I was driving through suburbia to some unknown destination of mediocrity. I was happy in that way that all of America is happy. Mildly so. Suddenly behind me was a car, and in the car drove a man who seemed frightened. In the passenger seat was another man, leaning out the window. He carried a shotgun and was randomly firing at pedestrians and the drivers of other vehicles.

As I watched with horror, he shot wildly, seldomly hitting a target. When he did hit, it was gruesome. I was for the moment at a complete loss. Time slowed, as in waking life I imagine it would in a high stress situation. I haven’t had the opportunity to experience something like that, but I’ve heard about it in stories and personal accounts, so it must be fairly universal.

As time was at a near halt, I could see the car behind me, not following close, not moving to pass, simply there. The driver, too scared to know what to do perhaps, simply followed me. His passenger didn’t seem to care that they were cruising at a reasonable 35 miles an hour while he created chaos in middle-class America. I wondered at my choices. Should I pull over to the side of the road or take a side street? Should I speed up and try to get away? With the kind of certainty you regrettably only have in dreams I knew that if I tried to hide I would be followed.

I knew also that those ways were the ways of cowardice. Of escape. Of self preservation at the expense of life. The life of the elderly man walking not a quarter of a mile on the sidewalk ahead, still heedless to the coming danger.

Yet I still felt the need to escape or at least pull the attacker somewhere else. Still not knowing what to do I pulled into the parking lot of a donut shop. The car did not follow, as I had feared and hoped it would. The elderly man was still in danger. Still, there was not much I could do.

I needed to get out of my car. I did and entered the shop. Apparently, though I was unaware, the passenger had ceased shooting some time before the shop, and no one inside had the slightest idea of what was going on. I took a seat near the back and tried to collect myself. Time resumed its regular pace as I tried to decide what to do. I tried to think hard, yet I was constantly distracted by the serenity of the place.

America. A couple eating. Middle-aged men reading the newspaper. Teens in a booth making fun of them all. How were the so oblivious to the danger not a mile down the road? Danger that had passed right by them? They were spared by chance and knew nothing of it, content to sip their coffee and enjoy the passage of time.
I was sickened by it all. America. Ignorance can’t buy bliss, but it can buy a sort of mediocre contentment.

Again the question of my next action came to me. Should I call the police? Should I get back on the road and try to find him? I was almost paralyzed by indecision. I didn’t have to wait for long.

In he stepped, holding is shotgun at waist level. He shot once and that was all it took. Everyone seemed to scream and move at once, some rushing for the opposite door, others falling to the floor under tables.

Just like that America was shattered. It was a fragile peace, anyway. The only thing that maintained it was everyone’s ignorance of just how delicate it was. With the illusion gone, the real essence of people took over. All tried to hide or run. None could. The first person to the door was shot and fell against it. No one else tried, and everyone instinctively knew that the man could see them. Knew exactly where they were. And they all waited for the end.

Even I, crouched behind a bar stool in the back, was certiain he knew just where I was, though he hadn’t so much as turned in my direction. Everyone was still now, quiet. There were some whimpers and crying, but mostly quiet. He just stood there. No one moved.

But someone had to do something. I realized then that this was the moment I was born for. All my life I had wanted this without fully articulating it. The chance to save someone. The chance to risk it all so that others may live. The chance to oppose evil and prevent pain. Time slowed once again. I knew with clarity that no one else in the shop would try anything. They would all be slaughtered. They would die just as freedom from ignorance could have propelled them to a better life. If they could get out of here, they could cherish it.

Someone needed to do something to make that possible. It was me, and I knew it. He was ten or twelve feet away. Chairs, tables, and terrified people lay between us. It was impossible to reach him before he saw me, raised his shotgun, and pulled the trigger. I cursed my stupidity for not simply slamming on the breaks earlier. It would have solved this whole mess. But now, if I moved, I would die. It would help no one, and I would lose my last chance of escape.

Something had to be done. I was on the very brink of action. I felt adrenaline surging through my veins, eagerly awaing release. And now that I had come to the moment my entire life had led to, I hesitated. Oh the intensity of my destiny, pushing me to jump forward and throw my life away. Oh the restaint of the love of my own life, pulling me to the floor to beg for mercy. I felt as though the two opposing forces would pull me apart and kill me before I was ever seen by the gunman.

I had to do something. My destiny was winning and I prepared to leap forward. The muscles in my legs tensed, and my hand gripped around the bar stool leg. Just then, he turned and walked toward me, stepping over the living and nonliving obstacles in his way. He reached the bar along the window, and looked at me.

“This was for you,” he said. He lifted his firearm and I realized I was looking not at the barrel of the shotgun, but the stock. He offered it to me. Moments before I was preparing to lose my life to save others; now I was offered a part in the chaos.

