing.
Did I say running? You betcha! Ever since Michelle's half-marathon I have been running pretty steady and I'm loving it. Oh yeah and working out while watching Samurai Jack cartoons on DVD, too.
On the writing front, I'm working on a short story that required me to reread Pierre Berton's Klondike, which was no chore because it is easily one of my favorite books of all time. You should read it- your life will be enriched. Seriously. I finished that up today and now I can go on to something I've been saving for just this occasion- Dan Simmons' Olympos.
Come to think of it, last week at work I read a sci-fi classic that I'd be willing to bet influenced Simmons enormously- Walter M. Miller's A Canticle for Leibowitz.
Well, I have some relaxing to do so I'll leave you with a cool, kinda halloweeny excerpt from another classic sci-fi writer, Fritz Leiber (not Leiberwitz!), from his essay "A Defense of Werewolves".

You think that everything that thrill's (sic) been done, that there's no more true eeriness in life, but just a wearisome atomic round, and that the future . . . belongs to some pragmatic, plodding breed who never heard Pan pipe or feared the darkness that's between the stars? That is to laugh! Pass me the wine-skin. And yet that's just how I feel part of the time.
But how untrue! When each new fact, like an old witch, has as familiar some new mystery, when each conquered realm opens a new wilder, wider frontier, when man's about to leap the planets . . .
Open your eyes . . . and you will see wonders undreamed, innumerable . . . Wonder as great as in archaic times made gleaming eyes by rocks like these at Stonehenge and in the darkling woods where satyrs danced.

Wow, look at the time! It's October! My favorite time of year. In a few weeks, Pooing in the Woods will turn four years old. Soon, I will be able to form whole sentences and even begin to read and comprehend simple stories. Oh, and hockey season starts. Also, the world turns its attention to the underworld, the dark underbelly of the collective unconscious, the horrific and the unwholesome. Monsters! Hallowe'en! Candy!
How's this for monsters in the basement- at the University of Alberta (my Alma Mater) researchers have accidentally discovered a new species of Icthyosaur! National Geographic has the details.

Bill Bryson! At the Royal Alberta Museum on October 31st! Tickets are $5, so if you're not halloweening, or working (like me) you can see one of the finest, funniest authors around. He'll read from The Life & Times of the Thunderbolt Kid .

An Interview with Phil Carnehl, the Rebel Penguin



Last year I came across a gorgeous illustration of King Kong in a space suit, bashing UFOs rather than biplanes. I loved it, and knew I had found a brilliant artist I would be honored to work with. So I commissioned him to illustrate my poem "Robot's Cove" for when I read it at G-Arts last year. He promptly delivered a beautiful and perfect piece, with exactly the right quality of mystery and wonder I was trying for in the poem.



We collaborated again with the story from last night, about the Yeti and the Yak. I believe this young gentleman has a bright future, and I am pleased to present an interview with the artist.

First of all, who are you? I'm Phil Carnehl, a lifetime resident of California trying my best to make a living off of what i love to do.

Where does your screen name Rebel-Penguin come from? Um i'm sure these questions usually have funny answers but Rebel Penguin came about in my last term of college. Had some extra time left after completing my final animation and wanted to add a cool logo and made up company name to the beginning of it so i designed my current logo and came up with Rebel Penguin Productions. Always liked penguins and i got a lot of good response from the design so it stuck.

When (and how) did you get started in art? I've been drawing literally my whole life but never really pushed myself to go futher with it until after highschool. Found a great art college to go to and the teachers really inspired me to reach for the stars so i've been doing my best to improve ever since.

What tools or media do you use? I start off everything with the basic pencil and paper and from there ink and color it in Illustrator CS2. I've also been breaking into Photoshop and Flash a bit.



What inspires you? Other artists, nature, i like to make people laugh so anything i can make fun of without insulting anyone is always inspiring.

What do you do to get the creative juices flowing? I usually flip through comics, maybe read a few bible passages and of course pray, if asking God to help me in my work doesn't get the art flowing i usually assume that means He's got something else for me to do at the time.

