It didn’t make me cry. It certainly didn’t make me blue. But when my friends had the Nintendo Entertainment System, I didn’t. I didn’t really even care. That rectangular controller? All those buttons? It made no sense to me.

So, the whole appeal of Mario? I don’t get it. I just don’t.

Yes, this made working for EB Games for so long a little strange. I knew the history, and I could talk the history like I’d been a game-nerd my entire life. I could even fake the excitement of knowing the Konami cheat code. (Don’t ask me about it now; I couldn’t remember it if I tried.)

Games just weren’t my bag.

However.

When I see something like this, I just have to applaud.

A kid took a Theremin. And he turned it into a Nintendo controller.

A Theremin! That “instrument” that made “music,” the weird, spooky “Oooo”s that were common to B-movies of the 1950s and Mars Attacks! and Destroy All Humans! A Theremin!

Watch!

On the one hand, he has too much time on his hands. On the other hand, he’s a friggin’ genius.

A Theremin!

If only it still made music. I’d have loved to hear a Theremin soundtrack to Mario battling the mushrooms.

This happens sometimes. The problem is that there’s only so much cranial capacity, there’s only so much mental space that words can be drawn from. And what happens, on days that I have to write a lot (and this was one of those days), is that the gears in the brain overheat. Smoke pours out of the ears. The eyes glaze over.

The brain melts.

By 3:30, I felt mentally useless. So, I switched gears.

I did some more writing; I wrote an article about Mickey Mouse comics. I’ll be honest; it’s not a great article. I’m not even sure that it’s a good article. It’s just… there. But it was different than what I’d been writing the first six hours of the day.

Then, I did some proofreading.

At some point, the hamster that runs on the wheel inside my computer decided to die. My computer chugged to a halt, so I rebooted. But by this time it was 5:30, and the day was nearly done.

I’ll start fresh tomorrow. Write about toys.

I need to spend some quality time with Excel tomorrow, too. Oh, yay.

On a different note, did you ever imagine what would happen if paleontologists visited the Creation Museum outside Cincinnati?

Imagine no more! The New York Times has the story…

I haven’t done anything with the outline I wrote on Saturday as yet. It’s currently out with a few people for feedback.

I reread it this morning on the train, and wrote half a page of notes myself. The notes ranged from changing a name to planting a plot seed earlier to changing the story’s projected title.

The Cubs confound me.

The reason for the loss of channels 11 and 13 from Baltimore, and channels 7 and 9 from DC that I ranted and raved about?

It’s a longish story.

Prior to the official changeover from analog to digital, these stations were all broadcasting digital signals in the UHF spectrum.

After the official changeover on June 12th, they changed the frequency at which their signal went out. Specifically, each of these four stations changed from a signal in the UHF spectrum to the VHF spectrum.

Unfortunately, the VHF broadcasts these stations are now using are of a lower power.

Channel 13, for instance, will be installing a higher-powered VHF transmitter in mid-August. Channel 11 has no plans to increase their power that I can find.

Their loss.

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to 15 people (or not) and include me. Try not to repeat a song title. It’s harder than you think.

It’s not that hard. I did a similar meme with the Beatles about two years ago.

Pick Your Artist: Elbow

1. Are you male or female:
   Picky Bugger
2. Describe yourself:
   Asleep in the Back
3. How do you feel about yourself:
   Scattered Black and Whites
4. Describe your current boy/girl situation:
   An Imagined Affair
5. Describe where you currently live:
   The Long War Shuffle
6. If you could go anywhere you wanted to go:
   Strangeways to Holcombe Hill in 4:20
7. Your favorite form of transportation:
   Station Approach
8. Your best friend(s) is(are):
   Friend of Ours
9. Your favorite color is:
   Powder Blue
10. Favorite time of day:
    About Time
11. If your life were a TV show, what would it be called:
    Some Riot
12. What is life to you:
    One Day Like This
13. What is the best advice you have to give:
    Grace Under Pressure
14. If you could change your name, what would it be:
    McGreggor
15. Thought for the Day:
    Lay Down Your Cross
16. How I would like to die:
    Lucky With Disease
17. My soul’s present condition:
    The Stops

The other day, when I wrote that “I’m surprised I don’t make more music playlists, because when I do they usually turn out quite well,” I was referring to this list specifically. This wasn’t assembled as a playlist, yet I find that when I whipped up a playlist of these tracks, in this order, in Winamp, that it worked really well. It sounded cohesive.

Maybe I know Elbow’s music too well. Considering how many of these songs are B-sides, maybe that’s to be expected.

