We love you, Spider

I subscribe to this quote-of-the-day website mailing. Sometimes I get great stuff, often enough that it's worth the quick read before I delete the e-mail. This showed up the other day:

You're miserable, edgy and tired. You're in the perfect mood for journalism.

Warren Ellis

(1968 - )

English Author of Comics, Novels and Television

I'm 99 44/100% certain those words came from the mouth of Spider Jerusalem. (Actually, I'd make that 100% certain were it not for the fact that I don't trust anything on the interweb 100% but don't have the time to re-read all my issues of Transmetropolitan to confirm the quote. (But now that I mention it, I think I'd quite enjoy reading Transmet again; it's a series I miss.)) Spider -- and, I infer, Ellis -- would probably feel a mixture of flattery, amusement and contempt at learning he's being quoted in the same place as Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.

Incidentally, today's Solzhenitsyn quote was pretty good in its own right:

One should never direct people towards happiness, because happiness too is an idol of the market-place. One should direct them towards mutual affection. A beast gnawing at its prey can be happy too, but only human beings can feel affection for each other, and this is the highest achievement they can aspire to.

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

(1918-2008)

Russian Novelist

Resonance

I've spent some odd hours this weekend online hunting for images and footage of a number of historical events from the past sixty or so years. We've talked about using video projection as an element in the scene change transitions for Absence since each scene jumps forward in time anywhere from two years to a decade or so. The idea of building the events of the timeline into those transitions seems appealing. It's a rich, albeit obvious, opportunity for the sound design -- period music, audio from newscasts, etc. The visual element, though, is a bit more of a challenge. I'm designing the lighting for the show, and because I'm a sucker for a challenge and have no capacity for protecting myself from overwork, I'm exploring possibilities for video.

So I've been poking about online in a hunt for images of things like VE Day, the war in Vietnam, the fall of the Berlin Wall and other less focussed things, like the Cold War (any suggestions for images that evoke the Cold War are most welcome). The last scene in the show takes place in 1993, and the script specifically mentions "CNN news about the first World Trade Center bombing." [sic] If you're lazy about your search parameters, and even if you aren't, a lot of the hits are going to refer to the September 11th attacks in 2001.

There's a lot on the web about the events of that day. I looked at some of the footage of the second plane -- it's eerily well documented -- and found it a very incisive reminder of the feelings on that day. I'm glad the timeline in Absence doesn't extend into the 21st century. I'm uncomfortable enough with the idea of editing elements of that footage, and even more uncomfortable with the thought of how inured to it I might become through the particular sort of familiarity created in the process of editing.

They somehow know me far too well...

Now that I think about it, it was always pretty much inevitable that I'd find a bunch of things on ThinkGeek that fit my own idiosyncratic tastes. But this was just a little too perfect.

And, terrifyingly, my ThinkGeek wish list presently totals at $1,163.51. Amazon doesn't show you the total cost of everything you've tossed onto a wish list (at least nowhere that I've seen), so my wish list there just piles up full of things I'd like to have if money were not a concern and all I did was have things. Of course it's not likely that I'll ever get all or even most of the things on either list. The act of adding something cool to a wish list gives just a hint of vicarious pleasure at having found a thing I like.

Fruitless Trawling

Every time I mention a specific corporate entity -- or even a particular class of business -- in this blog, I get some for of spam comment that's a none-to-thinly veiled attempt at shilling. At least that's how it seems.

A short whole ago, I posted about an exceptionally odd item I saw in one of the catalogs Oriental Trading Company sends me. (I once -- once -- bought glowsticks from them for Folk Fest, and they keep sending me catalogs. I get them at work, as well, as a result of having bought something for a show several years ago. At this point I'm almost certain that they've spent more in sending me catalogs than they ever made from my purchases.) I put often the catalogs in the can for amusing toilet time perusal. I just as often toss them into the recycling bin direct.

What do I then find as a comment on that post? A criticism of Oriental Trading Company and a recommendation for a competitor. "Marissa" -- if that is her name, which it almost certainly is not -- tells me that Oriental Trading's CEO used to do cocaine. I can't even be bothered to guess at which is the most intense of the seven different kinds of I-don't-give-a-fuck that fact inspires in me. "Not very family friendly," she says. Sweetie, I'm not very family friendly (and I grow less so every time I hear the term). And the folks at Century Novelty are paying for this?

Okay, I did go to their site, but only for the sake of making the link above. At first glance their site looks less cheesy than Oriental Trading's. Based on the tack of their viral marketing, I suppose that their CEO never did drugs; he's probably into whores -- that seems to be a preferred vice of the "family friendly" crowd.

Still, I think I'll be going to Oriental Trading for my rubber ducky needs for the foreseeable future. I suspect the family friendly folks at Century Novelty might have objections to carrying some ducks.

WTF? #712

I am not generally squeamish. Indeed, I can't say that I was actually grossed out, as such, when I saw this. It's more that I find it disgusting on an abstract level. It's just plain wrong.