What are some goals or dreams you have? I would love to work with Genndy Tartakovsky (Samurai Jack creator) or Butch Hartman (Fairly Odd Parents) or both someday. It would also be awesome to create a cartoon series of my own at some point in my life.

Any advice for other artists? I'm sure you've heard it before but never stop learning, take every opportunity you have to learn from artists around you and even more importantly never stop drawing, don't let a day go by without putting your pencil to paper and creating something, anything, if you love what you do don't let yourself ever run dry.

What artists do you admire and learn from? Again Genndy Tartakovsky and Butch Hartman are both big inspirations, both guys with big ideas who had the heart to press on and make things happen. I also enjoy the work of Ben Caldwell, Craig McCracken and Deviantart's very own Dapper Dan.

Are there any words of wisdom you live by? I'm not in any way perfect but i try to live by knowing putting faith in myself is pointless because alone i will always let myself down, but putting faith and trust in God, the one who made me who i am, is the only way to success and happiness.

Do you think there is such thing as yetis or sasquatches? Definitely, the thought that we've discovered every creature alive on this planet is ridiculous, i'm sure there's more out there just waiting to be found out.

Thanks Phil! By the way, he's open for commissions, so head on over to his deviantArt page for details. I'll leave you with Phil's newest piece, The Least Scary Dragon:

Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!
Tomorrow evening at 6PM I will be reading a brand-new children's story (by me) at the Gathering (15620 95 Avenue). It's about a bomible snowman. So if you live in the Edmonton area come on out, it will be a good time- aside from me, the current house band plays some great Irish-style church drinking songs. Here's a little teaser image of the story to hopefully get you curious.

I still have a face! And I feel fine. Hurts to eat, a bit, but otherwise I'm good. (Anyways I didn't even get a chance to eat today until 8 hours into the shift!) Not even a shiner to look scary with. I was lucky and it could have been a lot worse. Thanks for all your well-wishes! Turns out a bulldozer hit a pickup yesterday a few hours after I was hurt so they shut the whole pit down and delivered a stern talking-to about being more safe.
Which is fine but I can honestly say I had no intention of being unsafe yesterday. Things just happen.
Today we were all much safer but it still was not a fun day. I think I'm ready for a holiday, which I get at the start of October so I guess I can hold on a bit longer.
Ironically, there is a big safety slogan contest right now, and I even entered the day before yesterday- wanna hear my suggestion?
Safety: Because it sucks to be dead.

*Sigh* I was hurt at work again today. Nothing too serious, though it feels bad, and it looks, well, actually kinda cool. I was hit in the face by a big metal pothead. A pothead in mining terminology has nothing to do with Cheech-and-Chong-like-shenanigans, it is the metal collar that connects power cables to each other or to equipment. They're big, heavy and hurt like hell when they come flying up out of a pickup truck and smash you in the face.
So, my cheek, temple, nose, jaw and teeth all hurt, and there's a goodly bruise right below my sideburn, as well as other cuts on my nose and temple. It hurts to eat. Doctor said nothing was broke or seriously damaged. On the plus side I got to come home a little early.
I'd take a picture and post it but I don't have my USB cable for my camera here. So instead you can use your imagination and come up with WAAAAAY better visuals than the truth anyways. Imagine I'm a zombie with one eye! And no teeth! Yeah! And green brains oozing out of my temple. You know, because I was smashed in the face with a giant metal Tommy Chong robot.

I have notebook pages full of ideas of things to write- some are completely sketched out in my head, it's just a matter of being disciplined enough to write them down. Others are just vague concepts that need fleshing out before they are ready to see the light of day. Some are mostly ready, but the needs of the story are perhaps a little beyond where I'm at as a writer, and so they stay inside, ripening.

According to Orson Scott Card, "Good stories don't come from trying to write a story the moment I think of a good idea." He goes on to say that it takes years between lightbulb-going-on and finished version. Which is kind of true, in my experience, but not quite the whole story (of course, Card is a successful Hugo-winning writer and I am Homie Bear, so . . . ) I think if you were to take those words too seriously, it might paralyze you, make you think you needn't bother to write anything for the next couple of years.

