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| =[[2024.10.05 Trumping Thought: Candidate Of The Hatefully Stupid]]= | | =[[2026.01.17 Dad Thoughts Evolved For Today]]= |
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| A nihilistic commentary I've seen a few times describes the evolution of the Republican party as naturally leveraging hatred and fear, and fostering that by undermining reason.
| | So, I've written a bunch of Rants about my dad. Some as I realized he was mortal - which was a weird realization to experience as a rational being. More immediately when he died to metabolize my grief, and others over a period of a decade afterwards. Many of those were reminiscences of childhood defining experiences and mythologies for my own catharsis, and with burgeoning hopes of there being a way for my kids to know something of him. |
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| So that when Trump snuck up behind the Grand Old Party, in a way that they openly mocked and disregarded, they were woefully unprepared for just how successful they had been at stoking the fires of fear and hatred. Moreover, they did not really believe how hungry stupid and uneducated people were for somebody they could feel represented by.
| | I think he would have really liked them both. They have a lot of different parts of him, and his mom. |
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| Tangent: the Tea Party movement should have been a warning sign. Alas.
| | Except doubts bubble up from the corners of my memory. And I find myself working through extrapolations of the son-ward facets I could see into the person he might have actually been. |
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| The highly polarized political situation in the US is capable of turning anyone into an emotion-motivated supporter of the party they identify with. But, with candor, this excuse only covers so much.
| | Obviously, my dad was pretty cool. And I don't just mean that in the idol-worship way sons have for their fathers - which I kind of do - but also he seemed to have an effortless way of making people want to be his friend. I don't actually know where he fit in the Letterkenny Spectrum as kid - hick, skid, or jock (definitely not a native or a christian, or Québécois for that matter nor a degen from up-country). But the vast majority of people I saw him encounter already knew him, or of him, and respected him if not overtly expressing happiness at seeing him. |
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| After all this time, including all Trump's rollicking efforts at unabashed self-aggrandizing striving for dictatorship, and listening to the words the candidates actually say, a few things are clear.
| | All of which I couch as being the basis for assuming that he was pretty comfortable in our pasty-white mostly monoculture small-town circumstances. That sort of comfort breeds a sense of confirmation about one's own cultural identity. |
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| # Trump voters are fear-driven, or willing to be complicit in letting fear drive the electorate.<br><br>
| | And, honestly, while my dad was great at talking philosophy with me - especially about the why of things - whenever topics of other places or peoples came up he was consistently dismissive and unkind. And occasionally overtly racist, and sometimes simply xenophobic. |
| # Trump voters are hate-filled, or perfectly fine with hate being instilled as a functional law of the land.<br><br>
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| # Trump voters are stupid, including both those incapable of understanding how bad Trump's ideas are, and those foolish enough to think that those bad ideas will work out well for them.
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| =[[2024.09.16 Oldness Echo]]=
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| Had a pretty good birthday - complete with chocolate cheesecake, playing D&D with Amy, Dave, and Bonnie, playing AIF with Amy and the kids. Life is good, and all that.
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| But embedded in all that was also a poignant little vignette of passed-on Castle-ing. Because Simon and I had on Friday a wee confrontation, where he wasn't in a headspace to hear some parenting that was based on what I felt like was an important bit of philosophy relevant to our lives. He had been ill, so the resistance and defensiveness was understandable and I was able to back off and give hime some processing time.
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| Until a couple days later, when we were sitting quietly on a couch together and I could carefully bring it back up. Because the distinction of responsibility and being responsible from things such as blame or fault is worth having a shared understanding of. Simon is extremely canny regarding rules and arguing technical compliance with such, but that is perpendicular to a practical wielding of responsibility. We talked about how being responsible is both separate from blame, but also can include being willing to take blame for things outside our control. And we talked about how being responsible is a greater application of making things within our control the best that they can be, or at least recovering from inevitable problems as they occur the best that we can.
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| Once he actually believed I really didn't blame him for anything, which was slow due to his suspicions about blame-related strategy concepts, I feel like he started to internalize much of it. Maybe. Probably in a manner very similar to how my dad also tried to infuse me with a sense of ever-expanding generalized responsibility. To be a responsible hiker. To be a responsible skier. To be a responsible driver. To be a responsible member of society.
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| But, really, it's not one of those things you can just tell somebody. A person needs concrete examples to witness in order to understand how they can embody it themselves.
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| =[[2024.09.07 2000 km Later]]=
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| Only about 1700 km were spent in two 10-hour-long drives from PDX to deepest darkest Canuckistan, but a few hundred km were also burned up acting as chauffeur to my EV-doubting family to and from various funeral related events.
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| So many bugs. Ghost is filthy enough that I think I'll take him through an automated car wash before I do a regular wash with hose and bucket and shop vac.
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| And I sure am not constitutionally resilient for such marathon drives any more. I feel very used up, and have been doing a lot of sleeping since getting back.
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| Ultimately, it was very worthwhile to make it to Grandpa K's funeral. It meant a lot to several family members to have me there. And it felt important to me to honour him properly as well, to feel like his significance in my life was appropriately prioritized.
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| However I can't deny that it was also a difficult social-emotional energy drain to see my family. I don't mesh with them well - both in terms of me understanding them, and them understanding me. As I told Amy, I managed to resist beating them with their own banjos.
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| It was good to see Dave and Bonnie, though. And to hang out with their 12th-grader Evan, whom has been too reclusive his whole life for me to have a conversation with before.
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| And, fuck, those twisty lonely mountain roads are just sublime driving. BC is just such a beautiful place, and the mountains echo in my soul. Along with my dad, and my Grandma and Grandpa Kosiancic.
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| =[[2024.09.02 Angst About Going To Grandpa K's Funeral]]=
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| I got called last Wednesday by mom - basically only ever happens when death is involved. Which would be extremely creepy, and possibly an explanation for why I ended up married to a vampire, but it's really more of an expression of my mom's particular ilk of mental illness. Is it mental illness, though, if she's happy and always functioned this way?
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| Anyway. It was to tell me that my Grandpa Kosiancic's interment at the Nelson cemetery would be this Wednesday.
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| It's a 10-hour drive, nominally with charge stops, or a ridiculous overpriced and even longer set of plane tickets. More complicated, though, was that I would be travelling while Amy is working. So the original scheme was to reduce the time Zora would be left alone at home by leaving around midnight on Tuesday, such that I had a couple hours flex time to get to the cemetery. This was an all-too-common a plan for my 10-hour drives to-and-from university, but that was when I was in my 20's and... well, stupid. Now I'm a weak old(ish) man, and I'm pretty sure I'd have to sleep somewhere after 02:00, which opens up for all kinds of things to go wrong.
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| Plus, and this is a typical problem for me - I have worries about my projects at work. I've already been gone 6 weeks this summer, and shit is going sideways in a couple different dimensions. It makes very little logical sense to be all wound up on behalf of a multi-billion-dollar international corporation, but maybe that's the humanizing work I do to earn my (mildly) vaunted pay.
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| Lastly, there's the equipment worry of a long-range trip into darkest Canuckistan with an electric car. Which is mildly hilarious considering the rock-solid dependability of Ghost compared to the rickety steeds I used to flog for endless road trips through the expansive wildernesses of BC. But with age comes cowardice - or, it's euphemistic equivalent, wisdom.
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| =[[2024.08.24 Summer Event Horizon]]=
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| It's been a busy-lazy summer, full of bike rides, RPG's, reading books, eating good food, house and yard projects. Somehow in between weeks of kid time and all their associated lounging play, I've also been scrambling with odd weeks of working while truck projects get complicated.
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| But this next week the kids go back to school. Hopefully the kids and I will sneak in another mostly-quiet bike ride up at Sandy Ridge before they do, and then Amy and I have final yard project plans for while they're at school. And then, after that, we shift into the work/school/home rhythm. And a new beat to that will be Amy shifting to days instead of working nights, which will make things interesting in a new way.
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| I still haven't gotten very far in preparing Simon for driving practice. I suppose that will be easier once he's, you know, legally allowed to operate a motor vehicle in public. Which theoretically he will be shortly. -gulp-
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| =[[2024.07.27 Soundtrack of My Grief Processing]]=
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| [https://youtu.be/P-cjWvUnPtg?si=QVPZf0tUxk7Ibxah My Pet Coelacanth - deadmau5]
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| https://allthatsinteresting.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/coelacanth-full-color.jpg
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| =[[2024.07.23 Goodbye Grandpa K]]=
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| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/Kosiancic1.jpg
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| Grandpa Kosiancic was a stubborn mean little old gnome of a man, full of laughter and caring, and my idol in most things mechanical.
