Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 96
August 5, 2014
Review: Guardians Of The Galaxy
Am I so much of a geek that I care when actors from some of my favorite shows come together in one movie?
Yes. Still, this movie doesn’t need the help.
The consensus was that Guardians of the Galaxy, based on a comic book that most people who don’t read comics have never heard of, would be blockbuster or complete bust. Chris Pratt, the guy from “Parks and Recreation”, as a leading man action hero? Marvel going into space? A raccoon with a gun? Disaster looms.
But this is Marvel. And yes, Marvel is bound to have another huge dud sooner or later … but not this time.
Despite being known for its humor, the movie actually starts out with a tear jerking scene in which a little boy named Peter Quill sees his mother die of cancer—then, immediately after, he’s abducted by a UFO. Fast forward 26 years, and we find the adult Quill dancing—literally—into what looks like an Indiana Jones set on an alien planet.
There Quill finds a strange orb that you just know everybody’s going to want. He’s ambushed by a bad guy who also wants the orb, and from then on it’s a slam-bang series of fights and flights as just about everyone in the galaxy battles for the power that resides inside the artifact.
One of the most fun fights is also where most of the fellow guardians gather for the first time, all intent on taking the orb. Zoe Saldana’s performance as Gamora is killer—literally. But even she loses the screen when Rocket and Groot—an engineered Raccoon and a walking, talking (a little) tree—show up.
Rocket Raccoon should have been ridiculous. Instead, the sarcastic rodent, voiced by Bradley Cooper, makes everyone else step up their game just to keep up. Later we meet the last member, Drax, played by a pro wrestler—apparently wrestling really is fake, ‘cause the guy can act.
All the GotG members are damaged anti-heroes, who reluctantly decide to protect the orb from various bad guys. (Their motivation? For one thing, they do live in the galaxy, after all.) You have to pay attention as characters come and go, motivations are revealed, and wises are cracked. Luckily, paying attention is fun.
Guardians is certainly the best I’ve seen this year, and I’ve seen some pretty darned good movies. Why? It’s a good story, and funny, and naturally the special effects are amazing. I’m fairly convinced at this point that they really did find an intelligent, if mean, raccoon and a slightly less intelligent moving tree to play Rocket and Groot.
But in the end it’s the cast that makes the movie. Chris Pratt is a revelation as Quill, fighting and cracking wise with equal skill. Saldana is amazing, and we get great performances from actors such as John C. Riley and Glenn Close, among others. I take it Close thought she was slumming for this roll, but she gives it her skill and it shows.
On a note relating to my earlier comments, it was great fun seeing Michael Rooker, playing an intergalactic version of his redneck bad boy character from “The Walking Dead”, and Karen Gillan, playing someone just as tough but way more evil than her “Doctor Who” role.
Oh, two more things: First, Peter Quill’s oddly timed abduction as a child does make sense. Second, there is indeed an extra scene at the end of the credits, which I suspect will leave many younger movie goers scratching their heads.
Entertainment Value: 5 out of 4 M&M’s. My review, my rules.
Oscar Potential: 3 out of 4 M&M’s. Hollywood muckity-mucks hate SF, especially funny SF, although they don’t hesitate to take the money. Just the same, it would be a shame if Guardians of the Galaxy doesn’t get nominated for something, even if it’s a technical Oscar.
Side Note: If Guardians is sold out, check out Lucy or Planes: Fire and Rescue. One is thrilling and mind blowing, the other truly fun family fare. On a personal note, whoever scripted the Planes movie took the time to research firefighting, which I appreciate.
Yes. Still, this movie doesn’t need the help.
The consensus was that Guardians of the Galaxy, based on a comic book that most people who don’t read comics have never heard of, would be blockbuster or complete bust. Chris Pratt, the guy from “Parks and Recreation”, as a leading man action hero? Marvel going into space? A raccoon with a gun? Disaster looms.
But this is Marvel. And yes, Marvel is bound to have another huge dud sooner or later … but not this time.
Despite being known for its humor, the movie actually starts out with a tear jerking scene in which a little boy named Peter Quill sees his mother die of cancer—then, immediately after, he’s abducted by a UFO. Fast forward 26 years, and we find the adult Quill dancing—literally—into what looks like an Indiana Jones set on an alien planet.
There Quill finds a strange orb that you just know everybody’s going to want. He’s ambushed by a bad guy who also wants the orb, and from then on it’s a slam-bang series of fights and flights as just about everyone in the galaxy battles for the power that resides inside the artifact.
One of the most fun fights is also where most of the fellow guardians gather for the first time, all intent on taking the orb. Zoe Saldana’s performance as Gamora is killer—literally. But even she loses the screen when Rocket and Groot—an engineered Raccoon and a walking, talking (a little) tree—show up.
Rocket Raccoon should have been ridiculous. Instead, the sarcastic rodent, voiced by Bradley Cooper, makes everyone else step up their game just to keep up. Later we meet the last member, Drax, played by a pro wrestler—apparently wrestling really is fake, ‘cause the guy can act.
All the GotG members are damaged anti-heroes, who reluctantly decide to protect the orb from various bad guys. (Their motivation? For one thing, they do live in the galaxy, after all.) You have to pay attention as characters come and go, motivations are revealed, and wises are cracked. Luckily, paying attention is fun.
Guardians is certainly the best I’ve seen this year, and I’ve seen some pretty darned good movies. Why? It’s a good story, and funny, and naturally the special effects are amazing. I’m fairly convinced at this point that they really did find an intelligent, if mean, raccoon and a slightly less intelligent moving tree to play Rocket and Groot.
