It recently occured to me how difficult a problem solving Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon for a particular actor might be. If my computer science knowledge serves me correctly, efficient pathfinding is one of the hardest things for a computer to do. It would also be a difficult thing for people if we didn't settle on an acceptable path.

Pathfinding—tracing one's way through a map—involves combinatorials. Every node (location, person) on the map/graph links up to others; as you progress down a path, each node multiplies the number of possible advances you can take. What computers don't realize too well is that some paths are better than others in certain ways. That is why a map query may have you traveling through numerous city streets when a stretch of open highway would have worked better, or taking "local roads" to complete the last half mile that the computer just can't resolve.

Part of the additional difficulty is that some nodes connect to each other in a way that isn't apparent by resolving strictly from the point of origin. These "shortcuts" reduce the number of nodes in a chosen path. There is a whole branch of mathematics, namely combinatorics, that deals with the problems of this sort.

If you've checked out the link to everything2.com about the "Bacon Number", you'll see that indeed someone has calculated degrees of separation for every known film actor (listed on imdb.colm). This list includes Former President William McKinley, and lists William Shafter as the most distant link from Bacon. Shafter has a Bacon Number of 10, easily explained by the observation that he starred in one of the first movies ever made. The average actor likely has a Bacon Number of 3.

As for myself, I was an extra in Flubber starring Robin Williams. It is more than likely that my Bacon Number is equal to Williams' Bacon Number plus one.

All the years I helped lug band equipment around the field...I could have been paid for them. Manny and Max came up with the wonderful idea of making me an assistant, and a paid one if I can convince the recruiting office at the Music Department to recognize my worth. I can make sure that the electronics are in working order, assemble or dismantle instruments, solve some problems, and otherwise be a helpful person.

I planned on adding some classic strips of Calvin and Hobbes to my new TV Journal. Bill Watterson had a lot to say about television and mass media through his 10-year long series. I learned a lot about the unspoken truths about TV through him long before questioning it again in Massey's Media class.

Going through it in a legitimate way, I found that each strip would cost $100 to republish on a web site alone. Makes me wonder how all the fan sites are going about their fanaticism...

New guy Bri/yan held true to his offer of beer and pizza in hopes of quickly acquainting himself with others (and us with ourselves as well). If I had tried this back when I moved in, I would have met with untold resistance. It didn't help that then, one of our roommates did his own drinking, leaving spent bottles in the upstairs bathroom like they were soiled toilet papers.

The atmosphere here now is much more conducive to socials like this— we only missed two of the current roommates, one of which is rumored to not be here anymore. Even Kenya, who hides away in the back rental made an effort to get along with the household on her way to work. Of course, after a few rounds of beers, anyone might be inclined to do so. The point is, I found out a lot about my roommates this night than I ever knew before. Even Kevin dropped by and opened himself to some questions while visiting Amora.

This is probably the new standard to meet when making friendly with the household. I need to remember this.

Finally found the other (A.S.) Computer Lab, which I had neglected since its inception a year or three ago. Swank place. The computers here seem a bit friendlier than the King Library ones. (I can use the right mouse button!) Small differences like that. Whatever happens, I'll use the nearest computer. The library computers are near my RTVF classes, until I start messing around in the Multimedia Lab. This lab is near the Band Lobby, Roberts, and enough food places to matter. And I can always use the ones at home. Nothing big—just need to validate my knowledge somehow.

All of my Tuesday/Thursday classes are upper-division RTVF. I'll meet up again with most of my Radio Production classmates from last semester (Brandi, Leilani, Todd, and more), a few other RTVF majors I met last Fall (Danny), and Jackie from band. A lot of friendly faces to see me through the semester, and vice versa.

A check arrived in the mail today from SJSU, which I assume is from Financial Aid, because my records are finally showing award statements—yay! Seems like FA is getting on top of things now. I hope so, because I won't let up on my end.

Just remembered that I wanted to ask Jim LeFever about administering at the TRFT computer lab in Hugh Gillis. I didn't do much of a job expressing interest last semester; this semester however, I have some handy evening time, mostly after 7p. My Thursday classes end around 5p, so that much more power for my wallet, if I can get a job there. Like I said sometime before, I found that I do well helping other students with using programs and equipment. The next step up is getting paid for it, along with the managerial recommendations and additional program expertise gained.