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| When my mom called this evening, I had guessed that he had died before she said anything. She's a hermit, and she only calls me in emergencies. Or, rather, in the wake of emergencies that I should know about after they've happened.
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| Grandpa K was really old, mid-90's, and had only just last year decided to stop taking care of the hobby farm lot and old homestead by himself on top of the mountain overlooking Nelson BC - and checked himself into a care facility, after re-homing his dog. Having been an unstoppable dynamo his entire life, this transition says to me that he was acknowledging that he didn't have much more wear and tear possible to endure.
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| It's not really possible to unpack in a blog all the ways that my personal conceptions of self-worth and intrinsic value have spawned from my life of observations of my Grandpa K. But I will assert that he was an incarnation of what good can come of a life of hard work and caring for others.
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| Perhaps one of my most viscerally proud things was being able to visit Grandpa K, and have him delight in the bright, inquisitive, and joyful great-grandchildren I'm at least partially responsible for.
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| Thank you for being my Grandpa.
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| =[[2024.06.15 Eternal Summer]]=
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| By dint of luck and effort, I've got every week I spend with the kids this summer as vacation. Six weeks of... stuff.
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| Hopefully lots of bike riding (and remembering to take pictures).<br>
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| Maybe some adventure trips.<br>
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| A few birthdays, with accompanying celebrations and Amy-cakes.
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| But most importantly, a bunch of memories to savour.
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| =[[2024.06.11 Simon's Grade-9 English Final Creative Writing Assignment]]=
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| A flash of lightning and the crack of thunder, a spark alights. The fire burns ever higher, towering above the body of a behemoth creature. The titan collapses, its legs burning away beneath it. The beast’s body slowly blackens and chars, thick scales peeling away to reveal ever more burnt flesh. The plateau that covers its back sloughs off, with trees and homes crumbling as they hit the ground. They become nothing but fuel for the fire.
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| …
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| I watch Xolanotl, my home, until there is nothing left to see but smoldering rubble. I see others turn to start gathering food and make shelter. I breathe deeply, the acrid smoke stinging my nose, and turn to help. Most of us had been off scouting; trying to find a safe route for the Xolanotl. A few dozen people have been pulled from the wreckage, but most won’t survive much longer, not without proper medical equipment. There is no conversation over the meager meal we manage to scrounge up. There is no one to talk to I suppose, seeing as most of our friends and families are buried somewhere in the wreckage. I could have stopped this. If I had paid better attention,maybe, everyone would be alive. That night I lay awake, watching the stars drift on by. I decide that the only thing I can do is to leave this forsaken place.
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| The next day is almost harder than the first. This is no bad dream. Our whole lives, our plans, our dreams, our pasts are burned away in the fire. I take all that I own, and say my goodbyes, few as they are. I finally set off, placing my father’s knife on my belt, one last reminder of this place. I climb over burnt logs and blackened undergrowth. I wish I could have helped; the signs were all there, the dry brush, the brewing storm. I should have known. But we had seen many storms in the past, not one had caused such a disaster.
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| I eventually find a small cave, sheltered from the elements. I set up camp inside because night is beginning to fall, and the surface world at night has no mercy for anything unlucky enough to be caught in the shadows. The shadows grow, and night falls slowly over the forest. I fall into a fitful sleep.
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| I groggily wake up the next day, the sun is already high in the sky; my body is not yet used to the routines of travel. The going is easier now, as the trees slowly open up into an expansive grassland. Only a few trees dot the horizon far in the distance. Far in the distance I hear a strange sound, a bellow from some beast of plains. With nothing better to do, and hardly any reason to live, I head to investigate the noise. I duck below the tall grasses, and slowly stalk towards the bellowing. The creature’s cries soften, and become all but inaudible against the sound of the wind.
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| I crest the top of a hill, seeing a slumped and bloodied shape which lays at its base unmoving. I scan the grasses for any sign of what did this, but whatever it is has left, or is too well hidden for me to find. Ignoring my better senses, I approach the creature. Its four wide eyes watch me fearfully, and it calls out weakly. As I study the creature, I realize it looks eerily familiar, this is a juvenile xolanotl, not even old enough to have found itself a shell.
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| I couldn’t save my home, but this time I can do something. I immediately start staunching the bleeding with bits of cloth and gauze. The xolanotl stopped making noise quickly after it realized I was there to help. As I wrapped the final slashes on its side, the xolanotl tried to slowly stand. It pulled six shaky legs underneath it, and slowly pushed off the ground. It looked down at me expectantly, before turning and limping a short distance. It looked back at me impatiently. Doesit really want me to follow it? Where is it taking me? I suppose I don’t exactly have any better place to be than wherever it is going, so I quickly catch up.
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| We walk for hours, the afternoon sun slowly setting, and the creatures of the night undoubtedly stirring. The xolanotl only rarely looked back to see if I was still following, all the while maintaining its slow, but relentless pace. Grasses cut at my legs, but I can hardly bother to notice. My whole body aches from the endless walking, but still, late into the evening, we press on. I hope we soon reach our destination, not just for my sake, but if we are caught out here in the open, we might as well set the table for whatever finds us.
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| I sigh in relief as we come to a small crater punched in the side of a hill. What look like abandoned nests fill the crater, and trees fill the nesting site. The xolanotl curls up amongst the densest of the trees, while I take food out of my pack and sit down next to it to eat. We soon fall asleep, exhausted from our ordeals.
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| But sleep is not long for us tonight; I jolt awake with the sound of rustling in the branches above. The moon hovers high above, a sliver hanging in the sky framed by growing storm clouds. I pull my knife from its sheath and strike a torch. I jostle my new friend awake, and it slowly rises, tired and wounded. The sounds in the branches above grow louder, and a large shape flits through the treetops. The torchlight glints off the intricate obsidian knife, but just out of the torch’s glow the creature circles us.
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| The monster Lunges from the darkness, six spidery legs thrown back, and a sharp maw open wide. I dip to the right just in time, and thrust my knife at its throat. The blade just glances off of thick scales harmlessly. It turns to face me. It shrieks in frustration, opening its bifurcated jaw, wide enough to fit me whole before turning to my injured companion and preparing to lunge forward. I jump at it, swinging my torch wildly.
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| As I brandish my torch, our assailant flinches and retreats. It shakes its head violently, unused to the bright light. I, more confident, charge the beast, torch held aloft. I stab at the creature, dodging to its side, and aiming for what I hope is the softer underside. I find my mark, and the beast howls in pain. It thrashes about, and its tail lands squarely in my chest, knocking the wind out of me. I nearly collapse, but I find my footing just in time for it to send another blow my way. This time, it throws the torch from my hand. The torch hits the soaked ground, and sputters weakly as the fire dies, cloaking us once again in darkness. I trip and fall on the shadowed ground. The monster, faintly illuminated by the night sky, prepares to dive forward.
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| A flash of light, and a booming sound, louder than any I have heard before, pierces the night. Lightning strikes the ground, brighter than the sun in midday, louder than the calls of even the greatest beasts.
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| The monster stumbles back, eyes milky and blind. It collapses on the ground, confused and senseless. It tries to stand, shaken but not yet defeated, but my friend is done with this. It stands to its full height, and stomps down on our stunned attacker, crushing it instantly.
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| The sun is just rising as I finish patching my wounds. And so we head out, to see what comes next.
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| Far off in the distance, the trumpeting sounds of many xolanotl calling out to each other reverberate across the plains.
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| =[[2024.06.02 How You Spend Your Days Is How You Spend Your Life]]=
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| After a week of lingering nostalgia, Amy shook me out of my incipient body dysmorphia by chortling about how I'm much better looking now. As much as I remember how it felt to be whippet-thin and with boundless endurance, I probably don't remember well how nervous I was all the time nor how fragile my ego was. Plus Amy has similar pictures of her elfin bearing, but she is wildly more attractive now with her full shape and mature demeanour.
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| Also heard from friends living in Germany, and how they're struggling with the transition there. I'm sure that overall it's a worthwhile adventure, but there's no denying that the enormity of the change is challenging. I miss hanging out with them.
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| But the most amusing meta moment this week was a person on Craigslist asking for a window of time to inspect the bike I'm selling, and I had to honestly tell them that there was only the most narrow windows of time available in my life.
