Diary of a Network Geek

God, I don't feel that old.

Wow, this year has gone fast! It seems like just yesterday I was starting the 365 Days Project on Flickr and now here I've finished it. That was an interesting experience. Not quite what I thought it would be and I'm not entirely sure it accomplished everything I was hoping it would, but it did force me to grow in my photography and get more comfortable with myself and my camera.  I have to admit, I'm not quite sure what I'll do with all the "extra" creative time that I won't be spending obsessing over what to do for my next self-portrait.  Honestly, it feels a little weird, since for the past year, a significant focus of my creative energy has been spent on this project and I feel almost at a loss to know what creative direction to head next.  I know I want to take a break and sort of get my feet under me, but then, I know I'll want to do more with my photography than I have so far and I intend it to take me much farther from my comfort zone than it already has.  But, I'm still not entirely sure what I'm willing to committ to next, so I'm trying to be open to whatever feels right.

Aside from that, it's been an unexceptional year for me in most ways.
Many things have not changed at all and I'm certainly not where I thought or even hoped I'd be in many aspects of my life.  For instance, I still work at the same company, doing the same things.  I still have fairly massive debt, especially medical debt.  I'm still quite very single.  I still dabble in art and what I do still lacks a certain amount of passion.  Well, perhaps it's more accurate to say that my creative work suffers from an abundance of restraint, repression and control.
I have started to lose weight and get into better shape, which I definitely feel is a prerequisite for dating, for me.  I'm down about thirty pounds since last year, which means I'm just under two-hundred.  Far more importantly, I'm in better shape now than I have been in close to eleven years.  I'm leaner, stronger and if not more resilient, at least not significantly less.  I still need more work, but I'm finally getting to a point that I'm comfortable with my physical self.  I may never be truly satisfied, but, I am at least headed in a much more healthy and satisfying direction.

I'm still not sure about relationships and dating and all that chaos right now.  I keep telling myself that I'll do that soon, but, honestly, I'm not sure  how soon that will be.  I know I don't want to be alone forever, but, right now, doing the things that I need to do to change that seem life more work than it's worth.  Obviously, at some point, I'll take those emotional risks and make myself vulnerable in that way to someone, but, well, not during the holidays.
I'm sure there are many who would find it somewhat amusing to think of me this way, but I am very delicate in some ways.  I have scars on my heart and memory from the ways the phrase "I love you" has been used as a tool against me.  And, from the results of my saying those words without fully meaning them.  Rising above some of the wreckage of my past seems too difficult a task some days, though I know that there are many who have far greater obstacles to their happiness and their futures.

So, I try to take it all one day at a time.
I try not to worry too much about what will come and just live in the now.  I suspect that a lot of cancer survivors do the same.

And, of course, my birthday wouldn't be complete if I didn't mention all the other famous people who had the good luck to be born on this particular day. Famous people like Frank "Chairman of the Board" Sinatra, Jennifer Connelly, Bob Barker, Gustave Flaubert, author of Madame Bovary, Edvard Munch, and Wells Fargo founder, Henry Wells. Not to mention, Mike Pinder of the Moody Blues, Tim Hauser of Manhattan Transfer, Dickey Betts of the Allman Bros, jazz musician Grover Washington Jr, and former mayor of New York City, Ed Koch.
All heady company to be sure, but for whatever reason, it tickles me the most that I share a birthday with Frank Sinatra. I guess it's because he was such a unique and original character who really fought against and beat some long odds to become an amazingly famous, generally well thought of character. I can only hope to do the same, one day.

So, I don't know what the coming year will bring, but I know I'll be in a different place than I am today.  My dream is that in the next year I'll have gotten paid for some piece of photographic work, that I'll have written more in general and more fiction, that I'll have taken more emotional and spiritual risks by opening myself to others.  My hope is that the attempt to do these things will be driven not from a sense of fear of what will happen to me if I don't chase those dreams, but, rather, a sense of hope and courage and adventure and the possiblity of growth and positive, directed change.
There are no guarantees, of course, but those hopes and dreams provide me a road map for where to head next and a guide to my choices for the next year.
I hope you'll all be here with me, to see just where I end up and how I get there.

Not your writing composition, by the way, but your photographic composition.

