“Hello. I am Homer. I have a new suit, and I’m telling myself a joke about you. And it’s funny.”

Yesterday was the funeral. We had a viewing, drove to the cemetery for a ceremony, went to a nearby cafeteria. Then it was back to the chapel at Ma’s retirement community place, for more remembrance. From there, up the elevator to the apartment, and frequent tasteful utterances of the phrase: “If no one else wants this [antique furniture item here], I’d like it…”

We’re a family full of stoics. If there’s any pathetic sobbing over Ma’s passing, it’s in private. We all had stories about Ma, and it was nice to remember them, but there wasn’t much weepy-sobby. That’s fine. She was 100 years old (I’m not being figurative here; she was actually 100), and had been on a steady decline for quite some time, so no one seemed to view her death as a tragedy.

I got thoroughly exhausted, being around all those people. I enjoyed seeing them, but it was tough to spend a whole day doing not only the social thing, but also the gauge-their-emotional-state thing. I especially liked seeing my cousins’ little kids running around and being little kids. So often when I’ve been over there, the emphasis has been on visiting the more, uh, mature members of the family, so I have this impression that there’s nothing young and new going on here. That is, of course, wrong, and it’s refreshing to see all those kids in one place.

But those little kids, being chaotic… Just being near that much activity wears me out.

I spent most of Monday either waiting in an airport concourse or cramped into a tiny seat on an airplane. The rest of it was eating dinner with my mom and dad and his brothers, and sitting in bed being generally insomniacal, watching cable TV.

I don’t have cable so all this stuff is candy to me. The most interesting thing I saw last night was on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim block, ‘Reign: The Conqueror.’ It’s an anime version of the story of Alexander the Great, but it’s set in ancient Mesopotamia in the same way that Fellini’s ‘Satyricon’ is set in ancient Rome. Which is to say, it isn’t. I’m a big fan of ‘Satyricon,’ and now I’m a fan of ‘Reign,’ even though they could have thought up a better title.

Today I bought a suit.

I hate suits. I mean, people in suits are the ones who lie to you, simple as that. It’s like if you see someone in a clown suit, you know someone’s gonna get a pie in the face, and if you see someone in a silk suit, you know someone’s gonna get lied to.

But I needed a suit, so I can go to a funeral. I wandered into The Men’s Warehouse, mostly because it’s close to where I live. I was wearing khaki Dockers, slip-on shoes, a Houston Texans long sleeve shirt (only because it was clean, and also because you can take the man out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the man), and my green hooded pull-over. “Hello, how can I help you?” “Howdy. I need a suit. I’m going to get on a plane tomorrow and go to a funeral, and I don’t have a suit.”

This guy was an imposing figure wearing a dark grey silk suit with a black mock turtleneck shirt, and the shiniest black leather shoes I’ve ever seen. He had big glowing cufflinks and gold rings. His hair was… He must have spent an hour making it look like that. I instantly distrusted him. Let’s call him Jack. He told me, “Allow me to hand you off to Joe, the finest in the biz.” “The finest?” “Yes, of course.”

Joe rocked. Joe knew instantly what to gather from the racks. In seconds, Joe had assembled a suit, an array of shirts in different colors, a handful of ties, a variety of socks, and some deer skin shoes. He was wearing a brown suit, glasses. He was older than Jack. He kept talking about how he’d been in the business 35 years. “I’ve been in the business for 35 years, and this is the best kind of [whatever]..” “I’ve been in the business 35 years, and trust me, you can wear a black shirt with this.” And so on.

Jack’s schtick was to be slimy through and through. Joe’s schtick was to be the nicest guy in the world, who just happens to blur your purchase process with overwhelm, so that you end up buying way too much stuff.

Joe asked me my name, and he said “Yeah? Homer’s my grandson’s name, and we’re all very proud of him.” He said this twice, once when we first met, and once as I was leaving. He was sure to offer condolences about my loss, the funeral I was going to. He had declared himself a part of my family. I didn’t instantly distrust him the way I did Jack, but I went from benefit-of-the-doubt to distrust pretty quickly.

Then there was the tailor, who fitted my slacks. He was obviously gay, and kept finding reasons to come back out front, and to flatter me on my choices, and to send as many signals as there are to send in polite company. And… What’s that? It’s Jack! He’s looking at me, too, eyeing me up from across the store. He looks even more slimy, but I can’t tell if it’s because he thinks I’m cute, or if he knows I’m about to be financially eviscerated, and he’ll get his share of the carcass. Maybe there’s no difference between such things for Jack…

Throughout the whole time, I couldn’t help but be bemused, at the scurry of activity surrounding me. Joe would bark out orders to the tailors, tell people to go get stuff, and in general act like I was a movie star and he was my sycophant. It was like being in a ‘living theater’ production, where the only barrier between you and the role you’re supposed to play is your willingness to play it. Unfortunately (for you at least), the role you’re supposed to play is someone who has wads and wads of cash, and who will spend it all on a silk tie and a pair of shoes. It’s the illusion that you’re the powerful one here, when in fact, you’re being guided along, sure as cattle to slaughter.