Truly, the depths of the Oriental Trading Company are bottomless.

iFun

Through a series of links and jumps, I ended up here after finding this.

Oh, yeah -- I got an iPhone last Friday.

The Right Time had come. My Palm device had sputtered into death a while ago; while my Motorola RAZR was still functioning fine as a phone, despite cracked screen covers and other assorted wear and tear, its "calendar" function is nothing like a real calendar/planner app and doesn't sych or backup with anything else I have; the tech toy corner of my geeky little life had developed within it an empty space the size and sleek shape of an iPhone.

Thing is, I have this frustrating track record with my Apple purchases. Their product cycles and my buying schedules never seem to line up. Shortly after I bought my iBook (a purchase timed with my needs at work), Apple rolled out the first of the Intel-based laptops. I blunted any frustration I felt at the time by telling myself that the shift to an Intel chipset meant that the first generation of Macs with the new chips would be an unproven variation on the solidity of the G4 processor in my iBook. Let some other folks road test these new Intel machines, I'd stay safe and secure with my tried and true G4. But then I bought my iPod, a 30 GB model of what they're now calling the "Classic" iPod, and the following week -- I swear -- Apple released the newer version of that same model, with a jump to 40 GB for the same price. Maybe I could have researched the product cycle for that iPod more thoroughly than I did, since there was no outside time factor motivating the purchase, but basic digging turned up no sign that the next iteration was imminent. And Apple has been known to do those unheralded upgrades without notice from time to time. Still, I began to suspect that in the back of the Apple Store in the King of Prussia Mall there might be a red phone that's a direct line to Steve Jobs' office. Hello, Mister Jobs? Greg Miller just bought a new iPod. Yes. Yes, he just walked out the door. Release the next version on Tuesday? Okay!

Paranoid? Damn right. But let's fast-forward a few years: Now it's early 2009 and I'm at the Apple Store with Chaz, my production manager at work, laying out the specs for the Mac Pro tower the theater is buying. We've held off on this as long as possible; Chaz's reasons for delaying are all about money; me, I'm holding back because all my research indicates that there's likely a major upgrade coming soon. "Soon" as in "any day now" soon. But we need the machine to run the video projections in our A Tale of Two Cities, and tech week is nearing. So we cut at as close as we sanely can, and then we order the machine. Nice Mac Pro, sexy and powerful, the sort of computer than inspires tech-lust, and deservedly so. It arrives during the week before tech and I manage to stop drooling long enough to configure it and get the two-projector rig up and running. We tech the show, and on the Tuesday of our invited dress -- I kid you not -- Apple unleashes whiplash-inducing upgrades to the Mac Pro line. I think my groan was felt as a minor tremor in Cupertino.

No fucking way was my iPhone going to be anything like an impulse buy. Interweb chatter, tea leaves and the alignment of the Heavens all pointed to an iPhone upgrade this summer. Apple announced that the new version of the iPhone software would be out this summer. Those sneaky bastards, trying to get us to think that was the upgrade. Hah! I wasn't buying it, and my friend Mike assured me that my suspicions were valid. Wait. The Right Time draws near. Wait, and it will come.

And indeed it did.

I'd never before gone after an Apple product on its launch date. I did recall the insanity the day the first iPhone came out, though. So I went online and "reserved" my iPhone at the KoP Apple Store. (It wasn't a pre-purchase, just a good way for the Apple folks to get a base sense of who would be showing up.) Come Friday, I did my dimmer check and pre-show at work then headed to KoP to get in line. I figured one way or another, there'd be a line. I brought a bottle of water and a book, and passed the time quite comfortably. I didn't check the time when I queued up, so I don't know just how long I was waiting. Certainly half an hour, at least, but probably not a full hour. It was busy, but not what I would call a madhouse. I went to the midnight release one of the Harry Potter books at Borders -- I know a madhouse when I see it, even a well-behaved madhouse. This wasn't a madhouse, just a very, very busy store. I was, however, quite surprised at the number of people in line with me who were talking, checking e-mail or playing on their iPhones. I can only hope they were early adopters, folks who'd bought the first iPhone and were ready for an upgrade. Otherwise, they would be just plain greedy.

Setup, even the AT&T bit of it, was smooth and quick -- the customer benefit from "reserving" online. Before you could say "I will not do Twitter," I was an iPhone user. I think it took at least eighteen, perhaps even a full twenty-four hours before I was an iPhone addict.

But, no, I didn't do this post from my iPhone. I'm not that fast typing on the little graphical keyboard.

Yet.

Does the left hand know...?

A few posts ago, I wrote about this offer Bank of America telemarketed at me. Definitely a symptom of this whole financial credit crisis thing. BofA had already been targeted to receive at least $20 billion (certainly enough to make even Carl Sagan flinch) in relief funds, and after its government "stress test" is required to raise $34 billion in capital. No wonder they're offering safety net plans with monthly fees -- they need the income.

