Melodramatic mourning and dusty furniture.

I’m posting to a dead site in the night time.  It makes me want to cry.

Nobody has written on this site since 2005.   Once Six Mile Village was a popular site with hundreds of hits per day.  People would write poetry and stories.  Rodney would complain about any and every thing he came across (but allowed the content to be posted on the site as an administrator).  Steph would show up bi-annually.  People I respect wrote opinions.  The site was doing great without me.

Now it’s really dead.  This old content sits here and occasionally attracts a hit from random search engines.

I thought that once we got the site up again some people would come back.  But somehow the glue is gone.  Maybe it’s the format.  Because this is a blogging website.  Maybe.  Yet it’s just as easy to write here, and you don’t have to wait for approval.  It’s up.  Maybe it’s me.  Maybe the old site was Rodney’s and when it died and he didn’t come back nobody else did either.  And I’m not exactly provocative when I write.  I’m too main-stream.

So now it’s a site that has about 2 writers, 6 readers, and 5 or 6 search engine hits per day.

So much for village.

And so I go off and mourn melodramatically to a site that feels as empty as an old warehouse.  And the only people who will read this are the hopelessly addicted websurfer, and the person who unwittingly signed up for this site’s RSS feed and haven’t got anything from it in months.

Surprise.

And if you do read this, and you do get to the end, and you feel like writing something that would fit on this page, or the new one, please write.  I’ll be happy to add you as an author on this page.  I don’t care who you are.  I almost don’t even care what you write.

Anyway, this is my late night rant against abandoned electronic real estate.

-Greg

 

winner

I entered the sweepstakes for Mcdonalds, Chilis, and Home Depot.   I have a feeling I’m not going to win ten thousand dollars. 

I thought it important to mention.

-yo

 

Boxing

A couple of things I thought I knew about me:

1.  Don’t watch much television.

2.  Don’t watch much sport at all.

3.  If sport is watched, it is not boxing, and I know less about boxing than I do about any sport save curling and perhaps darts.

Having said that, I’ve seen this series, The Contender, on ESPN at my work over and over again during the past couple of weeks.  I admit that I like it.   That I spent a couple minutes ignoring my tables today during the final round of the latest episode.  I even got all ‘advisey’ at one point and tried to tell the television how the people ought to fight.  Just like the real sports-watching people.

I think it’s good entertainment.  But I did notice my violent tendencies increased after the third episode.  I officially vote that television can make people act more violent.  How long term this effect is, I don’t know. 

I just wanted to post a thingy here that says I have watched a form of sport, even though it’s been reality-show-ized, and I found enjoyment in it.

Now I’m going to put things on my wrists and pretend I’m a menace.

-Greg

 

R is for Ricochet

Every time I write a review for a Sue Grafton novel I wonder how successful she would have been had she not used the whole alphabet thing.  I mean, as far as gimmicks go, it’s a good one.  While not many people would recognize a Sharyn McCrumb novel as a part of a long series of successful mystery novels, most people who peruse book stores will see a book with a big letter on the front and say “Yeah, I’ve seen those, I’ve always wondered if they’re good.”I would have to say that for the most part, yeah.  They are good.

Ricochet is a nice, easy read in which you find yourself wanting the characters to do something or another – like when you watch a horror movie and you get into it to the point of saying things out loud, like “Don’t go in there!” or “Sharpen the chain saw or you’ll never make it through her tibia!”

I see it as a good sign.  I think that’s one of the things that makes the Harry Potter series consistant in it’s appeal.  People are dying to see the characters figure things out or do the right thing, but when they don’t the reader can’t put the book down because they’re dying to see what happens next. 

I was afraid that this book would follow the story of earlier Sue Grafton novels in delivery, content, character, and conclusion.  I was delighted to see that Grafton can and does create with variety.  It also kinda let me down, because what I like is what she has done in the past.

R is for Ricochet is the story of the same main character from the previous books, Kinsey Millhone.  Kinsey picks up a girl from jail and helps her make the adjustment to real life.  But this new girl turns out to be practically crazy in her unpredictability. 

Kinsey also picks up a love interest, but to me it detracted from the overall goodness of the book.  While never graphic, I’m still not interested in the re-kindled sexuality of a character I liked better as a single person. 