But in the end it’s the cast that makes the movie. Chris Pratt is a revelation as Quill, fighting and cracking wise with equal skill. Saldana is amazing, and we get great performances from actors such as John C. Riley and Glenn Close, among others. I take it Close thought she was slumming for this roll, but she gives it her skill and it shows.
On a note relating to my earlier comments, it was great fun seeing Michael Rooker, playing an intergalactic version of his redneck bad boy character from “The Walking Dead”, and Karen Gillan, playing someone just as tough but way more evil than her “Doctor Who” role.
Oh, two more things: First, Peter Quill’s oddly timed abduction as a child does make sense. Second, there is indeed an extra scene at the end of the credits, which I suspect will leave many younger movie goers scratching their heads.
Entertainment Value: 5 out of 4 M&M’s. My review, my rules.
Oscar Potential: 3 out of 4 M&M’s. Hollywood muckity-mucks hate SF, especially funny SF, although they don’t hesitate to take the money. Just the same, it would be a shame if Guardians of the Galaxy doesn’t get nominated for something, even if it’s a technical Oscar.
Side Note: If Guardians is sold out, check out Lucy or Planes: Fire and Rescue. One is thrilling and mind blowing, the other truly fun family fare. On a personal note, whoever scripted the Planes movie took the time to research firefighting, which I appreciate.
July 31, 2014
Romancing The Feds
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
I’ve spent a lot of time looking into what the US government spends money on. In fact, you could say I’ve spent so much time on their spending that nothing surprises me.
You could say that, but you’d be wrong.
Now they’re getting into my territory, dropping a million dollars into a project studying romance novels. Your taxpayer dollars are also going into a documentary on superheroes, a zombie video game, and promoting a ninja who’s supposed to sneak in and educate children about climate change, among many other things.
But it was the romance stuff that grabbed my attention. Some say a million bucks isn’t much, by Fed standards. My response is to suggest they’ve lost their grip on reality – and math – but never mind.
As a person who writes romantic comedies, I suppose I should be happy about this. Maybe government input will bring a bit more credibility to a genre that’s unfairly put down on the basis of the bodice-rippers of the 70’s. There’s never been a bodice in my stories. I don’t even know how to pronounce bodice.
And the money (in fairness it’s “only” $914,000, which makes it okay) isn’t going toward just writing. The money was given by the National Endowment for the Humanities to help fund The Popular Romance Project, which according to their federally funded but not crashed website:
“Will explore the fascinating, often contradictory origins and influences of popular romance as told in novels, films, comics, advice books, songs, and internet fan fiction, taking a global perspective …”
I think that’s an interesting idea, and I even bookmarked the page. I wonder if I can get some kind of tax break for reading it, as research. But when we’re drowning in more red ink than Starbucks has overpriced coffee, the taxpayer shouldn’t foot the bill for a documentary called “Love Between the Covers”, or academic romance conferences.
What a brilliant scam that is, by the way. “Gotta go, honey: The government’s giving me a free plane ticket to attend a romance conference in Las Vegas. Yeah, I’m serious – why?”
The Romance Project was one of almost a hundred federally funded programs dug up by an Oklahoma Senator named Tom Coburn. I applaud his effort, but I take exception to one thing he said at the opening of his report (which was, I assume, federally funded), called the 2013 Wastebook. He said:
“Place your personal political persuasion aside and ask yourself: Do each of these represent a real national priority that should be spared from budget cuts or are these excesses that should have been eliminated in order to spare deeper cuts to those services and missions that should be performed by the federal government?”
Dude, I know you want to save, but throw in some commas. Besides, I could shorten the whole paragraph down to, “Is this something the government should spend money on when we’re already overspending?”
Why do I take exception to what he said? Because his report suggests the $30 billion in spending he points to could have been better spent elsewhere. What he should have said was that the $30 billion would have been better not spent.
I know, not a romantic concept.
Another problem is the idea of the government getting involved in the romance industry, at all. I mean, what does some bureaucrat in Washington know about romance, anyway? First they’ll say they’re only in it to bring cheap romance to everyone.
They’ll tell you that if you like your lover, you can keep your lover. But they’ll start throwing in rules and regulations, and before you know it, your favorite girlfriends will drop right out of the dating pool. And with only the government approving romance, dating will get more and more expensive even as that dating pool shrinks.
There’ll be only one dating website, no one will be able to log into it, and when they finally do they’ll find the cost of a first date is getting higher and higher. Before you know it the Feds will have total control of romance, when it should be left in the hands of true experts like Doctor Phil, Doctor Ruth, and Fabio.
Well, I’m going to expose them. That’s right. I’m going to write a novel in which evil Feds plot to use pointless spending projects to swamp the citizens of our country in red ink, so the citizens are too busy treading water (um, ink) to pay attention to what’s going on.
It’ll be a romantic comedy.
Somehow I doubt anyone in Washington is worried.
I’ve spent a lot of time looking into what the US government spends money on. In fact, you could say I’ve spent so much time on their spending that nothing surprises me.
You could say that, but you’d be wrong.
Now they’re getting into my territory, dropping a million dollars into a project studying romance novels. Your taxpayer dollars are also going into a documentary on superheroes, a zombie video game, and promoting a ninja who’s supposed to sneak in and educate children about climate change, among many other things.