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| Life is good. Busy, but good.
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| </font>
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| =[[2024.05.27 Hello From The 90's]]=
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| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_4957-small.png
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| In the midst of pulling the kids bikes out of storage to prep them for test rides I also pulled out my dad's old Forest Service backpack, in which I appear to have stashed a bunch of old photos. Man, there went a whole day full of sweet and sad reminiscences.
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| =[[2024.05.04 Awkward Moments Plumb Local Socialization]]=
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| I had to pause before opening up my ship to this port, so I could collect myself. To hold onto all the things I've learned about myself, and consciously recognize the truth of them. Because this is a hard place to be: the place I'm originally from. And they think they know me here. It's awfully easy to become what other people tell you that you are, and it very rarely serves you well.
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| Grey light from overcast skies bundled between rocky peaks flooded my hatch, and my hand reflexively went to drag my helmet over my head so I could see better - but I stopped. To stride out of my ship with my helm already in place sends a message, and if I had any hope of making this go well I needed to appear relaxed. So instead I shrugged on a cloak to obscure my habitual gear, and met the tech ambling towards my still-pinging ship.
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| "Cargo or repairs?"
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| I give them a terse shake of my head. "Nothing right now. Maybe later." They give me a squint, to wonder wordlessly about why I'm even here then. "I pre-paid the landing fee and parking for a day on my way in. But..." I dip my chin and make sure to catch their eye. "Try to keep folks from getting to near to her. The security system is a little aggressive."
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| The tech gave a glance at the well-patched hull, and gave me a shrug. A worried little part of me thought there was a good chance I'd be scraping a charred limb of theirs off of the hull later on, and hoo-boy that would definitely make future visits home even more awkward.
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| Wending my way past other parked ships, I eventually made it through the personnel gate. It stood open, as it does generally - other than in times of trouble. Apparently I couldn't help but make an amused face at the backwater half-assery of the security measures as I walked through, because one of the guards sitting in the guard station yelled down. "Something funny, stupid face?"
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| Stupid face? I have a feeling I know that guy. Probably doesn't recognize me, though. Not yet, anyway.
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| "Nope." I keep walking, and head toward the public transit station.
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| No crowds here. Which makes sense, this is hardly a busy port of call. And this is the end of the line for the train, so it's completely empty when it glides into station. The meta-ads for taxis suddenly drop their prices before the train stops, as a last-ditch plea for my credits. But if I wanted to glide into town in a hopper directly to where I was going, I would have just taken my own out of the hold.
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| The train glides to a stop at the next branch - which connects to the industrial district. District is a bit of a laugh - it's a section of valley out of sight of the main town habitants, where the large ugly machines of industry can efficiently turn materials and effort into credits and means to do more things. And most of both of those are generally heading off-world. Or, at least, out of town.
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| Onto the train, fresh off of shifts of grimy toil, several burly people trundle wearily. I don't stare, but I watch them, doing that thing I can't stop myself from doing every time I'm here: asking myself, "Do I know them?".
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| Perhaps because of my watching them, however low-key I think I'm being, or perhaps just because I'm an oddity on this train, they watch me back. I imagine them thinking to themselves, "Do I know that person?" I'm not broadcasting any contact details, and neither are they, and it's likely that nobody actually recognizes anybody right then. I knew that I wasn't sure about who any of them were, though vaguely familiar aspects suggested that I would if I knew more - but I wouldn't have made any fuss even if I did actually recognize anybody here. Unlike the folk in this town, who in my experience unfailingly make a fuss over discovering someone.
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| Of course, several of them get the standard far-away expression of someone concentrating on media or comms. Which, in my standard paranoia, translates into at least one of them sending an image of me to someone else asking, "Do we know this person?" So it goes.
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| <pre>It continues in the same rambling manner on a click-through...</pre>
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| =[[Dragon Toasters#Horizon|2024.04.20 Dragon Toasters - Horizon]]=
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| "What happened to David?"
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| Curious. Dave peered carefully around his cover, and witnessed a familiar predator-machine standing defiantly on another squarish boulder. "Einstein?"
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| "How do you know name? Did Boss tell you?"
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| This was... unexpected. The simulant appeared to have forged a genuine connection, if this construct was indeed willing to risk itself to inquire about the simulant's fate. Dave had dismissively assumed that much of the sense of relationship it had inferred was projection based on how simulants are driven to fit in behaviourally with real humans. Well shit.
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| Dave shifted the plasma blade to the least-threatening posture he could manage, low and pointing behind him, without actually extinguishing it and sheathing it. He wanted to give this pack of predatory constructs the best possibility of being peaceful, but he also didn't want to risk getting overwhelmed if they all rushed him. Still, he did step out from behind his cover. "I'm sorry, kiddo. David didn't make it out of that crypt. But he did share his databases with me, so at least his memories and ideas live on with us two."
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| "You chased Boss down hole. You kill Boss and steal Boss brains?
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| Dave noted subtle signs of movement. Probably flanking. This discourse might be making things worse for everyone. But Dave couldn't shake the sense of value and specialness that this construct had a friendship-like bond with the simulant.
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| "I wasn't myself when I chased David, and I was so confused that I didn't even find the hole he jumped into until after he woke up an ancient monster. And David gave me his databases as his own idea and motivation."
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| Einstein's antennae shifted and writhed with some complicated internal process. Its broad multifaceted camera arrays betrayed no expressions, but then it cocked its head in a pantomime of inquisitive intent. "Feel like you are bad and terrible, and lying."
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| "Well, I can be pretty terrible, and it would be wrong to pretend that I am not what I am. But, let me say this: I can tell you what happened to the original David."
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| It looked like Einstein was reacting to that statement when a trio of sudden motions lit up Dave's threat-sense. Dave sprung to adjacent cover in the blink of an eye, pivoting behind the plasma blade as he snapped its containment field wide such that a pair of static-pulses caromed off to sizzle against rock. At the cover he came face to face with an off-balance predator machine. As Dave's free hand snagged a grip on the thorax and he heaved the beastie in the approximate direction of the crypt shaft, it appeared comically surprised. Perhaps wasp-headed werewolf satyrs are unaccustomed to being physically assaulted by things they might have assumed were prey.
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| An angry static crackled in the lower EM spectrum as coded comms betrayed various predator machine's locations. The kids were arguing. Probably not a fair fight, considering that Einstein has access to several human's lifetime's worth of dirty rhetorical tricks.
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| "You stop fighting, and we not hurt you. And you tell us what happened to Human David."
| |
| | |
| A familiar sense of amused cynicism surprised Dave. "Oh, kiddo - I'm already not fighting." Dave paused to consult a highly-annotated but outdated map. "I understand that your pack has probably got both logistic reasons and philosophical reasons to try to dispatch me. Instead of trying to dissuade you with threats and intimidation, let me suggest that there is a trove of treasure down that shaft exceeding what my small chassis represents. And your pack will need your David-memories to be able to use it."
| |
| | |
| Soft rustling sounds of movement, far more subtle than machines of that size have any right to manage, told Dave that they were adjusting their distribution. Perhaps to have line-of-sight for more discreet discussion. "Is Boss down there?"
| |
| | |
| "Yeah, Einstein. He's down there. I suggest leaving him down there - it's a tomb worthy of him." With reluctance, and in spite of his keen cynicism, Dave extinguished to plasma blade. "He saved me, you know. Twice." Leaving the cover of a block of stone, Dave walked casually away from the region of the shaft - and towards the cliff.
| |
| | |
| The insults of static pulses in the back didn't come. Dave felt pleased about this, and relieved that he didn't have to decide what to do about it if they had. Would he have had to do anything? Probably not. But he also knew it would have been hard to not run back and cull at least some of them. "I'm going to go and try to get a look at a giant tank ant for myself. If you get an urge to hear a story about what happened the original David, come find me."
| |
| | |
| With that, Dave casually stepped off the cliff and dropped from sight.
| |
| </font>
| |
| | |
| <hr>
| |
| | |
| =[[2024.04.15 A Specific Walk]]=
| |
| <font face="consolas, courier new">
| |
| I walked into a meeting room last week, and was met with an uproar from the array of faces on the screen as well as in the room. "I knew it was Clayton! I could tell from his walk."
| |
| | |
| Obviously, the frosted glass in the front of the room by the door showed a silhouette of my approach, but not enough to make out my face. With my standard smug dad-grin, I sat down without saying anything. And the meeting began, so I forgot about the comment in the flow of engineering development work.
