It's that time of year again. The time of year when everyone and their dog waxes nostalgic about all the shit nobody cares about from the year past, and stupidly predicts the next year in the grim knowlege that when the next New Year comes along nobody will remember that the dumbass predicted a bunch of foolish shit that turned out to be complete and utter balderdash. I might as well, too. Just like I did last year (yes, a lot of this was pasted from last year's final chapter). But first, the yearly index:

Journals:
the Paxil Diaries
A Paxil Diary Christmas Story
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012

2013
If I wanted to be nagged I'd get married...
The rogue animal
An Open Letter to Google
Beam me up, Scotty!
John thinks I'm a space alien
Why does McDonalds want to make me fat?
The phone
What a wonderous thing I have in my pocket!

Sci-Fi:
Last year I predicted I'd get the book out, and damned if that one wasn't accurate! I gots balls of crystal. It's selling like hotcakes!

You know the hotcakes I'm talking about, the ones in the dumpster behind iHop that they couldn't sell. But hell, I didn't write it to make money, I wrote it so people would read it.

But nobody's following the links to the book. Guys, you saw a preliminary sketch at slashdot, the book is the painting. Maybe you're all waiting until the whole thing is posted... I hope.

I also started another sci-fi book, this one about ferrying crackwhores to Mars. The working title: Mars, Ho! Here's what's sketched out so far, although I haven't worked on it in quite a while:
Whores in Space
More of the new book
Uh, three?
The Eyedropper On Board
Fire!
A routine inspection. With a hangover.
Bill's crippled boat
Um, what chapter is this?
Tammy's book

Last years' stupid predictions:
100% accuracy!
Someone will die. Not necessarily anybody I know...
SETI will find no sign of intelligent life. Not even on Earth.
The Pirate Party won't make inroads in the US. I hope I'm wrong about that one.
US politicians will continue to be wholly owned by the corporations.
I'll still be a nerd.
You'll still be a nerd.
technophobic fashionista jocks will troll slashdot.
Slashdot will be rife with dupes.
Many FPs will be poorly edited.
I'll finally get that book in paper form

Nailed it! Here's one to replace it, as I'll just keep the same list: I'll retire and/or die. Actually, I retire at the end of February. I'll have a lot more time, maybe I'll get all the editions of Nobots formatted, The Paxil Diaries in print, and the Mars book finished. Maybe.

Happy New Year! Ready for another trip around the sun?

Online now.

A lot of people have the flu around here. Leila's sick, so we won't be having lunch today. Ruthie, the bartender at Felbers, had it last week. I dropped by there after work last night.

"Hi, Steve!" Ruthie said. "Sell any more books?"

"Not in a while," I replied. Billy's ex girlfriend, whose name I can never remember, was sitting on the other side of the extremely obese young woman sitting to my right. She said "You wrote a book?"

"Yeah. A science fiction novel."

"I love to read. That's why I have such a big purse, I read on the bus. There's four books in it right now. I'd like to read it."

"There's a copy here, just ask Ruthie. You can read it here."

Ruthie got the book for her. Someone asked "What's that?" Ruthie answered "It's the Felbers book!"

"Felbers book?" the obese woman asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I wrote part of it here."

Billy's old girlfriend complained that she couldn't concentrate in the bar, and finally talked me into loaning her a copy. "just leave it with Ruthie or Rachel," she said.

I drank a couple of beers and went home and put in a science fiction Christmas move I'd forgotten to watch, The Life of Brian. I think I fell asleep before the outer space scene with the weird aliens.

Like I said... OK, that aside. I was wondering why I can't watch over the air TV on my phone? I mean. it has a radio.

Then I realized -- not enough room for the antenna. Microwave antenna are tiny, TV antennas range from six inches to a meter depending o if UHF or VHF. Duh!

Then a couple years later KSHE is advertising this NextRadio app that lets you hear local FM radio without streaming. Huh? How did they do that? FM is right between channels 6 and7 on the VHF band. that's at least a meter's wavelength (I haven't done the math). How the hell?

