Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Practice Makes Perfect

If you are wondering whether your kids play to many video games, you should watch this video.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Mar Adentro


Until the lights were dimmed.
(Reflections on Mar Adentro)
By: Clayton Ray Randell
Published in the "Gathering of Voices" 2005

I entered the Pickford Theatre on Monday at 4pm, and sat in the small crimson room with only two other viewers. Both women were in their late forties, one large and blonde, the other small and dark haired. I turned to them as the doors were closed and said, “Well, it wont be hard to tell who is talking during the movie.” They laughed and we made small talk, until the lights were dimmed.

I entered the Pickford Theatre on Monday at 4pm, and sat in the small crimson room with my two views. Both are heartfelt, one is secular and personal, the other is Christian and dutiful. I turned to them as the doors were closed and said, “Well, it wont be hard to tell what my heart is saying after the movie.” I laughed to myself and changed the subject, until the lights were dimmed.

I entered the Pickford Theatre on Monday at 4pm, and sat in the small crimson room with two expectations. Both were selfish, one was scholarly and extra credit worthy, the other was emotional and painful. I turned to them as the doors closed and said, “Well, I hope I get a good grade and some closure.” I laughed uncomfortably to myself, and tried to focus on what I wanted to say in my paper, until the lights were dimmed.

I never entered the room that my grandfather was in, a small sterile room in a home up in Blaine, for two reasons. Both were difficult to express, one I couldn’t think about and the other I couldn’t forget. I turned to them as the doors closed and said, “Well, what did I miss and did I do something wrong.” I never laughed about what happened, and I tried not to focus on the subject, until the lights were dimmed.

My grandfather on my father’s side was a “gruff” individual. He never spoke to me when I was a child, and the earliest memory I have of him was walking into the bathroom on him when I was about six. When my cousins and I got to be in high school, we seemed to be old enough for him to start taking an interest in us. I of course was far to busy chasing skirts, drinking, and getting stoned to go visit, that “ornery old man”, so I never had any real relationship with him.

At my wedding, I was pretty busy. We had a small ceremony at my father’s house. All told we had about fifty guests. My grandfather was there and out of the blue decided to start talking to me. I was on my way to start the music, so that my fiancĂ© and I could walk down the aisle, and start our new life together. Not exactly an opportune time to chat it up with that “ornery old man”, so I never had any chance to have a relationship with him before we moved to Hawai’i.

On our honeymoon, we were pretty liberated. We had sold almost everything we owned and flew to Hawai’i. What we still owned was under our arms or sitting on the sidewalk. We got a rental car and drove to a hotel that my grandfather told us about. Our room was so small I couldn’t get the door open without hitting the twin bed in the far corner. We had to crawl over our duffel bags to get into bed. There was a screen eighteen inches tall and as wide as the door, open to the hallway where some women was screaming on the payphone about how her babies daddy “won’t pay no child support”. The Neon sign attached to the front of the hotel was ten feet high and 18 inches from our window. Even with the blinds closed it was bright enough to read the directions on a bottle of aspirin. We tried to get some sleep. I woke up during the night with a two-inch cockroach walking across my chest. I swatted and heard it hit the wall and fall onto the floor. It flipped over and ran out under the hallway door. I thought, “I should have known better than to listen to that ‘ornery old man’, he is the cheapest man on the planet.” Not exactly how my wife and I wanted to spend our first night in paradise.

My dad called a few weeks later to tell me that my grandfather had been in an accident. He and my grandmother were on their way back from Mount Vernon and traffic was backed up. The fast lane cleared and my grandfather pulled into it, unaware that a State Trooper was screaming down that lane with his siren off and no flashing lights. His head hit the column between the front and rear drivers side windows. The swelling caused damage in parts of his brain and he went into a coma. When he awoke he was only my grandfather for a few moments a week, the rest of the time he spoke German or thought he was in a different time, and talking to different people.

We moved back to the states after two and a half months in Hawai’i. My grandfather lived for four more years and I never visited him. He was put in a home and visited by my father and my brother, but I couldn’t overcome my guilt. I couldn’t overcome my discomfort. I couldn’t overcome my fear of death. I couldn’t relate to that “ornery old man”. Until the lights dimmed.
Now that he is gone I can never know him, or what it was like to be as sharp as a tack one day and then unable to control my own thoughts the next. To be independent one day, and then convalescing the next. I got a sense however watching Javier Bardem. He is transformed from a solid Adonis in his twenties to a fifty year old quadriplegic, felled by an accident rather than Artemis.

I could not get my grandfather out of my head during the film. Would he have wanted to continue that way? Would I? You hope that a cure can be found, that someone would get better. Sadly, that is not the movie we get a ticket to when shuffling onto this mortal coil. Nor is it the one that awaits us at the end of our journey. The minute you’re born you begin the inevitable path to your own end.

That is definitely not the movie I got a ticket to on Monday at 4pm. The life unfulfilled, the life in torturous stillness. Unable to feel the world, trapped in a body that is dead with a mind that still lives. I have felt in the past that whether or not someone wanted to live or not was up to them. If you would help a quadriplegic get drunk and smoke because he can’t do it himself why not help him with his decision to go the distance with unhealthy behavior. Still, as a Christian I am faced with the knowledge that we all serve a purpose on this earth. That God has a plan for us even in our misery, because we do not exist for ourselves alone, but to serve others.

So did Ramon Sampedro selfishly give up the ghost because he was too weak to persevere? The New International Version Bible 2nd Corinthians verse 16 states, “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17: For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18: So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Or was Ramon Sampedro fulfilling his destiny. He brought his poetry and his voice to people and sacrificed himself for the belief that someone with no control over their physical lives should be allowed to make the ultimate decisions about their lives.

I went to that movie hoping to have an answer given to me. I thought that Rosa might talk him into living or that Julia’s strength in her degenerative disease would inspire him. Would Javier’s youth guide Ramon in seeking to guide Javier? Would Ramon’s father have sage advice for him and all of us? Would his brother’s own sacrifices convince him, or me? Would the wheelchair bound priest, show him the light? Maybe, I would sympathize with Ramon and concede totally that his friends had a responsibility to help him with his request. None of these things happened.

I laughed when Ramon and the priest traded jabs, I laughed when Ramon told Julia that he wanted her to come scratch an itch on his leg. But, I also sat in that theatre for two hours barely able to keep from sobbing out loud for those two ladies in the theatre to witness.
Ramon Sampedro said, that when others must take care of you that you learn to smile while you cry. I cried during the courtroom scene as he was denied a voice and he wore that same smile.

Ultimately I was left staring at Julia’s blank face. Both of us saying who is Ramon? Julia gave no answer. GenĂ© herself pleaded with Ramon to stay. He left anyway. My grandfather left anyway.