Writing is not that different from drawing- artists sketch to get the juices flowing, and then ideas come and pretty soon they're ready to do a finished piece. I see it on deviantArt all the time. Blogging is a great way to sketch, for a writer. Which is not to say that you should "scribble" all over your blog and expect readers to stay interested. I like to put polished pieces of writing here, though they are stories about bears fighting zombies which don't have much of a market. But that's okay, for me it's all about the fun.

Now and then an idea or image pops into my brain, and it doesn't take much effort to nurse it into a finished piece. One of my favorite poems that I've written came from an image of brains growing in a field- and then I followed that through to develop a whole twisted ecosystem based on that one image, and not too long after that first inspiration, I had the finished piece. I can say the same thing about short stories I've written.

On the other hand, there have been ideas that have taken years from first glimmer to actual story. The other night at work I got an interesting idea in my head, but I know it will take a lot of thinking and research to make something workable out of it. And last year I was finally able to write a children's story after the initial idea had been floating around in my head for years. I had a character name, but nothing for him to do. Then a second idea came to me and within a week the thing was finished. I'll be reading it next week at the Gathering if you want to hear it- it's about an abominable snowman. I don't want to say too much about it, but I promise it will be a good time- I've collaborated with a couple of other artists to make something pretty cool.

I wish I could snap my fingers and conjure a great idea out of nothing. But if it were that easy, it wouldn't be worth doing, would it?

The best birthday present this year was a bag of springrolls. It was from a coworker I'll call Mario Andretti, not because he's Italian- he's Philipino- but because he drives his rock truck really really fast all the time. Even in total whiteout conditions like last night. But back to the springrolls.
On Monday, Mario asked me how I was. I said I's okay, considering it was only the first shift, it was my birthday, and I would rather be home with my wife.
The next night, on the bus, Mario patted his seat, inviting me to sit with him. Then he surreptitously handed me a plastic bag with a brown bag inside it- and inside the brown bag were warm springrolls. Nice! He didn't want me to have to share them, hence the sneakiness. But I shared some anyways- have to spread the good vibes around, right?
A little character sketch is in order here. Mario is around 55, and though he has been here for 25 years, he still has a nearly-impenetrable accent. And I'm not convinced he finds our accents totally comprehensable, either. I remember my first shift back after my honeymoon last year, when Mario was still a fairly new driver. I had just settled into the operator's chair on shovel 8, getting into a groove. I heard a loud thump, which I didn't really pay much attention to. But in my peripheral vision I saw the big orange box of a rock truck much closer than you ever want to see one.
"I think he hit me!" I said to Vic, the operator. So I honked him out and got up to investigate. But Mario just pulled ahead and started reversing for a second try- right back where he was. I lay on the horn again, and call him on the radio to hold it there. He pulls up, and again the backup lights come on as he backs up again. Honnnnnkkkkk! Thinking he finally got the message, Vic and I get up and were just exiting the cab to check the damage, when here he comes one more time! I had to literally dive over the seat, grab my radio mic, where I yell into it, loud as I can "STOP! JUST STOP!" The entire minesite came to a dead stop. Turns out the damage was fairly minor, so no big deal other than a couple of tense moments.
Fast forward to six months later, and he hit me again! This time I was in shovel 10, the new one, and again, I didn't really notice (which gives you an idea of how big these machines are), I just heard a thud. Later on my subconscious kind of nudged me, and I started thinking to myself, "What was that thud, exactly?" So on the bus going home that night, I asked him, "Mario, did you run into me again today?"
Looking like a kid caught in the cookie jar, he sort of jumps, and says, "Just a little bit."
Despite his repeated attempts at crushing me beneath his 12-foot tires, Mario and I are good friends. Who couldn't love a sweet, kindly old fellow who crashes his motorcycle, comes to work wearing a red bandana beneath a skewed baseball cap, gangbanger-style, and gives me springrolls for my birthday?

