Category: Chatter

My wife’s family are nice people. They’ve kind of gotten used to me hanging around. It’s been over a quarter century, I guess you can eventually get used to anything.

My sister-in-law, DR, and her family always get me a gift at Christmas. It’s usually something practical and clearly well-intended, if not something I’d pick out for myself.

This year, DR’s seven-year-old twins are really excited about the present I’m getting this year. It’s a big box. It’s heavy. And they tell me I’m going to love it. They’re quite sure of this. I’ve had a few more Christmases than those two, so I’m not quite as excited. But they’ve gone into this frenzy of anticipation, so I let them help me rip the paper off.

It’s so heavy, I have to balance it while they attack the paper.

It’s a box of heavy brown cardboard. The edges are sealed with strapping tape. There’s a pretty serious thing in here. Probably metal, from the way it shifts.

The front of the box declares it to be… a tripod stand? Rated for a few hundred pounds?

The twins are thrilled. They’re too young to realize I’m not as excited. I’m kind of puzzled.

My wife asks “Is it what it says on the box?”

I look over at DR…

…and she’s staring at me in horror.

“I got it off your wish list,” DR says quietly.

I’m looking back at her. “Uh… I don’t have a wish list.”

“Of course you do!” And she shows me the Amazon wish list for Michael W Lucas.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Really, that’s not me.”

“But…” DR says, “I’ve… been buying your gifts off that wish list for years and years now.”

Restoring order takes a few minutes. The twins don’t understand why the adults are laughing so hard, but they’re happy to join in anyway.

Somewhere out in the world, there’s a Michael W Lucas. Every year right before Christmas, he gets a note from Amazon. “Hey, someone bought something for you off your wish list!”

And the something never arrives.

The poor bastard.

I’m just barely getting my breath back when she blurts out, “And I order your birthday presents from that list too. Have them shipped to your house.”

“But I haven’t had a birthday present from you in…”

Of course not.

Somewhere out in the world, there’s another Michael W Lucas. He has a pickup truck and likes Dean Koontz. I adore Koontz, and sold my pickup in 2007. He needs a few tools. I need a few tools. We’d both like an inversion table.

And every 2 February for the last, oh, ten years or so, he’s received a gift off his wish list. It has a note. “Happy Birthday! Love, DR and Family.”

He has no idea whatsoever who DR is. And there is no Amazon Thank You Note service for him to contact her back.

I sincerely hope that this Michael W Lucas has many many friends.

I hope that he’s not sitting alone in a basement apartment in a trailer park, despondently thinking “Nobody loves me. At least I have a secret admirer. Even if she doesn’t know my right birthday, at least she gives a crap.”

Because this year, 2 February will pass without him getting a gift. And he will never know why.

I know he’s not living in his truck. Because he wants an inversion table.

If you happen to know this other Michael W Lucas, please check on him this February. He might be quite despondent at the loss of his mysterious secret admirer.

The result of all this is that I finally have an Amazon wish list. I spent a few hours auditing my Doctor Who DVD collection, added a few books I’ve been meaning to get for research, and topped it off with the Wile E Quixote T-shirt.

I sent the link to the list to DR. It seemed the right thing to do.

Her response?

“Oh, no. I’ve learned my lesson. You’re getting gift cards from now on.”

I wanted to believe that we wouldn’t elect someone who advocates and empowers active hatred for women, blacks, latinos, and the poor.

I wanted to believe that we wouldn’t elect someone who declared that if he became President he’d have to do “unthinkable things” to “make America great again.”

I wanted to believe we wouldn’t vote for a candidate that proposed rounding up folks based on their ethnicity and putting them in internment camps.

Well, crap. I guess this is what America is.

I won’t defriend people over differences in economic policy. I think Ayn Rand was a sociopath, but I’m friends with folks who believe in her work. (The fact that she died broke, dependent on government handouts, kind of makes my case.) I’m OK if your stance on issues is different than mine–I’ll argue, but it doesn’t make you an enemy.

But blatant racism? Bragging of sexual assault? Not ok. I have too many black friends, too many female friends, to accept that.

