viking fridays – hidden runes.

Nine mighty songs I learned from the great
son of Bale-thorn, Bestla’s sire.
I drank a measure of the wondrous Mead,
with the Soulstirrer’s drops I was showered.

Ere long I bare fruit, and throve full well,
I grew and waxed in wisdom,
word following word, I found me words,
deed following deed, I wrought deeds.

Hidden Runes shalt thou seek and interpreted signs,
many symbols of might and power,
by the great Singer painted, by the high Powers fashioned,
graved by the Utterer of gods.

For gods graved Odin, for elves graved Daïn,
Dvalin the Dallier for dwarfs,
All-wise for Jötuns, and I, of myself,
graved some for the sons of men.

Dost know how to write, dost know how to read,
dost know how to paint, dost know how to prove,
dost know how to ask, dost know how to offer,
dost know how to send, dost know how to spend?
- The Hávamál

What are our Viking friends telling us today?

It seems often today that passing on knowledge to our children or the next generation is a dying art.

(Speaking of art, this great picture is courtesy of my good friend, the Friar – if you want some more Viking – pumpkin mayhem, go check out his post today, I’m still laughing…)

But seriously, how many of us know how to build a house, or milk a cow, or grow food in a garden?

I do not know how to do any of that.  I mean, I can learn it, but it was not passed on to me.  Of course, I am not blaming my parents for this, as I believe they did a great job (shut up Friar, I can hear you laughing from here!)

They told me great stories that stimulated my imagination and left me wanting more.  I think that’s why I’m so interested in everything under the sun.

And yet, I want more – I need to know the “why” behind everything and the “how” to do it – and I am passing it on to my children.

It starts with simple things, like telling stories at night, and carving pumpkins on Halloween.  And then it can go further.  Life with a family can be much more than just shuttling them between daycare, school, and hockey.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with hockey, mind you.)

I’m pretty sure that my kids are the only ones at school today who know that today is (and was) just a little bit more than a day to beg for candy from old people!  My oldest isn’t as interested in trick or treating today as he is in staying up late with his dad and his dad’s friends to sit outside by a fire and celebrate.  He isn’t as interested in his Transformers as he is in learning how to make shoes with me.

And his brothers and sister are also starting to take an interest in things that carry more meaning than what just comes in through the television.  One of the boys wants to do nothing else but help us cook in the kitchen.  And so on.

Next year we will have a vegetable garden and we will learn together.

As they grow, I plan to pass on everything I know to them, and at the same time, learn from them.  The way it used to be.  The way I think it should be.

Happy Halloween, to the masses – tonight, at midnight, another special post to celebrate the real festival, Samhain.

viking fridays – tears in the rain.

The Wise One has spoken words in the hall,
Needful for men to know,
Unneedful for trolls to know.
Hail to the speaker,
Hail to the knower,
Joy to him who has understood,
Delight to those who have listened.
- The Hávamál

So ends the Havamal – “hail to the speaker, hail to the knower, joy to him who has understood, delight to those who have listened.”

Imagine what it would have been like if the people who told the stories in the Havamal had not shared them?  One could say, “so what?” – but I like to think that my life has been enriched because they did, and perhaps some of you reading what I have written here feel the same way.

In any case, my point here is pretty simple today – we all have wonderful stories to tell, and we are telling them out here on the web – yet it can and should go further.  The stories in the Havamal were likely shared by spoken word first and then in written form, so why not do that if you are not already doing it?

If you have children, or nieces and nephews, tell them a made up story or a fun story from your own life, instead of reading one written by someone else.  Pass on your experiences to them, let them grow up knowing your story, because it is sort of their story too, rather than one written by Dr. Seuss.

(Hey, I don’t have it in for Dr. Seuss, but I’d like to think I’ve had a more interesting life so far than The Cat in the Hat…)

Or if, like me, you’ve been working on a written story, well, dammit, get the thing done and get it out there to share with the world.

(Message to self – this is a kick in the ass from me.)