What a great weekend- my friend Travis, who I've known for at least 29 years, got all married up! I was honored to be a groomsman, returning the favour he did me last year when it was my turn. He married the lovely Leila, who, among other things, is my chiropractor.
As if that wasn't excitement enough, I am holding in my hands the brand new, minted-ten-minutes-ago Seven Devil Fix CD. Michelle is sleeping, which is the only thing preventing me from playing it seven times louder than I am now. Some of you know that 7DF is Blu's and Gotthammer Mike's (who officiated at my wedding, speaking of) kickass band. You can listen to some of the tracks on their Myspace page.
Well, I'm off to the coalmine for some nightshifts. Happy birthday to me. Last year I was working nights on this day too, and actually I didn't even remember it was my birthday until like 3:30 in the morning, but it was cool because there were some pretty great Northern Lights.

Last night on Sonic, Adam Thompson mentioned that the Royal Canadian Mint is having a contest to name the polar bear on the toonie! Except, it turns out that they already have a bunch of names and all you get to do is vote. So "Son of Homie Bear", "UR-515", and "Agent H, Ultra-Top Secret Bear of Kungfu Death and Kicking Ass" are not options. Instead you have to choose between "Wilbert", "Plouf" and "Sacha", among others. On the plus side, you can enter a contest to go to Churchill, Manitoba to see polar bears.
Did you know that octopi are amazingly smart? It's true- they've been known to walk across the seafloor holding a shell over their heads for camouflage, and they are notorious for busting out of aquariums (only to drown, so . . . yeah. Smrt! ). The other thing they can do is kill sharks! I think they should have a contest to name the octopus in this video- I vote for "Agent O, Ultra-Top Secret Octopus of Kungfu Death and Kicking Ass." (For best results don't listen to the audio, it's annoying.)
Sadly, there was no such octopus watching out for the Crocodile Hunter. Here is a DeviantArt tribute to Steve Irwin:


Steve by =snapesnogger on deviantART

From A History of Robotics, Third Edition by Wei MeiDe, © 2074, 2081 Puffin Books, New York:

As we saw in the previous chapters, the Americans pioneered many of the foundational technologies that led to the rise of modern robotics. The Japanese refined and expanded on those technologies, so much so that by the early 21st century they were the world leaders in the field by a wide and inarguable margin. Thus it shocked the entire world when the first truly autonomous and sentient robot was built, not by the Japanese, the Americans or even the emerging Chinese powerhouse, but by bears.
The story is familiar to schoolchildren everywhere, so that we forget how truly singular and amazing it was when the first robot bear materialized out of the woods of the Canadian Rockies. In retrospect it is easy to villify the authorities who panicked and overreacted- the implications of which are perhaps better suited for a political science textbook than this humble history. Regardless, we now know that the UR-515 unit was initially built for a variety of purposes. It was given the capability, which long eluded its builders, of opening bear-proof garbage containers, and of using the garbage obtained therein for power. Having no need to hibernate, they were able to give bears year-round security.
Of course, its primary programming concerned scientific exploration and surveillance, as the grizzlys then were very concerned with their diminishing habitat. But as time wore on, we learned that it also possessed the more ominous ability of dealing with problem humans. Whenever such a person encroached on grizzly territory, they were targeted by a UR-515 sonic stunner, rendered unconscious, tagged with a satellite tracker (the PAN-da 2 SpySat launched from China the previous year was thought to have been created by the Chinese government but we now suspect it was built by the Wolong Sanctuary pandas. Of course their current crisis makes verification impossible) and released into the wild- usually a city hundreds of kilometers from the human's home.
It remains the holy grail of robot researchers to obtain an UR-515 for study, but we have never been able to, though there have been several ill-fated attempts to capture one. Human technology has never been able to attain the prowess of the robot bears, and perhaps never will.
It is small consolation that the bears' technological supremacy was only finally surpassed when British Colombian beavers engineered a rigorous nanotech industry.
__________________________________________

Special thanks to Shane Cheffins, the R3dEyeJedi, for doing such a great job with the robot bear you see to your right. Check out his Kraftworld site for more ninja/robot/alien goodness!