So many of those friends are heartbroken today.

And there’s not a damn thing I can do.

I have no idea how to talk about this with my friends and family. The only thing that comes to mind is “move to Canada.” I’d post a link, but the Canadian Immigration web site has crashed due to all the folks hitting it.

I can’t use my “White Male Magical Inherent Worth” to protect the vulnerable people I care about everywhere they go. Are we supposed to all move together into one armed commune and only travel en masse? “It’s noon, everybody to the bus for grocery shopping! We’ve reserved sixteen carts for today. Remember, stay with the group. The Expedition Leader will blow her whistle twice to signal an advance to the next aisle. We’re starting in produce and working our way through canned goods, then the convoy will hit dairy and end up in frozen foods. If you’re somehow separated, hit your panic button and we’ll send a white man for you.”

We survived the incompetence of the Bush administration. (And yes, he was incompetent. I’ll fight the whole bar on that, but only in person, not online.) If that’s all we faced, I’d say “crap, we best save money for the coming economic crash” and move on. Heck, I’d plan to make a profit off the inevitable crash.

But a President who brags about sexual assault? Who says that folks from our most populous neighbor are rapists? Who declares that “certain people” need to be kept from voting?

The President is a role model. Trump’s election empowers every entitled dude who abuses random women in the hardware store or the park. It empowers the freaking KKK. It empowers people who think they’re better than others because of the luck of the genetic draw, who want to make life worse for other human beings.

I want to make things better for those folks.

And I have no idea how to do it.

All I can say is: I’m sorry. You deserve better.

(PS: The First Amendment only applies to governments. This blog is private property. Comments are open, but if you’re a jerk I’ll moderate you right off. There’s lots of soapboxes out there for people who good with racism or who think Bush’s handling of Katrina was great.)

I spent last weekend at Ohio LinuxFest, present on ZFS and meeting readers. First, the obvious question: how did things go between a BSD Unix guy and a whole bunch of Linux fans?

It was kind of like visiting a parallel universe–the GNUniverse, if you will. And unlike Star Trek, that universe’s inhabitants are perfectly friendly.

The program heavily featured system administration and community presentations, where a BSD conference would have had more code. (That’s not a complaint, just an observation.) Friday had a single track of talks, while Saturday had six. This meant I skipped a couple of talks on Friday–I’ve been a sysadmin since 1995, and if I must sit through another talk on GNU screen someone’s getting a serious wedgie. Saturday’s program had an embarrassment of riches, however.

The keynotes were excellent. I particularly enjoyed Catherine Devlin’s talk on open source in the US government. 18F is a great example of how a government agencies can be perfectly competent.

On a BSD-specific note, Ken Moore from iX Systems talked about the new system management tools in PC-BSD TrueOS.

For a small conference OLF treats their speakers quite well, with lunch every day and a pre-con party on Thursday night. They also did an excellent job of communicating with speakers. I knew exactly what was going on, my timetable, and the presentation requirements. Knowing simple things like “our presentation gear is VGA, please bring an adapter” helped everyone a lot.

OLF did have a couple of extra surreal notes to it.

If you watch an SF show with parallel universes, somehow all of the major characters appear in slightly different form. This is absurd–changing the universe around you would change your interests, your personality, and possibly even your very name.

I’m pleased to report, though, that in the GNUniverse of a Linux conference, Andrew Fresh and Peter Hessler are still hackers. Their names have changed, to “Justin Smith” and “Andrew Pullins.” They even wear hacker T-shirts. Their allegiances have changed, however…

The meds are starting to work. I’m feeling better. Not great. Not good. But better. Better enough that I should be making some words. And I’m having a terrible time making words. My writing discipline has collapsed this year, because I’ve been ill.

This happens to every writer–really, any self-employed person who works fully independently. Us indies need to get our discipline back every time something goes wrong.

For me, the trick to getting things back together is to set goals that succeed or fail quickly. These goals give me a quick shot of victory, or confirms that I suck.

For these goals to work, though: someone has to know about them. Someone must know if I succeed or fail. Otherwise, I don’t push myself.