In summation, Grafton writes with great skill, but everything that wasn’t the main plot in this story kinda left me feeling flat.  I’ll have to give this book a 1 on a scale of -5 to 5.

 

The evening of the 25th of July

This is what I wrote last night on the new village site at sixmilevillage.com. 

There’s a weekly radio show called “This American Life” which I enjoy.  The idea is that they tell stories of things that have happened (sometimes fictional) which reveal some aspect of the American Life.  Who we are, what we do, and frequently leaves us thinking “I wonder why…”   I wish I was able to convey somehow, in story form, the events of my life that you, reader, might find yourself thinking “Hmm…” every once in a while.  But I’m not that skilled. So what you get is a series of events in the life of me that end up being not quite antecdotal at best – sometimes verging on the sarcastic.

My wife is in bed, I am not.  It’s the first time we haven’t gone to bed at the same time.  I don’t know if that means anything other than I wasn’t tired.   So I write while the sleepiness creeps up on me brain like some kind of jungle foliage they had warned you about before you set out from the last village.

All tendrilly and such.

I spent 5 hours at work, 1 hour resolving financial aid problems (partially), and probably a total of 3 hours trying to render functional a program designed to let you give your phone your own ringtone.  The results of the day are 60 dollars, partially resolved financial aid problems, and non-cool ringtones.  I bring it up as one of those illustrative thingies.  I spend 5 hours making about 12 dollars per hour in cash – yet I’m unwilling to spend the 1 dollar and four bits needed to just have Mr. T. (mobile) send me the song I want over his newfangled radio waves thereby essentially saving me 3 hours of my life to use in other (perhaps more useful or meaningful) ways. 

I could say something about how I’m a better person, or overcoming trials, or growth or something; but in so doing there would be a part of me that would simultaneously pipe up with something about time as a valuable asset and how at this rate that “first million” is going to take about two million years.

Tomorrow it is my intention to watch the movie “Lady in the Water.”  for which I am excited.  It is in writing this meaningless and useless sentence that I wonder how future generations will perceive my life.  Will they read my writings looking for keys to unraveling the mystery of how to rival my successes?  And if so, will they say “I must see this film!”

Or is it that they’ll say, “Yup, another consumer lost in American history?”

To consider the question is a definite path to grimness in thought and wardrobe.

Tomorrow I will also take a major exam, submit an appeal for financial aid, clean up the place a bit, watch charlie and the chocolate factory and I’m sure there’s something else I wanted to do…

Speaking of time.

Time is an asset I have less and less of as time goes on.  By the onset of the school semester, I don’t know how I’ll ever have any time to post more than a perfunctory “Hello, I went to class today.” on the site.  Not that the site is a hugely important deal to me, but I’m just trying to illustrate how much time is lost.

Seems like I may have mentioned before about selling my time to applebees for 2.13 an hour.  I don’t know why I bring it up now, except now that every time somebody types in the word applebees in google there’s more a chance they’ll see my name in there somewhere.

That would suck.

I have had a lot on my mind lately, but the wicked weed of sleepiness defies me now, and the sneaky fog of lack-of-time obscures my plans at other times.  I keep intending to write up my talks from church, or my oral report from class, or my thoughts on my history class, or the educational system, or whatever else enters my mind.  Is this me apologizing? Yes.  To who? I have no idea.  The hits on the site took a hit, so I know it’s not to you – according to the stats you’re not even reading this.  I have no idea who even glances at sixmile any more.  Not like I had a big idea before, but yeah.

Now I go to sit in the dark to try and relax my brains.

–Greg Hamblin

 

Slow Burn

Original article posted by BlackLily:

My heart wields a sledgehammer,
it threatens to pound its way out.
I suppose it’s in need of a better host body,
this one so often lets it get broken.
What it really wants is to be a candle,
to heat, to glow, to burn.
A slow burn, like incense.
My blood smells of sandalwood
and struck matches.
My heart is the fuming, incandescent tip of a cigarette.
It smolders.

 

Probably not founded in reality. But maybe.

Original article posted by Greg:

A third deaf guy got baptized last week, and we got permission to get a Mr. Gao baptized this week even though he can’t go to church very often. So that’s good.

Last week was characterized by burn out for me. I had a hard time wanting to do much of anything. I don’t know why. But I seem to be doing better this week.

I’m fresh out of soap boxes.