My first post from the computer labs at the New King Library at the northwest corner of campus. Pretty intense system just to check out the computer. Though you can walk up to a computer and log on, someone may have already reserved the one you intend to use. Reservations are done at select computers, or online: it doesn't assume in any way that you want to use the computers in King Library, even though you're already there. Then a few more entry screens and extraneous details before you get a confirmation and a computer number. Now, it doesn't show you where your computer is, other than the floor you chose. On the uphand, the system allows you to reserve computers three days in advance, from the Internet even.

The library as a whole is one massive literary monster. It must be about twice the size of the previous King Library and/or the late Clark Library. So far, no problems with casual citizens checking out necessary items—some areas of the library are restricted to students only, especially the laptop checkout that I intend to use. By its location, King Library may well become my next base of operations, though it can't compare with some of the other comforts of my apartment or the Band Lobby.

...for thunder and lightning. It smells like it's on the way. Hopefully it will arrive shortly and bring an end to the miserable humidity of late. I perspire with no particular grace or elegance. I should try setting the camera out for some lightning captures.

My classes don't really start until tomorrow. (Marching Band doesn't seem like much of a class in the traditional, schoolroom sense.) Until I present myself then, I'll take what I had today. Expectedly, work has picked up; the new cashiers have not been problematic at all, and the new clerks, joining the returning Gerard, look to be okay people. Two of them live downstreet of me. The Band Lobby has welcomed me back with comfort, as have many of its other patrons.

I've also received more compliments about my letter, both online and in print. We as a band still have a few more weeks until we find out how the stadium crowds will receive us again. Until then, the pre-game show will chug along, in between bouts of play. An orange ball that wandered into our vicinity quickly became everything from a hackey-sack-like toy to the sort of things that guys throw at each other for testosterone reasons. Mind you, we got a lot of refinement done that afternoon.

How might I be surprised at tomorrow's classes? Who will I meet? Who might already know of me? Who will I find intriguing, alluring, and/or charming?

When will I hear from the Financial Aid office?

Brian/Bryan, my new next-door neighbor, has taken it upon himself to entertain the house with beer and pizza. Quite the generous offer; I need to try this sometime. Among those partaking is Amora, Kevin's girlfriend, who also moved in recently. I was minding myself, boiling some linguine when she walks into the kitchen. I didn't recognize her well at first (her appearance has changed drastically a few times), so it took Kevin's entrance a moment later to cement things. It's pretty weird overall, since both of them already knew other people in the household prior to her move-in.

Amora is living in Stephen's old room, implying that the social core of the household has changed. Of all here, Elan and Allie are the most likely to get together for things. Arif, me, maybe Ken, and now Bri/yan are next likely to join things. Not surprisingly, the renter of the back room may remain the most reclusive, but also most likely to keep her room.

I'm still looking for better, but the house is getting more comfortable with time, weather excluded.

From all my experience at Roberts, it is entirely possible to make more money with your used college materials by selling them yourself to interested company. There is a span between the highest price a store will pay to buy back used items and the lowest price that store will turn around and resell those items. Simply quoting a price within that range will provide you with more of a return than letting a store handle it. So why do people still bring their books to Roberts and other stores? People expect to find used items at such stores. Those random postings you see on boards and signposts? "Who knows where that stuff came from?," is the usual response. It's an issue of trust.

So how do I plan on redeeming my Photo 40 equipment and my Humanities Honors textbooks? I made quite an impression on Estabrook, who still teaches enough of the photo classes to matter. Katie and Kyle are moving on to their third semester in the HH sequence—hopefully, I'm catching them early enough that they haven't already bought books and feel resistant to engage their return privileges.

How to transact with people you don't know, or transact without people you do know? Be trustworthy, whatever that entails. Why do I bring this up? Because it's the first time I've thought to take my business outside the accepted system. I just hope that people are wise enough to perform their end without malice.

The posters at Spartan Thunder put in two more cents into the whole band matter. We will also hear from readers of the Mercury as well. What I didn't make clear is that everyone involved in the Literacy Classic has benefited in some way. The Tiger Marching Band has some new fans; San Jose State has a memorable opening shutout for their records; Grambling gained experience from their Division I-A encounter; both teams got valuable ESPN time; Coach Hill has undeniably succeeded with his community venture. Most importantly, plenty of people will be spared from illiteracy.

I hope my words have been enough of a push in the right direction for everyone involved and the band in particular.

Dad is a friggin' jerk when it comes to receptions. He's always pushing me to take the dance floor, like at Chris and Cheryll's wedding today. Whenever I get anxious, being forced into the action is the last thing I want. But maybe it's the thing I need most...