But it was the romance stuff that grabbed my attention. Some say a million bucks isn’t much, by Fed standards. My response is to suggest they’ve lost their grip on reality – and math – but never mind.
As a person who writes romantic comedies, I suppose I should be happy about this. Maybe government input will bring a bit more credibility to a genre that’s unfairly put down on the basis of the bodice-rippers of the 70’s. There’s never been a bodice in my stories. I don’t even know how to pronounce bodice.
And the money (in fairness it’s “only” $914,000, which makes it okay) isn’t going toward just writing. The money was given by the National Endowment for the Humanities to help fund The Popular Romance Project, which according to their federally funded but not crashed website:
“Will explore the fascinating, often contradictory origins and influences of popular romance as told in novels, films, comics, advice books, songs, and internet fan fiction, taking a global perspective …”
I think that’s an interesting idea, and I even bookmarked the page. I wonder if I can get some kind of tax break for reading it, as research. But when we’re drowning in more red ink than Starbucks has overpriced coffee, the taxpayer shouldn’t foot the bill for a documentary called “Love Between the Covers”, or academic romance conferences.
What a brilliant scam that is, by the way. “Gotta go, honey: The government’s giving me a free plane ticket to attend a romance conference in Las Vegas. Yeah, I’m serious – why?”
The Romance Project was one of almost a hundred federally funded programs dug up by an Oklahoma Senator named Tom Coburn. I applaud his effort, but I take exception to one thing he said at the opening of his report (which was, I assume, federally funded), called the 2013 Wastebook. He said:
“Place your personal political persuasion aside and ask yourself: Do each of these represent a real national priority that should be spared from budget cuts or are these excesses that should have been eliminated in order to spare deeper cuts to those services and missions that should be performed by the federal government?”
Dude, I know you want to save, but throw in some commas. Besides, I could shorten the whole paragraph down to, “Is this something the government should spend money on when we’re already overspending?”
Why do I take exception to what he said? Because his report suggests the $30 billion in spending he points to could have been better spent elsewhere. What he should have said was that the $30 billion would have been better not spent.
I know, not a romantic concept.
Another problem is the idea of the government getting involved in the romance industry, at all. I mean, what does some bureaucrat in Washington know about romance, anyway? First they’ll say they’re only in it to bring cheap romance to everyone.
They’ll tell you that if you like your lover, you can keep your lover. But they’ll start throwing in rules and regulations, and before you know it, your favorite girlfriends will drop right out of the dating pool. And with only the government approving romance, dating will get more and more expensive even as that dating pool shrinks.
There’ll be only one dating website, no one will be able to log into it, and when they finally do they’ll find the cost of a first date is getting higher and higher. Before you know it the Feds will have total control of romance, when it should be left in the hands of true experts like Doctor Phil, Doctor Ruth, and Fabio.
Well, I’m going to expose them. That’s right. I’m going to write a novel in which evil Feds plot to use pointless spending projects to swamp the citizens of our country in red ink, so the citizens are too busy treading water (um, ink) to pay attention to what’s going on.
It’ll be a romantic comedy.
Somehow I doubt anyone in Washington is worried.
July 28, 2014
fire, camp, and Rotten Ronnie
My wife’s Girl Scout camp, Missouri’s Camp Latonka, just finished another successful camping season. Help keep them in business by buying a copy of "The No-Campfire Girls", a humorous adventure set in summer camp. As chapter two opens, the campers officially get the bad news from Captain Quinn of the local fire department, that all fires are banned because of a drought:
“Getting fire trucks here isn’t easy or fast. It would only take a spark to burn down this entire camp, which would end your fun summer real fast.”
“This sucks,” said a purple haired girl at the next table, loudly enough for half the room to hear. “Fire is fun. Maybe we should set fire to the tents to protest.”
Leaning toward Beth, Cassidy whispered in her ear. “Who’s the girl with the attitude?”
“Ronnie. We call her Rotten Ronnie, but not to her face. Rumor has it her nose is bent that way because she street-fights for grocery money.”
“Maybe somebody needs to make friends with her, like you did with me.”
“I tried.” Beth looked over toward Ronnie, who stubbornly did her best not to have a good time. “She said if I ever came close to her again, she’d set my hair on fire. Is that irony, this year? I think it is.”
Print or e-book copies of "The No-Campfire Girls" can be ordered through my website at www.markrhunter.com, with a portion of the proceeds going toward Camp Latonka operating costs. You can check out the first two chapters for free on my Amazon page:
http://www.amazon.com/Mark-R-Hunter/e...
“Getting fire trucks here isn’t easy or fast. It would only take a spark to burn down this entire camp, which would end your fun summer real fast.”
“This sucks,” said a purple haired girl at the next table, loudly enough for half the room to hear. “Fire is fun. Maybe we should set fire to the tents to protest.”
Leaning toward Beth, Cassidy whispered in her ear. “Who’s the girl with the attitude?”
“Ronnie. We call her Rotten Ronnie, but not to her face. Rumor has it her nose is bent that way because she street-fights for grocery money.”
“Maybe somebody needs to make friends with her, like you did with me.”
“I tried.” Beth looked over toward Ronnie, who stubbornly did her best not to have a good time. “She said if I ever came close to her again, she’d set my hair on fire. Is that irony, this year? I think it is.”
Print or e-book copies of "The No-Campfire Girls" can be ordered through my website at www.markrhunter.com, with a portion of the proceeds going toward Camp Latonka operating costs. You can check out the first two chapters for free on my Amazon page:
http://www.amazon.com/Mark-R-Hunter/e...