It seems they use the ear bud or audio cable wire as an antenna. I'm impressed! Now, the next phone I buy can I watch channel four on it?

Actually it was posted Saturday and I never got around to journaling. I'll post the next chapter today or tomorrow.

I was at Felbers yesterday, and who should come in but Tammy Seger, who I haven't seen in the couple of years since I broke up with her; She's the one known as "Skinny Tammy". I'd broken it off because she'd gotten into some business I wanted nothing to do with, and she said a lot had happened. She'd been in the hospital a couple of times and everything was different with her.

She wound up spending the night.

I didn't get much sleep.

We got up early, she had to return the car she'd borrowed, I had to give her a ride home, about 30 miles away, and Leila and I had planned on traveling down to Belleville to visit family on this Christmas Eve.

It was hellishly cold this morning, two degrees with a -10 wind chill. That's -17 for those of you in the civilized world, with a wind chill of -23.

My car wouldn't start. Damned battery was probably frozen solid. W decided I'd roll my car into the street so she could jump me. No sooner than I had the flashers on a cop came by. I told her we were jumping it and it would only take a minute.

The trunk was frozen shut. I couldn't get to the jumpers. I told the cop I have roadside assistance through my insurance and would call them. "It's only 6:30," she said. "There won't be anyone there."

"Yes there will be," I said. "They're staffed 24/7." She was dubious and asked again what tow truck I would like to come. "I have them on the line," I said.

The insurance lady said it would be two hours. "But," I protested," I can't wait two hours, it's blocking traffic and the police are parked behind it."

"Oh dear, let me call again." Shortly after I was able to report to the cop "twenty minutes." Twenty minutes later the mechanic had trouble getting it to turn over, but it started. The radio wasn't working and the CD changer's lights were flashing in a weird pattern, the ABS light was lit, the brake light was lit. I backed it into the driveway and went inside to warm up.

I felt downright ill when I got inside. Damn, gettin' old, I guess.

The trip to Edinberg was a nightmare, driving straight into the sun. I mentioned I was retiring in February. "That's great!" she said. "What are you going to do?"

I grinned. "Any damned thing I want!"

"You're going to get bored."

"No I won't."

"There's only so much TV you can watch until you're sick of it."

"I've been writing."

"Oh, yeah, you told me about your book. That's an accomplishment! I'd like to read it some time."

"You should have said something, we could have brought a copy."

"I thought you only had the one."

We finally made it to Edinberg and she thanked me, said she loved me, and went inside.

The trip home was fine, with the sun behind me. I called Leila and Mom, picked up my notebook and started typing this journal...

leto:/stuff% mkdir mp3
mkdir: cannot create directory `mp3': No space left on device
leto:/stuff% mkdir qwe
leto:/stuff% mv qwe mp3
leto:/stuff% ls -ld mp3
drwxrwxr-x. 2 tet tet 4096 Dec 22 20:53 mp3
leto:/stuff% df -h .
Filesystem Size Used Avail Use% Mounted on
/dev/mapper/leto-stuff 30G 9.9G 19G 35% /stuff
leto:/stuff% df -hi .
Filesystem Inodes IUsed IFree IUse% Mounted on
/dev/mapper/leto-stuff 1.9M 322 1.9M 1% /stuff

This appears to be 100% repeatable behaviour.

Online now.

I went out and cleaned the snow off of the lights and windows and drove off. It was really slick. I cashed a check, drove home and called the cleaning lady. "I'm not making you go out in that," I said. "You get a paid vacation today, I'll give you thirty next week." She works an hour on Saturday mornings. She's been here to clean once and the house is a lot better.

Princess staggered out of Patty's bedroom. "Princess? Are you OK?" It was pretty obvious that she wasn't. I'd have to take her to the vet Monday.

Leila called, and I told her we'd have lunch the next day when it was less slick. Actually, she suggested it. I asked if I could borrow her cat carrier, telling her Princess was sick. She said I could pick it up when I saw her.

The next day Princess seemed normal but I was going to take her to the vet, anyway. I took Leila to lunch -- and we both completely forgot the carrier. I went by Felbers on the way home. Not much going on there, but there was someone with pot. I was glad I could get some, it's been scarce and I was almost out.