It would be a shame if a great story were not shared, if it went to the grave with you, for we are a race of storytellers.  If you think I’m crazy, just look at our history, as far back as drawings on cave walls.  Stories.

We all have so many wonderful stories to tell, and what we’re writing out here might just be scratching the surface.  I know for my part I need to get my book finished because that really is “my story”, the one I was meant to tell, the best part I’ve been saving.  I need to get it done *now* in case there is no tomorrow for me, in case the story dies with me.

I thought about this as I walked home from Friar’s house last night.  The fall chill was upon our sleepy town, and the sky was clear.  Friar was showing me some stars and planets through his telescope on his front lawn.

I felt really small and yet I felt a part of something much, much bigger.  Part of the human story.

I thought about one of my favourite lines from a movie, the movie Blade Runner.  Near the very end of the movie, one of the main characters speaks – Roy Batty, the leader of the renegade Nexus-6 replicants:

“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time… like tears in rain… Time to die.”

Don’t let your moments be lost, like tears in the rain.

–

Image of Roy Batty from Blade Runner, Warner Home Video.

john who?

…down the ladder into the SUMAC building they went, so fast they barely touched the rungs, for they knew they would not have much time.  Surely the Demon Queen knew that the antenna array had been disabled, and she would be vectoring in the cyberzombie guards to figure out what was going on.

The Viking Lass checked her shotgun to make sure it was filled to capacity.  Schmiar’s hands gripped the chainsaw, ready to ignite the screaming motor at the first sign of undead scum.  And the Man – well, his Viking Axe was getting hungry again.

The trio moved quickly and silenty towards the rear shipping area of the SUMAC facility, ignoring the warning signs that required them to obtain permission from the facility manager prior to moving through the various areas.

“He’s probably a mindless brainsucker by now,” laughed the Man, “because he always did have a coffee problem…”

“Okay, people, on three, we go out the back and straight across to the OSV building, then south along the left side of the roadway, and in through the north door of the Cell – they’ll never expect us to come in that way…”

Schmiar laughed maniacally, and the Lady said, “Three!”

The “trinamic” trio (a dynamic duo plus one!) covered the quarter mile in less than three minutes, in spite of staying low to avoid detection by the many cameras that were searching for them.

The man could not believe how many signs were plastered around the site, and now that the antenna array was gone, no sunglasses were required to see them.

Signs that said…

“Obey”

“Use more non-renewable resources”

“Consume”

“Watch TV”

“Sleep”

“Reproduce”

…and the list went on, seeming an almost endless stream of subliminal programming.

Schmiar said, “Right about now, all around the world, people must be waking up next to some *really* ugly monsters…”

Said the Lady, “Hopefully they’re not afraid to use a shotgun!”

Steeling their nerves, they stacked up next to the back door of the Cell.

Simultaneously, they shouted, “THREE!”, as Schmiar’s mighty boot shattered the door into toothpicks.

“Party’s over…”, said the Man, as the braindead minions looked up in horror.

(***WARNING*** the above video link is not for the squeamish – YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!  Interestingly enough, this is a clip from one of Peter Jackson’s early films, Braindead.  Yes, *the* Peter Jackson…)

What happened next defied description, but at the end of it all, the Demon Queen and her minions were splattered hither and yon around the room, on the floor, on the walls, hanging from the pipes…

“Now what?” asked the Viking Lass.

“Let’s get to my car,” said the Man, “and we’ll make our way to Galt’s Gulch to round up some reinforcements… we’ve got a lot of work to do, these scumbags are everywhere, and we’re going to need some help…”

Freed from the Demon Queen’s mind control, the cyberzombie guards stood motionless as the trio moved quickly past them, got into the car, and drove off into the future…

–

Thank you for reading along with me – so ends the tale of cyberzombie horror at the Factory.  But just to keep you in the loop, I have working on some Fight Club themed fiction in the background, and I will be sharing that in this space shortly.

Stay tuned…

viking fridays – no man is able to know his future.

It is best for man to be middle-wise,
Not over cunning and clever.
No man is able to know his future,
So let him sleep in peace.
- The Hávamál

What are those middle-wise Vikings saying this week?