July 26, 2014
My scruffy main character is definitely not a Nerf herder
Today I got to see the proposed cover for The Notorious Ian Grant, done by Gemini Judson. I’ll reveal it when it’s official, but she found a likeness for Ian that perfectly conveys how I imagine him at the opening of the book: A handsome but scruffy guy, full of mischief and reminiscent of Sawyer from the TV show “Lost”.
The stormy background (It’s the sequel to Storm Chaser) brought to mind a possible tagline for the book:
“There’s a new whirlwind in town.”
With it coming out in October, that makes two book releases in one year! It’s a pace I intend to keep … if I survive.
The stormy background (It’s the sequel to Storm Chaser) brought to mind a possible tagline for the book:
“There’s a new whirlwind in town.”
With it coming out in October, that makes two book releases in one year! It’s a pace I intend to keep … if I survive.
July 24, 2014
A Simple Look At Passwords
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
I have a bad habit of being optimistic about humanity.
Oh, in theory that’s a good thing. Let’s all think the best of people! Shouldn’t it be that way? Sure it should. Chamberlain thought the best of Hitler. So did Stalin, who was certain Hitler wouldn’t be dumb enough to invade Russia and stick around through winter. Come to think of it, just the word “Hitler” is a good hint that thinking the best of people might be a mistake.
But this isn’t about mass-killing despots. This is about passwords.
Hitler would have had a very secure password. He didn’t think the best of people.
According to researchers, in 2013 internet users finally got smart, and stopped using “password” as their #1 password when dealing with computers and internet sites. Finally, some sanity!
It dropped to number two.
Number one is now “123456”. Yeah.
It would be 12345, but so many sites require six digits.
Another team of security researchers uncovered a cache of two million login credentials, and according to their research, “password” was far down in fourth position, after, “123456”, “123456789”, and “1234”.
Next came “12345” and, yes, “12345678”.
After that, in a sudden desire to be different, came: “admin”.
And so my optimism is defeated.
Yahoo Tech … excuse me, Yahoo! Tech points out that you can’t get much worse than “password”. It has no numbers, no capital letters, and no unusual symbols, and can be guessed pretty easily. It reminds me a lot of my first computer password, which if I recall correctly was “Mark”. No, worse: It was “mark”.
Other popular passwords: “111111”; “abc123”; and “qwerty”, which if you learned touch typing—or just glance at a keyboard—is pretty easy to figure. Also popular: “letmein”, again self-explanatory.
I apologize if I just gave out your password. However, if your password is any of the above for any gadget or site the general internet could get a crack at, you’re a moron. Perhaps your password should be “moron”. Perhaps it is.
Here are other common passwords identified by Yahoo! (doesn’t that make you think you’re one of the Howling Commandoes? Say it out loud): “princess”, “Monkey”, “Sunshine”, “Shadow”, and “iloveyou”, the latter of which is possibly involved in a gifted device, or someone who really, really can’t live without electronics.
All you hear about these days is this bad guy cracking a password, that bad guy stealing data, some other bad guy putting malware on your computer … Malware is another word for software that sneaks into your computer and kicks your own software into a corner of the hard drive. Do hard drives have corners? But if you haven’t educated yourself enough to know what malware is, the case could be made that you shouldn’t be in the position of passwording anything.
Is passwording a word? It is now.
For the record, the best passwords are 10 characters long, use uncommon letter/number combinations, and employ punctuation or odd symbols, so someone can’t just guess it and hacking programs can’t easily figure it out. For instance, my password is My9@s3W0Rp.
Or, um, … it was. Yeah, it was.
However, I used that password for everything. The experts say you should have a different password for each online service; that way if a bad guy gets one, he won’t get all of them.
And you should never write them down. Nope.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Are you nuts?!”
Well, I still think more people are good than bad, so … yeah, I’m probably nuts. But if you’re talking about passwords, then I’ll give you an idea that, I assume, the experts will wildly disagree with:
Write ‘em down.
I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can barely remember … well, there was something, I don’t recall what it was, but I can barely remember it. How can I be guaranteed to remember even one password, let alone several? I can’t, that’s how.
I’m talking about home use. I’m not suggesting you tape it to your iPad, or have it tattooed to your forehead. (Although if you do that, remember to have it tattooed backward.) But yeah, if you have a password so convoluted that the Navajo Code Breakers couldn’t figure it out, you’re going to be in trouble if you keep forgetting it. Put it in invisible ink, on a piece of paper at the back of a desk drawer. Train the dog to dig it up from the back yard. Put one number or digit in the corner of each room of the house.
Sure, you could lose it if your house burns down, but won’t you have bigger problems then? And if the place gets burglarized, just change your password. That’s assuming the burglar is no longer there—first thing’s first.
The average hacker is not going to physically walk into your house, unless you’re talking about a relative with bronchitis. That’s not the kind of virus we’re dealing with, here.
Then you can put in nice, complicated passwords that aren’t likely to be stolen, such as 3vcl943(#^&%/2id[aude8/1, which is what I typed when I hacked just now.
Here’s another idea, which I got from a website where someone suggested typing your name one handed, without looking at the keyboard. No, I don’t know why. Still, it’s an interesting idea for generating a password. Let’s try it:
Mdtjhubngtg
Not bad. Needs some numbers and symbols. Maybe I’ll try again when I feel a sneeze coming on.