I couldn't get Princess in until Tuesday afternoon. I went to get Leila's cat carrier, came home and got Princess. I picked her up, and she's lost a lot of weight. I was worried.

That carrier was completely necessary, as I found out last year when she had the ingrown toenail. She doesn't like the outside at all. She'd started howling and clawing as soon as we went through the door. I still have scars from the clawing.

The vet had very bad news; sixteen year old Princess wasn't sick, she was dying. She had no diseases but all her organs were shutting down; she was literally dying of old age. I went ahead and had them do bloodwork and inject plasma because she was severely dehydrated.

I started crying in the vet's office. At least, a tear or two left my eye despite my efforts to keep those damned tears in. "I can't even bury her," I said. "The ground is frozen solid."

There was pained empathy on the doctor's face. "We have cremation facilities," she said. "Talk to your daughter and see if she wants euthanasia." She had some fancy cat food that was for cats that refused to eat, and some appetite stimulation pills. "Don't get your hopes up," she said. I got Princess to lick at the food once, but that was it.

I'd tried to call Patty from the vet's but had gotten no answer, probably at work or in class, I thought. My pocket buzzed against my leg on the way home. I took Princess inside and checked my phone.

It had been Patty calling me back. I called her back. Phone tag. I made Princess comfortable on the couch next to me. Little One came up, jealous. I tried to explain to the silly little cat that Princess was dying and needed me, and started crying hard. Uncontrollably.

The phone rang. It was Patty. "H-hello?"

"Dad? Are you ok?"

I sobbed some more, powerless to stop. Princess was Calie's kitten, the last surviving one in the litter. Patty's been in Ohio for almost ten years but her cats stayed here. I was losing an old friend. No, an old family member. I was probably crying as much for Patty as for myself.

I told Patty about the vet visit, how Princess had no disease but was just too old to stay alive much longer. "Like Bill last year," she said. He was my step father, "Grandpa Bill" to Patty who had known him all her life.

Getting old sucks. The worst thing about it is everybody dying all around you. My dad is next, he's dying of liver cancer thanks to whoever manufactured all that polychlorinated biphenyl transformer oil he was exposed to in his career as electrical lineman.

At least I have a valid reason for the blues now. Happy lights won't help, just time. Ironically, Princess is beside me right now, and healing won't start until she's gone.

But no more pets. When Little One is gone that's it. It just hurts too damned bad when they die.

"American Senators tell us that Brazil should not worry, because this is not "surveillance," it's "data collection." They say it is done to keep you safe. They're wrong. There is a huge difference between legal programs, legitimate spying, legitimate law enforcement -- where individuals are targeted based on a reasonable, individualized suspicion -- and these programs of dragnet mass surveillance that put entire populations under an all-seeing eye and save copies forever. These programs were never about terrorism: they're about economic spying, social control, and diplomatic manipulation. They're about power."
http://pastebin.com/2ybz27UE

It's so f*cking crazy, that you'll think I'm the one gone bonkers, for saying it...

They are batshit billionaires, convinced that enough capital and technology can have them produce physical immortality. They want to upload their beautiful minds into replaceable robots, forever.

That's the ultimate aim behind those difficult to fathom investments and acquisitions.

But the human mind? It's an effect not an artifact. It cannot be preserved independent of its "emitter". The superficial characteristics of the effect can be recorded and even simulated. No matter HOW good the recording, there's no VHS player that will ever BE Grandma.

But these are fools - who in a world of madness, are heralded as visionary.

Now online.

I hate this time of year. Not the holidays, they're the only bright spot in this dreary time of year. The short days, long nights, cold... and damn but it was cold last week.

I'm never much good this time of year, mentally, physically, or emotionally. It lasts from the middle of December to the middle of January when the days start getting a little longer. I haven't done much about the books except piddle around with the Paxil Diaries; it takes all I have to get out of bed and go to work. I believe I have a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I suspect that everyone has at least a little, considering how surly everyone gets.