A year ago, I went out and dutifully bought a digital converter box for my television. Analog signals were going away, because the cell phone companies wanted the analog spectrum for who the fuck knows what reason.

I set up the digital converter box, and I had absolutely no problems with it. I got all the Baltimore stations crystal clear. I got all of the DC stations (except for two of the PBS stations) crystal clear.

Life was good.

Flash forward to mid-June. The transition from analog to digital was made, and stations recommended that people “rescan” their digital boxes.

I, not being a great television watcher, did not do so until Sunday, largely because I hadn’t watched any television since the finale of House.

So, I rescanned.

Whereupon I lost two of my Baltimore stations — channels 11 and 13.

This was unwelcome, especially at 7:45 in the evening, as I was looking forward to watching Merlin at eight on NBC. And one of those two stations was the NBC station. (I can’t keep straight which stations are which in the Baltimore market, unfortunately.)

And then I broke my antenna.

So, I watched a pixelated Merlin on Washington’s channel 4.

But I was determined to root out the problem, to figure out why I couldn’t receive channels 11 and 13. They’re fucking local. The transmitter is ten miles away.

Yesterday, I went to Big Lots and bought a new antenna. (They also had Animaniacs box sets for six dollars each.)

I went online, and discovered that channels 11 and 13 are well aware that many people in the Baltimore area cannot receive their stations now. They had some suggestions for reacquiring the signals.

I hooked up the new antenna, and rescanned.

Nothing.

For extreme cases, they recommended —

• Disconnect the antenna from the digital box
• Rescan. The box won’t find anything, which clears the memory.
• Unplug the digital box.
• Plug the digital box back in.
• Reconnect the antenna.
• Rescan. With the clear memory, you should pick up more stations.

So, I did this.

Whereupon, I found four stations.

Channel 2 from Baltimore has three channels. And I got channel 54.

The antenna’s knob had twelve positions. I tried rescanning on each of the twelve positions.

Now, I can be a very patient, almost Zen-like person. I can be like a rock at times. Surprising, I know.

I fucking exploded at the inherent idiocy of all this.

I found no new stations, in the twelve different knob positions, except for one that labeled itself as “38-3,” and I have not a fucking clue what the hell it was, as it never resolved to a picture. And I would either lose the trilogy of channel 2, or I would lose channel 54.

This was fucking bullshit.

Because this is not a brief process.

Finally, I took my old antenna base, the one where I had broken off one of the telescoping antennas, and hooked it back up to the digital box. I took the telescoping antennas from the new base and connected them to the old base.

I rescanned. I didn’t even bother with the “clear the memory, unplug” routine. I just wanted it done.

And I got everything back. Except channels 11 and 13 from Baltimore, and channels 7 and 9 from Washington.

The way I figure it, I now cannot watch CBS. But since I’ve never watched CSI, I can’t imagine I’m missing much.

And if I can’t watch Merlin tonight, I’m going to be seriously fucking pissed. And not in the drunken sense of the word, either.

Thank you so much, FCC, for bending over and taking it from the cell phone companies. You took something that worked quite well — over-the-air television signals — and have turned it into a source of endless frustration and insanity.

Suck on it, dickwads.

It’s really not that mad. It’s not my insane desire to write a Doctor Who/Uncle Scrooge crossover, which I think would be absolutely fab. It’s more a case of “Why has no one ever thought to put this together with that?”

As best I can tell, no one has.

Yet, once the two ideas collided in my mind, I saw how brilliantly they would work together.

I worked out roughly the hook and some of the dramatic incidents last night. I pulled some books off the shelf and gave them a once-over, jotting down a few ideas. (Yes, I’m surprised I even had books on certain elements of the concept, but I’m a man of eclectic interests.)

Today, I’m taking a break from “THOD” to put a brief outline together. As I type this, I have seven Wikipedia articles open, and three books on the desk.

I think I can knock this out entirely today.

And then we’ll see if I can do something with it.

I don’t have a cutesy acronym for this yet. Why don’t we call it “TDH”? Thistle Downgrades Happiness.

ETA: Have I mentioned how difficult I find it at times to write an outline? And yet, that I absolutely need an outline?

We’ll start with the latter. I need an outline because, without an outline, I’ll flail. If it’s a story that I can write in a sitting or two — roughly, four or five thousand words — I don’t need an outline, because I can “see” beginning, middle, end in my mind. Otherwise, without an outline, I’ll write without a direction, and I’ve become disheartened, and I’ll lose focus, and I’ll give up.

The former. The problem I have sometimes with writing an outline is that I’m mapping out everything. So I have this big idea in mind, and in “skimming” over the ideas, I find at times that I really want to write the individual scenes, even though I know right now that I really shouldn’t.