Don’t think too hard about the future, and certainly don’t let your thoughts of what will come tomorrow ruin a good night’s sleep.  You can only influence what is happening right this very instant, and while you can certainly shape the future, you cannot ever have absolute control.

You might even cut off your thumb like the poor fellow in Friar’s cartoon… *ouch*

So – don’t worry, be happy.  Hmm… maybe Bobby McFerrin has some Viking blood in him?

But seriously, I think this ties right in with my rant about the whole *bullshit* financial crisis – if anyone out there is still worrying about that, stop worrying.  If it really is the end of civilization as we know it, then we’re all equally frakked – we have to make our own fate.

If I may borrow from Shakespeare:

Macbeth: Come what come may
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. (1.3.156-7)

No matter how bad today was, get a good night’s sleep tonight, and if it helps, have a glass of wine before bed (or a cup of tea, if you prefer).

Remember, tomorrow is a new day, so sleep well tonight.

Then get up tomorrow, and put on your boots.

Your big, Dave Navarro style ass-kicking boots.

You’re going to need them, because you’ve got a lot of ass to kick – and, since you can’t control the future, if you’re gonna die, die with your boots on.

It’s the Viking way.

It’s the only way.

Sleep well tonight, my friends.

blog action day 2008 – picking up the gauntlet.

This is my first year blogging, and today is my first post for Blog Action Day.  The topic this year is “poverty”.

I wasn’t even sure if I was going to write at all today, because I didn’t know whether my words would really make a difference.

I briefly considered calling out some of the folks I wrote about yesterday – to give them a reality check – but I did not think that would be a productive use of my time.

Those people don’t care about poverty anyway, as they serve only Mammon.

I also thought about trying to write a story about someone living in abject poverty, but I do not personally know anyone in that situation.

What do I know about poverty anyway?

Nothing.

I am very fortunate to live in one of the best countries in the world.

And then I thought about something an old friend of mine said in an email to me last night, about Thanksgiving – he said, “…we are thankful on each and every day, and not just on Thanksgiving weekend, in particular…. Why wait for one weekend a year to be thankful for what we have in our lives each and every day, yes?”

(Thanks Glenn.)

I thought the same thing should apply to today – while it is important to bring poverty to light as part of this year’s Blog Action Day, I thought about my friend’s words and wondered what I could do to extend my contribution beyond today, beyond these words.  Why should it only be recognized today?

Giving money would help, but I know that my time is worth much more than a few dollars a month, and a donation would be too easy.  Just as it is with celebrities – those who give their time have more invested in the cause than those who give only money.

No, it had to be something that had real meaning to me.

I recalled another friend and colleague from many years ago, who left my company to volunteer overseas.  He was an engineer, just like me – an engineer who felt underutilized, who felt that he was not doing anything of value outside of his own home.

Just pushing papers.

Just like me.

I always admired this man for having the courage to do that.

Then I looked down.

I saw the gauntlet laying on the ground in front of me, and I knew it had been there for a long time.

Today, I picked it up.

Engineers Without Borders is an international organization involved in engineering-related development work.  Many people volunteer their time and skills, both at home and overseas, to work on projects that can and do make a difference for those less fortunate.

There is a Canadian branch of Engineers Without Borders, and there is a local chapter in Ottawa, which is not too far from my home.

I decided to join today, because there are many administrative projects to which I could contribute, right here in Canada.  And while I do not see myself going overseas, I will not count out that option in future.

I plan to contact the Director of Technology/IT to see how I can help out.  I have a natural talent for this stuff – a love for it, really – and I am not putting it to good use.  Yes, I have business plans for it too, but perhaps I could also be using my talents to serve someone other than myself.

I will report back periodically on my experiences, as a sort of public accountability.

I wonder if, by giving our time and skills freely, we can someday significantly reduce poverty?

Something to think about today.

reality check. no sunglasses required.