I have a bad habit of being optimistic about humanity.
Oh, in theory that’s a good thing. Let’s all think the best of people! Shouldn’t it be that way? Sure it should. Chamberlain thought the best of Hitler. So did Stalin, who was certain Hitler wouldn’t be dumb enough to invade Russia and stick around through winter. Come to think of it, just the word “Hitler” is a good hint that thinking the best of people might be a mistake.
But this isn’t about mass-killing despots. This is about passwords.
Hitler would have had a very secure password. He didn’t think the best of people.
According to researchers, in 2013 internet users finally got smart, and stopped using “password” as their #1 password when dealing with computers and internet sites. Finally, some sanity!
It dropped to number two.
Number one is now “123456”. Yeah.
It would be 12345, but so many sites require six digits.
Another team of security researchers uncovered a cache of two million login credentials, and according to their research, “password” was far down in fourth position, after, “123456”, “123456789”, and “1234”.
Next came “12345” and, yes, “12345678”.
After that, in a sudden desire to be different, came: “admin”.
And so my optimism is defeated.
Yahoo Tech … excuse me, Yahoo! Tech points out that you can’t get much worse than “password”. It has no numbers, no capital letters, and no unusual symbols, and can be guessed pretty easily. It reminds me a lot of my first computer password, which if I recall correctly was “Mark”. No, worse: It was “mark”.
Other popular passwords: “111111”; “abc123”; and “qwerty”, which if you learned touch typing—or just glance at a keyboard—is pretty easy to figure. Also popular: “letmein”, again self-explanatory.
I apologize if I just gave out your password. However, if your password is any of the above for any gadget or site the general internet could get a crack at, you’re a moron. Perhaps your password should be “moron”. Perhaps it is.
Here are other common passwords identified by Yahoo! (doesn’t that make you think you’re one of the Howling Commandoes? Say it out loud): “princess”, “Monkey”, “Sunshine”, “Shadow”, and “iloveyou”, the latter of which is possibly involved in a gifted device, or someone who really, really can’t live without electronics.
All you hear about these days is this bad guy cracking a password, that bad guy stealing data, some other bad guy putting malware on your computer … Malware is another word for software that sneaks into your computer and kicks your own software into a corner of the hard drive. Do hard drives have corners? But if you haven’t educated yourself enough to know what malware is, the case could be made that you shouldn’t be in the position of passwording anything.
Is passwording a word? It is now.
For the record, the best passwords are 10 characters long, use uncommon letter/number combinations, and employ punctuation or odd symbols, so someone can’t just guess it and hacking programs can’t easily figure it out. For instance, my password is My9@s3W0Rp.
Or, um, … it was. Yeah, it was.
However, I used that password for everything. The experts say you should have a different password for each online service; that way if a bad guy gets one, he won’t get all of them.
And you should never write them down. Nope.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Are you nuts?!”
Well, I still think more people are good than bad, so … yeah, I’m probably nuts. But if you’re talking about passwords, then I’ll give you an idea that, I assume, the experts will wildly disagree with:
Write ‘em down.
I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can barely remember … well, there was something, I don’t recall what it was, but I can barely remember it. How can I be guaranteed to remember even one password, let alone several? I can’t, that’s how.
I’m talking about home use. I’m not suggesting you tape it to your iPad, or have it tattooed to your forehead. (Although if you do that, remember to have it tattooed backward.) But yeah, if you have a password so convoluted that the Navajo Code Breakers couldn’t figure it out, you’re going to be in trouble if you keep forgetting it. Put it in invisible ink, on a piece of paper at the back of a desk drawer. Train the dog to dig it up from the back yard. Put one number or digit in the corner of each room of the house.
Sure, you could lose it if your house burns down, but won’t you have bigger problems then? And if the place gets burglarized, just change your password. That’s assuming the burglar is no longer there—first thing’s first.
The average hacker is not going to physically walk into your house, unless you’re talking about a relative with bronchitis. That’s not the kind of virus we’re dealing with, here.
Then you can put in nice, complicated passwords that aren’t likely to be stolen, such as 3vcl943(#^&%/2id[aude8/1, which is what I typed when I hacked just now.
Here’s another idea, which I got from a website where someone suggested typing your name one handed, without looking at the keyboard. No, I don’t know why. Still, it’s an interesting idea for generating a password. Let’s try it:
Mdtjhubngtg
Not bad. Needs some numbers and symbols. Maybe I’ll try again when I feel a sneeze coming on.
July 23, 2014
Jaws Of Life, and other fun destructive stuff
I took some photos at the Albion Fire Department’s recent vehicle extrication training (it was 86 degrees!) and, naturally, posted them on the AFD’s FB page:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?s...
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?s...
July 22, 2014
Summer vacation: Pain and Writing
Summer update: I haven’t been online much, because I’m both having fun and being miserable.
It turns out those things are not exclusive. I’m on vacation, and when someone goes on vacation during the summer they need to be outside, where the vacation-y stuff is. We especially had fun the first week, when Emily and I took the grandkids to, among other places, Science Central in Fort Wayne and Black Pine Animal Sanctuary. We’ve also done some trail walking and camping (photos to follow).
Also, I started physical therapy on my tendonitis. The therapist said I needed to cut back on keyboarding as much as possible, and there’s where the irony kicked in: I probably would have had medical instructions to take a week or so off work … but I was already on vacation. So at least my sick days are saved.