I wonder what kind of robot you could build out of a cellphone battery, an old non-wireless laptop network card, a mechanical pencil, two flashlights and a 6-volt drill without any drill bits? I bet it would be pretty cool if you could get it to work.
I could probably get some scrap metal from the mine, if you have any ideas. Not to mention all the coal you could ever need, should it be powered by coal rather that cellphone battery. Can you imagine the robot you could make out of this kind of stuff:

Nothing went right last night. And it started off so great- it was Friday, after all! All us coal miners on the bus were laughing and joking as we headed off to work for the last of our four nightshifts. Just twelve more hours and we could all go home for five days! What could ruin such a great feeling?
Let me tell you.
First, I was assigned Shovel 5, the oldest, smallest and digger in the pit. Which wasn't so bad- I figured I could set up my XM radio and be able to listen to something other than country for a change, since I would be operating rather than oiling for someone else. So the first thing I did was string up the antenna on the roof of the cab, running it through an open window, and taping it to the ceiling to prevent it from getting severed during the night. When I went to turn on the inhouse AM/FM radio (without which the satellite receiver is just a very expensvie clock)I discovered that the radio was fried. So I sighed, but said to myself, "It's Friday! Life is good!"
Life wasn't so good for long. My bucket door wouldn't stay closed. Imagine you're at a beach, trying to fill your wagon with sand using a pail with no bottom. That's kind of what I was doing last night, only instead of being at a beach, I was in a big black pit, and rather than a lil' red wagon, I was loading 260-ton dumptrucks. I was trying not to get frustrated, but I have to admit I was cursing vehemently. I kept trying to convince myself that it wasn't worth getting mad about, since it was Friday, and look! My XM radio is playing a kickass song! Too bad I can't hear it, but at least I can sing it in my head. "Dum de doo de f*&K g-d--n piece of s^!t!"
I decided it was time to be proactive. I swung the bucket around,set my brakes, grabbed a catbar, and went down to clear out all the gunk that was clogging up the dutchman. Suddenly it was pouring hail, and I was soaked in seconds. But that's okay, I was being proactive. Poking the five-foot metal bar into the ten-ton metal bucket, I was alarmed when lightning started thundering all around. I decided I would rather deal with faulty buckets than fried brains, so I went back inside.
Anyways, more trials with the bucket, including when the trip cable got stuck behind the latchbar, but you get the picture. Around midnight I decided it was time to reward myself with my carefully hoarded energy drink, since the caffeine would keep me going well into today. I took a glorious sip, set it down, and cursed (again) as I let the gravity-controlled bucket fall a little too hard, causing it to slam against the boom, pummeling poor old shovel 5. "Oops," I thought, "Better be more alert. Can't be having these little moments of inattention. I know- I'll drink some more of that sweet sweet Guarana-laced nectar." Only the bucketbomb had sent the undersized can flying out of its holder, spilling its life-giving elixir onto the greasy, coal-besooted floor.
Then I really started swearing.
Anyways, at just after the halfway point of the shift, the shovel's ability to propel inexplicably vanished, and it took the electrician the rest of the shift to fix it. Which left me with not much to do but lament my spilt caffeine. I guess it wasn't so bad after all. Hey- it's Friday and I have five days off! Isn't it Wednesday for the rest of the world? Have fun at work!

Wanderers

Max is off to his next destination. I envy him- he's just starting out, still a little innocent, but on his way to becoming a worldly and wise wanderer. Today was the first time he ever flew on an airplane! My wandering days are pretty much behind me, now that I'm a married homeowner. Sure, we'll still travel, but never again the pure "Wherever I May Roam" of thumb and backpack beneath the stars and planets, themselves celestial vagabonds whose very name is derived from the Greek word for "wanderer".
Nine years ago, when I set off on my cross-Canada hitch-hiking adventure, I was a touch naive myself. Luckily, people often went out of their way to help me out. One time I was in Ontario, the middle of nowhere, and it was getting too dark to hitch-hike. Nothing but farmers' fields all around. I thought my best bet would be to knock on a random door to ask permission to camp somewhere, rather than just be an uninvited squatter. So I knocked, and 39 dogs started yipping and barking. A man in his housecoat answered the door, and I blurted out as fast as I could, "Hi I'm hitch-hiking across Canada I'm not a psycho or an ex-con or a criminal I just need a place to set up my tent can I use your yard please????" The gentleman looked me over and decided I looked harmless enough, so he said "Why don't you use the guest house I just built? It's not quite done but there's a fireplace and room for your sleeping bag, and I can bring you out a tray of food."
It was paradise, a haven for a hungry and lonely wanderer. It was experiences like that that motivate me to take in people like Max, help them out, provide a safe place for a little while before they go back out there. Maybe I'm not a wanderer anymore, but I can look out for those who are.
So I feel for Pluto today, stripped of its "wanderer" status. But it's still up there, indifferent to our nomenclature, indifferent to all the roamers and homebodies, making its way slowly around the sun.
Anyways, here's to Max, and Pluto, and all wanderers past, present and future! May your orbits always be clear of debris! And watch out for Neptune.