“We have front row seats for this theater of mass destruction. The demolition committee of Project Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns of a dozen buildings with blasting gelatin. In two minutes, primary charges will blow base charges and a few square blocks will be reduced to smoldering rubble. I know this… because Tyler knows this.”
– the Narrator, Fight Club

“In the world I see – you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You’ll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You’ll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you’ll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.”
- Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Credit crisis?  Bullshit.  Manufactured?  Perhaps, by who, I don’t know, but the flames have been fanned by the media, who only stand to profit from the mayhem.  Many others are also profiting from the mayhem.  You can too, but in a good way.

Coming recession, or depression?  Bullshit.  Adjustment, more like it.  Perhaps someone wants us to think that the world as we know it is coming to an end.  Maybe it is, but not yet, and not because of a housing and credit crisis.

Take a look at the Dow Jones Industrial Average Index between 1970 and now.  The last time it dipped this low was in 2003, and it had not gone as *high* as the recent *low* until some time in 1997.  I am by no means an expert, but I can read, and thanks to Google, I can perform basic research.  I won’t go into gory detail, but yes, some banks have failed, perhaps due to the fact that they were breaking rules that had applied to them, up until the US Federal Reserve Policy was changed in early 1995.

Which, coincidentally, is about when the slope of the Dow Jones Index started to increase.  If it had followed along the way it had been tracking, it would most likely be somewhere around 7800 today.  It would not have peaked at over 14000.

There is no crisis in my opinion, at least, not for those who arranged this.  Someone has profited from this “crisis”.  I mean, have a look – after two weeks of “doom and gloom”, it is on the way up again – someone is making money from the misery of others.

I don’t think Tyler Durden and Project Mayhem could have done this any better.  No one had to take down any bank buildings, but we certainly have front row seats for this theater.

I am not downplaying what is happening to the many people who have lost or are about to lose homes and savings.  It just is not right, and I feel for them.  It is bullshit.  We will all feel the repercussions of this for years, by way of higher prices for goods and services, perhaps, or difficulty in securing loans.

People by and large used to work to create things, their work had physical meaning in the world, or at least created some value – and many still do work like that.

Unfortunately, many people do very little except move money around, to make more money – like a shell game – except it is more like a pyramid scheme, in my eyes.

I don’t have a financial advisor – why not?  Well, aside from not having much to invest anyway (hey, I’m investing it in my children), I can make my own decisions.  Disagree with me if you like, but seeing as many of these people make money whether you win or whether you lose, does it make sense to entrust them with your money?

The panic that I see in people who should know better just boggles my mind.

Someone I know and respect recently canceled a vacation.  He had sufficient points to fly for free, round trip.  His house is free and clear, as are both of his vehicles.  He is old enough to draw a pension, he has (as far as I can tell) a lot of money saved, and he runs a very successful consulting business.

But – he works in the banking sector, and follows the financial news religiously – so all he could talk about recently was the “credit crisis” and “how bad the market is” – and this is the reason for the canceled vacation.

The market.  The market.  The market.

He only had to pay for a hotel room and food to enjoy this trip.  I’m quite sure he thinks I was an idiot to take an expensive vacation to New Zealand last year.  He is far better off than I will ever be, as far as I can see – or is he?  I have a mortgage, two vehicle payments, and four children – so of course I will *never* be as well off financially.

Or will I?  To be honest, I am secretly laughing at him, and people like him.  I believe I have the power to surpass him, if that is what I want to do, because I believe this is not a crisis – it is a reality check – a wake-up call.

I believe this is a great opportunity.  It is time to put a lion in your pocket.  I believe we have front row seats, to witness not the decline of our civilization, but a new beginning, another chance.

What can you do, what skills do you have, that can truly add value to someone’s life?  Can you provide a service that someone truly needs, that they cannot get anywhere else, or can you make a unique physical product that someone absolutely must have?  Will someone pay you for this?

I know I can do that – I can’t yet make leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life, but I can make leather shoes that will – and I can build a simple water purification system out of common materials you can find outside.  I also have other plans in motion that will come to fruition, with a little luck and a lot of hard work.