But I could do some typing, so I had to decide between hanging around on the internet or writing. Guess what I chose? Even though I went back and did some revision on my SF story Beowulf: In Harm’s Way (because revision doesn’t take as much typing), I’m still up to 30,000 words on the story. I also did some plot changes that make me very happy—I love it when adding something in early on leads me to a great plot twist idea for later in the book.
It also takes my mind off the pain. On a related note, kids: Don’t get hurt to begin with. Because, apparently, the only way to stop the pain is with much more pain.
It turns out those things are not exclusive. I’m on vacation, and when someone goes on vacation during the summer they need to be outside, where the vacation-y stuff is. We especially had fun the first week, when Emily and I took the grandkids to, among other places, Science Central in Fort Wayne and Black Pine Animal Sanctuary. We’ve also done some trail walking and camping (photos to follow).
Also, I started physical therapy on my tendonitis. The therapist said I needed to cut back on keyboarding as much as possible, and there’s where the irony kicked in: I probably would have had medical instructions to take a week or so off work … but I was already on vacation. So at least my sick days are saved.
But I could do some typing, so I had to decide between hanging around on the internet or writing. Guess what I chose? Even though I went back and did some revision on my SF story Beowulf: In Harm’s Way (because revision doesn’t take as much typing), I’m still up to 30,000 words on the story. I also did some plot changes that make me very happy—I love it when adding something in early on leads me to a great plot twist idea for later in the book.
It also takes my mind off the pain. On a related note, kids: Don’t get hurt to begin with. Because, apparently, the only way to stop the pain is with much more pain.
July 17, 2014
Splash Pad: The Safest Place To Freeze
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
I had a chance to watch my grandkids playing in Albion’s splash pad the other day, and it took me back to my childhood: Jumping in the water, splashing around, screaming …
Freezing.
A splash pad is a really cool place for kids, because you get the splash part, but not the worries of going into water too deep. Plus, it’s clean water. There’s no such thing as a play area where you absolutely can’t get hurt at all (and what a boring place that would be), but that beats the heck out of the “good” old days.
When I was a kid, there were several places you could go swimming, if they were within biking range, or you could talk an older person with a car into taking you there. Some of them were beaches, and occasionally we’d even find a lifeguard at one.
We avoided those places. The lifeguards were too much like … adults. No roughhousing, no throwing stuff at each other—it never occurred to us that they could save our lives.
No, we’d go to the places where the beaches consisted of gravel, or to good old fashioned swimming holes. I’m not sure what the difference is. I can tell you that lakes beat ponds, if you were at all disturbed by stuff squeezing between your toes. Clean water? Never entered our minds.
One of our favorite places to go was the Skinner Lake beach, and it’s a perfect example of the revelation I had while I sat there, safely out of the water, watching the grandkids:
When I was their age we’d get out of the car at Skinner Lake, and it would take me five minutes to cross a gravel driveway. I’m one of those kids who always wore shoes, and now I was barefoot, on my way to the water. It never occurred to me to take shoes with me, or wear what, in those days, we used to call thongs. Believe me, the thongs of forty years ago protected an entirely different area than the thongs of today do.
Then I’d work my way down the beach, and put one toe into the water. The water was freezing. It was always freezing, no matter where we went. Heated swimming? Unheard of.
My brother, along with whoever else my parents made drag me along, would dive right into the water, which was of a temperature about the same as what Jack and Rose dropped into during Titanic. After a while, I’d recover from the shock and dip a foot in.
Then a toe of the other foot. Goose bumps popped up all over my body, including inside my ears. Every hair stood on end. By the time the water reached my knees, I’d be shivering uncontrollably. The others would be tossing a Frisbee back and forth, or splashing around in inner tubes.
The water would reach my swim trunks, seeming momentarily less cold until it reached the top and touched my bare abdomen. My belly would suck in against my spine.
Eventually, about the time the sun reached the top of the trees, I’d get just comfortable enough in the water—by which I mean, still freezing but now up to my neck—that I’d start splashing around a little.
At this point the others would call from where they were drying off on the beach, to tell me it was time to come home.
This was called having fun.
It was many, many years before I fully understood that I just got colder than other people did. Others wear shorts, I wear pants. Others wear t-shirts, I pull on a sweater. Others enjoy autumn, I’m digging out long underwear and a winter coat. Others love winter, I … don’t.
I should have just stayed on the beach.
To this day, I love being on big bodies of water—lakes, rivers. By that I mean on, as in a boat, or a raft. It took me all these years to figure out that, as much as we used to beg adults to take us swimming, I rarely liked it much (unless we were there at least a few hours, by which time I was numb enough to have fun). The first time I remember completely enjoying myself from the start (outside of discovering heated swimming pools) is when my wife and I went into a river in southeast Missouri, where the water was almost bathtub-like, late in their hot summer.
As much as I loved watching the kids running around in the splash pad, I wouldn’t want to join them. Well, not until the temperature touches 90, at least … let’s not get too silly about this whole cold water hatred thing. Goose bumps will never beat heat stroke for unwanted side effects.
I had a chance to watch my grandkids playing in Albion’s splash pad the other day, and it took me back to my childhood: Jumping in the water, splashing around, screaming …
Freezing.
A splash pad is a really cool place for kids, because you get the splash part, but not the worries of going into water too deep. Plus, it’s clean water. There’s no such thing as a play area where you absolutely can’t get hurt at all (and what a boring place that would be), but that beats the heck out of the “good” old days.