| |
| | |
| Afterwards, though, it came back to me, and my mind turned over what exactly that might have meant. I think I remember in the moment feeling bemused, because I do tend to carry myself with a conscious effort about my bearing. But, really, that's more about posture, as I'm in a lifelong war against gravity conspiring against my also being slightly taller than everything is ideally suited for - so it takes effort not to slouch.
| |
| | |
| But was there... is there something more to be read in my walk?
| |
| | |
| Maybe a haughty imperviousness for being an "old timer" and secure in my reputation's stature in the engineering building?
| |
| | |
| Maybe a lanky impatient stride that I ride officiously from one arbitrary place to another in my recent re-confinement for "return to office"?
| |
| | |
| Or maybe they see a shadow of the wary but determined kid I used to be, who learned to navigate on foot while being stalked by malicious peers eager for a fight. And being always ready for that fight. And knowing that I'll never win that fight, but damned if I wasn't going to make them regret it as much as possible.
| |
| </font>
| |
| | |
| <hr>
| |
|
| |
|
| =[[2024.03.17 Mexican Reflections]]=
| | Over the past decade, I've worried about how my boomer dad might have responded to the weird right-wing stumble of western civilization. If I try to comfort myself with how he was smart and would be disgusted by the stupid lies, it's hard to deny the persuasive power that hate has had over people. Especially boomers. |
| <font face="consolas, courier new">
| |
| A trip to our plant in Saltillo Mexico earlier this month was quite interesting.
| |
|
| |
|
| The first thing to mention is that this was not my first trip to one of our Mexican manufacturing plants. Last time, the visit to Santiago involved staying in Mexico city - an urban area with the same population as Canada. That was interesting in its own way.
| | It occurred to me to try to talk my hypothetical conservative father away from the lure of fascism, but it just hurts my heart too much to think about it too much. |
|
| |
|
| This time involved being in northern Mexico, and it's possible that needing to be escourted most places with a security detail insulated me quite a lot from the granular details of the lives lived there. Which obviously is an insight of it's own.
| | But then I imagine how he'd react to his grandkids both being non-binary and fabulous. |
|
| |
|
| The hilarious driving habits of the locals is a delight to witness - from the safety of the back of a van. Coming from the infuriating obliviousness of drivers of Portland, it was actually a relief to see such vigour and skill. And the best part was the way in which they we very relaxed about all the interactions that I would have experienced as very intense. | | The deepest well of my hope is that he would have spent a lot of time knowing them all through their lives and see how their development into who they are becoming is a lovely and natural extrapolation of the brilliant and lovely potential they've always had. And that his love for them would ease any struggling conservative confusion he might experience so that he could be the same cool and inspirational patriarch for them that he was for me and my sister. |
|
| |
|
| But the thing that sticks out most for me, and feels really inspirational, is the camaraderie the workers at the Saltillo plant. I had to learn a wide variety of individualized handshakes to greet the people I met, and they often laughed and hugged me when I got them wrong. The ubiquitous friendliness and helpfulness of everyone at the plant is something I've never seen at this kind of scale before. Makes me wish there was a way to import this, large-scale, into more of the aspects of life.
| | That doesn't change the fear that he would have not been as close, or as accepting. And that fear sits on my heart. |
| </font> | | </font> |
|
| |
|
| <hr> | | <hr> |
|
| |
|
| =[[2024.02.25 Is That What I Looked Like?]]= | | =[[2026.01.09 Men With Hats]]= |
| <font face="consolas, courier new"> | | <font face="consolas, courier new"> |
| University student ID 1993:<br>
| | http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_0138_copy.png |
| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_4850_small.png
| |
| | |
| University graduation yearbook 1999:<br>
| |
| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_4851_small.png
| |
| | |
| New engineer ID 2000:<br>
| |
| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_4852_small.png
| |
| | |
| Terrified Canadian engineer suddenly employed in the United States 2002:<br>
| |
| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_4853_small.png
| |
| | |
| Resigned Canadian engineer with a family in the United States 2007:<br>
| |
| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_4854_small.png | |
|
| |
|
| | http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/2675399054887965559_copy.png |
| </font> | | </font> |
|
| |
|
| <hr> | | <hr> |
|
| |
|
| =[[2024.02.15 Awkward Honesty]]= | | =[[2026.01.02 First Day Of The New Job]]= |
| <font face="consolas, courier new"> | | <font face="consolas, courier new"> |
| Found myself this morning in the awkward position of explaining to a group of parents why I hadn't responded to my daughter's ability to participate. The crux of my reluctance is that it's on the handover day where I take the kids back to their mom's house, and I don't get to see them again for a week - and any playdates mean curtailing my time with them. What seems like a no-brainer helicopter parent supported socialization opportunity for the kids to the rest of the parents is a fraught emotional inflection point for me. Adding to the complication is that I have to drive them across town, not just let them scamper out the door to participate like they do back in the ex's neighbourhood. And all the while we deal emotionally with "Sunday Energy", there is also weekly chores to negotiate.
| | Sadly, my epic new seat was not ready to set up. So I just admired the view for a minute - both out the across the river, and into my director's office at the giant Millenium Falcon LEGO set. |
| | |
| Meanwhile, I could just imagine one or all of the parents thinking "What's with Emo-Dad™ making such a big fuss over having his kid show up for a play date? Just say yes or no! We don't need to hear all about your feeewings, whiner."
| |
| | |
| However it was actually received by most of the parents, the ex did reach out very sympathetically. It did a lot of credit to how well we've managed to be kind and connected despite the divorce. Being mindful adults has its benefits.
| |
| </font> | | </font> |
|
| |
|
| <hr> | | <hr> |
|
| |
|
| =[[2024.02.11 Qualitatively Hating Working In The Office]]= | | =[[2025.12.30 - 2025 Wrap-Up]]= |
| <font face="consolas, courier new"> | | <font face="consolas, courier new"> |
| So, having spent a week (well, 4 days) working in the office again, I now have more direct data regarding what it's like. Which sounds silly after having spent a couple decades having worked in an office setting, but the recent handful of years of mostly working from home has massively transformed my perspective.
| | ==Fredmas Crash== |
| | On the wet and rainy morning of Fredmas, Ember and Violet were commuting to Hillsdale for school when they were the tail-end of a 5-car pile-up. Speeds were modest, and the 2018 Subaru Impreza did all the safety-engineered things to sacrifice itself such that neither kid was injured in any way. |
|
| |
|
| Firstly, credit where credit is due, when at the office it is much easier to keep the parade of attention mostly work-related.
| | Communication was not stellar, but Violet managed to let us know right away. So without actually having all the details up front, Amy and I knew they had a problem and could see that they were in the middle of the Fremont freeway bridge and jumped into Velma to go help. When we showed up they were the only ones there - shivering in the rain on the side of the freeway. Amy onboarded the kids to drive them the rest of the way SW, and I stayed in the shivering sideways rain for a couple hours with the wreck to wait for the tow truck. Fun times. |
|
| |
|
| But, and this is a critical "but", it feels like it leads to a considerably bigger problem. Because all my in-between filler moments are more filled with work minutae, that means that my brain gets much less capability to recharge in those pauses. It turns out that spending all those so-called "micro moments" bumping into colleagues, that burns neural resources for an introvert such as myself.
| | Some lessons learned, and Ember has yet to get back in that saddle. Scheming about how to proceed with commuter vehicle plans is still ongoing. It seems like a logical time and place to make a plug for the replacement to be an EV, but probably shouldn't push too hard. Because reasons. |
|
| |
|
| The two main results of this are that 1) I'm considerably more exhausted at the end of a work day - not even counting commuting, and 2) I have fewer good/big ideas.
| | ==Work Transformations== |
| | December as a whole has been weird with trying to finish handing work batons to their new responsible engineers. It's been the longest that I've been in any group - 10 years! - and recognize that it's going to be a long time to ever fully extricate myself. |
|
| |
|
| The exhaustion part is probably easy to understand. After an intense meeting, or tough bit of design, at home I can quietly do some dishes or some such, letting my subconscious work on stuff. At work, I have to either bumble through the campus making up social niceties or fend off trawling coworkers looking for verbal answers.