Returning home from a tryst with the most beautiful woman in the world (Michelle is in Three Hills for the week for a teacher's conference), I picked up a hitch-hiker. Many of you who only know me through the blog may not realize, but back in the day I hitch-hiked clear across Canada and back. Many, many total strangers helped me out in a huge way so I make sure to repay the debt when I can to this day. So this particular hitch-hiker is a Quebecois named Max, and tomorrow he's flying up to Fort Smith, Northwest Territories. Tonight he's staying at my house, where we're watching anime, eating salmon, drinking organic wine, listening to some kickass tunes, and learning how to blog. Say hi to Max the Quebecois hitch-hiker!
In fact, he's an animator too, so check out this fantastic movie he made about a faery.
I wish they had blogging back when I was hitch-hiking across Canada. Back in those days, web-based email was a novelty, and beyond my expertise.

Rockstar: SuperFarmer

Michelle kept telling me about a reality show she thought I'd like- it had Tommy Lee and "James" Newsted and someone named Gill Gilby. Gil Gooby? Gooby Goo? Something like that- she couldn't remember his name and I couldn't think who she might be talking about from her gilbydegook (it's ex-GnR guitarist Gilby Clarke). But even though it had Jason Newsted, one of my musical gods, I didn't really pay too much attention.
Finally I let her show me some of the performances on the net, and I was impressed, and hooked. There are some pretty amazing singers on that show. My favorite is Dilana who has already become one of my musical goddesses.
Every week someone gets voted off, of course. But the bottom three get a chance to redeem themselves by singing a song of their choice.
If I was on the show, I would be the first to get the boot, since bears are not renowned for their singing voices. But I would choose "Poets" by The Tragically Hip to go out on, because it's by the best Canadian band ever, it's an instantly catchy tune that everyone loves on first listen, and it's about poets. Or so the title would lead me to believe- the brilliant lyrics aren't as clear, in typical Downian fashion:

Lava flowin' in SuperFarmer's direction
He's been gettin' reprieve from the heat in the frozen-food section, yeah

So, what song would you sing, and why?

X3 and Pirates were my only "must sees" for this year. Everything else of interest I can wait for DVD (V For Vendetta kicked much ass). Except maybe for Snakes on a Plane! I see many Oscars in its future. I believe this will open up a whole new genre so let me present to you a plot synopsis for

Bears on a Bus

A kindly old lady named Ethel (played by Trent Reznor, perhaps, or Viggo Mortenson) is on bus #9 returning to her nursing home from her grocery shopping trip. She is suffering a slow but steady descent into senility, as will be revealed in a series of heart-wrenching flashbacks throughout the movie. She tries to engage the driver in conversation, as she is very lonely, but he is gruff and eventually she gives up and just stares sadly out the window. She feels useless and forgotten.
The bus stops and three thuggish lads wearing bright neon-colored swastikas and carrying huge lumpy sacks board the bus. Ethel looks them over and doesn't like what she sees- she recognizes them as Neon-Nazis, a pernicious group of white supremacists. When they force her to move out of the seat reserved for the elderly she is disgusted, and calls them "Fascist shitheads".
Suddenly, the neon-nazis release the bears that were expertly hidden in their canvas sacks- a black bear, a grizzly and a polar bear. Chaos! The bus driver is the first to be eaten, and one of the neon-nazis takes the wheel. They deliver a sternly teutonic lecture on the supremacies of both Aryans and fascists, and most of the passengers are terrified. The bears are still causing havoc.
But Ethel stays calm. She uses some of her groceries (which will have great potential for product placement)to subdue the bears, and in the climax, smears the leader of the nazis with oatmeal and leberwurst, providing an ironic and hilarious death when the snow white polar bear devours him. Ethel says the German equivalent of "hasta la vista baby" or maybe "Is that oatmeal just right, sucka?" or possibly "Snap, you SS-wannabe shithead!" This can be rewritten to reflect the latest catchphrase- whatever a focus groups respond best to.
Ethel has a new lease on life as she starts a bear sanctuary and begins the process of rehabilitating the bears, who of course are not racist but merely victims of the Neon Reich.