When I was a kid, there were several places you could go swimming, if they were within biking range, or you could talk an older person with a car into taking you there. Some of them were beaches, and occasionally we’d even find a lifeguard at one.
We avoided those places. The lifeguards were too much like … adults. No roughhousing, no throwing stuff at each other—it never occurred to us that they could save our lives.
No, we’d go to the places where the beaches consisted of gravel, or to good old fashioned swimming holes. I’m not sure what the difference is. I can tell you that lakes beat ponds, if you were at all disturbed by stuff squeezing between your toes. Clean water? Never entered our minds.
One of our favorite places to go was the Skinner Lake beach, and it’s a perfect example of the revelation I had while I sat there, safely out of the water, watching the grandkids:
When I was their age we’d get out of the car at Skinner Lake, and it would take me five minutes to cross a gravel driveway. I’m one of those kids who always wore shoes, and now I was barefoot, on my way to the water. It never occurred to me to take shoes with me, or wear what, in those days, we used to call thongs. Believe me, the thongs of forty years ago protected an entirely different area than the thongs of today do.
Then I’d work my way down the beach, and put one toe into the water. The water was freezing. It was always freezing, no matter where we went. Heated swimming? Unheard of.
My brother, along with whoever else my parents made drag me along, would dive right into the water, which was of a temperature about the same as what Jack and Rose dropped into during Titanic. After a while, I’d recover from the shock and dip a foot in.
Then a toe of the other foot. Goose bumps popped up all over my body, including inside my ears. Every hair stood on end. By the time the water reached my knees, I’d be shivering uncontrollably. The others would be tossing a Frisbee back and forth, or splashing around in inner tubes.
The water would reach my swim trunks, seeming momentarily less cold until it reached the top and touched my bare abdomen. My belly would suck in against my spine.
Eventually, about the time the sun reached the top of the trees, I’d get just comfortable enough in the water—by which I mean, still freezing but now up to my neck—that I’d start splashing around a little.
At this point the others would call from where they were drying off on the beach, to tell me it was time to come home.
This was called having fun.
It was many, many years before I fully understood that I just got colder than other people did. Others wear shorts, I wear pants. Others wear t-shirts, I pull on a sweater. Others enjoy autumn, I’m digging out long underwear and a winter coat. Others love winter, I … don’t.
I should have just stayed on the beach.
To this day, I love being on big bodies of water—lakes, rivers. By that I mean on, as in a boat, or a raft. It took me all these years to figure out that, as much as we used to beg adults to take us swimming, I rarely liked it much (unless we were there at least a few hours, by which time I was numb enough to have fun). The first time I remember completely enjoying myself from the start (outside of discovering heated swimming pools) is when my wife and I went into a river in southeast Missouri, where the water was almost bathtub-like, late in their hot summer.
As much as I loved watching the kids running around in the splash pad, I wouldn’t want to join them. Well, not until the temperature touches 90, at least … let’s not get too silly about this whole cold water hatred thing. Goose bumps will never beat heat stroke for unwanted side effects.
July 13, 2014
You call it plugging, I call it a birthday wish
I got to thinking about my request that everyone buy one or more copies of my books on my birthday—to give to their friends, read themselves, or just make me happy. I think it’s important for you to know: There are plenty. It’s print on demand for hard copy, and I don’t think there’s ever been a worldwide shortage of e-book versions.
So all these rumors I’ve been hearing about riots in Argentina and Germany—you people just calm right down. Amazon had never exploded over just one writer’s birthday. Now, you’ve got less than half an hour, so … GO!
(No, I don’t expect a run on orders from my internet friends, especially since most have probably already read me if they’re going to. But why not have fun with it?)
So all these rumors I’ve been hearing about riots in Argentina and Germany—you people just calm right down. Amazon had never exploded over just one writer’s birthday. Now, you’ve got less than half an hour, so … GO!
(No, I don’t expect a run on orders from my internet friends, especially since most have probably already read me if they’re going to. But why not have fun with it?)
July 10, 2014
At Least The Cubs Never Lost To Belgium
SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK
I was going to make fun of soccer last week, until I realized I’d never actually watched a soccer game. It wasn’t fair, poking fun of something I had no knowledge of, although maybe I’m the only one who feels that way. So I sat down to watch an entire World Cup game (Mexico vs. Greece). It’s good to experience new things, educate yourself, exposure yourself to other cultures.
Now I’m ready to make fun of soccer.
(You might be reading this after the World Cup is over, thanks to the quirks of my schedule—it’s like Star Trek time travel, only without the techno-babble.)
Soccer’s just never been on my radar. Not only do I have little interest in sports, but I live in America, the black hole of soccer. We even stole its proper name, football, and gave it to an entirely different sport.
When I was a kid, the only sports I had anything to do with were forced on me in gym class, whenever I couldn’t find a decent hiding place. Our gym teacher did a good job of exposing us to different sports. Sure, there was basketball and football, but in winter we’d shovel the ice off the school pond and give hockey a try. We ran track, of course, and played badminton, which involves a slow moving thingy that we would busily swing at, and miss. Or maybe it was just me missing.
I even did well a few times, by accident. Once I almost won a volleyball game for my team (half the class) by serving the ball and actually getting it across the net several times. The trick is that the other side botched things and didn’t get the ball back to us—thus I really had little to do with it.
Another time I ended up second to last in dodge ball, thanks to my schoolyard experience in dodging bullies.