The wedding itself took place in the Presidio, which overlooks the Golden Gate. Many sailboats in the water this afternoon. The event was modest, if only because many of Cheryll's relatives live outside the country. My family has been the next closest thing to relatives—we met while in Virginia, where Dad and Cheryll's father, Romy, were stationed. I lightly remember spending days at their home while Mom attended to things. The Navy decided to send us our separate ways, only to reunite us in Vallejo, while Mare Island was still active.

It was pretty stuffy inside, which made it that much more irritating to wait for the wedding photographer to arrive late. She was using some sort of medium-format camera (120/220 or 6x6—I can't tell yet). Given the same sort of camera, I think I could have done a much better job. She took all the requisite photos, but clearly wasn't interested much in her subject. Her assistant was tall, useless, and handsome. It's making me consider shooting (semi-)pro once more.

The pastor was a kindly gentleman who had some interesting points to make about marriage. I especially remember his metaphorical comparison with the wedding ring: an ungainly ore drafted by fire into an endless piece of precious metal. If more people would remember that...

Not far from our last outing to San Franciso is the historic Sir Francis Drake Hotel, where the reception was held. Since 1928, the distinctive red-garbed doormen have received patrons and entertained the cable car riders of Powell Street. A few flights up is the Franciscan Room; the waitstaff here provide exceptional service and roast beef. The bamboo steamer full of Chinese buns, pot stickers, and egg rolls was a nice touch as well.

Eventually, I did tack on a five dollar bill during the Money Dance and stepped around with Cheryll, but not before any of Dad's badgering. Just my little part in wishing her and Chris on their way.

What the Literacy Classic does for the band, besides provide a service to fans of football and increase visibility for Grambling and San Jose State, is raise our self-consciousness. For years, we have been content with the rather light response we have received from Spartan Stadium, with what is essentially a selfish exercise in fieldsmanship. It is widely acknowledged that fans of marching bands have been members of a band themselves. The rest of our audience appreciates the performances they are given, but expects us to do as we do.

Meanwhile, Grambling has come along to dazzle everyone with something novel. All of the privileges we have taken for granted have suddenly been done away with for the duration. Some blame us for this change. Others are mindless of it and welcome the Tigers. A way of life has been smacked around from its resting place.

What is the band to do? It's just like the California recall— seemingly hopeless and vulnerable to outside influence, but we'll still have a job to do.

With this upset comes a cause. A "non-competetive" band has found a reason to compete. We have a prime moment to make ourselves known. And we must do so seemingly without our usual method of action (we are going to be "absent" tomorrow).

We've taken a hit to our reputation. How can we rectify this, or even advance beyond? Which of our principles have now been rendered archaic, to be sacrificed? How will the essence of the band change? And what of the state of marching band?

Somehow, I feel that we can maintain the integrity of the band while responding to Grambling's appearance. However, our pride means nothing if we keep it to ourselves.

A letter to fans of the San Jose State Spartans and the Spartan Marching Band

As a current and longtime member of the Spartan Marching Band, it has been my pleasure to entertain you all at every home game (and the occasional away game), to root on the team through victory and otherwise, to beat the hell out of a sturdy drum. After drudging away through work and class study, I look forward to those Saturdays I can spend with my friends, watching the game, playing music and dancing, having a good time. This said, my fellow members and I stand in awe at the treatment we receive here and now. What follows may not speak for the entire band, being my own words, but I feel it represents the truest expression of our situation.

Our presence at San Jose State football games is a privilege granted to you by the Athletic Department and the School of Music and Dance of SJSU. Scott Pierson, our director, does a fine job gathering together over a hundred strangers and teaching them how to perform for a crowd of thousands with precision and dignity. However, Scott answers to the will of the Athletic Department regarding our presence at football games. In this case, we have not been invited, regardless of any loss of team morale or consequent hatred towards us. I will go so far as to say that we are not wanted at this game by the organizers of the Literacy Classic.

Outside of football season, we are your average college students (and other musically inclined persons). We have responsibilities to ourselves and to those who wish to see us succeed. Every San Jose State student--no, every California college student, at least, is familiar with the suffering of attending college while maintaining employement, personal well-being, and ties to family and friends. Being a Spartan, as a football player, a cheerleader, or a marching band member requires a serious shift of commitments. Our responsibilities to the band (and thus to the football team and our fans) normally begin a week before the Fall semester. Preparations for the Grambling game would have required at least two prior weeks of practice and recruitment; provisions for these preparations were made by no one.