And right then, I knew I would take the shotgun and join him. And I did. Then I woke and was sad for a long time.

And one day it stops growing. It has expended all the time it has, and you’re gone. You left the world. I’m left here alone, with all our love, all our built hope and treasure, yet no way to maintain the memory. Soon I’ll start to misplace the memories that shaped our ball, and it will grow mishapen and faded. It is a cruel thing to leave me with only your teasing memory that I cannot grasp. I know you didn’t mean to. We both thought we had so many more revolutions around this ball, this messed up knitting of life. But we did not. We ended suddenly and hard. You were there, then you were not. And the string fell limp onto the floor. And there I lie for the rest of my earthly days, staring up in futility at the thing we made in our shortsighted brightness. The colors are wonderfully harsh. Each beauty is a stabbing needle, filling me up with the most glorious pain man ever conceived. You were soft, strong, shapely, colorful. You were so much more real to me than life, but now I can’t remember. The colors are fading, the pain becoming dull prods of former glory. I spend much of my time to myself considering you and how we were. But moment by moment things fade ever so slightly. One day before I die I will remember little else but that we had a love once, and it was good. Maybe that’s enough.

I’m sure there’s something after the black wall of death. I can’t see you, but you are somewhere. I know not whether I will be there with you one day, or if we’ll know each other. Will se remember our love and the loveliness of it? Will we get to grow it more, or start over with perfection? Who knows but God? One thing only do I know. Our love, our little ball of yarn, we grew it and it was beautiful. That was something.

Lesson #1 – Crying is a Good Thing

I’ve heard a lot of people talk about how manipulative babies are even in the first few months after birth. How they learn quickly to cry in order to get stuff they want but don’t need. How they’ll demand your attention and learn to pull your strings to achieve their diabolical ends.

But seriously… he’s a baby. He doesn’t even know the difference between needs and wants. He doesn’t know what or who he is, what’s going on, or anything. Why start out treating him like the enemy when he’s just really confused? Instead, Holly and I treated every cry as an indication that something was wrong. Whether he was hungry, tired, lonely, or whatever, we did what we could to help. And you know what? He’s happy, independent, and we don’t regret a second.

Lesson #2 – Sacrifice Isn’t Easy. Duh.

The first six weeks of Grayson’s life were some of the best and hardest for me. Holly and I were constantly up with him, and I pretty much lived off of three hours of sleep a night. At first I really resisted, getting angry. Then I realized that I had grown so comfortable that I had actually forgotten that sacrifice is hard. You have to give something up for the comfort of someone else. When I had come to terms with that, I found it incredibly rewarding.

Lesson #3 – No Laundry is Safe

Babies are like camels. They spit. I can’t tell you how many times I got to work and realized that my shirt had a spit-up stain on it. How this happens is inexplicable to me, but I learned that each and every morning, regardless of how recent that shirt came out of the laundry, you must thoroughly examine it.

Lesson #4 – Flatulence Is No Big Deal.

And if you are thinking I’m talking about the baby, I’m not. One day I had a shocking revelation. People are accustomed to babies smelling. If a baby smells, it’s not cool, but it’s understandable. Therefore I realized that as long as I was holding Grayson, I could fart with impunity. Everyone around would just assume that Gray needed a diaper change. I came to realize this at the mall. In an elevator. Yes, I’m a horrible person.

Lesson #5 – Fear

I’ve never had so many bad dreams or horrible thoughts of carnage as I have this past year. When I became a parent, it was as if my brain felt like it had to prepare for every possible scenario. I’ve always been pretty casual when it comes to my personal safety, so it was really odd for me to care so much about stairs and falling down.

Lesson #6 – Baby Superpowers, Part One: Wolverine

Speaking of injury, it turns out that babies are actually quite resilient. As scared as I get when I think about him falling down or gouging his eye out, he actually does pretty well when he gets hurt. Sure, he cries. For like, three seconds. Then it’s off to whatever else he’s not supposed to have. Which, incidentally, is my next point.

Lesson #7 – Baby Superpowers, Part Two: Professor X

Apparently babies can read minds. No really. It’s as if Grayson knew exactly what I didn’t want him to play with, where I didn’t want him to go. And of course, he went there/played with it. I even began experimenting with convincing myself that I really didn’t want him to play with one of his toys in hopes that he would read my mind and immediately go play with that. But his telepathy is so well honed that he sees past my flimsy conscious barrier. He is a force to be reckoned with.

Lesson #8 – Ignorance is Bliss. And Bad for the Baby.