You know, it's not like the world needs another photography blog or anything, or I think I'd be tempted to convert this site from "Diary of  Network Geek" to "Journal of an Obsessed Amateur Photographer"!  So, you all will have to excuse me while I geek out over photography once in a while.
This time, I'm sharing a link to the Amateur Snapper's 10 Top Photography Composition Rules.  Of course, I think of them as guidelines more than rules, but, then, I've always thought rules were for other people, so take that with a grain of salt.

In any case, the link has ten really good suggestions for composing better pictures.  You may be familiar with some of them, but I'll bet there's one or two you've forgotten or never thought about much.  Also?  The rest of the site isn't bad, either, so, if you're interested in photography, go ahead and click the link.  You won't be sorry!

It's not quite the "birthday" of the mouse, but...

Today is the 41st anniversary of the first time a mouse made its commercial debut, though the patent was actually granted just a few weeks earlier on November 17th. That's right, the mouse, that marvel of modern technology that most of us use daily is just a little older than I am. Invented by Douglas C. Engelbart and the group of 17 researchers working with him in the Augmentation Research Center at Stanford Research Institute in Menlo Park, CA, the original mouse was little more than a square, wooden box, but the little device would change the world. Engelbart showed how the mouse could let a user jump from text on one part of the screen randomly to another section without having to scroll through the text inbetween. Doesn't sound too revolutionary to us today, does it? But, think about how you navigated to this page to read this little blurb, then try to imagine doing it without a mouse.  Or, imagine trying to use Photoshop or any other graphic design program for that matter without the point-click-and-drag of a computer mouse.  Yeah, pretty much everything cool you can do on a computer these days involves a mouse or similar pointer.  Now, of course, to me, that's the real genius of an invention like the mouse; it seems so obvious that we wonder why we didn't think of it sooner!

So, happy demo day, little guy. Thanks for giving me a job and us a way to waste time at work.

I think I've lost her.

Seriously.  My muse is like a missing person.
Oh, I could blame it all on my impending birthday.  My forty-first, incidentally.  It's odd to be so old all of a sudden, since I certainly feel no different, physically, than I did ten years ago.  In fact, I'm probably in better shape now than I was ten years ago.  Okay, maybe not better, but probably not any worse and, I hasten to point out, I am getting better, more fit, with virtually every passing day.  And, of course, aside from being a cancer survivor with fucking lung scars and some lingering high blood-pressure issues.

Or, I could blame it on the fact that it's been three years since I've been in a relationship or, hell, even on a date.  You know, the holidays can be depressing all by themselves, but facing the damn things alone are worse.  Worse still is having been with someone through these troubling and troublesome events and then finding ourselves alone again.  People who have never been partnered up during the holidays don't know what they're missing.  But, those who have, er, "loved and lost", so to speak, remember...  We remember all the family that's not ours anymore.  We remember only the best parts, though.  The happiest part of the holidays.  The laughs, the fun, the happiest memories.  Not, thankfully, the bitter, angry, often drunken, rants and tantrums.  Oh, the tantrums.  How I miss them.  No, it's not that, though the holidays have been a little strange this year.

I could blame the past several months of non-writing behavior on the scans I have scheduled later this week.  That old favorite scapegoat; cancer-survivor.  The medical bills and the continuing scans seem like a great excuse for the creative well to have run dry.  And this time around, they've dealt me a wild card.  A scan I haven't had yet; an MRI.  See, when I do this workout stuff to slim down and lower my blood-pressure and draw in those hotties like bees to honey, my throat tends to close off a bit.  The muscles in my neck get tight and the veins and arteries choke and throb and I find myself having a hard time swallowing.  Not all the time, but enough to concern my doctors.  And enough to generate concern warranting an MRI to take a closer look at just what the hell is going on there, since we can't seem to figure it out any other way.  So, top that off with the usual readioactive enema and I suppose that could induce enough anxiety to choke a muse and make her run off with that guy she met on the internet.

But, honestly, it's not any of those things.
Crap, I don't know what it is.  It's a phase, a cycle.  It's just a bit of writer's block or cock block or whatever horrible cliched phrase you want to use.  Temporary, I suppose, but I don't know what I'd write if I were to suddenly be inspired again.  Is the blog writing?  I mean, really?  Does it tell a story?  Or is it just a nut rambling?  I don't know.  I just sort of run my mouth at the keyboard and on the best days, I just pull out all the stops and safeties and just turn that dragon loose.
But, I have to tell you, good readers, blathering on about the horrid mundanities of my life isn't the same thing as writing.  Writing is about plot and character and building a storyline from a hook into compelling scenes.  It's about the reversal of fortune, or at least circumstances.  It's about change and development displayed through dialog and narrative.  And, all that seems to run away from me like mercury when you slap it.  It skitters away from my grip and shatters into ever smaller droplets that never quite seem to coalesce back into a recognizable shape.