We assemble the finest shows that we are capable of, time after time again. All we ask in return is your applause and respect. This has not always been granted to us. A few years ago, our Band Director was assaulted by a spectator who felt he could freely violate our space during our performance. I myself have been physically attacked in the stands, in the throat, while in uniform, for being associated with the football team. No one deserves to be harmed for expressing their pride and love.

The weeks leading up to today's game have seen many more acts of disrespect. The Mercury News gives praise to our opponents; our home band has received minimal mention, despite our uncommon absence. ESPN will broadcast the game especially for fans of the Tiger Marching Band; few cameras have ever been turned upon us. And now fans of the Spartans openly criticize the band and voice unfounded insults against Mr. Pierson. We have been villainized by the very people we seek to entertain.

As for the Tiger Marching Band, they are celebrated worldwide not only for their talent, but also for the tremendous support provided them by Grambling State University, their local and extended community, and their legion of fans (among them former President Bill Clinton). Our very own Spartans would benefit greatly from such a level of support. My friends and I would love to be celebrated worldwide for what we do on a handful of Saturdays. Currently, I am not; neither are the band nor the football team.

The Marching Band has been gracious to receive the support of people such as the marvelous Phyllis Simpkins and her late husband, Alan. In fact, I keep a photo of Mr. Simpkins (posing with our Spectrum Dance Team) with my band photos--his smile is wide and proud to this moment. Their gracious donations have carried us far, but much more can be done. You too can show us how proud you are to allow us to perform for you. Your monetary donations provide for equipment, travel expenses, and financial aid for the members of the band. Your cheers and applause are as welcome to us as they are damning to our opposition. Your very voice is powerful, spreading word of the fine San Jose State Spartans and their Spartan Marching Band.

Despite the consequences of our absence at the Literacy Classic, we still intend to provide the finest marching band experience we can provide each Saturday that our Spartans take the field. But this time, my friends and I will sorely miss you. It is our duty to perform at each home game, but for many reasons, the Literacy Classic does not feel like one to me.

...and again to Gordon Biersch. Here, we discussed plans for the upcoming year while jamming out to the night's jazz band. Everything from party itineraries to band video ideas to general strategery. Had a few solid introductions with Kristen, Alexa's roommate who I met many months back, and a young guest who totally passes for someone our age. A fun person, and someone I totally wouldn't mind hanging with, if she wasn't already a decade younger than me.

Anyhow, a great way to recover my lost summer, though I really should watch my wallet now. Books are looking to cost around $400, even though I haven't seen them all come in yet. Work may only cover my rent for the next few months, and I still have yet to hear from Financial Aid. On the upside, I got my transit sticker a while back, which would only have happened if my dues were paid. I just hope the logic extends far enough to make things pass smoothly.

If dinner at Nick's last night wasn't enough, we went out again to Peggy Sue's to partially celebrate Manny's 22nd. It was all fine, but dinner at Nick's was a little more interesting.

Somehow, we got into a discussion about how we need more places like Nick's Pizza. Like I've mentioned before, it's a marvelously comfortable place that serves handcrafted Italian, a specialty in an unassuming area of Downtown. If not for Rich's insistence of bringing people by, none of us would have known it was there. In contrast, we're being plagued by numerous fast food chains that, despite their high profitability, fail to their responsibility to the customer. Fast food is processed and standardized beyond all recognizability. With all the technology we can apply to foodstuffs, it is not unthinkable that today's ingredients come from unexpected sources.

Nick himself, who came by with our check, joined in our tirade. He noticed how many "vegetarian" specialties inadvertently have non-vegetarian components. Remember the incident about McDonald's frying their fries in lard? Things like that, or how soy foods makers use meat extracts to flavor their products—the extract has to come from somewhere, right? He even told us about how he and his father used to use lard in their pizza dough. Like pie crusts, lard makes for a flakier crust, perhaps at the expense of unwanted saturated fats or cholesterol. Today, Nick's pizzas have olive oil in them.

You couldn't get your McDonald's manager, or maybe even your Olive Garden proprietor to stick around and bitch with you about life like that. I'm proud to have a place like Nick's where it is. One day, I'd like to open up a place myself, serving an unusual, but delicious assortment of food with the true spirit of the kitchen. It will likely be something I would do well after writing or directing films, and maybe after doing some teaching.