To me Mar Adentro was the epilogue to Ramon’s book of poetry. A new verse to be read, to evoke our emotions, and illustrate a sample of someone’s life. Not give us answers. That is what art is after all. Even those who think they express some message through their art are
still left at the mercy of what others perceive. So like Ramon. Few could understand really how he felt and what his life was like. Yet people tried to force their opinions and feelings onto Ramon. You can experience the art, however understanding cannot be given.

Like Ramon Sampedro we must decide whether to drink of the nectar of life or sip 200 mg. of Cyanide Phosphate. Whether or not we should help someone to choose the latter is something I think that the individual must decide, and the courts and others can only interfere with.
Manuela captures the heart of it. She loved Ramon, and respected his wishes. She wanted him to be happy, and in the end, starring out at the sea within, I believe he was.

Haiku's



It is far to nice a day for the staff to be writing serious work.

Today; Haiku

A new baby son,
He will eat and sleep and cry,
Then sunshine, he smiles.

Weight of butterfly,
Sound of a falling rain drop,
Daughter gives dad kiss.

Wide swift tiger paw,
Shower of giggling caught,
Tadpole likes jumping.

Great shining smoke beast,
Oil drips, dirty rubber rolls,
It moves, excitement.

Fear is all around,
Dropping hate, darkness and pain,
I turn the news off.

Electric sparkle,
Magnets pulling, arms wrapping,
Warm and soft is love.

Chocolate rose blossoms,
Blooms of vanilla ice cream,
And heaven has spoons.

White, clear and yellow,
Hard, soft, and, over-easy,
Before the chicken.

Hammer falls, lightning,
Wind rushes in, curses out,
Thumb is beating heart.

Drifting leaves fall down,
My hands become my fathers,
Winter is coming.

One word means something,
Another word means same thing,
Connotation thing.

Liquid moon dances-
Warm wind breathes between our lips,
forever for good.

Two wheels and two strokes,
Fright, laugh, smoke, wind and sunlight,
Chasing my shadow.

Refined, white and pure
Crystals spray out rainbow light,
Want one lump or two?

Billions and billions,
Insanity to count stars,
God named each of them.

Slimy grey goopy,
Writhing screeching new baby,
Hugged and kissed and loved.

Icy hand of death,
Reaching down from outer space,
Winter time is here.

First line has five words,
Next has seven syllables,
Oxyopia.

Bed is not made up,
Socks in the hall, dirty dish,
Wife takes holiday.

First number and next,
Heart pumps faster when third comes,
Sorry no gold ball.

A Bleeding knuckle,
Greasy hand turns nuts and bolts,
Awakens gas beast.

Little hand captures,
Tiny eyes hold me captive,
That’s baby power.

Electron makes jump,
Photon escapes million miles,
Five point three seconds.

Most explosive fuel,
Bunker miles away starts blast,
Five minutes to space.

Warm milk, soggy lumps,
Blank stare at television,
Saturday morning.

Frosting is to sweet,
Salmon is dry, music stale,
I hate long weddings.

Tight lute string will break,
Loose lute string will not sing out,
Learn moderation.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Cavemen on ABC


Wow! I just watched the preview for the upcoming Cavemen on ABC and they are very funny. I have enjoyed watching the Geico commercials. Juxtaposing a Cro-Magnon man against an angst filled hipster makes for a lot of great gags and smart humor. It remains to be seen whether the 30 second commercial spots will translate into a season long episodic format. The previews, however are very funny. The actors; Sam Huntington (Jimmy from Superman Returns), Bill English and Ivan Allen (West Wing) have great delivery and bring an amazing amount of personality to characters that all look alike.

So stay tuned to ABC.

Monday, July 23, 2007

BMX Birthday


By: Clayton Ray Randell

As a Pisces, my birthday falls in early spring. My sixth birthday brought a fantastic gift for a child cloistered inside for much of the winter; a BMX bike.

All previous modes of transportation paled in comparison to this sleek & shiny vehicle. I knew I would be careening down the sidewalk into a much bigger world.

The image of Elliot, E.T. and his friends rocketing through the air was still fresh in my mind. With unbridled excitement I mounted my aluminum and rubber steed, and promptly crashed into the ground.

My father in his wisdom had purposely acquired a bike that was too tall for me to reach the ground with both feet. Being a veteran motorcycle rider he new that the only way to go was fast. In all endeavors he instructed me to not drag my feet.

I tried unsuccessfully for a week to prop myself up on the bike against the piano in our living room. I suppose now that my Dad was building my anticipation. Finally one frozen morning, he took me to the park.

Once there he set me out on my own. Cornwall Park has several paved paths. Somehow, I do not recall having difficulty getting started. I began pedaling and wheeling around the park.

My Dad, satisfied I needed no help had climbed back into the van to stay warm.

I made several passes and on one turn, as I was coming back by I hit a patch of ice and went down. When I looked up to my fathers face in the window he was laughing. I was as angry as a three foot child could be. I got up and ran to the side of the van. He was still laughing. I jumped up and down. I am sure my little voice was providing as vile a tirade as a six year old has the vocabulary for, when I fell where I stood on another patch of ice.

Finally my Dad got out. With the hint of a smirk still on his face, he informed me why he was laughing. He was proud of me and amazed about how I had fallen. When my bike slid out from under me, I had swung up onto the frame and rode out the crash on top of it. My Dad was stunned that I had instinctively done what he did on his motorcycle when in a slide. Besides that, I know an enraged kindergartner can be pretty humorous in itself.

With my bike and my father’s tutelage I travelled much of western Whatcom County, long before the arrival of helmets and pads.

Want to drive a Warthog

I may not be the worlds biggest Halo fan, but I know bad a$$ when I see it. Let me introduce you to the fully functional four wheel driving and steering Warthog. It is full size and driving around the WETA workshops and warehouses as we speak.

Hee-Hee; it gives me the giggles. I want to drive over the neighbors fence with it and do brodies on my Dads front pasture.

Why would you want one of the watered down H3's when you could probably get one of these made for an extra 10 grand.

If you have not seen the short film with live action Halo 3 scenes I suggest that you watch it now. Even if you don't know anything about Halo 3 it is Sweet!

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Optimus Prime


Another cake for geeks, from urbanretrolifestyle.com. Check out the site if you would like to make your own.

Short Story

By: Clayton Ray Randell

Out Of Thin Air

You don’t realize what cold weather is on Earth. At night on frosty ground you can feel a chill creep into your joints. What you are feeling in the dull ache of your bones is outer space. An icy hand of death pressing down through the atmosphere. It’s all about stillness. Space has slowed since the “Big Bang”. The very atoms have lost the oscillations we know as heat energy.

Like an invisible frozen ether it rolls across the planes of my new home. The thin air is unable to support life. Even if I could take off my helmet and keep from freezing, the lack of air pressure would cause my blood to boil to the surface. No fear of that though; the noxious atmosphere would choke you to death before that.