But, my advertising revenue goes up with the quantity of my expressed angst, so, as the story goes, all I have to do is open up a vein and bleed it all out on paper.  Or virtual paper in the case of this blog.  This equally loved and hated blog that provides both release and the agonizing shame of need.  I've practically forgotten why I started it more than nine years ago.  I think my relationship with this blog has just about outlasted all my other relationships, actually.  Or, given another year or two, will.
Besides, there was a time that I'd have rather written here, as poor as it was, than done almost anything else with clothes on.  Well, aside from this one fantastic apple pie with stars on it.  So, who knows, maybe it's not real writing, but it does keep me off the streets at night.  Maybe I should do it some more.

All that aside, though, if anyone sees my muse, could you send her home to me?  For real.  There are a couple of nice women I'd love to woo with a bit of poetry and the like but I can't seem to write it without her.  So, point her this direction if you stumble across her trampy self, okay?

Oh, God, help me, I'm writing about Facebook.

Yeah, so I'm all up in that Facebook stuff and the average Facebook profile picture is terrible, especially mine. Here's a link to something you can do about that.  Maybe I'll even update my Facebook profile pic when I get a couple minutes to rub together!

More photography add-on software.

Now, as regular readers know, I loves me some digital photography.  What not everyone may realize, however, is that, in spite of being a professional geek, I have disturbingly weak photo-editing software skills.  It is my greatest shame.  On the other hand, it's also one of the ways I've sharpened my photography since getting my camera.  I generally haven't edited any shots I toss up on the web, so any "correction" has been "in camera", with settings and lighting, not post work.  But, I do sincerely want to change that.

Now, this software may not improve my photographs, but, I suspect, that Fotosketcher will make many of them more interesting.  This FREE software will take your digital photos and make them into drawings or other kinds of line art.  It will convert them to black and white or leave just part of them colorized.  Simpler than Photoshop, though certainly less versatile, but also a whole lot cheaper.  Worth taking a look at, even if you're as bad a photographer as me!

So, another Thanksgiving has come and almost gone.

Another holiday.  Another celebration, though not what I'd planned, not what I'd expected.  Good, though.  Better.
Today, instead of the big Thanksgiving dinner I'd been imagining all year long, I had a much quieter, more intimate dinner.  It was better, really.  Tomorrow, I'll have my big celebration.  Not with the family I was born into, but the family I've chosen, the family that I've gathered and that has chosen to gather around me.  Today, though, was a different celebration all together.  Rather than distract myself from a bitter anniversary with lots to do and a big crowd, filled with noise, I spent the afternoon and evening with three very dear people.  A friend who saw me through the confirmation of my diagnosis with cancer three years ago.  Who stayed with me when I was checked into the hospital unexpectedly, making sure I was settled, forever earning her a soft spot in my mother's heart.  And her son, a young man I don't know too well, but who's quite something in his own right.  And another friend, who is hard to pin down.  One of the things I enjoy about her, actually, is that just when you think you have her figured out, she reveals some new facet, some new twist that shows you really haven't figured her out at all.  She's the riddle to which there is no answer.  And, surely, my readers know by now just how much I love those virtually impossible to solve puzzles, especially when they come in human form.

As always seems to happen during events like this, someone shares a secret with me.  Something intimate and private and not known to the greater mass of people.  I don't know if it was the tryptophan or sugar-high of the Goode Company pecan pie or some weird vibe I give off, but, well, there it is.  And, outside of mentioning how amazed I am that such a diverse variety of people find me worthy of being trusted with such very intimate details of their lives, I do my best to keep those personal secrets.  In truth, I am honored to be trusted so, since I know so very well how I was not always so trustworthy.  It's hard for me to remember that these people never knew me in that life, that they have only known me as I am today, not how I was when I was so deeply and painfully enmeshed with my ex-wife and that life we led together.