I usually hit what I swung at in baseball, or so it appeared when I opened my eyes to see the ball sailing into the outfielder’s mitt.
But we never played soccer. Not once. It just didn’t appear on the American horizon, replaced by a sport that held a chance of literal explosions: NASCAR.
To Americans, football isn’t the same unless the ball isn’t ball shaped. When I see a sticker for NASA (Noble Area Soccer Association) I start dreaming about missions to Mars.
This year the World Cup drew the attention of the American media, probably in an attempt to cover up how much the government is screwing up. I’m sure many Americans watch it, as it’s every bit as exciting as curling and way faster moving than baseball. Still, no one I know personally seems to have actually watched the World Cup, until I did.
What were my impressions? Well, the heat index during the game was 100 degrees, they hauled one guy off in a stretcher, and several others were left groaning on the ground. It was deadly.
Deadly dull.
In fairness, I’m not a sports fan, so I’m not the one to compare it with other sports. Still, I noticed several problems which may—or may not—explain why international football has not become, here in the USA, national football:
Low scoring. Americans, especially American men, like to score. In sports, too.
Now, basketball scores too much—you get a hundred points scored in a game, and it’s not special anymore. It’s why big movies on TV are no longer an “event”: You can watch big movies at home anytime.
Soccer scores are so low that any time the ball goes in, the players actually go into convulsions, the crowds riot, and the governments of countries that were scored on are overthrown.
Too-large field. The World Cup football field is slightly larger than the national deficit. It lessens scoring, of course, because by the time a team gets the ball to the opposing net they have to lay down and nap before trying to kick it in. It might help if each team, to get down the field faster, was issued a minibus.
There are other problems, such as the fact that substitutions are limited, which means that toward the end of the game you see players crawling forward on all fours, tapping the ball a few feet forward with their heads. There’s also the fact that, apparently, teams often play with the intention of tying, rather than winning. This goes against everything America used to stand for—just ask George Patton.
Finally, most serious of all, and the main reason why this team sport will never become huge in the United States:
No cheerleaders.
And now we know why baseball is fading, too.
I was going to make fun of soccer last week, until I realized I’d never actually watched a soccer game. It wasn’t fair, poking fun of something I had no knowledge of, although maybe I’m the only one who feels that way. So I sat down to watch an entire World Cup game (Mexico vs. Greece). It’s good to experience new things, educate yourself, exposure yourself to other cultures.
Now I’m ready to make fun of soccer.
(You might be reading this after the World Cup is over, thanks to the quirks of my schedule—it’s like Star Trek time travel, only without the techno-babble.)
Soccer’s just never been on my radar. Not only do I have little interest in sports, but I live in America, the black hole of soccer. We even stole its proper name, football, and gave it to an entirely different sport.
When I was a kid, the only sports I had anything to do with were forced on me in gym class, whenever I couldn’t find a decent hiding place. Our gym teacher did a good job of exposing us to different sports. Sure, there was basketball and football, but in winter we’d shovel the ice off the school pond and give hockey a try. We ran track, of course, and played badminton, which involves a slow moving thingy that we would busily swing at, and miss. Or maybe it was just me missing.
I even did well a few times, by accident. Once I almost won a volleyball game for my team (half the class) by serving the ball and actually getting it across the net several times. The trick is that the other side botched things and didn’t get the ball back to us—thus I really had little to do with it.
Another time I ended up second to last in dodge ball, thanks to my schoolyard experience in dodging bullies.
I usually hit what I swung at in baseball, or so it appeared when I opened my eyes to see the ball sailing into the outfielder’s mitt.
But we never played soccer. Not once. It just didn’t appear on the American horizon, replaced by a sport that held a chance of literal explosions: NASCAR.
To Americans, football isn’t the same unless the ball isn’t ball shaped. When I see a sticker for NASA (Noble Area Soccer Association) I start dreaming about missions to Mars.
This year the World Cup drew the attention of the American media, probably in an attempt to cover up how much the government is screwing up. I’m sure many Americans watch it, as it’s every bit as exciting as curling and way faster moving than baseball. Still, no one I know personally seems to have actually watched the World Cup, until I did.
What were my impressions? Well, the heat index during the game was 100 degrees, they hauled one guy off in a stretcher, and several others were left groaning on the ground. It was deadly.
Deadly dull.
In fairness, I’m not a sports fan, so I’m not the one to compare it with other sports. Still, I noticed several problems which may—or may not—explain why international football has not become, here in the USA, national football:
Low scoring. Americans, especially American men, like to score. In sports, too.
Now, basketball scores too much—you get a hundred points scored in a game, and it’s not special anymore. It’s why big movies on TV are no longer an “event”: You can watch big movies at home anytime.
Soccer scores are so low that any time the ball goes in, the players actually go into convulsions, the crowds riot, and the governments of countries that were scored on are overthrown.
Too-large field. The World Cup football field is slightly larger than the national deficit. It lessens scoring, of course, because by the time a team gets the ball to the opposing net they have to lay down and nap before trying to kick it in. It might help if each team, to get down the field faster, was issued a minibus.
There are other problems, such as the fact that substitutions are limited, which means that toward the end of the game you see players crawling forward on all fours, tapping the ball a few feet forward with their heads. There’s also the fact that, apparently, teams often play with the intention of tying, rather than winning. This goes against everything America used to stand for—just ask George Patton.
Finally, most serious of all, and the main reason why this team sport will never become huge in the United States:
No cheerleaders.
And now we know why baseball is fading, too.
