Monthly Archives: May 2017

As a computer programmer and former IT professional, I always need to be on the cutting edge of technology. So I’m excited to announce that I’ve replaced my flip phone (left), a model I’d been using for over a decade. My new device is something called a “smartphone” (right).

If you keep up on the latest gadgets, you may have heard about smartphones already. This particular model is known as an “iPhone.” The “i” stands for “impossible to flip closed.” Let me tell you, they’re not kidding about that one.

These are early days, but my first impressions are mostly positive. You can access the internet (!), take videos, and install one or more of something called an “app,” which I assume is short for “Appa.” And, while my old phone did have touchscreen capabilities, the new phone does things when you touch the screen. I’m wary of this feature, mindful of what happened the last time I touched something the size and shape of a mousetrap, but so far bone breakage has been minimal.

If anyone has any questions about this new technology, fire away. I’m a very sophisticated tech guru, but I’ll do my best to dumb it down to terms you can understand.

ju·ve·ni·lia — noun : artistic or literary compositions produced in the author’s youth and typically marked by immaturity of style, treatment, or thought : youthful writing or other artistic work

You mean like this high-school-era MS Paint masterpiece from yours truly?

Immaturity of style … pshaw. This is GLORIOUS.

You remember this part from Revenge of the Sith, right? The fascist revolution is in full swing, and Anakin’s gone full-on whiny Dark Side, and he’s slicing up everything in sight for reasons that remain dubious at best. He walks into this room:

The kids younglings hiding behind the chairs come out. It’s Skywalker! They’re saved!

Then Anakin gives him this look that’s pure stomach cramps evil:

And he whips out his lightsaber …

The scene cuts away there, implying that what comes next — Anakin murdering all the kids — is simply too awful to show.

But I’m not so sure about all that.

Yeah, okay, so Obi-Wan supposedly finds some kids’ bodies later, and watches a recording of the alleged murders, yada, yada. That’s just a cover-up by George Lucas.

See, people don’t give these younglings enough credit. What, they automatically get slaughtered just because they’re not old enough to drive? Let’s look at the facts:

• The kids outnumber Annykins by at least seven to one — and I bet there are more hiding somewhere.
• On closer inspection (click the pictures above to enlarge), they all have little weapons that appear to be lightsabers.
• They’ve been trained by the best teachers in the galaxy, and they’ve been hanging out there in the Temple with Master Yoda, who would have definitely taught them some sweet tricks.
• None of these children look even remotely scared, apart from that dude gawking in the middle. And even he’s probably just concerned that Anna Kinninina needs to find a bathroom.

Here’s what I think really went down.

First off, at least one of these kids is for sure a complete, certified, 100% hardcore badass.

He leaps up and whips out this crazy three-bladed lightsaber he made in shop class one day for extra credit. While Darth N00b steps back to fend off this preadolescent beatdown, the other munchkins rush him from all sides with ROY G. BIV lightsabers, yelling “Taste the rainbow!” A kickass metal remix of “Duel of the Fates” starts jamming in the background. After five minutes of epic choreography, Darth Wannabe hightails it out of there and barely escapes with his life.

And then later Padme’s all:

And Anakin’s like:

Man, I should write Star Wars movies. Do they need anyone for Episode IX?

I think a lot about how ridiculously, absurdly, over-the-top lucky I am. Sure, some of my blessings are things I’ve “earned” with hard work or good decisions, but the overwhelming majority are things that I simply, somehow, get to have. I could take an entire book of blank pages and fill it with nothing but a list of the wonders that I’ve apparently received by default, that no amount of gratitude can ever compensate.

There’s the big stuff, the stuff that leaps immediately to mind: Evan, Betsy, my parents, the rest of my family, my friends. Clean water, clean air, plenty of food, good health, enough money to cover all necessities and lots of not-necessaries. Being able to read and write and figure out 7 times 30. Having a house. Not getting shot or stabbed or executed or bombed, or arrested for no reason. Endless, unconditional love. Being surrounded by people who believe in God and love me even though I don’t. Not being addicted to heroin. Having a purpose. Experiencing joy.

There’s the small(er) stuff, that still feels big: Having about a million books on beautiful bookshelves with bookends shaped like dragons. The existence of Little Miss Sunshine and Babylon 5 and The Lord of the Rings and “The Second Coming” by W. B. Yeats and “I Ship It” by Not Literally. Hot coffee. Cold coffee. The fact that controlling my own fingers is genuinely telekinesis, and talking to people is genuinely telepathy. The ability to write these words and give them to you, and your ability to read them or not, as you decide. The words sockdolager and brandish and sesquipedalian. Dover Castle, the cliffs of Dover, and the poem “Dover Beach.” Graham’s number. Guinness beer.

And then there’s the in-between stuff, that’s slightly less obvious but no less utterly incredible. The fact that I don’t have (symptoms of) depression, and the pills responsible have virtually no side effects. The fact that I have never, not once, not once, encountered any stigma for having mental illness. The fact that I don’t even think of “mental illness” as a bad thing, aside from, you know, it sucks to have it. The sheer existence of libraries, and Google, and Wikipedia. The fact that copyediting — which is literally mostly just reading stuff carefully — is somehow a job that you can get paid for.

All of that. All of that is just page one of the entire book I could fill with this stuff.

The literary half of my brain knows that this post is a cliche, and a bit on the sappy side, but there are worse things to be.

I’m still lucky.

“All right, we’ve got eight major regions of Australia to name. Let’s get started. This one over on the left?”

“Western Australia.”

“All right. Simple, descriptive, I like it. So this one down here would be, what, Southern Australia?”

“No. South Australia.”

“South? Really? Not Southern? I mean, I don’t want to nitpick, but shouldn’t it be consistent with …”

“South. Australia.”

“O-okay. Well, so this one up top, that would be — what? North Australia?”

“Northern …”

“Okay, Northern Australia.”

“Northern Territory.”

“Wait, what? It’s a territory? Do we have any others that are territories and not states?”

“Yeah, the capital region is a territory.”

“So that would be — Capital Territory?”

“Australian Capital Territory.”

“You don’t think that’ll be implied by the … ? Never mind, sorry. Okay, no other territories? So let’s keep going with the big areas. This one down here to the right, that would be Southeast Australia?”

“It’s New South …”

“New South Australia?”

“New South Wales.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, that should’ve been obvious. Look, the main thing is that all these big regions have a compass direction in the name. Let’s at least stick with that. So the one down there is …”

“Victoria.”

“Victoria?”

“We have to have at least one big land area honoring the Queen.”

“All right … all right, I guess that’s fair, we’ll make an exception there. And this one?”

“Queensland.”

“…”

“Because it’s also the land of the …”

“Right, no, I get it. Look, I don’t care anymore. We’ve got one left. All I ask — just don’t make it completely and utterly crazy, okay?”

“Not crazy?”

“Not crazy. That’s all I ask.”

“Let’s call it Tas …”

“Tas Island?”

“… mania.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”