When did this all start. Surely back on Earth. That is where humans came from. Foggy memories are all that is left. Sent here at ten years old. My parents had procreated without a license. After years of hiding we were discovered during a trip to the emergency room. I had been bullied in the street by other kids and knocked down. They told me I talked funny.

Arriving at the hospital we were asked to be genetically identified. My father gave them our I.D. cards but the clerks insisted. Security stepped out from doorways all around us and my mother started to cry. Blood was drawn from all of us. Not that they had to draw it from me there was plenty seeping from a rent in my forehead.

My D.N.A. was unlicensed. Unpaid for. Several of my genes had been mapped by Monsanto and patented. So were everyone’s D.N.A strands. The whole complex bio-organism of Earth catalogued and invested in. My parents D.N.A belonged to them before the patent was issued. Grandfathered into the law. I however was in violation. My very life a theft from a multinational company. Two options lay before me; imprisonment for life or deportation.

Only one place left to be deported to. Global economy had created global rule. Moon bases and orbitals were all property of some company affiliated with all the rest. My only refuge was Mars. I am contractually obligated to pay for my voyage out here with twenty years of labor. My family was told it would only be five years but eventually everyone is escorted to the airlock during the trip out and asked to sign for fifteen more or disembark. So far no one opted to float endlessly in space. So here we are, thousands of children.

Despite the dependence on our masters we enjoy a strange freedom here that was not available on Earth. Earth has become a see of identical faces. Everyone is pressured to conform. The newscasters and sitcom stars speak the same cultivated English and are echoed by the captive T.V. watchers. People, who are too frightened to be alone and too scared to go outside, work continuously to mimic the monotone patterns of speech they see and read everyday. No one dares to stand out for fear of ridicule or censure. The madness is so pervasive that people are beaten by neighbors if they complain using taboo words like oppression, control or denial.

Without the freedom of words there is no freedom of the soul. There is no creation or emotion. Language is the programming for our brain. If someone controls the input so do they control the output.

Here on Mars we are all considered misfits and freaks. Our slang is considered poor upbringing. Our art is ignored as mad scribbling. The only true human culture left is toiling away on a world that at every turn is willing to freeze it, pop it or irradiate it. Yet we are freer than those at home.

Someday the Earth will pass into extinction. Strangled to death by the greed and intolerance of an elite few. All that will remain of humanity will be the bastard children of the brave, scrawling paintings on cave walls and writing poetry in red sand.

Martha Stewart; good enough to eat

Check out the new cover of Wired magazine. This is my second favorite Stewart. That Wii is a cake by the way.

From Engadget; the best tech blog in the business.

If you want to know what is going on in the world that has anything to do with technology or science get a subscription to Wired magazine. All the successful people I know that work in tech read it.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

St. Vincent's


It was early in the morning on a brisk October day. I had just awoke next to my pregnant wife and was considering beginning my daily routine for work.

My wife's routine was a bit more immediate in the mornings as it was controlled by a baby pressing down on her bladder. As my loving and distended mate began the laborious process of heaving herself to a vertical position, she made a noise. The noise sounded very much like it was from another language, something from the Philippines maybe. Despite the apparent incoherence of the utterance I new it's exact meaning.

"I am leaking." She says. As amused as she was surprised.

My wife shuffled quickly to the bathroom so she could stand in the shower.

Large drops of fluid were hitting the bottom of our cramped plastic tub. "Thwap" "Splatter" "Pat-pat"

My mom had been staying with us in our tiny apartment in a 70's dark brown building. She was hoping to be around for just this event. Now that it was here she began this odd sort of 'jig'. Running about packing, unpacking, fretfully considering out loud the implications & then joyfully proclaiming every other minute. "We're having a baby!"

When my mom had come close enough to reality we left.

My automobile at the time was a black 1985 Cadillac Eldorado. Despite what a horrible car it was to own; I was very satisfied that this 'Beast' of a vehicle would be unstoppable on its way to the hospital.

After being admitted to a huge birthing suite, we began earnest waiting.

A menagerie of soothing, if obligatory, nurses percolated in and out of the room, until the arrival of our midwife.

A tall blonde women blocked the entrance to the room. Almost before I noticed her she had surveyed our fuchsia colored room. My wife's panting and groaning, coupled with the uncharacteristic muttering of curses had an anaesthesiologist in our room in minutes.

The blue gowned man came in and deftly administered the drugs. He said nothing and made no expressions until the drugs hit. My wife was holding onto me tightly despite her unfriendly mood. When the medicine had indeed killed the pain, she made a moan that caused a couple of faces in the room to blush.

The wonder doctor simply turned up the edges of his gray moustache into a smile and said. " There, all better."

The next several hours contained a lot of grunting and hollering. The noise however is nothing compared to the odors. Sweat, tears, blood. My wife even managed to vomit almost ten feet. I wont go into gory detail, but with the epidural, we interacted with every fluid in the body that day.

Finally with one last gush, out plopped the one absolute love in my life, Her misshapen head, swollen eyes, blue skin and pungent sticky outer slick were the most beautiful thing I had seen. Worthy of many kisses, the counting of toes and more kissing. The cheers of family are present on video. My memory contains only the cry of my daughter and her first breathes.

She is now pink and perfect and smells always like lotion and cookies. I smile daily at the thought of her.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Maya Angelou

I recently saw Maya Angelou in a movie and was inspired to dig up this essay I wrote a while back and post it here.

Clayton Ray Randell
English 101 Section Q
November 25, 2003
In-Class Essay #2

Reflective Essay On Maya Angelou’s “Graduation”

Maya Angelou is one of the more profound humans I have read or listened to. In her Essay “Graduation” she discusses her experience with abject and insidious racist treatment. The way in which someone can reinforce a bad situation or opinion by careless and thoughtless words is made obvious. The roots I believe are ignorance and fear. A proud group of people is cast down by an authority figure who cares little for them individually. I believe this is a serious offense, and the solution is understanding and love.

The start of the essay lays a foundation for the event. We are drawn into the excitement of the people in Angelou’s essay. Not just the excitement of the students who are going to participate in graduation. The entire community turns out to show their respect and support. The proud parents dress in fine clothes and outfit their children likewise. The children are given gifts. Angelou receives a watch from her parents and a book from her brother. The other students also receive gifts and favors from family and peers alike. These are symbols of the givers dreams.

Maya Angelou shares her personal experience as she awakens the morning of graduation to receive a very special gift,
“I hoped the memory of that morning would never leave me. Sunlight was itself young…I gave myself up to the gentle warmth and thanked God that no matter what evil I had done in my life He had allowed me to live to see this day” (35).
Her family goes on to have a full and lavish breakfast in celebration, and in preparation for the event have closed their store and put on their finest threads. Her mother had specially prepared Angelou’s dress. Hours went into embroidery and crocheted cuffs. When the dress was finished others told Maya she looked like “…a Sunbeam in it” (35).