...is starting off well enough. The drum line looks to be set for the season with about sixteen members. I'm taking top bass once again after last year's hiatus. Jason is taking over bottom, with the newcomers filling in the rest of the bass line. Stuart is student/instructing, with Jesus, sorta-new Josh, twin Jon, and a rookie making up the snare line. Twin Peter is half of the tenor line. Pat, Jen, Monica, and Amanda are joined by another on cymbals.

With Lane joining Kevin at the head posts, we're well on our way. This season already feels different from the others; Kevin has some goals in mind for the line, which I am ready to oblige. It feels like I am drumming with a mission this time, instead of just being here. However, I am still considering a move to the pit if another qualified drummer comes along.

After being away from drums for so long, I'm starting to feel the pain of age. At work this morning, I found a new nerve ending in my lower back to pinch while lifting. It didn't bother me this evening, but I doubt it will leave me. With enough practice, I will be able to recondition my arms to withstand the chronic shock of practices. Until then, there will be some thorough pain from my elbows onward. If not my wrist, my forearm bones are feeling their first burns. My right thumb has been bothering me for months, so I'm looking out for signs that it's been damaged by years of holding bass mallets. The index finger is trying to join it.

Other than these bodily pains, nothing else has deteriorated. I am now able to confidently explain our routines to the new faces, though Jason does a more personable job of it. I've also been training new cashiers at Roberts—it's a great feeling to have experience to pass on to others.

I just feel more perceptive than I have before, and a little more empowered to speak my mind. My years of fucking around with the ways are coming to their end; it's time I showed others how to do their thing and have fun with it.

Damn, does the Middle Eastern guy down the hall reek... (Keep in mind I don't speak of any specific descent or nationality.) The point of a shower is to wash away the day's filth and perhaps refresh yourself internally in some indirect way (humid steam, deep tissue stimulation, herbal urges). The by-products of the process are supposed to drain away as well as plumbing allows.

I walk in to take a shower myself, but find myself greeted with a viscous Arabian must, conveniently packaged in a closed bathroom. Whatever taints this guy during the day sticks around for another few hours before passing on its way, or perhaps depositing itself on the bathroom surfaces.

Being compulsive as I am, I stand in fear of the awful scent that seeks to permeate—no, to overtake my skin. I stand in fear, but only for a split-second before retreating to my odor-neutral confines. I can always shower later.

For the next few weeks/months, every time I see those Acid Reflux disease commercials, I am going to think long and hard about Nefertiti. Ancient Egyptian queen (possible pharaohess?). I was watching the Discovery Channel special about the scientists trying to identify a stray mummy as the lost queen, computer graphics experts using high-tech x-rays to divine faces from dessicated remains, and the new recreationists' conception of Egyptian life. The thing dragged on for an extra hour or so, graciously padded with Prevacid commercials. Nice to know that the pharmaceuticals are looking out for history.

And what about those Zoloft commercials? With the ugly little egg thing? Once again, our emotions are not things to be toyed with—they are meant to be drugged away.

What did the ancients take for their ails? The classics mention nothing of mystic sadness remedies, or their horrible, horrible side effects. They relied on virtuous—or tragic—heroes, heavenly ambrosia, deus ex machina, etc. Of course, ancient authors may not have considered "everyday" maladies such as depression as worthy of the pen.

It's also just as likely that depression is thoroughly modern, brought about by some aspect of contemporary living. Mass media propagates, among other things, an enticing, impossible ideal and encourages our attempts to attain this through material gain and ventures gallant. People surround us on all sides, only a minority of which we maintain active community with. The natural foods of yore have become standardized, seasoned with chemicals of untold consequence. And professionals of all walks are trying to convince us that any and everything is bad for us and requires expensive treatment, therapy, medicines, retreats, flavored waters, whatever sells.

A lot to live up to/against. Why shouldn't we be sad? Dwell in it for a while. Know enough to do something about it later, but feel sad when need be. Happiness means little without it. Acid in your stomach? Give it something to digest. Acid in your esophagus? Okay, that's bad... Maybe you should take something for it. Prevacid perhaps? Nefertiti?