I'm proud of the fact that I made it through the entire day with out telling the story.  The story of how she left the Sunday before Thanksgiving.  How we'd had a discussion, a somewhat one-sided discussion, about how I knew she'd been cheating on me for months.  I stated it as a fact I knew, though, in truth, I only had circumstantial evidence and a feeling.  Of course, that doesn't change the fact that I was right.
So, while I was in the shower, without any additional warning, she gathered up her daughter and a couple of suitcases, jumped into the only working car we had and left.  There was no note, no voice-mail.  I had to call her.  Since she didn't answer her cell-phone, I had to call her parent's house to find out where she was and find out what was really happening.  I knew, of course, but it was as if my mind refused to understand it, refused to take it all in.  I imagine it was a kind of shock, like what amputees feel when they wake up and find a limb has gone missing.
A week later, she was in Phoenix, Arizona with her lover, who's become her fourth husband.  And, I'd gotten into her e-mail, where I read everything they'd been e-mailing back and forth for six months or more.  I read every last detail of what she'd told him about me.  Every lie and half-truth, spun to serve her particular purpose.  Worse still was seeing every intimate detail I'd ever shared with her, every embarrassing secret, every fear, every vulnerability vomited out and mocked to paint me as a particular sort of person, to color me through a very much not-rose-tinted lens as something small, dark and twisted.  Something I very much feared I really was and, in my worst moments, believe I still am or can become.

But, today, I was reminded that I am not that man.  Neither the man I was nor the man she tried to make me.  To be honest, I'm not entirely sure who or what I am today, this year, this moment, but I most certainly know what I am not.  I am not the man who was an empty, hollow shell when she left.  Nor am I the fool who was suicidal at the thought that of being left and getting a divorce.  Perhaps most importantly, I am not the man who was ready to stay married to a woman who obviously had grown to hate him nor am I the man who hated himself so much that he felt drawn to someone who never loved him and only wanted, well, wanted something from him.
No, today, people who didn't even know me five years ago embraced me as part of the family that they chose to be with on this holiday.  They reminded me that I do have integrity and that I am worthy of trust.  That I'm safe.  Safe enough to be truly intimate with in the most important way possible.

So, this was Thanksgiving.  And, this year, though the anniversary that I can't seem to escape hit me harder this year than it has in several years, I was reminded just how much I have to be thankful for today.
I am thankful for my family, both the one I was born into and the one that has chosen each other.  I am thankful to be employed and reasonably solvent.  I'm thankful that I have a far deeper spirituality today than I did even five years ago.  I'm thankful that I have both the inspiration and means to be artistic, in my way, and have a hobby that I can pursue with as much relish and intensity as I care to put into it.  Most of all, and this has not always been true, I am thankful this year to simply be alive.

Tomorrow, I will have an unknown number of people over throughout the afternoon and evening, for a bit of fellowship and food.  Even though my house is not quite in the shape I'd like it before having people over, I still look forward to seeing everyone who makes it by, for however long they can be here.  I look forward to the celebration of who we are and our friendships.  Though I often feel very alone this time of year, being separated from my biological family and not in a relationship, tomorrow I will celebrate the amazing number and variety of friends who share my life today.  My life looks very different today than I expected it to, and, more importantly, than it did five years ago, but it's good life, filled with good people, each of whom I treasure for who they are.

So, I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving this year.  I know I did, and I know why I'm thankful.

I have no time!

That's what that German phrase means.  It's also very true of me the past couple weeks.  I don't have time.  Or, at least, not enough time.

First, I apologize, dear readers, for not posting more regularly.  As previously mentioned, I've been busy.  Two weeks ago, my parents were in town from Chicago, so I was all about spending quality time with them.  When I get a couple minutes to rub together, I'll get the pictures processed from our trip to the San Jacinto Monument.  A very tourist thing to do, but cool, too, because the San Jacinto Monument was part of the symbol for my Dad's military unit when he was in the Army back during the Korean War.  He was drafted and ended up in an activated reserve unit out of Houston.  Phone company guys, mostly, who were in a Combat Engineers unit.  So, it was sort of cool to take Mom and Dad to see this local icon which figured so prominently in his past.  He said he'd always meant to see it, but he never figured it would take 58 years to get here.  Maybe it's never too late, eh?