Getting started on this outline was difficult. Each paragraph on the first page was slow-going. It’s set-up. Initial problem. Introduce the characters. Get them into position. Complications. Page two, however, was not so difficult. The characters are now in position. The conflicts virtually write themselves. The plot really kicks into gear, and the main character is learning some very interesting things.

Now, sixteen hundred words in, I’ve reached the top of page three. When I get to the bottom of page three, I should be done. There’s one important character introduction still to happen. One action set piece to write. And some plot strands to resolve.

I’ll finish this tonight.

ETA2: Done. The outline now sits at four pages and 3200 words.

The character introduction? Mid-page three. The set piece? Bottom page three. Plot resolutions? Page four.

Tomorrow, I may think it’s junk. Today? Right now? I think it holds up. It feels right. I don’t see any gaping holes.

Not bad. Not back at all.

Big Finish sent me a comp copy of Short Trips: Re:Collections.

I’ve had a copy of the book since the beginning of the month. I’d bought it from WhoNA, because I wanted a copy of the “Best Of” anthology that had my story, “The Spindle of Necessity.” I didn’t know, didn’t realize that I’d get a free copy from the publisher.

Still! I now have two copies. One I can keep at home, and one I can keep at the office.

In other news, the day quite dragged. I was in a writing mode, and today was one of those days where the writing, the process of writing felt like molasses in winter.

It was still a six thousand word day, which is not inconsiderable. And probably why my brain feels like it’s been bludgeoned to death with a blunt excrement.

(Yes, that last phrase is a movie quote. Any takers?)

On the train ride home I came up with an idea that’s only slightly barking mad. I jotted a few notes in the notepad I carry with me, and I spent at least half an hour trying to determine the necessary contact information to make this barking mad idea a reality. Or at least, to give it a chance of becoming a reality.

The Internet is a great and wondrous thing, and sometimes it’s the things that you think would be easy to find that prove to be the hardest.

And the Cubs beat the Sox at the Cell. Fuckin’ A!

Ever since I stopped making myself write something online, I’ve been a little more scattershot in my postings.

Partly, it’s that I’ve had other things on my plate. For instance, I set up a test blog running Habari, a different blogging platform, after the painful upgrade to WordPress 2.8 (and then a painless downgrade back to 2.7.1), and ported a WordPress theme to work with the new software. I’ve also had writing. And work.

Work, especially, has been packed this week.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking. So, what’s been on my mind this week?

• The Chicago Cubs taught me disappointment at an early age. Which is why this week shouldn’t be disappointing. This is the week you expect as a Cubs fans. Nevertheless, losing three straight to the Tigers is painful, and I find myself despairing of this weekend’s visit to the Cell. *sigh*
• I thought the BBC’s Merlin was intriguing enough to keep watching, but I also thought that NBC erred by broadcasting the first two episodes together as a single, two-hour premiere episode. The pacing was all wrong, because these were two completely different stories, and the second hour as a result dragged horribly. Merlin has a very different take on the Arthurian legend, so if you’re expecting fidelity to, say, Malory, you’d best not watch Merlin. And this week? Michelle Ryan!
• Michael Jackson. I wonder what it says that the only thing on my mind is whether or not his death is an opening for Paul McCartney and Yoko Ono to get the Beatles catalog back.
• I have a 500-piece puzzle of the cover of the Beatles’ Revolver album now. It’s a great piece of artwork, and I imagine it’s going to be a challenge to put together.
• I had a low-key birthday. The Bailey’s chocolate chip pound cake was excellent.
• I’ve surprisingly kept my desk clean since I got back from a week off.
• I’m currently reading The Saga of the Volsungs. I’ve read a different translation online thanks to Project Gutenberg, and even turned that version into a Microsoft Reader eBook. But it’s still nice to have a physical book in hand.
• After The Saga of the Volsungs, I’m going to read The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. I’m already excited.
• I’m surprised I don’t make more music playlists, because when I do they usually turn out quite well.
• I have a short story idea I don’t want to deal with at just this precise juncture nagging away in my mind. It’s clearly impatient.
• I love this lyric from Elbow’s “Grace Under Pressure” — “We believe in love, so fuck you.” I’ve found a live version of the song where that chorus, and the audience singalong, really comes to the fore, which makes it even better.

That’s my week. It’s Friday. It’s felt like Friday all week. The depressing thing about it feeling like Friday all week is that you know it’s not Friday.

While I sort of wanted one, it wasn’t high on my list of priorities. Unlike The Journal of Impossible Things, which I instantly wanted, and I’m now the proud owner of one.

I was given a fobwatch at work yesterday.