I believe this is the reality check, the wake-up call, the future for us.  Get out there and create something of value, rather than playing a shell game.  Whatever you do, try to help someone.  You don’t have to be a shoemaker, it doesn’t have to be physical, but it has to provide some useful value for someone.

If you hate your job, change yourself first, and then change jobs.  Become a veterinarian before Tyler Durden hunts you down.

Perhaps if enough of us turn our backs on those who are trying to instill fear in us, we can make a difference – we can build for the long term.

What if I’m wrong?  Well then, we’re all in for a rough ride, but at least I know how to make shoes and build water purification systems.  I don’t think I’m wrong though.

I’ll leave you with this quote, from a movie called “They Live” – think about it, it isn’t as paranoid as it sounds.

“We are living in an artificially induced state of consciousness that resembles sleep. The poor and the underclass are growing. Racial justice and human rights are nonexistent.

They have created a repressive society and we are their unwitting accomplices …their intention to rule rests with the annihilation of consciousness.

We have been lulled into a trance.

They have made us indifferent, to ourselves, to others, we are focused only on our own gain. They are safe as long as they are not discovered …that is their primary method of survival. Keep us asleep, keep us selfish, keep us sedated…they are dismantling the sleeping middle class.

More and more people are becoming poor. We are their cattle. We are being bred for slavery.”

gone pillaging.

Alas, no tales of cyberzombie horror this week, but there will be a triumphant return from our heroes next weekend.  We are going to unplug from the Matrix this weekend and raid some neighbouring villages (actually, we’re going for Thanksgiving at a local cottage).

In the mean time, may I wish all of you a wonderful weekend, and if you’re looking for something great to read, why not check out some of the amazing folks to your right in the sidebar!

PS – on Monday (sometime, depending on when I can upload it), a Fight Club themed post with great relevance to the current events of our world as they are unfolding.

viking fridays – sitters in the hall.

The sitters in the hall seldom know 
The kin of the new-comer.
The best man is marred by faults, 
The worst is not without worth.
- The Hávamál

Today’s words of Viking wisdom will be quick and bloody…

The other day, I attended a meeting at work on behalf of my boss – the people at the meeting are two levels above me on the “management food chain”, so to speak, and are the sort to walk around with a “holier than thou” attitude.

And then there was me, the new-comer to the hall.  I think there was more than one raised eyebrow in that meeting when I walked in.

And you know what I noticed, was that these folks – surprise, surprise – put their pants on one leg at a time.

As the meeting progressed, I noticed that there were things they had promised to do, that they had forgotten to do, or they were late on certain things – just like normal people (!) – and in spite of all the staff they have and their BlackBerry Wireless Devices, they screw up as much as anyone else, and they get scolded – publicly – by their masters.

I was the only one who got an “attaboy” from the VP who chaired the meeting, because I was prepared.

I grinned a big Viking grin all the way home, and I’m still grinning…

So the takeaway message today is:

No matter how good you are, you’re not perfect, and, no matter how small a person may seem, they have something of value to offer.

(Regarding the Watermelon Viking – hey, if Friar can do pumpkins, I can do watermelons…)

for sale: one dishwasher.

One night several weeks ago, a family sat down to dinner.  It was fairly straightforward fare, steaks grilled over charcoal, mashed potatoes, carrots, and a chop salad consisting of cucumbers and tomatoes, with a balsamic vinegar and olive oil dressing.  There was even some nice red wine to accompany the meal.

All present were very hungry, especially the children, for the family had spent most of the day on the water.  They had hired a pontoon boat and ventured several miles along the waterway, landing at a secluded beach and spending the afternoon basking in the sun’s rays.

The dinnertime conversation was lively as usual – and “usual” is pretty lively, seeing as the family consists of Mom, Dad, a girl, and three boys.

There was also pie and ice cream for dessert – very nice!

Once all were finished eating (and pretty much could not move), it was time to clean up the dishes and pots.

But unlike a normal evening, something really out of the ordinary happened.

The conversation continued beyond the end of dinner, and it went on for almost an hour.  It really was something to see, like something from yesteryear, a glimpse into the 1950’s, or something like that.