| | At the same time, the new Vehicle Level Engineering role is both exciting and boggling. Frankly, it's a lot. |
|
| |
|
| The good/big idea part is actually a discovery that I had during the past week. See, I would find myself waking up in the middle of the night most nights last week, with an idea about how to solve a problem or something to try at work. And the previous couple decades came back to me in a flash: that's how work used to haunt me. But that stopped when I was working from home. But instead of being haunted by work such that it wakes me up, I'd have a couple big "aha!" moments during the day, most days.
| | Simultaneously, Amy is changing shifts to stop the 5 12-hour shifts in 6 days marathon every couple weeks and jumping into 3 shifts every week with her best non-Clayton friend. We're all very excited for the shift in energy. |
|
| |
|
| Basically, for me, work from home allows me to generate twice as many good/big ideas as being in the office, and in ways that don't fuck with my sleep and stress.
| | ==Other Stuff== |
| | This winter break had been bookmarked for a bunch of reading and writing plans, all of which have basically unravelled as I'm actually spending most of my time just mouth-breathing my way through the exhausting cold/flu that Ember gave me. |
|
| |
|
| Which is an excellent segue into the motivation I have right this moment: I'm absolutely dreading going back in for another week of this shit. It's hilarious to say, because my job is super fun, my workplace is extremely nice and accommodating full of cool people, and even my commute is a laugh of a bike ride. Yet here I am, very much dreading it.
| | Now that the kids are back, I do intend to inflict all kinds of old but beloved movies on them. So there's that. There's also a butt-tonne of sugary foods from all the sources to keep me overfed while I quietly lament how few bike rides I actually went on this year. |
|
| |
|
| <hr>
| | So it goes. |
|
| |
|
| I assume that I'll re-acclimate, and the stress will ease back down as I get re-numbed to the overt dominion of the extroverted and the soul-draining non-stop effort of having to pretend to be social. I'll do cool work that will make it all worthwhile, and loosen up my clenched soul on the privileged experience I had.
| | Things I'm looking forward to in 2026: |
| | * bunches of Amy+Clayton adventure time regularly |
| | * diving into a dream job (should probably write a separate post about that thought alone) |
| | * defeating fascism |
|
| |
|
| If this were a reddit post, I'm sure there would be swarms of commenters urging me to take this newfound knowledge and find the bravery to seek another position that would allow the exact thing I like about the pandemic era WFH. Which is when I gesture vaguely to my giant golden handcuffs, the kids about to need cars and then university, and the lovely house I couldn't afford to buy again in this market even if I kept this well-paying job. And I'm chicken.
| |
| </font> | | </font> |
|
| |
|
| <hr> | | <hr> |
|
| |
|
| =[[2024.01.15 Snow Driving Observations - part something]]= | | =[[2025.11.30 Movember]]= |
| <font face="consolas, courier new"> | | <font face="consolas, courier new"> |
| | http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_0072_small.png |
|
| |
|
| Portland is funky, snow-driving wise.
| | Not my best effort. I suspect that the grey makes it incrementally less impressive. Plus I kept trimming to avoid poking Amy so much, and the surrounding scruff softens the effect even more. |
| | |
| Generally speaking, PDX is mild as hell, rarely getting more than a dusting of snow at most and not enough to worry about. And the occasional punctuation of stay-around snow isn't in any way particularly much accumulation. But despite being infrequent and short-lived, it is almost always expert-level snow situations.
| |
| | |
| Taking a step back, my northern peoples have a great deal of opportunity to hone our slidetastic situational control. Even those Canuckistanni who do not overtly enjoy a good bit of the slidey-slidey get sufficient exposure to know where their limits are and to be sensible. More than that, there is a good long ramp up and ramp down of the snow-ness, much of it during climate that is cold enough to have the ice and snow be pleasantly predictable. So when there is a surplus of the slippery substances, or, more poignantly, when it's sometimes in that dangerous extra-slippery state of melty snow on ice, there is a deep well of useful reflexes to draw from.
| |
| | |
| Meanwhile, here in PDX, the locals almost never have to face snow. And when they do, they are woefully incapable of doing so. Augmenting this low-skill demographic is the relatively large influx of Californians, all of whom seem to want to pull over and have a good cry when it so much as rains. Which it does. Often. Maybe more on that some other time. This leads to a relatively high number of vehicles out and about completely without any winter tires.
| |
| | |
| The hilarious twist that PDX plays on the unsuspecting snow-n00bs is that, since it is rarely very far below freezing here, it is very close to the melting point - the slipperiest sort of snow. Which, more often than not, gets augmented with PDX's special sauce: freezing rain. So not only is there very little opportunity to practice driving in snow here, the snow goes from nothing straight to expert snow.
| |
| | |
| Resultingly, there is much chaos to be had here. And regardless of how capable one and their vehicle might be, it is exceedingly perilous to join in the maelstrom when it starts. But shortly after everyone freaks out and stays the hell away from the snow covered roads, it's basically glorious emptiness and freedom for snow-loving freaks such as myself to get out and have some joy.
| |
| | |
| Plus, in a more mature vein, it is an opportunity to provide transport to those that need help and reap a healthy crop of brownie points.
| |
|
| |
|
| | Gone now, but not missed. Other than the daily startle of seeing my dad in the mirror. |
| </font> | | </font> |
|
| |
|
| <hr> | | <hr> |
|
| |
|
| =[[2024.01.13 Farewell to the Mayor of Kenton]]= | | =[[2025.10.18 No Kings]]= |
| <font face="consolas, courier new"> | | <font face="consolas, courier new"> |
| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_3905_small.png
| | 40,000 people in Portland sending a clear message. |
|
| |
|
| It is with deep sorrow that we learned that my favourite cat of all time - Charlie¹ - passed away this week.
| | Awkwardly, the current administration has also been sending a clear, fascist message. |
| | |
| From the moment he ran up to greet us when we first came to look at this house, we knew he was special. His legend among the neighbourhood was known by everyone we met; "Oh, yeah - I know Charlie. I make sure to stop and pet him whenever I come this way." Our block Whatsapp thread is still pinging with people sharing pictures and stories of him over the years.
| |
| | |
| The peak of his legend might have been his fighting off a coyote, and living with some epic scars. And his giant murder mittens certainly lent credibility to his prowess. But it was his calm fearless demeanour that won my heart the most, coupled with his refusal to put up with any shit, desire to lure people into being playfully mauled, and the itty bitty tiny meow that he made out of his lion-sized throat.
| |
| | |
| May your legend in the next world be as epic as in this one.
| |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| ¹ He also had many nicknames, including:
| |
| * Chonkmeister
| |
| * Chuckie
| |
| * Chuckles
| |
| * Kaiju Kitty
| |
| * Chuck Wagon
| |
| * Chonk Chonkerson (Man On The Street)
| |
| * Chuckzilla
| |
| * Chuck Roast
| |
| </font> | | </font> |
|
| |
|
| <hr> | | <hr> |
|
| |
|
| =[[2023.12.28 Reflection 1: Marthaller's Move To Germany]]= | | =[[2025.10.04 Federal Troops In Portland]]= |
| <font face="consolas, courier new"> | | <font face="consolas, courier new"> |
| | It's really weird. Just, you know, profoundly weird. |
|
| |
|
| Now that Colin and Colette have been gone for a couple weeks, it has finally sunk in that they're not just a few blocks away any more. Partly because life got weirdly busy such that we didn't hang out constantly any more (and, regrettably, entirely too few bike rides this past year). But also because Colin reached out on WhatsApp to apologize for their SMS/texting not yet working on their new German phones, and it reached the threshold of being really real.
| | Acknowledging for a moment the footage from 2020 looked bad - as shown on cable news. But even then that was basically constrained to a couple blocks downtown for actual protests. Meanwhile there were other simultaneous marches about police brutality throughout the city that were completely peaceful and not newsworthy. |
|
| |
|
| In honour of the fun bikeness of our shared affinity for the Church of Dirt™, I intend to pivot to dragging the kids out regularly to Sandy Ridge and Rocky Point for regular application os gnar. We'll see how well I do at that.
| | I suppose that if one were to conflate the "hundred days of protest" in 2020 with the rising homelessness problem, one could squint and see the folks cowering in tents and vehicles and pretend there's a direct connection of some kind. I mean, other than the systematic violence done to the worker class both strip mining us for wealth and trying to overtly pit us against each other. |
|
| |
|
| Meanwhile, we have yet to see what for Fifth Position Racing will take, as Colin and I (and whomever else we can lure into participating) set up an online racing league to play with.