These people annoy me. They want me to finish things. But I see them in such a way and paint them accordingly. Look, it is so easy to finish things. I can easily paint you a Bastien-Lepage.... Nothing is simpler than to complete pictures in a superficial sense. Never does one lie so cleverly as then.
—Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

If you've taken the chance to listen to my composition, I ask this: What can be said of the missing pieces? A philosophical exercise if I've ever heard one. Instead of judging a work on its merits, look at what is missing, what has been overlooked, deleted, reworked, ignored, in place of what has been focused upon. I say that this can tell you a lot about someone, if not of the work in question. Such things more clearly illustrate how people think, what priorities dominate their being, who they intend to be, than what they have given you alone.

What of Toulouse-Lautrec's conception of completion? I find completion cathartic, a great strain released when the final detail has been placed. Bringing something to completion for me takes either a great amount of honest effort, or a sufficient amount of "fuck it...". One less victim of my procrastinations.

Drove up north with family to help celebrate with family of friend of family. I forget what they're called..."Red Lantern" party, or something. The Chinese hold one to welcome a newborn into the family; kind of like a baby shower, post facto. I brought my gift of hearty appetite—there was a buffet table blocking a wall which I helped remove. Interesting place, Far East Cafe I think it was called. Their food is quite delicious, especially in large quantity. Their pork cutlets in particular are seasoned with something tasting like maple syrup; an unexpected flavor, but welcome all the same.

The upstairs dining/banquet area features a dance floor, a wine/spirits bar, and monitored entrance. Yeah, a casino camera trained upon the stairway entrance, linked to closed-circuit TVs at each corner of the room. Brought to mind those movie scenes where the veteran assassin always requests the table, near an exit, facing the main entrance. (The assassin in mind did not like yolk in his omelettes. Can you name the movie?) I'm sure they are there for the benefit of any patron who simply expects the arrival of desired company. Won't the screens burn out from such continued use?

San Francisco, even on a Sunday, is a busy place to be. Some shops are closed, but enough remain open to make for a deep shopping experience. Though based only on my few, minimal trips to either, I prefer the atmosphere of Fisherman's Wharf over Chinatown and its surrounds. The Wharf shops seem to offer more of the things I would be interested in buying, though the distinctly Asian offerings of the latter are just as compelling. There are some restaurants by the pier that I would like to revisit, as well as the famed Ghirardelli Square.

Took a look at some of my musical work tonight. I made a lot of progress with some of the songs I've been writing, but in many cases, I'm still bridgeless. Or pre-chorus-less... whatever they're called—in pop songs you find them between the verses and the chorii(?!). *grr* The point is, I have these holes where music should be. Always seems to be one in every song.

Reminds me of a stray episode from some Star Trek series where this one planet's musical distinction is the use of days-long silences between actual tones. Here on Earth, people get thrown off when they hear misplaced silences. Our sense of sound is the most critical to disturbances.

I would credit my lack of proper musical training for these lapses of imagination. I'm sure if I had even half a semester of theory, I could resolve the gaps without problem. But what if this not only a detriment to my songwriting, but to all of my other creative aspects? Will I be troubled by scripts that need a few pages of blank padding? By drawings and designs with blocks of bare paper?

. . .

...oh, right. I already suffer from this. That's why you haven't seen anything new here in a few months. How about this? I'll humor you with something I'm currently working on:

Come To Me is something that came to me about two years ago. It's inspired by the old tradition of the serenade, a sort of exploration into what one would sound like today. It spawned a crazy idea of mine about getting a bunch of musicians together and bothering people with love songs on Valentine's. Simple fun with the slight risk of being a public nuisance. Anyhow, this one now runs about six and a half minutes long, has a settled structure and orchestration, something sounding like guitar solos, and some interesting drum rhythms. I thought I had lyrics for this, but I haven't yet settled on anything I like. Just recently, I got the idea of making it a sort of anti-ballad, a beautiful melody tied to hateful lyrics. Would corporate radio touch something like this?

It sounds fairly decent on my old SoundBlaster, and wonderfully craplike on Quicktime's MIDI synth. I make no guarantee about quality; it holds my attention, but I kept in a lot of alternate parts that are currently battling for priority. Some of the tricks that I used to simulate special endings weren't processed by my MIDI writer, so it might sound repetitive. Also, that break I'm complaining about is four measures long, and is held in place only by a bass line that I mean to expand upon. The chorus immmediately following sounds explosive in comparison.

Call it a work in progress, but more importantly, call it mine. Do not make me sic copyright lawyers on your ass. Regardless, I'd love to hear your comments and criticisms. Hell, if you can help me piece it together, I'm practically ready to tour!