But I have to wonder just what organizational apparatus is operating -- or failing to -- inside BofA. Yes, I'm carrying a balance on my BofA card, but it's not that much (a little over $1,000 at this point) and I typically pay more than the minimum payment each month (sometimes only a little more) towards getting rid of that balance. I may well have had a late payment or two, owing to my general disorganization regarding all things not theatre during tech weeks, but I don't think I've been late enough to have "missed" a payment. So I can see -- sort of -- where they're coming from in offering me that paranoid protection plan: I'm carrying a low balance and definitely not doing any extravagant spending (indeed, though I've had it for something like twenty years, I use this card hardly at all anymore, as I don't like the experience of dealing with BofA, and I expect the root of the balance I am still carrying probably dates back to before BofA swallowed MBNA); I have a history making relatively steady payments, so I wouldn't appear immanently likely to use this protection plan; those payments are evidently cautious ones, however, though if you consider my income they make perfect sense.

And I have to think that BofA has, finally, considered my income, because as I was going through my post-tech backlog of accumulated mail I found evidence of another symptom of BofA's health: they've reduced my credit line.

Okay, to be honest, it was a ridiculous credit line to begin with. That wasn't wholly BofA's fault, either; MBNA had been given to awarding me unsolicited increases in my credit limit, ostensibly as rewards for my solid credit management, although I think we all know that this practice of upping credit limits was motivated by a desire to encourage more substantial purchasing with the card. Once they absorbed MBNA and took over (a fact of which I received no direct notification that I can recall; I discovered it only when my monthly statement suddenly changed -- I almost threw out the first statement before I registered that it was my MBNA card number), BofA continued the practice. They were also very fond of sending me "cheques" for my credit card account, a thoroughly transparent enticement to spend more and, in my case, a total waste of paper and postage. Still, so long as I felt there was no risk of my falling for it, I saw no reason to argue with their attempts to draw me into owing them more money.

And as for that ridiculous credit line? As of last month, it was $42,700. Yes, that's more than I make in a year. (Yes, I make that little. I work in the arts.) I pretty much treated it as a joke -- such ludicrous examples of our screwed-up economy were funny a year ago. Now... well, I can't help wondering how many people received the same sort of treatment I'd received from BofA, but fell for it. There's a far wider "they" than only the financial institutions themselves in the "What were they thinking?" that's hung in the air these past months.

So, when was going through my pile of mail, I opened a letter from BofA informing me that my credit line had been "adjusted." No mention of the direction in which it had been adjusted. Sure enough, when I opened the statement for April the credit line figure at the top of the page had changed to $21,500. They'd adjusted my credit line to slightly more than half of what it had been.

That's still a pretty large credit line, yes. And it's still true that when you put that together with my CitiBank and American Express cards, and individual accounts like Home Depot, I have plastic credit exceeding my annual income. And, yes, I am carrying balances on Citi and AmEx, a fact which has begun to bother me more in recent months than it has in years. There was a time when I was assiduous about paying off my credit cards as quickly as possible. Over the years, though, as unplanned necessity expenses like automotive repairs would suddenly shoot my credit card balance up by large increments, I grew accustomed to never writing a cheque for the entire balance. And, with the exception of AmEx, the statements changed format in such a way that the actual dollar amount of the finance charge for that month was no longer obvious or, for that matter, always easy to find. I made payments, almost always more than the minimum, and must confess that I sometimes didn't know whether I'd put more onto a card in a given month than I'd taken off. From the fact that I'm still carrying balances on several cards, I'd say there were more than a few months when I put on more than I took off.

Lately, I've taken to using my bank card more often. Unless the purchase is so large that there's a chance the bi-monthly low ebb in my chequing might not cover it, I'll swipe that PNC card rather than Citi, AmEx or [shudder] BofA. I'm paying more attention to which payments are due when, and trying to orchestrate scheduling such that I pay the most I can manage on things with minimum payments. A year ago, something like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies would have been an impulse buy as soon as I saw it on Amazon; now I'm being realistic -- okay, honest -- about the fact that I'm not likely to read it immediately, and I'll just add it to my wish list as a reminder (although I cannot imagine how, short of early-onset Alzheimer's, I could forget something that combines Jane Austen and the walking dead). My godparents gave me a pair of $25 Sunoco gift cards in my Christmas card this year, and I'm still carrying one in the truck against the day the need to fill up coincides with the low dip in my chequing, just as a way to avoid putting so mundane as a tank of gas on a credit card. I'm changing the date on one of my CDs so that it'll mature around the same time next year's school taxes are due, just in case I'm not able to consistently maintain my self-imposed "tax rent" payments into savings. The ongoing foolishness of Dan Didio (whom I've come to think of as the "W." of comics editors) isn't the only reason I'm re-evaluating the comics I buy every month.

Oh, yeah. One more thing -- Bank of America sent me more of those "cheques" this month.