And it’s too bad. Because I really feel like just ranting. But I find myself relatively satisfied with life right now.

People who are satisfied with life right now ought to be smacked with koi. Why? Because there’s something better to be had. It doesn’t matter who you are or where you are or what you are doing, a better way can be found and absorbed into your spongelike heart.

I guess then the thing is to figure out what is ‘better’ and what is ‘worse.’

And who can say what’s better and worse for one person versus somebody else? And who can say what’s good and bad for everybody?

I’m not being rhetorical.

Well, I have a good idea of who, and I make up rude limmericks in the general direction of those who say there can be no such standard, law, reality, or being.

Or is it Being?

I don’t know. Stupid traditions. There was something I meant to say about how we all ought to give up everything that’s not a disney cartoon or classical music. But I forgot cause I got mad at traditions. Probably not founded in reality anyway.

Now let us all begin to enjoy the festivities and traditions of the season. Including going to the theatre to watch a giant ape contract the bird flu, sending oil prices rocketing up.

It’s better than reality television; It’s the culture!

Peace out y’all.
-Smurflite Wagsnatcher

Orginal comments:

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Nickname: Cornelius
Re: Probably not founded in reality. But maybe.
I like your style Elder Hamblin. You remind me of a young me. Not too much younger, mind you. Perhaps even a couple of years older.

 

By way of explanation…

Original article posted by ravenpaine:

Entry 86 – December 6, 2005

Someday I hope that I get tired of breaking people, because there are only so many times you can hurt people before you start being an even larger jackass by assuming you need to be punished for it. Nothing says hubris like I need to be hurt because I have hurt. Because your not saying I have done a bad thing and need to be reprimanded for it. No. What you are trying to do is say that I obviously need to hurt more than that person so that in the end I win. Whoever is in the most pain at the end of the day is the one who is truly the victim and therefore in need of the most sympathy.

I refuse to be in pain, because I am not the one who needs your sympathy. I’m the guy who needs your scorn and derision and anything else you can muster… but if you really want to get at me you should say nothing. The silent treatment is the best way to get back at a person like myself because I will spend all sorts of energy fighting myself and won’t have the tempermant or reserve of strength necessary to justify my position. I’ll just break down and repeat that I am a bad man until it all stops… which hopefully it will not stop, that would be the best part, eternal torment is a really good idea for Hell, never let the fuckers stop feeling bad about the shit they did to someone esle, they don’t deserve a break, they’ll just fill it with bullshit justifications about it all.

There has got to be a way to stop me from destroying myself… there must be a way to convince me that I have to make up for everything, not be punished for it, but instead actually make reperations. I must fix my life and the oozing sore it has become. I should not be allowed to torture and humiliate all of the people around me in the way that I do.

I should be forced to quit school and work my ass off until I pay off my debts. To be forced to live on the street because I do not pay my rent, to starve because I bought comics with my food money… to sell all that I own to try to pay some of it back because there is no place to actually put all of this stuff and I don’t deserve to have it if I’m not willing to actually fight for it.

I wish that I could just fall apart in front of people instead of walkiing of into the sunset and collapsing off camera. I should drop the survivalist ego trip and just fall over and fall apart in plain veiw of my friends and enemies so that they know that I am human and not some sort of monster.

I should a lot of things… but suffice it to say that I am not a well person, my health, in all avenues and regards has broken down of late and I find myself working closer and closer to the state where I sleep most of the day and drown myself in time consuming pointless activity so that I don’t have to think and so I don’t have to remember and so I don’t have to be accountable for anything because I haven’t done anything.

I cannot time travel and fix everything at some point of inception where it all went wrong… but I certainly would even if it meant giving up my immortal soul or even worse succumbing to the oblivion of self death.

I don’t deserve to live because I have shown time and time again that if it ever came down to me or you I would kill you myelf if it meant living for one more tortured day… for no other reason then to prove I’m better than you.

Which I am not, I’ve just got a better PR agent.

Forgive me God, for while I cannot forgive myself I will find something else…

Rodney TGAP
Bonne nuit, Bonne nuit je fait mortis.

And I couldn’t even write that properly… I’ve been too lazy to learn.

 

My name is SUE! How do you do?

Original article posted by Cornelius:

If you’re not familiar with the joke, stop reading and go find a Jonny Cash song called “Boy Named Sue” and listen to it. Then, resume reading.