| | But in context of what is actually happening right now - which amounts to a group of 6-16 people regularly taunting ICE agents at a single building - it's wildly disproportional. Especially with the Portland Police Department stating, in court, that all the altercations they have evidence for so far are mainly cases of untrained federal agents trying to instigate meme-worthy moments with the peaceful protestors. |
|
| |
|
| Luckily, I have some successful history of being able to keep in touch internationally...
| | So the federal activation of 200 National Guard to "pacify Portland" is, well, purely for show. |
|
| |
|
| </font>
| | Which makes Portland's main reaction one that endears this city to me even more: to be silly. Dressing up in harmless costumes, dancing, and handing out cookies. Doing whatever it takes to make the video bites nearly impossible to weaponize politically, as the fascists so clearly desire. |
| | |
| <hr>
| |
|
| |
|
| =[[2023.12.28 Reflection 2: Swift & Union Closing]]=
| | And to the person in the inflatable costume that had the inlet of their suit sprayed with pepper spray: I hope you are OK. As much as that must have sucked, and possibly could have caused serious medical repercussions, you embodied the shallow idiocy of their position. In no way could a bumbling inflatable costume be considered a threat, and to assault you was to show the cowardly and loathsome depth of their antisocial motivations. |
| <font face="consolas, courier new">
| |
| | |
| When Amy and I moved to Kenton, we were delighted by the many options for places to eat within walking distance, and we looked forward to sampling them all. Except we never did, because one of the first places we went to was Swift & Union.
| |
| | |
| The ambiance, upon walking in, was exactly the vibe that we both enjoy. Open enough to feel like we engaged with the room, but with lovely booths that let us sit side-by-each the way we like (plus room for kids, when they join). The music playing was pleasantly aimed at Gen-X nostalgia, which works great for us.
| |
| | |
| Even better than the ambiance was the staff. All of them excellent and friendly, and a couple that we quickly became friends with - such that they would wander over to our table to catch up and chat when we weren't in their section. They consistently made the experience personal, welcoming, and enjoyable.
| |
| | |
| Plus it should be stated that the food and drink was all fabulous. Not fleece-your-pockets extravagant gustatory adventures, but extremely yummy and satisfying fare that we often found ourselves craving. That includes the kids, who can sometimes be difficult to feed.
| |
| | |
| Anecdotally, the owner - Zig - wanted to simplify down to just one restaurant - Tabor Tavern. We hope that our favourite servers and the awesome cook(s) found great places to jump to instead. S&U was open for a final week before xmas, which we indulged in twice, but they were unable to complete the week as the staff understandable fled.
| |
| | |
| I guess we'll resume sampling the local alternatives. Life goes on.
| |
|
| |
|
| | To the federal fucknugget that used pepper spray on an obviously-harmless person in an inflatable costume: Now we all know why you have no real friends and your life is empty of meaning. You obviously don't belong in Portland. |
| </font> | | </font> |
|
| |
|
| <hr> | | <hr> |
|
| |
|
| =[[2023.12.28 Reflection 3: FPS w/ Amy]]= | | =[[2025.09.17 Bertrand Russell On Fascism]]= |
| <font face="consolas, courier new"> | | <font face="consolas, courier new"> |
| | As mentioned on BoingBoing today:<br> |
| | In 1962, Sir Oswald Mosley, leader of the British Union of Fascists, invited Nobel-winning philosopher Bertrand Russell to a debate. Mosley aimed to persuade Russell of fascism's merits. |
|
| |
|
| I was there, in the beginning, playing [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wolfenstein_3D Wolfenstein 3D] on my lowly x386 rocking a vibrant 256-colour 640x480 RGB display. But that's about all I can claim, because in those early days I definitely set video games aside to focus on engineering classes instead. Though many of my peers rocked cooperative/competitive battle like X-tank on UNIX servers, and quickly followed up with the evolving DOOM and Quake games.
| | Russell, who was 89 at the time, replied: |
| | |
| By the time modern FPS games evolved, I was well outside of the participation sphere - no console games at all. Though I did play - and get good at - simulators like X-Wing and Mech Warrior, it was never quite the same. Meanwhile, I spent a lot of time playing combat-oriented imagination-intensive games, thinking about fighting. This made me feel like I might be good at FPS, and might be missing out.
| |
|
| |
|
| Skip ahead the rest of the 30-ish years, and I find myself with MMORPG-goddess Amy as a partner.
| | <blockquote> |
|
| |
|
| I dipped my toes in some games, but have quickly discovered that I abhor grinding. More than that, I have very little positive feedback playing by myself. But I have found something that very much is fun - parallel play.
| | Dear Sir Oswald, |
|
| |
|
| We got Amy an X-Box for her birthday this year, and it's been a hoot (cough [[2023.07.30 It's FORZA's Fault, Really|Forza]] /cough). Mostly it's been cooperative puzzle games like Humans Fall Flat, but we just started Tiny Tina's Wonderland. Holy fun FPS intensity. It's odd to essentially be Amy's sidekick, since she's decidedly more skilled than I am. But I clearly have some tactical talent that shines through, and makes it fun.
| | Thank you for your letter and for your enclosures. I have given some thought to our recent correspondence. It is always difficult to decide on how to respond to people whose ethos is so alien and, in fact, repellent to one's own. It is not that I take exception to the general points made by you but that every ounce of my energy has been devoted to an active opposition to cruel bigotry, compulsive violence, and the sadistic persecution which has characterised the philosophy and practice of fascism. |
|
| |
|
| </font>
| | I feel obliged to say that the emotional universes we inhabit are so distinct, and in deepest ways opposed, that nothing fruitful or sincere could ever emerge from association between us. |
|
| |
|
| <hr>
| | I should like you to understand the intensity of this conviction on my part. It is not out of any attempt to be rude that I say this but because of all that I value in human experience and human achievement. |
|
| |
|
| =[[2023.12.03 Mustache Day Ish]]=
| | Yours sincerely, |
| <font face="consolas, courier new">
| |
| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_4782%20copy.png
| |
|
| |
|
| It was about the right day, and I had just gotten my dream Ferrari in Forza. This was the result.
| | Bertrand Russell |
| | </blockquote> |
| </font> | | </font> |
|
| |
|
| <hr> | | <hr> |
|
| |
|
| =[[2023.11.26 PPS Teacher Strike]]= | | =[[2025.08.15 If Not Stupid, Then Why Stupid-Shaped?]]= |
| <font face="consolas, courier new"> | | <font face="consolas, courier new"> |
| Three weeks of shenanigans later, and I have two things I take away from it.
| | Seriously, there is so much political stupidity going on. |
| | |
| 1. The teacher's should have had a strike sooner. Even aside from wages that have not kept up with inflation, it appears that teachers have not been heard or appropriately supported for quite a while. Before the strike it was a general truism that America doesn't value teachers enough, but learning about the specifics of teacher grievances in what should be a city focussed on education to support our various high-tech industries was surprising.
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| 2. PPS is kind of shit. Not that I ever expect a public bureaucracy to be amazeballs, but the disingenuous communications and essentially propoganda-class releases were disappointing. It takes a certain ilk of horrible to rely on people to be unable to do math in order to lie to everyone about how they're treating the people who teach math. And to have every single letter to parents repeat "we're so worried about the children", as if the teachers do not, was an insult to anyone capable of spotting empty rhetoric.
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| <hr>
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| =[[2023.11.20 Welcome Gefferts]]=
| | ETA:<br> |
| <font face="consolas, courier new"> | | Examples? Hell no. It would be like admitting a vampire into your home to post anything like a meaningful set. |
| S recently married the truly lovely John Geffert, making him Simon and Violet's new step-dad. Plus, his son's William and Miles are now step-siblings to our kids, vastly increasing the potential chaos in all our lives. Plus, you know, even more kids to take mountain biking.
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| Welcome to the family Gefferts!
| | If there is permitted to be accurate news and history recorded of this era, simple searches will reveal enough to explain. |
| </font> | | </font> |
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| =[[2023.11.04 Back To Office]]= | | =[[2025.06.25 Corporate Culture]]= |
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| So my office recently announced that we'll be returning to the office. A fig leaf of "hybrid" is still offered - we can work from home 1 day per week. Any day we want!
| | Big changes at work. Not going to talk about that overly much - it's too boring to even write out. |
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| The nominal reason is to foster improved collaboration by strengthening our interpersonal culture. And there is no denying that onboarding new people is very much harder when most of the 60+% of the workforce is remote on any random day.