The first portent of trouble in the essay comes as Angelou nears the auditorium with her family. She is suddenly struck by a sense that things are not right. As she climbs the stairs to her school she is greeted by her fellow classmates and soothed by their presence. Feeling better she remarks on how great everyone looks. This connection with her group how it overcomes her fear, also comes into play later in the graduation.

The graduation proceeds normally at first. Suddenly the rhythm is thrown by an intrusion. The guest speaker has arrived in a hurry and the school is forced to accommodate. The leader of the school, Principal Parsons is forced to draw his speech to a close and introduce Mr. Edward Donleavy. Encroaching on the stage two white men appear. One stands before them and the other takes the seat of the town’s minister. I was struck by how well Maya Angelou made their entrance feel almost like an assault before Donleavy even speaks. When he does open his mouth that is when the audience to the essay and the graduation are shown one of the ways in which racism attacks hopes and dreams. Not by outright condemnation of a people, rather by the denial of their opportunities. Donleavy relegates Angelou’s classmates, and by extension her town and her race, to menial tasks. He allows no heroes for them other than Jesse Owens and Joe Louise. Angelou feels at that moment that the monologue reveals her people to be less than equal to this authority. Donleavy even mentions the better off white school nearby and all that they have. Equipment and buildings and teachers provided by his help. He promises in no subtle way that with the town of Stamps votes, he may get them some of the things they need, but only to help them produce more athletes or farmers. Her recounting his plea for votes is an indictment in itself when coupled with his lack of understanding to their true needs.

Angelou is so angry at the denial of other possibilities for her classmates that she is overcome with hate. I like how she reflects the influence in the society that produces someone like Donleavy. Her account of bilious feelings towards the whole of humanity out of hatred spurred by oppression are very palpable. Often people are overwhelmed with negative feelings towards the wholesome or institutionalized aspects of their society when the connections are drawn together with the misdeeds of society. Misdeeds like fear, ignorance and hate. This leads to graffiti, to riots, and to assassinations. It leads also to violent thoughts.

Angelou illustrates this pain and darkness by sharing her thoughts. The darkness fills the room as participants sit captive by tradition and are demoralized. She wishes for all the races of the world to die, lying bodies upon bodies. Not just of the white folks either, she is consumed by anger towards her own race and others. She is so overcome that she does not even get up until prompted, to retrieve the diploma that the whole town had been waiting for. This illustrates just how worthless the diploma and all the effort behind it had suddenly become to the students.

As quickly as the interlopers had come they were off. Likely they were heading to what they thought was a more important graduation. Angelou remarks, “The ugliness they left was palpable. (38)” Her mood leaves her rebutting the words of other speakers who try to champion the individuality and possibilities of the graduating classes. Even today I see this behavior. There was a time when the African American art form of rap had something to say. Feelings of oppression and anger, of loneliness and despair, hope and aspiration were detailed and expressed in poetic verse. Now there are few who use the medium to communicate. More and more, tortured facsimiles of the English language are used to lift up greed and violence, while pushing down women and community. Since there is little control over their lives some would force oppression and violence right down the line. This ends up on other races, on women, on each other.

Maya Angelou gives us the antidote for these issues. The tide is turned by the recitation and singing of the Negro National Anthem. Maya Angelou is reminded of the connection to others by the words,
“We have come over a way that with tears has been watered, We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered. (40)”

Reminded of how far people can come and with strength and perseverance the group is raised again to their feet. Credit is due to those who inspire us, who remind us, who share with us, and support us. Credit is due to those who bring heartache and pain, as well as joy and celebration of the human experience to others. Paintings, poems, music and stories are powerful ways to communicate the connections that we all share. It is vital for all men and all women to endeavor to relate to their fellow man, if for no other reason than to understand themselves better. Maya Angelou carries this theme on in much of her work. Interviews with Oprah I found to be very enlightening. Angelou’s grace in the face of the experiences of her life, are an inspiration.

Angelou, Maya “Graduation” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely Et. Al.
Bedford/St. Martins; New York, 2001. 31-36.

Goshen, Amitav “The Ghosts Of Mrs. Ghandi” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely
Et. Al. Bedford/St. Martins; New York, 2001. 119-131.

Grealy, Lucy “Mirrors” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely Et. Al. Bedford/St.
Martins; New York, 2001. 50-63.

George Orwell Site. K-1 Internet Publishing. George Orwell 1903-1950. 24th November 2003. < HYPERLINK "http://www.k-1.com/Orwell/index.cgi/work/essays/fun.html" http://www.k-1.com/Orwell/index.cgi/work/essays/fun.html>.

Oprah Winfrey. O Magazine Website. Oprah’s Cut With Maya Angelou. December
2000. 24 Nov. 2003 .

Orwell, George “Shooting An Elephant” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely Et.
Al. Bedford/St. Martins; New York, 2001. 132-138.

Tan, Amy “Mother Tongue” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely Et. Al.
Bedford/St. Martins; New York, 2001. 77-82.

Willet, Jincy “Under The Bed” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely Et. Al.
Bedford/St. Martins; New York, 2001. 654-661.

Blog for the Ladies


A gal I went to school with has got a great blog you should check out. It is called CrankMama. She has an article about a place that designs websites and blogs called E.Webscapes. They designed CrankMama and have a great portfolio, definitely worth a look. I would love for my blog to be more like hers, only a little more manly.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Hell On Earth

This Essay was published in Gathering of Voices in 2003.

Clayton Ray Randell
English 101 Section Q
October, 30 2003
In Class Persuasive Essay/Mid-Term-----(1,007 words)

Hell On Earth

“One of evil’s principal modes of being is looking beyond (with indifference) that which is before the eyes” (Berger 596). On August 6th 1945, evil was unleashed on the citizens of Hiroshima by President Truman. Are there reasons for creating terror on such a scale? I do not believe America or any other country can justify the use of nuclear weapons.

John Berger in his essay “Hiroshima” discusses the situation in Japan after the dropping of two atomic bombs on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Using excerpts of personal testimony from victims, Berger illustrates the horror of atomic weapons. The scale of death, disfigurement and pain created in Hiroshima and Nagasaki are unequaled in human history. When confronted by the stories of children burned and crying over their dead parents, I was struck by an overwhelming sorrow. The tales of peoples skin falling away made my stomach turn in disgust. Yet there are those that assert there was no other answer to the situation the United States was in. The war in the South Pacific was hard fought and thousands of U.S. soldiers lost their lives. Japan had attacked first at Pearl Harbor and destroyed much of the Navy’s fleet. America’s forces were far from home and vulnerable. Perhaps Japan’s immediate surrender may have saved more lives overall than were lost in the firestorm of the atomic bomb.