I can relate to this young man. About two months ago I was walking up a ladder to go on shift in a guard tower. When I reached the top the two guys who were waiting to be relieved said, “Good morning Uma!” I looked at them and said good morning back. I had no idea what to say. What do you say? They just called me “Uma.”

It turns out that they had been having a conversation about actresses (Uma Thurman, for one) and one of them decided that I was going to be, from that time forward, “Uma.” Whatever. You can’t win against fools, so I might as well play along. It could be worse I guess. They could have given me a name that wasn’t even a name, like “Cube”, for instance. (No offense to Cube intended. Or the man who named him.)

So anyway, I figured that they’d get bored of the joke and it would go away. Not so. Those two guys started calling me “U-MA!” everywhere they saw me. Yes, that’s how it’s said too. “U-MA!”

After about three days, everyone in my Battery started calling me that. I guess it stuck. It’s been two months and that’s all they call me. Someone will ask for Anderson and they’ll say, “Oh, you mean Uma. He’s over there.” I go in to the chow hall and someone will say, “Hi Uma! What’s up?” Then everyone else looks at me funny.

So now I’m Uma, I guess. I know how the boy named “Sue” feels. The difference between us is that I have accepted my fate and decided not to harm those who gave me the name.

Orginal comments:

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Nickname: Asmodeus
Re: My name is SUE! How do you do?
Yeah I would not let that get to you. I myself have been called all sorts of names from Nazi, satanist, pussy, asshole, queer, dick head, you name it I been called it. Those things almost never bother me at all, of course i am nearly emotionaly dead to the world anymore, my life is full of propaganda anymore.

I call Kellie, Kellers of course she is or was ok with that, I made sure to ask her if it was ok to call her that. But only I get to call her that, it is mine no one else can have that not her current boyfriend nor any of her friends, that is one thing I will slap the shit out of a person for, is taking my heart given name and using it witho out my permission.

---

Nickname: Cube
Re: My name is SUE! How do you do?

Grumble Gramble….. I think Cube is a fine name…. but then Bearded Blaine you need to remind these men what your real nickname is.

-Cube Out

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Nickname: Cornelius
Re: My name is SUE! How do you do?
I never had a real nickname Cube. Many people have tried to name me many things over the years and none of them have stuck. “Cornelius” has been relegated to a screen name and “Bearded Blaine” is more of an adjective than a nickname. I don’t even have a beard anymore. Who ever called me “Bearded Blaine” with any regularity anyway?

You’re right though. Cube is a fine name. It can’t be a fine name if no one uses it. Then it doesn’t do its job. “Cube” does that. It is a fine name.

 

On Being an Addict and a Penny Pincher

Original article posted by Gunny:

I am a tightwad. I’ll break my back to pay off a credit card or a car loan before I am required to. I never just make the minimum payments. I don’t like to pay full price for anything either; I am never satisfied I am getting a good deal until I compare prices. Being cheap does have its advantages. For instance, I saved 4K by talking a car salesman down from $10,000 on my truck. The trouble is that I can never seem to keep any money in the bank. As soon as I realize that I have a little more than I need, I begin depositing that money into the coffers of the China King.

I love food, and Chinese food is never far from my thoughts. Sometimes I will reward myself with a Chinese buffet or go to one if I am feeling down. Sometimes I know I shouldn’t because I am low on money, but it calls to me. When Kung Pao beckons, I must obey. You can know General Tao’s slaves by their sitting alone in the buffet. Incidentally, they also have red stained lips.

This spendy/savey madness causes me a real conundrum. Sometimes I wonder how much money I’ve spent on Chinese dinners throughout my life. I probably have averaged two or three of them per week since I was twelve. What if I could have all that money back? Could I retire? I always look back through my checking account statement with guilt when I see how much I have spent on going out to eat. When those totals hit triple digits I start making my resolutions. These never last long; I usually cave within a week.

It really bothers me because I never allow myself to get into debt, but I can also never save any money. My hope is that if I can make more money in the future, my addiction to Chinese food will actually help me win over my spending. After all, a Chinese buffet can only cost so much. As long as I don’t take every meal I eat at the China Star, my earnings could surpass my spending eventually. If not, maybe someday a pharmaceutical brand will make an MSG patch or gum.