Month: May 2015

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Viva La Revolucion

Postaday for May 11th: New Internet Order. All the world’s countries have decided that the Internet itself needs a government. Your country asks you to run for Prime Minister of the ‘Net — do you accept? If so, what will your platform be?

House of Cards is an amazing TV show, (I’m talking about the made-for-Netflix version— I haven’t seen the BBC original yet) and I even liked the book it was based on. My wife and I have been binge-watching Scandal. Back when renting DVDs from brick and mortar stores was a thing, I plowed through as much of the West Wing as I could get my hands on. My point is, I really like watching political dramas. In other words, I graciously and without any doubts whatsoever refuse the offer to run for PM of the Internet.

And I’m pretty certain I’ll join whatever 5th column springs up once this “internet government” is formed.

When it comes to politics, at least in the United States, I’m more or less left-leaning. I don’t think I’m an extremist, but no one would ever confuse me for a conservative. I can’t see myself voting Republican, but that’s because our present two-party system inexorably intertwines fiscal, foreign, and moral policies. We rarely if ever have party candidates who’s ideals bridge the aisle.

That’s said, I do think the internet, right now, thrives under laissez-faire, and is furthermore healthier because no one country— or government— controls it. Unfortunately, a representative government requires citizen participation, which means potential leaders must advertise. Advertising costs money, and so big business, via donations, has too much to say in the process. If the internet DID come under the control of one government, the first thing to go would be Net Neutrality. I’m talking day-of.

I’m jaded, of course, and would not believe any prime ministerial candidate who claimed the new internet government would be fair and representative of everyone, rich or poor. Who pays for this government? And what is its agenda? Those two questions alone would render whatever the prime minister claims moot.

Don’t get me wrong, I recognize the need for government, and I am not calling for anarchy or the overthrow of our current leadership. Quite the contrary. But an internet government would only bog down what I feel is a self-regulating entity that thrives by allowing free expression. And while I know the internet can be used for foul purposes, so can pretty much anything. Attempting to eliminate malfeasance by creating government just makes perpetrators that more saavy when it comes to thwarting the people’s will.

However, in my house, I will gladly be the prime minister of the internet. I will confer with my constituents (my wife and children) and guide us to good internet usage. I will establish and enforce rules, and I will be subject to the people’s review of my leadership and step down if my wife decides she wants to be the one to choose our ISP.

Although in this town, we only have one ISP choice, and that’s just fomenting dictatorship.

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On Orcas (Photo of the Day)

On Orcas

I’m going back and trying to “improve” pictures that I didn’t think came out very well. Results aren’t always perfect, of course. In addition to Lightroom adjustments, I tried added some graduated blurring and rendered a few cloud overlays to remove pixeling or pixelization or whatever it’s called.

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NaBloPoMo Day 11: Close

Today’s NaBloPoMo Prompt: Do you ever secretly snap pictures without the subject knowing? Tell us about a secret shot you’ve taken.

No. Or yes if I’m someplace where lots of photo-taking is expected. Weddings and other social gatherings. But out in public, with strangers? Never.

Almost never. One time I was out at a street fair, you know, one those things where booths are lined up selling arts and crafts and small jars of home-made jelly. I was taking pictures of dogs, since it was a nice day and every other person seemed to have a corgi. This one lady had a nice-looking husky, so I snapped off a few.

Then this guy next to me says “Come on, creep, taking her picture without asking?”
I looked at him, and said “I was just getting the dog.”

Guy wouldn’t even make eye contact. He goes, “While she was licking an ice-cream cone, real nice.”

Let’s be clear here: I had a longish lens on the camera, and it had obviously been pointing downward. Even if I had been taking her picture, not the dog’s, I would have been shooting her knees. She was wearing a long skirt, as well, so I can’t even be accused of having gotten a picture of her legs.

So I repeated myself, adding a little edge and volume to my voice, “I was just getting the dog.”

And he walked away. That’s when it occurred to me: I hadn’t even known she was eating ice-cream. HE was the one scoping her out, not me; HE was the perv.

The thing is, I was sort of doubly offended by his accusation, since, as I said, I don’t take candid street snaps of people.

Today’s NaBloPoMo Photo Prompt: Close

I apparently accidentally gave my garbage disposal a penny for its thoughts.

A photo posted by Jason Edwards (@bukkhead) on

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Make an Ordeal out of Nothing

Postaday for May 10th: Journey. Tell us about a journey — whether a physical trip you took, or an emotional one.

(I had no idea what to write, so I cribbed from The Hero’s Journey to create the following. It’s entirely fictional.)

I was sitting in my home office, browsing the internet, content in a cloud of my own inertia, fused almost as one with my big orange office chair. Outside my window, my neighbor’s dog barked, a constant litany of boredom.

My stomach started with a gurgle, and then a rumble, and then a deep pang that suggested hunger. A gnawing began to grow, in gentle tendrils that laced themselves up and down my spine.

But I knew better than to hop right up and feed. I was as like to get hungry from tedium as I was from a need for nutrition. Besides, I had a conference call coming up in a few minutes. I continued internet browsing. Oh, look, a dog chasing its own tail falls into a swimming pool. Hilarious.

A window popped up on my work PC. “Need to bump the call by half an hour.” This made me a little angry. Which conference call? I work with several teams in one day, have several calls. These guys think they’re the only game in town. Sheesh.

A tinny ding, and Outlook informs me I have a new meeting invite. I check it- the pending call is the one that is getting bumped. My stomach growls, loudly, in response. I’ve got shoes on and I’m out the door before I even realize it.

The sun is bright in my eyes, unadjusted from the comfortable darkness inside my house. My feet protests the pavement, as the lymph pooled from hours of sitting works its way out. The dog barking is louder now that I’m outside, more irritating.