Assuming I will be marching this semester, as a bass drummer, I want a camera mounted to my bass drum. All I need is a sturdy screw, a sturdier hole, and something to protect against the shock of my percussive skills. All the other logistics are accounted for. I can use a remote trigger while drumming (hell, I'd hand-operate the camera like old times if I didn't think this was better!); I can set the camera to auto-expose with appreciable sharpness; I have at least two lenses capable of taking acceptable shots; I can mount the camera out of plain sight. If possible, I could install a short handle to increase the range of shots I can take. The only things preventing me from doing this are a current lack of mounting materials and a firm "NO, Nahum!" from a stern authority. Let's make things possible!

So what is my Fall semester like? I'm not to sure... I think I'm registered for classes, but I have yet to find out if they're paid for. Elan across the hall has heard back many times from Financial Aid—meanwhile, I'm planning another walk down to the office to see what the hell is going on. I'm going to need their help dearly; my class schedule takes up so much time for the number of units I'm taking that I'll have to make up for the 10-15 hours left each week for Roberts. I'm not sure where else to turn my job skills, as I only have evenings after 7 open. Cutting out Marching Band will only give me a few more hours each day, and some more Saturdays. I doubt that I can redeem those for paid hours at work, and it doesn't do much for my total availability.

There are no class options left for me; I think I'm taking every class that I can this semester. Everything else has prerequisites, conflicting times with more important classes, limited availability, or is taught by Professor Scaff (ugh!). No happy times.

I'm curious as to how all this will work out. I'm also trying to lend some help to an RTVF classmate this semester who is directing a film he wrote. This might be the one area that would benefit from my non-involvement with Band. I'm not sure how much I can help out, but I've promised some still shots as documentation of their (our?) work.

Gets me thinking what I could put together here at State. Looking at my list of treatments, there are only three that seem possible (no heavy CG work, little costuming/makeup, nothing too outrageous). Perhaps two more if we can fit in either heavy costumes or a complete jazz score. Among the easier three are stories about drug testing, vandalism, and the culinary arts. Mostly drama with some room for comedy, maybe some action. I should get these ready in case people get ideas about helping me.

The most interesting part of my day so far was when I walked up to a couple spending some time with the Soul Calibur 2 machine. The Conquest mode allows players to organize into armies and train characters to fight against others. It keeps track of your skill levels, win/loss records, and sets up matches for your character while you're away. I had tried this with limited success with Yunsung, who I eventually found to be slow, jerky, and wasteful. Recently, I've been doing better with a Kilik character—the couple who was playing faced him in their first match. As Astaroth, they were pretty aggressive, but kept their distance. My Kilik handed them one of their few losses for the session; I was so proud.

When they had left, I started my own session to build up Kilik a little more. I had some solid wins this time, but only after losing to my first combatant, my Yunsung character. Though he had lost a few hundred times since I last trained him, I had still taught him enough quick tricks to take me out. What sort of karma is this?

I decided to take a walk around the area, if only to clear my mind and escape the blankets.

There's a black tie affair going on at the new library, which will open soon to the public. Not to mock the celebrations, but why invite all these California socialites to a place that many of them will never see again, nor intend to? I don't care how much money they're plunking into the works—they will not be served by this new library. I wanted to at least fill out an application for some employment, perhaps check out a book that Jerry needed. I'll have to wait until later, because I'm not important enough.

I must have spent an entire day lying in bed—from the Thursday afternoon I got off work to just a few hours ago. I woke up a few times and even fit in a bowl of cereal and a bowl of mini ravioli, but I returned to bed just as surely. I want to think that I simply have had enough of this worthless summer, enough of passing days with nothing more to look forward to than family and paychecks. My summers will never be spent this way again.

I seriously wanted to do more with the past months, and I felt that I had enough motivation to see a few things through. Other than my own desire, I had no other reasons to push through. There is no one cheering me on, no one waiting for my best, and no one criticizing my work, no one telling me that I can't do this. No one to push for.

I am not about self-gratification. I can't do anything more for myself than cook a meal and wash off the occasional stain. Who am I to think that I can change myself through sheer determination? I am not valuable to anyone, and I have a difficult time trying to make myself so.

For as long as I have lived on my own, I wanted to change this. I don't feel that I've gotten far, that I've lived enough of a life to affect things. I have grown tired of promising myself that better is going to come; the few times it has, I wasted them. So when I tell myself now that I intend to show people what I am capable of, to find happiness in my way of life, am I lying to myself again? And am I doing wrong by trying to do so by myself?