Reznor, eh?

I actually thought Marilyn Manson would come up- I've always thought we had similar noses. Well, Marilyn's mentor will do.



I can't tell you how many times I've been stopped in the street and told I look exactly like Gnassinbe Eyadema. Or Posh Spice (who shows up as 53%).
Speaking of Marilyn Manson, at his concert in Vancouver a few years ago (gabrielle and I went to it) some little kid asked me if I was Dee Snider!


Anyways, you guys should give it a try and tell me who looks like you!

The response to my last entry inspired me to create a virtual anthology of whimsical sci-fi short stories for you to track down in libraries and (used) bookstores, if you so desire (most have been published many times so look in the table of contents of books called "Year's Best Sci-fi" or "Sci-Fi Hall of Fame" &c). I even came up with a soundtrack for each story! Yay!

A Martian Odyssey, Stanley G. Weinbaum. This is widely considered to be the finest sci-fi short ever written. Even after 72 years it still has the ability to astonish and delight, with characters such as Tweel, a beak-diving avian, the brick layer, and the industrious barrel people. "We are vriends!" Soundtrack- "Woodpeckers From Mars" by Faith No More.

Mimsy Were the Borogroves, Henry Kuttner and Catherine L Moore. You might recognize the title, borrowed from Jabberwocky. What happens when the blank slate of a child's developing brain is introduced to the educational toys of a far-future four dimensional geometry? Soundtrack- Anything from "Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events" by Thomas Newman.

The Nine Billion Names of God, Arthur C Clarke. Those crazy eastern monks! Always engaged in some inscrutable project or other. Here they are cataloguing all the known names of god. When they're finished, we are treated to the best last line of a short story ever. But don't peek! Soundtrack- this seems appropriate! Just click on the "listen" button.

Homefaring, Robert Silverberg. Don't let the generic title fool you- it's all about the crustacean wisdom of lobsters. One of my favorites. Soundtrack- Rock Lobster by the B-52's.

Elephants on Neptune, Mike Resnick. This is the newest story on the list, a Nebula winner from 2003. It's a sort of lament for the way humans have treated elephants over the years, but it's set on Neptune so it still counts as sci-fi. Soundtrack- White Elephant by the White Stripes. The whole album.

The Liberation of Earth, William Tenn. A hilarious commentary on the rhetoric of conquering nations (China still insists it did Tibet a favour by "liberating" her 47 years ago). Soundtrack- Bulls on Parade, Rage Against the Machine.

Blood Brother, Charles Beaumont. A newly undead vampire goes to see a shrink. "'As I understand it, you think you are a vampire.' 'No, I think I'm a human being, but I am a vampire. That's the hell of it. I can't seem to adjust.'" Dedicated to the vampirenomad. Soundtrack- Surprise! You're Dead, Faith No More.

Founding Father, J.F. Bure. If I tell you this one is about two little alien lizard guys that ride around on the backs of humans, telling them what to do, you might think I'm weird and not want to read the story. You'd be right, but you'd be missing out! Read the story! Soundtrack- Lizard King, The Doors.

Puppet Show, Fredric Brown. A common sci-fi theme is aliens come to invite us to join a galactic society. But what if the aliens are a little nervous about the reception they'll get? I love the twist ending. Soundtrack- Master of Puppets, Metallica.

Turnover, Geoffrey A. Landis. Another relatively new one (1997), I like it mainly for its comic tone. It's about a scientist and her beautiful assistant who go to Venus. Soundtrack- The Beautiful People, Marilyn Manson.