It’s plastic. It feels a little cheap. I’m worried about the hinge breaking with repeated use.

The watchface looks fabulous, though.

My major complaint? The sound chip.

The watch isn’t really usable because of it. Put the watch in your pocket, and chances are you’ll hit the button accidentally — and repeatedly.

I’m tempted to take the watch apart and disconnect the speaker.

I’ll make it useful yet!

My grandmother, of late, has been incapable of two things.

One, she can’t turn faucets off.

Two, she can’t close kitchen cabinets.

The cause for both, I’m sure, is the same — she forgets that she’s turned the water on. She forgets that she’s gone into the cabinet to look for something. She turns on the water, she opens the cabinet, and then turns to get something else — a plate, a bowl, a cup — and then whatever she was doing slips her mind.

I have a migraine. Joy.

Strange New Worlds was an anthology that was open to North American writers with less than three published credits, affording them the opportunity to write and submit Star Trek stories. The contest ran for ten volumes. I submitted stories to six of the first seven, though my submissions that final year were more about taking the piss than anything; that was the year I submitted only drabbles. I never sold a story to Strange New Worlds.

I was contacted and asked if I would be interested in answering some questions about the contest. Naturally, I said yes.

Other authors interviewed for the article are Terri Osborne, Dayton Ward, and Bill Leisner. Series editor Dean Wesley Smith was also interviewed. Dayton and Bill both sold three stories to the anthologies. Terri, like myself, never sold a story to the contest.

It was nice to be interviewed. Despite Strange New Worlds being a market to which I never made a sale, I learned a lot writing stories to submit, even if they never made the cut, and I had some unique perspectives on why the contest was important and why it lasted as long as it did.

I think the finished article is top-notch. It’s a unique look at a chapter of Star Trek literary history.

I particularly liked “Don’t Look Back in Anger.”

The whole Britpop thing, which is what Phonogram, the best comic you’re not reading, is built upon (at least, in the first series, Rue Britannia), sort of passed me by, so I barely got some of the musical references in the series.

I loved Morning Glory. At the time, I didn’t really like the first album, Definitely Maybe, a whole lot. (It’s grown on me, though. It really has.) And I’ve loved each subsequent album.

Be Here Now? Yes, it’s long and it’s loud and it’s bloated, and I think Noel Gallagher is off his rocker for hating the album.

Standing on the Shoulder of Giants? It’s quieter. It’s somewhat darker. It’s not as raw. And the bonus CD that came with it has one of Oasis’ greatest songs of all time — “Let’s All Make Believe.”

Heathen Chemisty? This is Oasis in full-on Beatles mode. Specifically, Revolver-era Beatles.

Don’t Believe The Truth? Okay, this is probably my least-played Oasis album, and it’s a little more mellow, but it has some fantastic songs — “Love Like a Bomb” and especially “Let There Be Love.”

The latest album, Dig Out Your Soul, was, I admit, the first Oasis album since Be Here Now that I didn’t buy on the day of release. That I know this is, I think, a little worrisome. I just didn’t make it out to buy it, that’s all. But I had it within a week, and I’ve absolutely loved the album.

It’s a return to the Revolver-style Beatlesque music that typified Be Here Now and Heathen Chemistry. I love this album all the way through, with “I’m Outta Time,” “Waiting for the Rapture,” “The Shock of the Lightning,” “The Nature of Reality,” and “Soldier On” being particular favorites. Okay, yes, that’s fully half of the album. But it’s really that good.

Recently, I learned that there was 22-minute long psychedelic remix of “Falling Down.” It took some time and effort to track it down, and track it down I did.

It’s called “Falling Down (A Monstrous Psychedelic Bubble Mix).”

And it’s massive.

Not just in its length, which is twenty-two minutes twenty-seven seconds. But in its overwhelming weight. There are flutes. There are harps. There’s a harmonica. There’s a lead sitar. There’s a little girl reciting the lyrics like poetry. There’s echo on Noel’s voice, making him sound like he’s come from an entirely different plane of existence. There’s a sonic texture to this song that sounds like it came from a different time entirely, as though it’s an artifact from the Summer of Love. You expect this song to come with raspberry-tinted sunglasses, a tie-dyed shirt, and a peace sign. I could imagine hippies in the Haight-Ashbury tripping and stoned, blissed out to this remix. “Falling Down,” already a very good song, turns into something that would have fit alongside the Beatles’ “Rain” or “Tomorrow Never Knows.” And yet, it’s completely Oasis.

It’s absosmurfly amazing. I’m glad I found it.

And in case you celebrate the holidays of the Shire, I wish you all a happy and prosperous Midyear’s Day.