Dad thought about this for many days after the family returned from their weekend adventure.  He noticed that this unusual and very welcome conversation was not replicated at home – until one fateful evening, when he had forgotten to buy dish-washing powder for the dishwasher.

Silly Dad!

Mom even scolded him a bit because the dishes would be piled up in the sink for another day.

Dad, however, was determined to clean up the kitchen, and he filled one sink with hot soapy water, and the other with hot clean water.  He spread several tea towels out on the counter beside the sink, and proceeded to wash and dry the dishes.

Eureka!

The family gathered in the kitchen and talked, and talked, and talked.  The televisions and computers and video games remained silent that evening.  It is quite likely that the machines would have been drowned out anyway by the sounds of laughter emanating from the kitchen.

Progress, it seems, is overrated.

For Sale: One Dishwasher – $40 or best offer.

–

“Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need.”

-Tyler Durden, Fight Club

bubblegum.

(Apologies for the delayed episode today – interference from the enemy radio signals prevented me from uploading this sooner.*)

The trio had skirted up around the back of the two buildings across from the SUMAC facility, so that they would stay out of sight of the cyberzombie guards.  Though it was several hundred metres, they had scarcely taken a breath, in spite of running flat out the entire way.

Steeling their nerves, they walked *slowly* across the roadway towards the SUMAC building.

Slowly.  Very slowly, with their arms outstretched in front of them, muttering “brains… brains… brains…”

For you see, a zombie’s sense of smell has a limited range.  Three hundred metres away, the fearless trio looked just like another bunch of brain-sucking maggot factories.  The machineguns remained silent.

Once behind cover of the retaining wall, all three exhaled simultaneously…

“Now what?”, asked the lovely lass.

“Through the front door, my darling – no one would expect that around here, at least, not without a meeting request…”, replied the axe-wielding berserker.

“Schmiar, you take the left, I’ll take the right, and the Missus can cover our asses.”

(“As usual…”, she muttered under her breath.)

“THREE!”, said Schmiar.

The door was no match for Schmiar’s mighty boot, and it splintered into a million little pieces.

Seven minions of the Demon Queen looked up from the control panels in shock.

Said the man, “I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass… and I’m all out of bubblegum.”

A symphony of sickness broke the awkward silence, a power trio made up of a Viking axe, a turbocharged chainsaw, and a 12-gauge shotgun to lay down a drum track from hell.

Nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, the walls, ceiling, and floor were painted a dark crimson, and the smell of gunpowder and chainsaw exhaust filled the air.

“Whoa”, said Schmiar, “not even Winston Wolfe could clean up this mess…”

“To the roof – follow me!”, shouted the man.

The lady surveyed the room one more time, and put three rounds from her scattergun into the control panels, just to be sure.

Twelve flights of stairs.  Twelve fracking flights of stairs…

“What kind of moron designs a building this tall without an elevator?” asked the man as he caught his breath.

Schmiar replied, “Umm… huh-huh… never mind…”

Before them stood a ladder to the roof, and beside it on the wall was a small sign that read, “Work Permit required prior to accessing Roof”.

The man chuckled, and started up the ladder.  Bursting forth onto the flat graveled surface, he surveyed the entire site.

“Holy frak”, said the lass with the long golden hair.  “Look at all the mindless minions milling about…”

“Looks just like any other day of the week!”, laughed Schmiar, and he grasped the starter on his chainsaw with iron fingers.

An insane snarling sound filled the air, and the sawteeth made short work of the antenna array.

“Alright my friends – to the Batpoles!  We’ve got to get to the Cell, and take out the Demon Queen…”, said the axeman.

“I’ve got first dibs on that wench”, snarled Schmiar.

“Not if I get to her first…”, quipped the lady.

–

(*Actually, my triplets had to go to gymnastics, and then we went to look at a puppy…)

Tune in next week, for another horrific zombie tale… assuming your intrepid writer doesn’t drink the Folgers…

PS – the *great* artwork today was brought to you by Schmiar Friar

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