There has been much discussion about the decision to drop these weapons labeled “Fat Man” and “Little Boy”. Was it appropriate to drop them on civilians living in their homeland? Were American lives saved by the destruction of these cities and subsequent surrender of the Japanese? In William L. Laurence’s essay “Atomic Bombing Of Nagasaki Told By Flight Member” he shares with some pride that the “gadget” (247) as he affectionately calls the atomic bomb, could release the blast force of twenty to forty thousand tons of TNT. Laurence also states that the endeavor to create the bombs was the greatest effort of human intellect in history (247). The members of the flight crew aboard the plane that dropped the bomb on Nagasaki were of the opinion that no nation could withstand such an assault for long. This was obviously true as Japan surrendered with little delay after the attack.

Was it possible that America would have been defeated by the Japanese had we not developed the atomic bomb in time. Berger’s stance is that this question and others like it are irrelevant. Despite arguing the statistics and possibilities the fact remains, what occurred in Japan was evil. These two acts of premeditated mass murder were perpetrated on two large cities populated by civilians. The heart of the mushroom cloud “was 300,000 degrees centigrade” (592). Thousands died in a flash of light while others had their flesh scalded. The American Military targeted people who were not fighting in their Emperor’s war. Berger asserts that under any other circumstances these two attacks would be openly classified as “terrorist acts” (595). The United Nations has decrees stating that an attacking force cannot target civilians or civilian infrastructure. Why would the United Nations have such decrees? Because, these atrocities are unconscionable.
How could the American people accept the bombings? Reading over the straight statistics that have been gathered, one does not realize the impact on the lives of an entire nation. When perusing the accounts of the technical aspects of the bombs, one does not see the loss of humanity both physically and philosophically. People are insulated from the realities of war here in America. Few Americans have seen the results of machine gun fire or anti-tank missiles. During World War II people were quite happy to do their patriotic part with little thought as to what our armed forces were doing.

In ZoĂ« Tracy Hardy’s account in “What Did You Do In The War Grandma?” she explains how she very naively participated in the construction of the planes that carried the two atomic bombs to Japan. Hardy and her compatriots at the time were excited about helping in the war effort. They were diligent and worked long hours at the factory. Most of her friends were elated when the war was declared at an end. ZoĂ« Tracy Hardy however was downcast by the realization that she was involved in such destruction. Hardy asks if delivering such destruction to a nation that was on its way to losing “…wasn’t sort of like kicking a dead horse---brutally” (145).

My opinion about nuclear weapons is one of many. There are those that believe the end of communism came through the bankruptcy of the Soviet Union in the arms race. Others say that the deterrence of total annihilation kept the nations of the world from battling each other to destruction. I feel the reality is that no person can make the decision to destroy without inviting evil into his or her heart. No one can murder without accepting that some people do not deserve to live. It is impossible to fight evil with evil, as it only multiplies itself. Love comes from understanding and communication. The absence of love is hate which springs from fear and ignorance. The people of Earth must exchange ideas and goods. The moral arena of politics often has little to do with real ethics. If we can keep hold of our leaders hearts and minds we will not be a party to such evil again.

Berger, John “Hiroshima” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely Et. Al. Bedford/St. Martins, 2001. 590-596.

Hardy, ZoĂ« Tracy “What Did You Do In The War Grandma?” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely Et. Al. Bedford/St. Martins, 2001. 139-146.

Hersey, John. “Hatsuyo Nakamura” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely Et. Al. Bedford/St. Martins, 2001. 203-211.

Laurance, William L. “Atomic Bombing Of Nagasaki Told By Flight Member” Fields Of Reading. Ed. Nancy R. Comely Et. Al. Bedford/St. Martins, 2001. 247-252.

Monday, July 16, 2007

Hawai'i


The following is from an essay I wrote years ago. It is amateur and needs some corrections, however the flaws reflect the author at the time it was written.

Clayton Ray Randell
English 101 Section Q
November 28th 2003
Assignment #3

Reflections On The South Pacific

My wife and I decided to move to Hawaii while we were on a trip there. A year later we arrived on the Big Island of Hawaii. We learned a lot about the world and ourselves in Hawaii. There are memories of things we will cherish and lessons we will never forget. Ultimately we realized that we could not stay.

In October of 1999, my girlfriend Lena and I were in Maui. Lena’s uncle Kevin paid for us to fly down from Washington for a cousin’s wedding. It was on the beach facing the Island of Lanai with the sun setting on the sea, we watched this young couple tie the knot.

A couple of days later Lena and I went to a sandy beach just south of the wedding site and went swimming. We were getting tan already. The experience that week was so great we were absolutely tranquil. The sun was warm and bright above us. The breezes were fresh and fragrant. Lena swam by me and I grabbed her. We swirled around in the small waves together. As we gazed at each other it was obvious that we were each looking at someone very special. The best part was we both knew it. Without saying a word we had connected on a level neither of us had ever experienced before. I nearly opened my mouth to ask her to marry me when I realized I did not have a ring. After our swim we had a great day sightseeing. Later on we enjoyed a sumptuous dinner at a fancy restaurant and then headed back to our hotel. As we passed mile marker 14 on the highway Lena turned the car off into the sand. Getting out of the car I realized that we were at the same beach where we had been earlier. The sun had set and in it’s place was an enormous and luminous moon. This heavenly body shone down on us and glinted off the warm waters. The smell of Plumeria wafted down to us from the hills as we sat down in the soft powdery sand. We were sitting quietly staring off into the distance when Lena began to cry. She put her delicate hand in mine and looked up at me with her golden brown eyes, welling up now with tears. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small object. The moonshine reflected off the ring and off Lena’s tears as they rolled down her cheeks. She started sobbing as she choked on the words, “Will you marry me?”

I took her shoulders in my arm, looked deep into her eyes and said, “Of course I will sweetheart.”

When I had been on the verge of asking her earlier that day I had stopped because I did not have a ring. Lena also was going to ask me at that same moment but she had left the ring at the hotel. Sneaky girl, she had bought one a couple of weeks before and was waiting for the right time. I can still conjure the image of her tearfully asking me to be with her forever, just as I can picture her gazing up at me from the sun soaked sea with her wet hair and beautiful smile. It was the same smile she was wearing the day I met her ten years ago.

The decision to live in Hawaii was made that week. Blue Hawaiian’s were drunk and coconut shrimp were eaten. We got a lot of sun and a lot of fresh air before we left, but it did not last us after we got home. The bug had infected us and we dreamed of going back. We began planning our return in conjunction with planning our wedding.

During that year we began getting our things in order to leave. We also started to inform our families about our decision and got a flood of opinions in return. My Dad said it would be a life experience. My mother said she would love to live there someday and that she would really miss us. My in-laws did not want us to go because it was too far away. Lena’s siblings were excited to have a place to stay in Hawaii. As soon as Lena’s grandmother heard we were moving, she told us we would be back.