Who would join me?

My normal weekly visit with family was supplemented with a visit to clothing stores so Dinah and Mom could prep for upcoming events. I was left in charge of Noah in the meantime. He isn't too much trouble—we found a few places in the store to hang around so he could draw in his notebook, pace around, or sample the stock. Things were going fine until Noah started playing hide and seek in the clothing racks. He would run around a rack, only to appear on the other side, giggling. He became more adventurous about it until I finally lost track of him.

At this moment, I realized how easy it would be to never see him again. Many parents came in with their children, so it was easy to lose one and fail to notice quickly. A daring person could have swifted him away without complaint. The rest of the shopping center was just an open entrance away, and access to the street outside would have been easy even for Noah.

I somehow managed to remain calm, annoyed even—Noah is still too young to reliably respond to his name, and perhaps too young to fear being lost. Chances were also good that he was doing his best to hide from me, which becomes easier to do as the minutes pass.

I hoped I could find him soon enough to not trouble his mother or grandmother. But as I wandered back and forth through the store, it was quickly apparent that I had lost him. Soon Dinah and Mom were out chasing through aisles, frantically checking around other stores.

An employee found Noah hiding across the store and kindly brought him up to the counter where I was trying to describe him to a manager. He was probably wondering why I couldn't find him quickly, but everyone else was afraid for his life. Our shopping day ended quickly, but we tried to console ourselves with stories of how I was easily distracted by arcade games or how Jerry seemed to know who to talk to when he lost his way.

I'm sure everyone's fine now, but those worries still remain, as they probably should. I knew enough about Noah's appearance to tell him apart from other kids, but probably not enough to quickly identify him in the arms of a stranger. There will always be people waiting to take advantage of chances like this. And what would happen if I, or someone close to me, lost a loved one for good?

This is how we live.

Spent enough of last week at home playing KH, Square's real-time action RPG with Disney characters in it. The action side of KH is most similar to the Zelda series, but faster-paced and much more open ended. All the necessary actions are quickly available without having to delve into submenus. In fact, the core menu is disabled during battle, encouraging you to be prepared whenever you venture.

Many of the tedious management issues familiar to Final Fantasy players are thankfully simplified without becoming unnecessary—the most complicated non-action task seems to be deciding which optional abilities to activate or remove depending on your characters' equipment. However, there are many ways to fine-tune your characters if need be, and to a degree unseen in many other games.

The core story is an interesting one: you play as Sora, wielder of the Keyblade, as he searches for companions lost to the Heartless. The Heartless devour the worlds they come across, many of them lifted from classic and modern Disney animated features. As such, (King) Mickey is off and missing; Donald Duck and Goofy aid you while searching for him. Within each locale, you get to play out the major plot from each feature, such as retrieving Pinnochio from the depths of the whale Monstro, battling Jafar as his wish to become a Genie is granted, and teaming up with Ariel to save Triton's underwater kingdom.

For all the attention paid to detail, a bit of the spirit from the movies is lacking. The characters that don't fight with/against you seem to serve only as decoration. A lot of the drama involving the other characters also seems watered down. The Final Fantasy characters that cameo might have been more interesting in more active roles—the most interaction takes place in Olympus Colliseum.

The other major problem is with the camera. It keeps up fairly well, and first-person view allows for exploration. However, it gets trapped often during battle, leaving you with an extreme close-up of Sora's back, or many enemies offscreen. A simple top-down view would have solved many problems. Also, giving FPV more than an exploratory purpose (you can only point your view around—no movement, no actions) would have made travel and battle more interesting.

Despite these setbacks, KH is pretty solid where it needs to be. It offers a definitive gameplay experience without relying on too many tricks. It may be more than what a child can take in (the target market seems to be slightly older players despite the Disney associations), but is not impossible to play, especially when managed properly.

Kingdom Hearts is the kind of game that I would be proud to make.

I've been here in Vallejo since Tuesday night, kicking it and helping around.

Another fine show tonight on PBS about the Dead Sea. Currently, it's a major locale for soul-searching, mineral reclamation, healing, and religiopolitical strife. More interestingly, the Dead Sea is home to many Biblical stories. Sodom and Gomorrah are rumored to be buried underneath mountains of rock salt. Their fiery destruction in particular is explained in the volatile composition of the region's minerals and the Dead Sea's location within the Great Rift Valley. Combustibles atop an unstable land.

This is the kind of Bible study I enjoy.