Turns out I’m not all that good with sacrifice. In fact, I’ll default to ignoring problems and turn to self-entertainment if I’m given the chance. I’d much rather put the boy in front of some kiddo cartoons for a couple hours until bedtime so I can go play Warcraft with the wife, but turns out he doesn’t like that so much. Babies are good at demanding your attention because you know what? They need it. And you need to give it to them.

Lesson #9 – My Life is Over

In a good way. This is also somewhat true when you get married, but even more so when you have a child. I realized one day soon after he was born, that my life was no longer about me. I mean, it never really was, but now it was tangible. In a sense, the rest of my life would be defined by what kind of father I was.

Lesson #10 – Klingons are the Enemy (and scary)

I’ll often pop something on TV to watch while Grayson plays. Usually it’s anime, because that way I can still justify him watching it because it’s a cartoon. But occasionally, I’ll get the urge to watch some Star Trek. What I found was that Grayson cannot stand Worf, or any other Klingon. I think it’s when they yell. He invariably screams and cries until I’ve turned it off an held him for a while. I guess babies are like Tribbles that way.

Lesson #11 – Non Allergenic Pets

If you’re like me and have relatives who are allergic to some pets, you might want to consider having a baby. They normally don’t cause allergies to act up, and you can still teach them tricks. And once they grow up… you can put them to work!

Lesson #12 – Bottom Line

I love him. More than I could ever say. I hope to God he doesn’t turn out like me.

And now for something completely different. I am a complete dork. People who know me are aware of this, but they are rarely cognizant of just how weird I really am. Here’s an example. People who know me know that I like Star Wars. They also know that I like video games and games in general. However, most of them don’t know that I…

*shhh, whisper voice*

enjoy playing tabletop role playing games. Notably, Star Wars D6 system from West End Games. Once every so often, Holly and I have a bunch of people over and we create fictional characters and complete missions for the Rebel Alliance. I even created a forum online for it. Here, I’ll give you an official link:

Star Wars Role Playing West End

Cool, huh? I know, I know, not cool. However, it’s really very fun. It’s somewhere in between playing a video game and writing a story. You get these really cool characters and tons of creative freedom, but you have to think fast and come up with innovative solutions.

Seriously, if you’ve never played any RPG, this one might be a pretty good intro. It’s a very simple combat system, and creating a character takes 15 to 20 minutes. Think you might be a bounty hunter, in it for the cash? Or maybe an Outlaw out for revenge? Or perhaps you’re a socially awkward engineer. Quiet scout? Washed-up Jedi? The possibilities are pretty much endless.

We’re playing this Saturday. Let me know if you want in. :)

Ingredients

• Non stick cooking spray
• 1 can crushed pinapple
• 1 can cherry pie filling
• 1 box of chocolate cake mix
• 1/2 cup of almond slivers
• 1 stick of butter
• Milano cookies
• Red Icing

Directions

1. Coat the inside of a crock pot with the nonstick cooking spray
2. Dump pineapple, cherry filling, and almond slivers in the crock pot
3. Pour cake mix evenly over the top.
4. Slice the stick of butter into very thin slices and evenly cover the cake mix
5. Cover and cook on high for about 3 hours
6. Take icing and write RIP (or other gravestone phrases) on Milano cookies
7. Place cookies into the layer of cake

Here’s how mine turned out:

First, here’s my outfit. It takes a little of, shall we say, calculation….

+

= ?

I’m sure it won’t take much to figure it out. And now on to the rest. You’ll see a coworker on the left, and the real thing (using that term pretty loosely here) on the right.

Kicking things off was Beth taking full advantage of her pregnancy. I thought she did pretty well as a troll doll (even including the belly button jewel).

Veneta when with a classic witch costume, though she looks nicer than any witch has a right to be.

Agata felt like putting a sterner face on the occasion.

Ann went all out with the hippy (hippie? hippeee? hypie?) theme, but I had trouble finding good pics to compare it to. Everything I found was either a current day costume, or inappropriate. :S

This is probably my favorite one. Tiffany is complete with torn sweater and snack packs as she portrays Adam Sandler’s Billy Madison. Well played.

That pretty much wraps it up for Marketing. The only other male in the department is on his honeymoon, so I’m left to hold down the testosterone fort as King Arthur. Happy Halls, peeps.

As soon as I got my Sony W300i cell phone as an upgrade with my plan, I found out you could use your own custom ringtones with it as long as they were 20 seconds or less and in mp3 format. After much research, I couldn’t find a solution that was free that I liked. So I decided I could use some pretty basic software to accomplish the same thing. It’s a little complicated, but pretty easy once you get it. I’ll be using two programs, and one of them is exclusively Windows, unfortunately. If anyone knows about a Mac app that’s as simple and basic as Windows Sound Recorder, be sure to put it in the comments. I’m also not sure if this handy little program is standard on Vista, so if you know one way or the other, mention that as well.