Despite the varying opinions everyone wished us luck, especially at our wedding. We decided to have our ceremony ten days before we departed. We had saved as much money as we could and decided on a small wedding. If we had not seen a relative more than once the previous year, they were not invited. Only our most special friends and relatives were to come. About fifty siblings, parents and grandparents sat together in my father’s living room. It was short and sweet, with a very emotional speech from my sister in-law.

La Conner, Washington
was a great place to have our first night as a married couple. Because of our limited luggage space the guests at our wedding were asked to bring gifts that would fit in an envelope. We were not disappointed. When all the money we had received was laid out on the bed it was enough to roll around in. The remainder of our honey moon was spent visiting people we new we would not see for awhile once we left for our new land.

Lena and I had considered which island to live on very carefully. There are really only three islands to choose from unless you are retiring and do not need to find work. Maui is beautiful and has wonderful snorkeling spots. However it is a relatively small island. There are many opportunities to find work on Oahu, but it is so populated that we might as well live in Seattle. We were left with the big island. It is large enough that we would not run out of things to do. Work was probable there as well, especially since Lena majored in Geography and wanted to work at the volcano observatory.

The flight was uneventful as we traveled to Hawaii on September 20th, 2000. Standing in front of the terminal in Hawaii midday we had all of our worldly possessions with us. The whole of our material existence was enclosed in two large duffel bags and two backpacks. This included some clothes and toiletries. An electric keyboard was our only luxury besides our snorkel gear. I will never forget the feeling of liberation. We could go anywhere and do anything. We had nothing holding us down to any location; no car, no house, no children or bills. Our path was at our own discretion.

Where do we go? At our wedding my grandfather mentioned a place that he and my grandmother had stayed while they were on a trip once. What I should have remembered about my grandpa is that he squeezes nickels till the buffalo cries. The guy is tighter than the skin on a sausage. After renting a car we headed for the hotel he had recommended. It was after dark when we arrived at the hotel. Upon entering through the front door we were greeted by swarms of far off locations depicted on postcards wherever there was room on the walls amongst the stuffed animal heads and bug displays. An overly sweaty man gave us our key and we headed up the stairs.

Our first night was one you do not forget. The room we were in was eight feet by six feet. I was unable to set our luggage on the floor and still open the door. A red glow was coming in our window and when I pulled the blind I was staring directly at the hotels 10-foot neon sign hanging not more than eighteen inches away. The glare was so bright even with the blinds pulled, that I could read by it. Undaunted we got into bed. Moments later the screaming began. Out in the hallway was a payphone. It was necessary to have a phone out in the hallway, as there were no phones in the rooms. One of the other patrons of the hotel was arguing and complaining with someone about how they were having a hard time getting welfare checks because of their 'baby's daddy' being in prison. At first I did not understand why this women’s voice was so loud until I looked above the door. A two-foot screen was above each door in the hotel. Anyone with a small stool or a box could easily look in on us. Despite the hour long rant on the phone we eventually got to sleep. Around one in the morning I was awakened by something. As I became conscious I could clearly see by the neon light, a two-inch cockroach crawling across my chest. I swatted it off of me and could hear its body hit the wall and then the floor. Un-phased by my assault, the cockroach immediately ran along the wall and under our door. The ordeal that night so upset my wife we decided to call home from a phone up the street. The next day we started looking for a new place to stay.

Sitting in an empty bar the following day I was getting drunk at our new hotel. Uncle Billy’s in Hilo is a fabulous place to sit inebriated and read a book. I felt a little like Hemingway. Soaking up alcohol and sun in a tropical clime. For a cheap hotel the ambiance was not that bad. The courtyard had a lot of noisy birds chattering and squawking from sun up to sun down. The kitchenette in our room was saving us a lot of money since we were not going out to eat all the time. Uncle Billy’s was our base of operations while we searched for jobs and a house to rent.

Renting a house or apartment in Hawaii is not the same as it is in Washington. We were told by a couple of rental agencies that we would have to fill out a credit application for every house or apartment we were interested in and then wait 3-14 days for the O.K. from the owner, just to view the place. It was obvious to me that we were getting the run around. When Lena and I would walk into these places they would look up at us and then go back to whatever they were doing. We had to actually knock on the counter to get help, and the help we got was from irritated natives. The situation we were caught in is that we had to pay Uncle Billy’s $400 a week while we waited two-weeks just to see a place and there was no guarantee that we would be approved. Most people would have been at a loss, but we kept at it.

In the meantime we did our best to familiarize ourselves with the surrounding and get our licenses. The process to get a license was not difficult; we filled out a form and turned in our Washington licenses. The clerk at the DMV asked us if we wanted to register to vote with our applications. Checking a box on the form was apparently all that was needed. Since the 2000 election was approaching I was excited to get registered.

Now that we had local licenses we could apply for “kamaaina” rates. This is a discount from car rentals, airlines and grocery stores. It is for residents and since we were determined to be just that Lena and I took full advantage. It helped us out a lot since our funds were getting low. Another bonus cash wise was the local farmers market. Every Wednesday and Friday the local farmers and hippies would get together and sell their wares. You could get star fruit and fish, jewelry and clothes and lizards and baked goods. These little kids would walk around trying to sell the scads of bumpy reptiles that were crawling all over them.

When we weren’t at the market we were trying to find work. Lena was shut out of the Volcano Observatory. They told her that hundreds of applications were received every month and that it would be a year before they would consider her. I did not fair much better. The unemployment office was very polite, especially when they explained to me that I was not likely to be able to find work since people tended to hire family members. This is convenient since most of the natives consider each other cousins in some way or another. That pretty much meant that a white kid like me was out of luck. I am glad for their honesty though. They could have sent me to work where I was not welcome and risked my neck.

I eventually found work at Sears in the mall. I was assigned by a former Oregonian to work with a former Californian supervisor in the warehouse. I was to handle bedding. The work was all right for a start. I enjoy organizing things and working with my hands. The problem was that all the rest of the employees were natives and I was not. Generally my coworkers were not in my way. They were however, not the least bit helpful in answering questions or helping me out. Usually they would roll their eyes, making fun of me in pigeon English and local slang. When they did talk to me it was as though I was five years old and mentally handicapped. I do not think it was patronizing, I think they genuinely felt I was just another dumb white boy or “haole”.

I was riding my Wal-Mart bike 3 miles to work and 3 miles home every day. The exercise was great and it normally only rained just before lunch. Looking up at the mountain in the morning was a real treat. Crisp golden colors were accentuated by the texture and curves of the rocks and trees on the hills. This display of gorgeous scenery kept alive my hope for this island despite where my ride took me every morning. My ride started from our new apartment in the middle of town.