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| Instead of a point-by-point comparison of methodologies and circumstances that used to work in-person versus those that work remotely, let me just point out the simple fact that nobody has been prevented from coming in to the office. Some do, but most do not. We're all very smart adults, and have clear ideas for what works best for us, and have obviously made our choices. We are not being consulted.
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| So, the question becomes - why do our corporate leaders think they know better than us?
| | BUT. An aspect I find interesting is who is excited about these major changes, and who is worried about them. |
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|
| ==Hypothesis 1: Occam's Razon==
| | Now, obviously, both reactions are simultaneously valid and possible. I feel both myself. But whether the excitement is more important compared to the various individual level of concern does speak to where many of us are. Which, in turn, is strongly indicative of the sense of trust we have with the company - or our sense of trust in ourselves to offset any lack of trust in the company we have. |
| Our executives think they are in their positions because they are smarter and more capable than most others, and therefore their theories about productivity and work/life balance have implicit clout outweighing everyone else.
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| Maybe they're right. Perhaps we'll find out.
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| ==Hypothesis 2: Dinosaurs==
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| It's how they did it when they were the doers, and they don't like things being different. It's scary. Plus all the people who are actively climbing the corporate ladder directly beneath them all agree!
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| | |
| Worth noting is that mammals have only been nominally dominant for a few tens of millions of years (ignoring the superior total mass and probable durability of insects), while dinosaurs lumbered along for well over a hundred million years. Inertia is a motherfucker.
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| ==Hypothesis 3: Insecurity==
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| How can managers manage if they're denied most of the tools they've gotten accustomed to using? Leadership and inspiration can only work on people they intrinsically understand, and all the slackers will find ways to shirk doing their fair share.
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| Except, of course, as the brilliant Mark Moyes once said, "I'm perfectly capable of getting nothing done at my desk." Babysitting is a less effective tool than some might hope.
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| | |
| ==Hypothesis 4: Piles Of Beans==
| |
| There sure is a lot of theoretical value in the fixed assets of these large office buildings. If they become overtly and obviously a waste of resources, it sure would be a huge loss - on paper. Watching the city repossess large buildings and turning them into affordable housing and civic spaces must be horrifying to the company accountants.
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| If it costs the thousands of employees an average of 5 hours per week of unpaid commuting time (plus gas and vehicular wear), that's better than the company risking losing the value of its real estate. Right?
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| =[[2023.10.07 Printer Time]]=
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| While I haven't had a regular printer for a while, as actual need to have paper copies of things has gotten very infrequent, in a reciprocal way I've been far too slow to get a 3D printer. This has now been rectified.
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| Let there be random plastic thingies!
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| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/squishy_turtle_3d.png
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| http://www.kvankii.com/gallery/IMG_4744.png
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| </font>
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| <hr>
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| =[[2023.09.04 Latest Bike Daydreams]]=
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| </font>
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|
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| =[[2023.08.22 ID.4 Impressions So Far]]=
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| The things we like about the car (we're calling CUV's just "cars" now, right?) vastly outnumber the quibbles. It drives well, carries everyone and the dog as necessary, and has all the options we need.
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|
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| -deep breath-<br>
| |
| And I need to accept that there are many things about the Tesla that have me both a) acclimated to a certain way of doing things, and b) spoiled.
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|
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| In no particular order, here are The Quibbles:
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|
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| ==No Battery Pre-Conditioning==
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| This is an idiotic oversight. The ability for a lithium-ion battery pack to accept charge is directly related to the temperature of the pack. The VW ID-platform has active battery temperature management, so this is obviously possible. This makes the difference between <50kW charging and >150kW charging, which is kind of the point of having access to DC fast charging in the first place.
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|
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| ==The APP Sucks==
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| I mean, at least there's an app to verify simple shit like whether the car is locked or what the state of charge is. But after getting accustomed to the deep and intuitive integration of the Tesla app, this feels cheap and lazy. Ideally I'd like it to act as the key for the vehicle - in fact that might almost qualify this as a double-quibble. I don't like having to carry another chonky key fob. Especially one with a "set off the alarm now" button placed such that I can accidentally activate it by sitting down.
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|
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| ==Everyone On The UX Team Should Be Sat Down And Told To Think About What They Did==
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| The main inputs to driving the car - steering, braking, accelerator - are generally pretty good <sub>(exceptions listed separately)</sub>. That probably has more to do with the chassis design team though. Because everything else is weak-sauce output from a series of committees that clearly hated each other and were playing stupid internal-political games.
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| * Why the fuck don't the motorized mirrors coordinate with the seat/user memory settings?
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| * Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to interrupt the already-slow boot sequence of the infotainment to make the driver press "OK" every fucking time?
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| * Any control that you have to take your eyes off the road to use is totally wasted as a separate button/control. Sure capacitive touch buttons are neat - on kitchen appliances. But when I'm fumbling around for a control while I'm driving, I don't want the "looking for the control" to directly translate into "activating every fucking thing I touch".
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| * Having only two window switches to control both front and rear windows is the result of a deeply stupid person having too much input. Yeah - cute idea, but just no. I fucking hate accidentally bumping the invisible capacitive touch button that changes to controlling the rear. But even more, I philosophically loath that they took a simple 4-switch control with 100% intuitive interface and made it need a logic board to hilariously discover new ways to go wrong.
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| * The media buttons on the steering wheel are regular controls turned 90° for no good reason. Normal controller: UP = increase volume, DOWN = decrease volume, RIGHT = next track, LEFT = go back a track. But for some fucked up reason, I now get to press UP to go back, DOWN to skip forward, RIGHT to increase volume, and LEFT to decrease volume. Fuck you, VW UX team.
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|
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| ==Creep Mode: Make. It. Go. Away.==
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| Or at least optional, yeah? I get that it makes the operation familiar to low-skill people transitioning from shitty automatic transmissions. Cool. But for those of us who preferred manuals, and now delight in the directness and finesse of electric drivetrains, you're just making shit bad with no benefit.
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| ==Brake Hold Won't Let Go==
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| Yes, I like it when pressing the brake a bit extra when stopped that the vehicle will continue to hold the brake for me. But in the VW, it won't let go unless I press the accelerator. This is fine at a stop light or some such. But when I'm carefully navigating down a slope this is lurch-o-matic. This is extra exacerbated by the no-option creep mode. At least the brake hold CAN be turned off by a crude intervention in the infotainment system, but really it should be able to be dismissed with a repeated brake pedal press.
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|
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| ==Secret Charger Unlock Method==
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| It makes sense not to trust the unknown charger connector, and totally avoid any chance of an arc flash by locking the connector in place - even if it indicates that it means to disconnect. But having the method for releasing the suspicious charger connector be a secret staccato code on the key fob is infuriating when the standard glitch reset sequence for the vast majority of charging networks is "unplug and replug in vehicle".
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| =[[2023.08.01 Kids At Sandy Ridge]]=
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| Despite all the drama with fumbling the ability to put the epic bike rack on any functional bike-hauling vehicle, we gave up and just Tetrised the bikes into the back of the Flex to make it happen.
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| A warm but-not-too-warm morning with gorgeous dappled light, Simon and Violet immediately exceeded my expectations by gamely trying to pedal up the climb hill. We kept exclusively to Laura's Line and the section of Lower Hide&Seek from the power lines down to the road.
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| It was amazeballs. Sharing the Church of Dirt with them unlocked a spiritual sense of harmony and joy.
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| Violet had two crashes. The first right off the bat, and it was hard enough to knock the wind out of her and scrape her up. But a bandaid later and she was gamely riding through the rollers and berms. The second was at the very end - at the very same berm. Except that time she rolled with the wipeout, left a Violet-shaped crater, and laughed like the unstoppable monster she is.
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| The tradition of DQ after riding with Simon has now been extended to Violet as well, and it was good.
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| My only regret is not taking any pictures. I try to forgive myself by acknowledging that I was very much living in the moment the whole time.
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Line 378: |
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| <font face="consolas,courier new"> | | <font face="consolas,courier new"> |
| How are you now?
| | RESISTANCE STATUS: |
| | |
| <p align=right>Good, and you?</p>
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| Not so bad.
| | * US citizenship: APPLICATION (still) PENDING |
| | * local politics: NULL, homeless situation correctly one of the main foci |
| | * global politics: NULL, wait - Justin is dating Katy? Nice. |
| </font> | | </font> |
claytoncastle.com
So, I've written a bunch of Rants about my dad. Some as I realized he was mortal - which was a weird realization to experience as a rational being. More immediately when he died to metabolize my grief, and others over a period of a decade afterwards. Many of those were reminiscences of childhood defining experiences and mythologies for my own catharsis, and with burgeoning hopes of there being a way for my kids to know something of him.