They got me my suit, and it’s a nice one. They tailored it up right then, no waiting. I got the shoes, the shirt, the tie, the overcoat. What the hell? I’ve never had a nice suit, just ones that I got at the thrift store. Not because I’m poor, exactly, but because suits never seemed that important.

But all of today, while I got ready to get on the plane tomorrow, I dreaded going to buy a suit. I didn’t want to get a shabby one at a thrift store. I also didn’t want to go to Gender Warehouse. But then I thought about sitting in my hotel room in Nashville, trying to get out the door, worrying that I wasn’t dressed properly, and there it was: This suit is magic. It will prevent me from having an anxiety attack. And that’s a big deal.

I’ve ‘blogged about my 100-year-old grandmother. She died today.

Her heart gave up, and she became unconscious, and then some hours later she was gone.

There’s a Buddhist mantra, ‘Gate, gate, paragate, parasamgate, bodhi svaha.’ It means: Gone, gone, gone away, away beyond gone, enlightenment, amen. I’m thinking about it because it reminds me that the difference between an alive me and a grandmother who has passed isn’t that great. And that’s reassuring, somehow.

Although she was always bright and clever, her mind had deteriorated to the point where she was easily confused and over-stimulated. She had difficulty remembering who was who, and where she was, and that sort of thing. Her life hadn’t been her own for quite a few years; she lived in a retirement home with a live-in nurse. This is to say that it’s something of a relief that she’s moved on, along to the next adventure, because it was difficult to see her getting much more out of this one.

Now comes the expensive last-minute plane ticket to Nashville, the unfortunate circumstance under which to see friends and relatives, the funeral in November weather. A somber visit to Echo Lodge to report the death in the visitor log there.

I feel like I’ve already said my goodbyes, but while my dad and his brothers will say they’ve been expecting it, they’ll be torn up, and that’ll be the hard part for me. Death is easy; grieving is not.

I got an email from:

From: “Amelia G. Holley”
Subject: p’lea”se yo:ur ,gi:rlf,rei;nd eedjmptch

I’m sorry.. Could you repeat that? ‘Plea se yourgi lf rei nd. EEEDimptch!’ What’s that you’re saying? ‘Pliezure grill fiend! Eeed imp tch!’ Pardon me… What?

These spammers… They think they can get by the filter with their too-much-punctuation subject lines. But then they present one with an image like this:

“VPRX Oil is a brand new topical lubricant designed to immediately increase the power and size of your erections”

Ok, size I can understand. But power? What does that mean? Does it mean my blood pressure will rise such that I’m like Pinnochio telling lies?

“- Double-Strength Orgasms”

DOUBLE STRENGTH?? What the hell? Will I have a seizure or something? Is this related to the ‘power’ claim above? Or does it simply mean that both you and your partner will have orgasms, as opposed to your usual lame-ass selfish skill in bed?

Why are we so ignorant about sex in this culture?

Linkylinks:

Digital Dividend aims to fill what’s known as the ‘digital divide,’ educating the developing world about the benefits of high technology.

They fund and manage and help out with all kinds of projects around the world, and have a really amazing set of link pages (called ‘Resource Marketplace,’ which I guess makes them sound more like they have their shit together than simply calling it a ‘link page’).

There are also plenty of policy-wonk case studies and publications. Good example: A report about using technologies, such as ATMs and smartcards, to make microfinance more profitable and sustainable.

Lots to think about, and that huge projects list gives me some hope.

I am a beautiful and unique snowflake.

Maybe.

So, because of the way my mind works, it was a good thing that I made an appointment for the mechanic in Ballard to look at my car on Friday, because it would mean that I could take the car there Thursday night, leave it, and ride my bike back across town along the Burke-Gilman trail. Yay!

As I was preparing to do this, I thought, “Maybe it’ll rain.” And then I thought, “Yah, it probably will, and I’ll get cold and wet, but who cares? It won’t be all that big a deal.” So I wore my yellow-and-reflective raingear jacket, and off I went in the car, with the bike in the back.

Fill out little envelope at the mechanic, put the key in it, drop it in the slot.

Eat the banana I brought, hop on the bike, off I go.