Thursday, I leave for Ohio LinuxFest, to talk about ZFS.

That gives me three days. I could slog into the next tech book, or grind out some words on my current novel, but on Thursday I’d feel like I’d just poked along. No real failure, but no real success either.

I’m giving myself three days to write a short story. There’s a hard word cap of 10,000 words. At 1,000 words an hour, that’s a maximum of ten hours labor in three days.

Some people do challenges where they write a story a day, but they’re up to speed, not coming back. They also write much shorter than I do–I call 10K words “flash fiction” and 80K “a brief novel”

I’ll post my progress on Twitter. Wednesday or Thursday, I’ll follow up with a blog post reporting success or failure.

(This is a “blog it so I can refer folks to it later” post.)

Last year, I wrote 403,000 words. Not great, but not terrible.

So far this year, I’ve written 130,900 words. That is terrible.

I also seem to have passed an awareness threshold. In the last few months, I’ve been offered speaking and teaching opportunities at half a dozen events, including big events like LISA and MeetBSD.

I’ve had to turn them all down. Which sucks. I want to expand my readership, and conferences are a great way to do that. Especially conferences that pay my expenses.

Ditto for the fiction opportunities I’ve been offered. (Which really tonks me off.)

It turns out there’s a reason why I’m tired all the time. Why I can’t concentrate. Why my productivity is in the toilet. Why flying somewhere and returning leaves me wiped out for a week.

Why I’m not doing my usual September writing retreat in Oregon.

Why I’ve had to take bloody naps.

I’m anemic. My blood marrow has shut down, and isn’t making more red blood cells. The ones I have are old and tired, and not doing such a good job of hauling oxygen around my innards.

There’s no reason for alarm at this point. My physician said “hmmm… that should have worked” and sent me to a blood specialist. I’m on more meds. They haven’t used words like “aplastic” or “pernicious.”

If I worked for someone else, they’d just have to put up with me falling asleep at my desk. But I’m self-employed, so my boss isn’t nearly so understanding.

Why am I posting this?

• If you’ve offered me a wonderful speaking or teaching opportunity and I turn you down, this is why. Yes, I want to expand my readership–but if I fly to Georgia and back in the space of a week, I’ll be flat on my back for a week afterwards. Add in a time zone change, and it’d be ten days.
• If you’ve asked me to contribute to a book bundle and I say no: this is why.
• If you’ve offered me exciting work that I’ve inexplicably turned down: ditto.

I am maintaining my existing commitments. I made those commitments already understanding my health. You’ll note that there’s only two of them. The furthest requires a three hour drive, and that’ll require rest breaks. (I’ll be fine at Ohio LinuxFest; I arrive early the day before, and I’m scheduling nine hours of sleep a night.)

My morale wobbles unpredictably between “not good” and “f— anemia.”

The bad news is: it took too damn long to find out this was going on. The anemia’s slow, stealthy progress hid the depth of the problem. It’ll take a while to recover.

The good news is: I’m expected to make a full recovery. There’s no reason at this time to think I’ll need vocabulary words like “aplastic” or “pernicious.”

More bad news is: you can’t do much to help me. The only thing I can do is wait for the meds to work, which will take a whole bunch of time. All I ask is that my readers understand why I’m slow in producing new books this year.

The great news is: I’m under medical advice to eat more cow.

I’ll be in Scottsdale, Arizona, for a few days on family business.

Readers, fans, and detractors are welcome to join me Friday 15 July 2016, 6PM, at Frank & Lupe’s Old Mexico.

And yes, there’s a gelato shop within walking distance. Several, actually.

I’m very hopeful that, while this might not be my last trip to Scottsdale, it will be the last trip to Scottsdale in the summer.

Here’s the interesting things about blackmail: it only works if the victim permits himself to be embarrassed. A victim who is willing to release everything renders himself invulnerable to such threats.

People have wondered how I make a living as a writer. It all depends on how you sell your product.

Sorry, David. You’ll have to buy your books like everyone else. Meet me in the alley if you’re still interested.