Fridays are especially nice this time of year. Two days of freedom coming! So yesterday they were predicting rain, sleet, and snow. I looked out the window about three and the snow had started. By the time I got off work the streets and sidewalks were slicker than snake snot.

When I looked out the window this morning, Springfield looked like a Christmas card. It was still dark outside. There must be six inches of snow. And damn it, I have to go out in it, because I need to cash a check to pay the cleaning lady with.

Damn but I'll be glad when Spring gets here.

Finally graduated to a postpaid wireless plan. All the good shit was taken of course, but I managed to get xxx-FRAK, so I got that going for me, which is nice.

Online now.

Damn but it's been cold this week, I feel like I'm stuck on McMurdo. Hey, it's summer there, isn't it? Probably not much colder than here. January seems to be a month early this year, our high temperatures are our normal lows. It's supposed to be zero tomorrow morning -- that's about minus 17 C. Damned cold.

Amy called Monday and said she read a little of Nobots when she was at Felbers. "It's certainly, uh, different," she said.

Well, yeah, I sure hope so!

Those of you who have copies or get them soon may have something valuable in the future. So far there are only 16 copies in the format you have, and I'm not quite satisfied with the size; 6x9 is too big. I've been reformatting it to 5x8, and after I submit it and get a copy to review, the 6x9s will be gone.

I told Amy I'd be lucky to break even on my book. "Yeah," she said, "Uncle Richard barely made his back." I knew Richard twenty years ago when he was writing it. His sister had won the lottery, and bought him a computer. Twenty years ago computers were damned expensive.

He worked in the same building as me, and they moved my unit before he got it published and I lost track of him. He died about five years ago. A Vietnam combat veteran, he'd written the book, Letters from Home, about his wartime experience. I read the copy they have in the library, it wasn't bad.

Amy had wanted a copy but it had been long out of print. She'd looked for used copies at the Elf Shelf, and they told her that they'd had an almost ruined, rain-soaked copy a week earlier that had sold for two hundred bucks! It seems rare books are expensive.

You have a rare book -- or will have when the 5x8 is out.

Walmart to Install Surface-to-Air Missiles on Store Rooftops to Shoot Down Amazon Drones

Online now.

Not a whole lot has been happening. I took Wednesday off because they forecasted sixty degrees, probably the last time I'll see weather that warm before I retire.

I got stoned and wasted the day working on my books. I have the paperback version of Nobots formatted to the smaller page size and typeface up to chapter 31. I got a postcard from a printer in St Louis that probably spams everyone who buys and ISBN, and their prices are more reasonable than Lulu's, but you have to buy in bulk and I'll have to call or email to find out if they do 4.5x7 inch newsprint paperbacks.

I got The Paxil Diaries mostly formatted, but converting the dumb quotes to smart quotes may be problematic, since "replace" in Open Office replaces a dumb quote with another dumb quote, even when you paste a smart quote into the "replace" field. There's surely an easy way, I'd hate to have to do it by hand. And it's twice as long as Nobots.

I haven't touched Mars, Ho!. I'll have to re-read what I've written to write more of it. I may try to stretch it to 100,000 words (20,000 more than Paxil) and see if I can get Baen to publish it when it's finished. 100,000 words is their minimum book size.

I worry that making it that long may make it boring. I don't want to write an All the Lives He Led, I returned that book to the library when I was only half finished with it. Was Pohl getting paid by the word, or was he trying to write a futuristic Lord of the Rings?

My new cleaning lady is supposed to show up in an hour, but I won't blame her if she doesn't show. It's only nine degrees out there, that's roughly -13 C.

I sure don't want to leave the house. I think I'll watch Christmas movies this afternoon -- Die Hard, Die Hard Two, Lethal Weapon, Lethal Weapon Two...

Nah, I'll work on the books.

...Lord I'm comin' home, to you!

Slavery is the natural, logical outcome of the unregulated, Laissez-faire free market.

Period.

http://www.inthepublicinterest.org/blog/%E2%80%9Clockup-quotas%E2%80%9D-guarantee-profits-us-private-prison-industry