Also, I've been trying to get ready to have people over the day after Thanksgiving.  Usually, I do something the day of Thanksgiving and had hoped to start a new tradition of hosting a Lost and Wandering Thanksgiving at my house.  (Gee that sort of sounds like the saddest Charlie Brown Speical ever, doesn't it?)  But, due to unforseen circumstances, that's been pushed back a day and been slightly transformed into a Black Friday Leftovers celebration.  It'll be fun, though different.  And, yes, I am headed somewhere for Thanksgiving Day, which I'm very much looking forward to doing.  And, this year, I'll send out invitations earlier.  Like January.

But, also, dear readers, I've hit another slump.
Yesterday, the Sunday before Thanksgiving, is an anniversary, of sorts, for me.  An anniversary that I wish I could forget.  It makes me question who I am and why I am.  How I got here both physically and metaphorically.  Some years it hits harder than others, and this year, much to my surprise, it hit harder than I was expecting.  Maybe it was seeing Mom and Dad and realizing that they may not be around too many more years.  Dad's 80 and Mom's not too far behind.  They act like people ten years younger, but, the fact is, time catches us all and is creeping up on some of us faster than others.
Some of it is just that my life doesn't look like I thought it should at this point.  No wife, no kids, a stalled career that's become just a job I'm good at doing.  I'm thankful, though, that I have the luxury of my existential pain.  I'm relatively healthy.  I'm losing weight and trimming down.  I have a hobby to obsess over and a surprising number of people who love me.  Outside of the lingering medical debt thanks to surviving cancer and wrestling with a little high blood pressure still, things are going better than I have any right to expect.  Still, I feel the lack.

And, all those things, along with a little dog who likes to bust out windows early in the morning, have left me with little time or inspiration to write.  Oh, make no mistake, dear readers, there's plenty to write about, just a severe lack of motivation and focus to do so.

So, at least you've gotten an update.  Now you all know I'm not dead, or run off with the circus, or abducted by aliens.  Just busy and suffering from a bout of Weltschmerz, or, as John D. MacDonald had, I believe, Travis McGee say, "homesickness for a place I've never been".
Maybe it's just the melancholy German in me that longs for a kind of fantasy life that I never managed to realize.  Who knows?  All I know is that I feel empty, and lonely, and restless, like I do most years about this time, and it makes it hard to write well and honestly and true and not be depressing.  So I haven't been.
Maybe I'll go hide behind my camera for a bit longer after all.

More will come.
Eventually.

Enlarging photographs is harder than it seems.

No, seriously, getting a section of a digital picture enlarged without introducing all sorts of photographic "noise" is far, far more difficult than you might suppose.  When zooming in, the edges get jagged far more quickly than people realize, even when you're using a fancy-dancy Canon 5D Mark II and shooting in RAW mode.  (No, I don't have one either, but I so, so am saving my nickels and dimes to get one!)  So, what is a creative photographer to do?  Simple, use SmillaEnlarger, free, opensource software available on Source Forge.

Or, as you commonly know it, Friday the Thirteenth.

I haven't mentioned this more than once or twice this year, so, enjoy a history lesson, of sorts, while I'm out and about.
Most people in the Western World think of this day as unlucky, though I never really have. For years I wondered why people were so funny and superstitious about Friday the Thirteenth. I always thought it was because Judas was the Thirteenth Apostle or something like that. No, according to this article on GlobalPsychics.com, it has to do with the plot to suppress the Knights Templar. Hey, stop laughing! That's what it says!! And, I quote:

The modern basis for the Friday the 13th superstition stems from Friday October the 13th, 1307. On this date, the Pope of the church in Rome in Conjunction with the King of France, carried out a secret death warrant against "the Knights Templar". The Templars were terminated as heretics, never again to hold the power that they had held for so long. There Grand Master, Jacques DeMolay, was arrested and before he was killed, was tortured and crucified. A Black Friday indeed!

So, there you have it, Friday the Thirteenth is a global conspiracy, though, for a nice twist, it's not the Knights Templar or Freemasons who are behind it! Though, I do suppose they are indirectly involved. Personally, I usually have better luck on Friday the Thirteenth, but, then, I always have been a little out of step with the world. Oh, and here's a link to some alternate ideas why everyone else is afraid of Friday the Thirteenth.

Personally, I'm just enjoying having my parents in town, so, for me, there's nothing bad about this particular Friday the Thirteenth.

Enjoy it.