It was cold, and there was a little bit of that pre-rain rain you see a lot in Seattle. No biggie. I stopped under the Aurora bridge (on the Adobe campus, as a matter of fact), to pet a cat that obviously belonged to one of the houseboats there. Gazed across Lake Union, inky black reflecting halogen.

Pedaled on, took a tiny detour at Gasworks Park to see another vantage point of inky black reflecting halogen. Cruise through the U-district, U-village, wave a friendly hello to Omni and the new Apple Store (I’m such a nerd). It’s about midnight by now, and I’m about a third of the way home.

It starts raining. REALLY raining. I stop under the bridge there, where the trail turns into a sort of little valley. Hang out for a little while, adjust my helmet and my gloves, that sort of thing. Drink some water. It’s still raining. I decide to wait until my heart rate slows to resting, and then I’ll move along.

That eventually happens. The rain has let up a tiny bit, but not really all that much. My pants are getting progressively more soaked. There’s a lot of downhill grade at this point, so I’m zooming much faster than I really should be, given that it’s dark and raining and the fall leaves are plastered to the asphalt. But it’s exhilarating.

Finally I get to the place where the trail passes over Sand Point Way. I’m thinking, “If it gets much colder, this rain will turn to snow.” And then I see, illuminated by the streetlight, snow.

It’s coming down all over the place. I can’t see the lake to my right; the snow has sucked all vision away. My pants are now totally soaked with rain and melted snow. The cold feels like a tiny pin-prick, but all over the top of my leg, all at once. But it’s still exhilarating.

I crank on up to 97th NE, and pause for a while on the bench, under the tree, watching the snow fall. It’ll be a while before I start shivering, and when that starts, it’s off to 112th NE, to walk the bike up the hill. In the snow.

So a while back I was reading liquid’s ‘blog, and he mentioned an outline/note taking app called Jot+. I thought it was kind of cool, so I downloaded it on my Winderz machine, and lo and behold, it was kinda cool. So I commented that I’d make the Mac version.

And I did. Sort of. I mean, I started. I mostly wanted to learn about Cocoa’s NSCoding system, so I could just use the saved object graph as the document format for my Jot+ clone. I got as far as a proof-of-concept, and then decided I need to do something like maybe wash the dishes and take out the garbage, and thus, as with all things, the much-vaunted NoteTaker project (what an original name, eh?) was left to gather dust.

But! I have encountered something BETTER! Something more neet-o and cool-beans than an outliner/note taking app! It’s a note taking wiki, right there on your Mac.

A wiki is a new kind of web site, where anyone can modify any page they want to. It’s based on the notion that people are generally mature and intelligent, which could be a mistake, but turns out not to be. There are wikis all over the place on the web, acting as communal repositories for all kinds of information, such as the WikiPedia, a free online encyclopedia created by its users, and CocoaDev, the web site I consulted to learn more about Cocoa’s NSCoding system, ironically enough.

The basic idea with wiki is that you make a web page, and you put WordsCrammedTogether on it, and then the software recognizes that those words are crammed together, and turns them into a link. You click on the link and the software makes a new web page with those crammed-together words as its title. Repeat.

So now there’s VoodooPad, which brings this wiki paradigm to your basic run-of-the-mill note-taking app. It’s time to start cramming those words.

And speaking of narratives, I wanted to mention that I’m still reading ‘Quicksilver.’ I’m somewhere in the page 500 range.

The first section of the book was all about stuff I wanted to know more about: The origins of science in European culture, the cultural transition it implies, the lives and lifestyles of scientist/alchemists in the 1600s. And I got a little more than I bargained for in that first section, because Stephenson’s genius is putting you splat in the middle of hugely complicated scenarios and explaining how all the things are connected, and sometimes this activity can really stretch your patience. However, there’s usually a payoff in terms of entertainment and of understanding.

The second section is more romance novel than dissertation, which is a welcome change, but also leaves you wishing the main character, a vagabond named Half-Cocked Jack Shaftoe (so called because he literally has half a cock), were more capable of thinking high-minded science-y thoughts. He eventually makes the acquaintance of a woman named Eliza who is adept at understanding business and markets, and so she gets to explain the newly capitalist economy of western Europe to Jack (and us). She also gets to start wars and profit from them.

These two characters eventually make acquaintance with many of the same characters that Daniel Waterhouse (the main character of the first section) knows, and if you can remember back 500 pages, it’s interesting to see how the lives of these people have indirectly affected each other.

Mostly, however, the storytelling is rich and excellent and over-the-top, particularly since Jack has syphilis and is going insane in increments. (Mild spoiler: ….. Last night I read a section where Jack is returning to Paris, and the scene surrounding him turns into a huge musical number, all in his head. It made me think of ‘The Singing Detective.’)

I hope the last third won’t let me down…