After three weeks we made a last ditch effort at a complex called Waimea Village. This place was willing to take us on a days notice. When we moved in and started to look around we found out why. One of the buildings had burned to the ground a couple years earlier and the ruins of the foundation were still visible. The building across the aisle from ours was closed. Part of the structure had fallen down due to rot and was uninhabitable. When we had a rainstorm our apartment drowned in a half-inch of standing water in the bedroom.
Living on top of each other with no T.V. was an experience for Lena and me. Both of us learned a lot about what the other one liked or did not like. Most importantly we learned a great deal about what we wanted personally. We grew and matured more in the two months we spent in Hawaii than in the two years we had already known one another.

One jaunt we took into the inner island saw us to a great gaping maw in the hills. A steep stairwell carried us down thirty feet into what was the front porch to a course of underground pathways. In Hawaii’s turbulent volcanic past floods of lava stories thick and wide ran down the slopes to the sea. When the outer edges of the flow hardened, it enclosed a torrent of raging magma. When Mauna Loa ceased heaving pools of molten rock, the lava in these shells of crust ran out and left tubes and tunnels. Carefully picking our way over the rubble we made our way into the cave. Forty meters was all the farther we could go. Without flashlights we would not be able to see. Luck was on our side this day, for just as we were climbing back out a whole troop of grade-schoolers came bouncing down the stairs. These cheerful cherubs and their teacher were more than happy to share their light with us. All thirty kids seemed to either be experts in caves or new explorers of them. We had our own tour guides and surveyors with us as we plied the depths. When we had spelunked hundreds of feet the teacher informed his students that they were going to be part of an experiment. He reached into his backpack and pulled out several cylindrical objects and handed them to his helpers. They each broke the cylinders and began passing out the contents to everyone else. When they got to Lena and me it was agreed that there were enough to go around and we each were given a minty Wint-O-green Lifesaver. The flashlights were all put out and we were thrown into utter darkness. Lena and I held hands to be sure we were facing one another and bit our candies. Far below the surface we ferreted out the truth behind a rumor. You do see a spark when you bite a lifesaver in the dark. Besides the important scientific work we did that day we saw just how fun it was going to be to have kids of our own. I also learned that love grows in tiny increments; a shared smile, a moment holding hands, laughing with children and seeing sparks in the dark.

November was fast approaching and I started to wonder where my voter registration card was. I eventually went to city hall to find out what the hold up was. Apparently when I filled out my license application I filled in my P.O. Box number for my address. I was not informed by the clerk who took the form nor was I informed by mail or phone call that my application needed a physical address. After waiting for hours to get things straightened out the bottom line was, even if I did get it fixed I would not be eligible in time to vote in the next election. I sat in disgust and watched George Junior buy the election without having the opportunity to even cast a vote. Upon talking to a local activist and political organizer I found out that unprocessed voter registration applications were not unusual. In fact many of the ones that came from his Green Party headquarters disappeared. Each of the applications that came to him from the local government had numbers indicating the location where they were filled out making it all to easy to single them out.

Being singled out became a regular occurrence for Lena and I. We would get stink-eye when traveling around the island. Stink-eye is a stare you get from the locals when you are somewhere they don’t want you. We would get the stare at beaches and trails. Even in grocery stores we would have people grunt at us. Once in a video store Lena was nearly pushed down by someone bumping in to her. The message was clear to us.
Two-months into our adventure we were faced with a decision; our funds were getting low, either we went back to the states now or we would be stuck in Hawaii. After much deliberation we decided that we could have succeeded in Hawaii, it just was not worth it. We made plans to be back home for Christmas. I stopped going to my job and we spent the last two weeks enjoying the sights.

We went swimming with dolphins and turtles in the sea. We visited the Waikoloa Hilton in Kona, where the rooms start at $250 and end at $15 grand a night. Lava flows were also on our list of sights. Renting a GMC Jimmy we drove to a remote corner of the island. After two hours of driving, the road ended. The pavement ran smooth and straight right until it wentb under huge black pillows of lava rock.

The man with no fingers was waiting there. He was a scientist from Ireland who also wanted to visit the lava flows. He had rented a Camaro and it was not capable of traveling over the loose rock and debris. Since he looked harmless enough and was terribly polite we offered him a ride. A full hour passed while we crossed the expanse of broken rock. There came a point when we simply could not get any farther. The clear sky was reaching twilight. Seeing in the distance an orange glow we clambered out of our Jimmy and started walking.

The diversity of rock that we saw was unbelievable. Rivulets and ridges of black and gray stone twisted and contorted all around us. Fissures and mounds surrounded us for miles. The whole scene became extraterrestrial once the darkness of night had closed in around us. I located a flashlight with a narrow handle suitable for our fingerless companion to operate. I gave a flashlight to Lena and when are torches were all lit; we really began to see the beauty of the rocks. Iridescent plates of glass lay strewn about, some jagged, some dissolving into other forms. I found clumps of what looked like hair in several places. Upon further inspection what we were looking at was strands of glass. As the lava flowed down the mountain during the original flow the outer edges and the top of the molten river cooled and hardened. Great sheets of rock would then spin and cartwheel, tumbling over other stones and boulders. Like taffy, strands of glass would stretch and pull from these roiling pieces.

If we had not made it to where the lava was still pouring into the ocean I would have never believed what we were looking at was natural. Hawaii is known for warm breezes however as the orange glow we had been pursuing became brighter we suddenly felt a heat that was far from tropical. A great steamy breathe and belches of brimstone came on the wind long before we found the lava. Nearing a bluff we were awed to see a huge plume of vapor and smoke ahead. Soon the sweat on our foreheads was no longer from exertion. Just as we began to worry that perhaps the flow of magma was running beneath our feet we discovered our destination.

I can scarcely convey in words the feeling that coursed through my blood and bones. There are few experiences I have had with nature that come close. Seeing Mars or the rings of Saturn through a telescope for the first time. Watching a total eclipse of the sun when I was little. Staring down into the gorges in Eastern Washington or staring up at the redwoods in California. These sites are amazing in their own way. What the three of us saw that night was made even more dramatic by the interplay of opposites. The flow of lava was only visible at the edge of the sea. Watching the vibrant warm honey of the earth’s blood mix and splash with the amniotic fluid of all life left us dumbfounded. Braving the heat we peered over the edge of a serrated ridge. We could only get as close as we were because of the shifting ocean breeze. Despite our barrier of stone we were still almost a mile away. The ultimate expression of yin and yang was playing itself out before us. Hot stone pouring into the ocean, trying to cover and fill it up. The ocean spewing a toxic mist into the air and freezing the flow into falling chunks and pebbles. Waves of dark salt water assaulted the coursing river of light. In the presence of such a wonder of nature we three became temporary friends. Trudging back to our truck we told each other much about our lives.