I think he would have really liked them both. They have a lot of different parts of him, and his mom.
Except doubts bubble up from the corners of my memory. And I find myself working through extrapolations of the son-ward facets I could see into the person he might have actually been.
Obviously, my dad was pretty cool. And I don't just mean that in the idol-worship way sons have for their fathers - which I kind of do - but also he seemed to have an effortless way of making people want to be his friend. I don't actually know where he fit in the Letterkenny Spectrum as kid - hick, skid, or jock (definitely not a native or a christian, or Québécois for that matter nor a degen from up-country). But the vast majority of people I saw him encounter already knew him, or of him, and respected him if not overtly expressing happiness at seeing him.
All of which I couch as being the basis for assuming that he was pretty comfortable in our pasty-white mostly monoculture small-town circumstances. That sort of comfort breeds a sense of confirmation about one's own cultural identity.
And, honestly, while my dad was great at talking philosophy with me - especially about the why of things - whenever topics of other places or peoples came up he was consistently dismissive and unkind. And occasionally overtly racist, and sometimes simply xenophobic.
Over the past decade, I've worried about how my boomer dad might have responded to the weird right-wing stumble of western civilization. If I try to comfort myself with how he was smart and would be disgusted by the stupid lies, it's hard to deny the persuasive power that hate has had over people. Especially boomers.
It occurred to me to try to talk my hypothetical conservative father away from the lure of fascism, but it just hurts my heart too much to think about it too much.
But then I imagine how he'd react to his grandkids both being non-binary and fabulous.
The deepest well of my hope is that he would have spent a lot of time knowing them all through their lives and see how their development into who they are becoming is a lovely and natural extrapolation of the brilliant and lovely potential they've always had. And that his love for them would ease any struggling conservative confusion he might experience so that he could be the same cool and inspirational patriarch for them that he was for me and my sister.
That doesn't change the fear that he would have not been as close, or as accepting. And that fear sits on my heart.
Sadly, my epic new seat was not ready to set up. So I just admired the view for a minute - both out the across the river, and into my director's office at the giant Millenium Falcon LEGO set.
Fredmas Crash
On the wet and rainy morning of Fredmas, Ember and Violet were commuting to Hillsdale for school when they were the tail-end of a 5-car pile-up. Speeds were modest, and the 2018 Subaru Impreza did all the safety-engineered things to sacrifice itself such that neither kid was injured in any way.
Communication was not stellar, but Violet managed to let us know right away. So without actually having all the details up front, Amy and I knew they had a problem and could see that they were in the middle of the Fremont freeway bridge and jumped into Velma to go help. When we showed up they were the only ones there - shivering in the rain on the side of the freeway. Amy onboarded the kids to drive them the rest of the way SW, and I stayed in the shivering sideways rain for a couple hours with the wreck to wait for the tow truck. Fun times.
Some lessons learned, and Ember has yet to get back in that saddle. Scheming about how to proceed with commuter vehicle plans is still ongoing. It seems like a logical time and place to make a plug for the replacement to be an EV, but probably shouldn't push too hard. Because reasons.
Work Transformations
December as a whole has been weird with trying to finish handing work batons to their new responsible engineers. It's been the longest that I've been in any group - 10 years! - and recognize that it's going to be a long time to ever fully extricate myself.
At the same time, the new Vehicle Level Engineering role is both exciting and boggling. Frankly, it's a lot.
Simultaneously, Amy is changing shifts to stop the 5 12-hour shifts in 6 days marathon every couple weeks and jumping into 3 shifts every week with her best non-Clayton friend. We're all very excited for the shift in energy.
Other Stuff
This winter break had been bookmarked for a bunch of reading and writing plans, all of which have basically unravelled as I'm actually spending most of my time just mouth-breathing my way through the exhausting cold/flu that Ember gave me.
Now that the kids are back, I do intend to inflict all kinds of old but beloved movies on them. So there's that. There's also a butt-tonne of sugary foods from all the sources to keep me overfed while I quietly lament how few bike rides I actually went on this year.
So it goes.
Things I'm looking forward to in 2026:
- bunches of Amy+Clayton adventure time regularly
- diving into a dream job (should probably write a separate post about that thought alone)
- defeating fascism
Not my best effort. I suspect that the grey makes it incrementally less impressive. Plus I kept trimming to avoid poking Amy so much, and the surrounding scruff softens the effect even more.
Gone now, but not missed. Other than the daily startle of seeing my dad in the mirror.
40,000 people in Portland sending a clear message.
Awkwardly, the current administration has also been sending a clear, fascist message.
It's really weird. Just, you know, profoundly weird.
Acknowledging for a moment the footage from 2020 looked bad - as shown on cable news. But even then that was basically constrained to a couple blocks downtown for actual protests. Meanwhile there were other simultaneous marches about police brutality throughout the city that were completely peaceful and not newsworthy.
I suppose that if one were to conflate the "hundred days of protest" in 2020 with the rising homelessness problem, one could squint and see the folks cowering in tents and vehicles and pretend there's a direct connection of some kind. I mean, other than the systematic violence done to the worker class both strip mining us for wealth and trying to overtly pit us against each other.
But in context of what is actually happening right now - which amounts to a group of 6-16 people regularly taunting ICE agents at a single building - it's wildly disproportional. Especially with the Portland Police Department stating, in court, that all the altercations they have evidence for so far are mainly cases of untrained federal agents trying to instigate meme-worthy moments with the peaceful protestors.
So the federal activation of 200 National Guard to "pacify Portland" is, well, purely for show.
Which makes Portland's main reaction one that endears this city to me even more: to be silly. Dressing up in harmless costumes, dancing, and handing out cookies. Doing whatever it takes to make the video bites nearly impossible to weaponize politically, as the fascists so clearly desire.
And to the person in the inflatable costume that had the inlet of their suit sprayed with pepper spray: I hope you are OK. As much as that must have sucked, and possibly could have caused serious medical repercussions, you embodied the shallow idiocy of their position. In no way could a bumbling inflatable costume be considered a threat, and to assault you was to show the cowardly and loathsome depth of their antisocial motivations.
To the federal fucknugget that used pepper spray on an obviously-harmless person in an inflatable costume: Now we all know why you have no real friends and your life is empty of meaning. You obviously don't belong in Portland.
As mentioned on BoingBoing today:
In 1962, Sir Oswald Mosley, leader of the British Union of Fascists, invited Nobel-winning philosopher Bertrand Russell to a debate. Mosley aimed to persuade Russell of fascism's merits.
Russell, who was 89 at the time, replied:
Dear Sir Oswald,
Thank you for your letter and for your enclosures. I have given some thought to our recent correspondence. It is always difficult to decide on how to respond to people whose ethos is so alien and, in fact, repellent to one's own. It is not that I take exception to the general points made by you but that every ounce of my energy has been devoted to an active opposition to cruel bigotry, compulsive violence, and the sadistic persecution which has characterised the philosophy and practice of fascism.
I feel obliged to say that the emotional universes we inhabit are so distinct, and in deepest ways opposed, that nothing fruitful or sincere could ever emerge from association between us.
I should like you to understand the intensity of this conviction on my part. It is not out of any attempt to be rude that I say this but because of all that I value in human experience and human achievement.
Yours sincerely,
Bertrand Russell
Seriously, there is so much political stupidity going on.
ETA:
Examples? Hell no. It would be like admitting a vampire into your home to post anything like a meaningful set.
If there is permitted to be accurate news and history recorded of this era, simple searches will reveal enough to explain.
Big changes at work. Not going to talk about that overly much - it's too boring to even write out.
BUT. An aspect I find interesting is who is excited about these major changes, and who is worried about them.
Now, obviously, both reactions are simultaneously valid and possible. I feel both myself. But whether the excitement is more important compared to the various individual level of concern does speak to where many of us are. Which, in turn, is strongly indicative of the sense of trust we have with the company - or our sense of trust in ourselves to offset any lack of trust in the company we have.
RESISTANCE STATUS:
- US citizenship: APPLICATION (still) PENDING
- local politics: NULL, homeless situation correctly one of the main foci
- global politics: NULL, wait - Justin is dating Katy? Nice.