Here’s a list of software components and their versions I’ll be using for this tutorial:

• Windows XP Professional (any XP version will do) Service Pack 3
• iTunes 8 (version 7 does this as well)
• Windows Sound Recorder 5.1

Selecting a Song

There are a couple of tips I generally keep in mind as I look for a song that will be a great ringtone. First off, you don’t want something that starts off slow. You’ll have to get through all the build and do some more intensive editing. I’d recommend finding a song that starts off strong. It doesn’t have to be fast or loud, just one without much buildup.

Secondly, I usually pick a song with no vocals during the first twenty seconds. You might like vocals in your ringtones, but I usually just like a catchy tune.

Lastly, keep in mind that you’re probably not going to want more than 20 seconds max for the length of the ringtone, and you’ll really only listen to the first 10 seconds most of the time, so the part you really like in that intro should be closer to the beginning.

Step 1 – Change iTunes Import Setting to WAV

Windows Sound Recorder is a nice little tiny tool, but it only works with .WAV files. Since most of my music library is in mp3, I’ll need to convert my tune first. Fortunately, you don’t need to bother with the myriad of mp3 to wav (and vice versa) converters out there, you can just use iTunes.

Go to the iTunes preferences, and under the General tab, click on “Import Settings”. In the window that appears, select “WAV Encoder” in the drop down box. Click OK and OK again so your preference is saved.

Step 2 – Convert to WAV

Next, right click on the song you want to use, and click “Create WAV Version”. This will duplicate your song and put it in the same folder that the original is in.

Step 3 – Open the File in Windows Sound Recorder

Open up Windows Sound Recorder (Start Menu >> Accessories >> Entertainment) and navigate to the WAV file you just made. Be sure to select the WAV file and not the original mp3.

Step 4 – Edit the File

Play the WAV until you reach a good stopping point. You shouldn’t need more than 20 seconds for a ringtone. Once you’ve stopped at the exact moment you want the ringtone to end, click on Edit >> Delete After Current Position. Once your file is the right length, save the file.

Step 5 – Convert the File Back to mp3

Go ahead and change the import setting in iTunes back to mp3. Then click on File >> Add File to Library. Find your edited WAV file and add it to iTunes. Once you find the new 20 second version, you can right click on it and select “Create mp3 Version” and you’ll get the finished product.

Step 6 – Clean Up and Send to Your Phone

You’ll want to delete any extra files you created during this process. I like to keep copies of everything for every step so that if I mess up at any point, I don’t have to start over. Unfortunately, this means that by the time I’m done creating a ringtone I’ve got at least one extra WAV file laying around. I like to clean these out of iTunes and delete them from my hard drive so they don’t clutter things up.

Now you can bluetooth the 20 second mp3 to your phone. You can also get a data cable for your phone and send it that way. Either way, once it’s on the phone, you should only have to navigate to it on your phone and select it as your new ringtone! Enjoy!

Ok, I’ve got a hypothetical situation that I need some additional thoughts on. Let’s say that I (hypothetically) worked for a company that decided in its infinite hypothetical wisdom that buying links would be a good way to achieve rankings for certain key terms. So, this link-buying company hypothetically signs a hypothetical contract with another company for something in the order of 1,500 links from blogs over a period of a few months.

So, a month or two passes, and my hypothetical link-buying company notices that not only has its rankings not improved, but they appear to have slid quite a bit. Also hypothetically distressing is the fact that most of the blog links are extremely worthless from a word of mouth perspective (but I suppose that’s what you get for hypothetically buying links).

Present day. Company (or at least hypothetical members of the company) have decided buying links from a blog spam farm was a bad idea (and some of them may have known from the beginning). They fear that Google has penalized them for such low quality links, but at the very least, they want the links that are already out there scrubbed clean from Google’s index. The hypothetical link seller company is suddenly and inexplicably not returning phone calls *gasp*, and I can’t contact each blog individually since it’s a very long list and they probably wouldn’t care. As was so eloquently put on News Radio, getting something off of the internet is like getting pee out of a pool.

So what does the company I hypothetically work for do?

One notion I was hypothetically batting around with some of my fellow colleagues was to contact Google through the Webmaster Tools’ contact form. We could tell Google that we bought a bunch of links, realized it was a dumb idea, but now we can’t undo it. We could ask Google if they will remove any of those links from affecting our site if we send them a full and complete list of the links we purchased. The benefit for Google is that they have some evidence of blogs which are simply spam.

Would this work or should my hypothetical company try something else? Hypothetically, of course.