The rest of our time in paradise was spent laying in the sand, absorbing the rays of the sun. When our tans were at their best we got on a plane with our two duffle bags and two backpacks. Leaving on that plane was not a defeat for me. I accomplished a goal and found out I was more capable than I had ever dreamed. Despite what it cost us financially we would not trade that time for anything.

Prejudice was not something I was expecting to find in paradise. The locals who made a living off of us were all too happy to smile and serve us. At restaurants, hotels and bars we were royalty. At beaches, parks and local swimming holes we were another pair of damn tourists. After two months in Hawaii I began to notice a change in my attitude. Some pasty idiot with khaki shorts and long black socks regularly inconvenienced me. Old men in rental cars unable to pick a speed to drive or a lane to be in, irritated me to no end. If I had to listen to another dumb broad from Michigan complain about her pancakes or the price of macadamia nuts I was liable to erupt like Kilauea. I did not enjoy being discriminated against in housing and employment. I do not think that the locals in Hawaii are entirely to blame though. The issue is respect. Few people respect the Hawaiian culture and since not many Hawaiians do either it is difficult to interact together. I miss the scent of wild flowers. In my mind I can still see the lava flowing into the sea. Having fresh fruit and vegetables everyday was a wonderful treat. While I would love to go back, I know that it is not a place for me to live. When Lena and I left for Hawaii we were trying to find out where we wanted to be. We were looking for our way of life. When we left Hawaii we realized that no matter where we went, we were that way of life.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

The long and short of it.

From the UK's Dailymail comes images of the world's smallest man and the world's tallest man, who is a newlywed by the way. Bao Xishun is from Mongolia and is over 7 feet 10 inches. At 2 feet and ~5 inches is(I'm not making this up) Mr. Pingping.

Proof that the human body is truly amazing and strange.

It is good to hear that Mr. Xishun has met a nice girl to spend his life with. I am not sure about Mr. Pingping, but how could he lose with that bowtie. He is definitely as handsome as Verne Troyer.

Stereo Illusion


Wow! Check out these illusions. A simple animation of two images produces a great 3D perspective. I wont spend a lot of words describing the illusion, you can see them for yourself.

There are more at the link.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Penny Arcade Expo

Exciting news dear readers. The crew and I will be attending what promises to be a fantastic gaming expo. August 24th through 26th Penny Arcade is hosting the PAX event at the Washington State Convention & Trade Center. The address is 800 Convention Place, Seattle, Wa 98101.

There are a multitude of sponsors and exhibitors.
Sponsors include:
Ubisoft
Microsoft
Arenanet
EA
ITT Tech
Playstation
Intel
Bandai Namco
THQ
Rockstar
Any Many more.

We will be ordering our three day passes soon and heading up to Seattle to attend.
There will be freeplay areas, tournaments, pro panels and concerts.

It sounds like there may be costumes and plenty of wild things to see for those who stay until the 3am closing.

We will post our coverage of the event or better yet come to it yourself and meet the us.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

The Chumby Cometh


If you have not heard of the Chumby you need to check it out. It is like having a widget/Alarm clock/Photo Viewer/weather station/music player/game and animation player. The first few units are ready to be released to a select few people; fifty in fact. The writers here at WhereWasItNow are trying to get our hot little hands on one in order to tell you all about the great features. We are excited about the future of this device and we know that in the next year, thousands of homes will be enjoying their own Chumby.

They are modifiable, programable and customizable; from decorative covers and software hacks to customized widgets. That's right, personalized weather, Facebook and MySpace integration, movie trailers... The list goes on and on.

You can check out all the features and try your very own personal online Chumby at www.chumby.com. You will fall in love.

Stay tuned. We will have more coverage, and if we get one in the mail we will be sure to post photos and an in depth review.

See a version of my personal Chumby at the bottom of the page.

Poll

Star Trek or Star Wars?
Star Trek
Star Wars
I speak Klingon.
Han Shot first!
I watch Days of Our Lives
FireFly
  
pollcode.com free polls

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Moved

Where Was It Now has moved into it's new digs; unfortunately we are having technical difficulties with our internet service.
Everything should be resolved shortly, however we are going to be posting from Dr. Mike Robertson's Chiropractic office for the time being, while we wait to get adjusted.
The staff and I are going to get an Airport Extreme soon and test out the network storage capabilities. We know many families that have multiple computers and need somewhere to keep the memories and music they have collected. Not to mention videos from iTunes.
Stay tuned.

Friday, July 6, 2007

New Writers

We are talking with folks in the Tech Industry about joining the writing staff. Folks with hands on knowledge of the gadgets, software and computers you are interested in.

Stay tuned for notices about upcoming gaming convention coverage and gadget reviews. We will also have more info on the Zonbu.

Technorati

Technorati
We have joined Technorati.com. Check it out and don't forget to click the green and white link on the left to make us a favorite.
Thanks,

Back from vacation

We here at the home office have been busily preparing for our move to new digs. We did take a short brake to see some fireworks and burn down a shed.

If you want a little taste of Japan you should definitely try Pink Tentacle. They have just posted a couple of music videos with great 'pop and lock' dance moves.

We should be back later today with some more, so stay tuned.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Zonbu

We here at WhereWasItNow have been looking at a new device which may represent a new shift in home computing. With the Ubiquitous nature of Broadband and the miniaturization of computer components, the need for storing data in your computer is not only unnecessary, it may not be the most secure way to go.

The Zonbu computer has fast flash memory on board for storing the most used data on your machine, however your most important data is seamlessly backed up on Zonbu's servers and protected from disaster by a team of trained technicians. It is automatic.

Leaving on vacation and don't want to leave your photos and music behind, the information backed up on your Zonbu is available securely online.

The specs show the device to be quite small and it is reported to be silent. No fans.

We will keep users posted on this device and include pricing information in future posts.

If we can get a unit into the lab we will run it through it's paces and post an in depth review of the device. Until then here is a link to a video showing the interface and software available.

Update: This computer supports Apple's iPod and can be had for less than 100 dollars with an inexpensive subscription to the backup and support services.

AdSense

Yesterday I put up a picture of a donut and today the little ads on my site are all for Law enforcement. Hmmmm... Coincidence?

Monday, July 2, 2007

Squishees and Krusty Oooo's


7-11 has joined forces with the Simpson's to transform 160 stores to Kwik-E-Marts for the upcoming release of the Simpson's movie.

Each of the stores will be dressed to appear like Springfield's own Kwik-E-Mart owned by Apu Nahasapeemapetilon (sounds just like its spelled). Customers will be able to purchase; 'Buzz Cola', Krusty Oooo's, a Squishee drink and even Homer's favorite Donut with sprinkles.

Sorry no Duff Beer.

To read more and find a store near you, visit the 7-11 site where I got this picture.