My neighbor’s flower bed has gone to weeds. I used to see him out there, every sunny day, weeding, or flowering, or whatever you call it. He’d say hello. I’d ask him if he wanted anything from 7-11, and I realize now that’s where I’m headed. He’d always smile and say a diet pepsi would sort him out. I’d smile and say sure, he’d gives me a thumb’s up. He was a nice old guy.

It occurs to me that I have bread and lunch meat in my fridge. I don’t need to go to 7-11. But I’m going to anyway, get something to eat, get a diet pepsi for my neighbor, pour one out on his old flower bed. Maybe that’s silly. I’m in a silly mood.

My driveway leads to a street, of course, which has a sidewalk. The next street has no sidewalk, however. I walk against traffic, the 7-11 looming ahead in the bright sunshine.

I walk into the 7-11. The clerk knows me, smiles. My stomach growls again, fiercely. I have no idea what I want. The frozen burritos look like bricks. The bags of chips look like bags of sawdust. There’s greasy slices of pizza, oily hot dogs on rollers, a cabinet full of dried-up donuts. My head swims with hunger and indecision.

I grab a bottle of diet pepsi, walk a few more aisles. Candy bars and gum and more bags of chips. My phone in my pocket beeps—a text from a coworker. The call that was bumped has been unbumped, and starts in two minutes.

Shove my phone into my front pocket, where it pushes against my hip at an odd angle. I check my wallet. There’s only one dollar in there. I take a step away from the counter, and there’s a twinge in my hip. My phone is at an odd angle because it’s resting on some loose change. I fish the change out—that and the dollar are just enough for the diet pepsi.

I leave the 7-11 and start to run down the road. At a cut in traffic I cross the street so I can run on the left side. A car honks, but I ignore it. The barking of that damn dog is a beacon. I turn onto my street, and as I approach my driveway I realize I’ve shaken my neighbor’s diet pepsi up, but good.

I check my watch. Con call in one minute. I trot up to my neighbor’s weedy flower bed. I’m standing there, and I glance up. His old wife is peeking at me from behind the curtains. I give her a wave, and the curtains close. The dog stops barking all of a sudden. It’s an eerie quiet as I stand there for a second or two.

Then I run back to my house, into the door and up the stairs. Join the conference call. I’m a little bit sweaty from the jog back, and a little thirsty. I open the diet pepsi, and it explodes all over the place. I’m stunned. On the con call, someone is saying “Jason, what do you think? Is that a good idea? Jason? Are you there? Talking to the mute button again?”

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NaBloPoMo Day 10: Three

Today’s NaBloPoMo Prompt: Free Write

Woodinville, y’all, where the wind bends trees over into worshipful poses, and grape vines like twine twist round them knotty poles. I met a man in the streets of Woodinville, wearing a cowboy hat on a string, it was hanging on his back because the clouds that day were fat like a kitchen momma in slippers and a nasty old robe. He told me, go into that saloon over there, they’ve got wine so nice you’ll want two bottles. But don’t drink ‘em both, son, save one for that sweet lady waiting for you, domicile-side. So I went into the place, all of that polished oak and shined-up brass, and laid down my ten dollars for four samples of Syrah. Each glass was more purple than the one before it, and I had a vintage mustache in no time.

I put one bottle in the back pocket of my jeans and walked out into the rain, one of those playful rains where winter plays summer dress-up. But some bully, probably an angel, said something mean and the clouds turned from gray to black. The rain turned to needles. The streets turned to slicked-up shit and I got lost wandering around the streets of Woodinville.

Fell down a few times, got mud on my jeans. Never did break that bottle of wine. A man on a horse tossed me a worn but clean blanket, and said not unkindly, go be a wino someplace else. But nothing sobers like a weather-shellackin’, and I was too shivered-up to be much good to Bacchus anymore. I found a path between some trees and plodded along and up a hill and into a dale and never knew even what a dale was before that.

Thunder in the distance, running away the way children’s laughter does from the park near my home and dusk threatens and I have to close the house windows against the dying light. But I was too all-moist for drying out. My boots clobbered my porch steps, and my old lady standing there in curlers, holding a rolling pin. Big grin on her face. We like make-believe in our marriage. I fished that bottle of wine out of my back pocket.

She snatched it up and me too, tossed one of us in the shower and the other in our latest can of trash. Ain’t it ironic, the best recovery from a soaking is a few hours in the tub.

Today’s NaBloPoMo Photo Prompt: Three

The photographer is not defined by WHAT he shoots, but IF he shoots. Woodinville 2015.

A photo posted by Jason Edwards (@bukkhead) on

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Don’t Sing For Me

Postaday for May 9th: Cringe-Worthy. Do you feel uncomfortable when you see someone else being embarrassed? What’s most likely to make you squirm?

I’m not a big fan of cringe TV. Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Office. There’s a scene in Rachel Getting Married where Anne Hathaway’s character gives a seriously cringe-worthy speech at the rehearsal dinner. I remember shrinking into my seat at the theater and lityerally scrunching my body up. This, despite the fact that it’s one of the best films of 2008.

And Curb Your Enthusiasm is well written, too, and The Office is excellent. But I just can’t stand to see people embarrassed. Or do embarrassing things. Even if they’re not embarrassed, I feel a big pit of dread opening up in my stomach. Suffice it to say, I’m super-bashful when it comes to interacting with strangers.

Which is probably for the best, probably keeps me safe. I’m fairly opinionated, and not a little arrogant at times. I’ve I opened up my mouth every time I saw someone doing something I didn’t like, I’m sure I’d have wound up in the hospital by now. Yesterday, at a stop light, I saw two different people texting on cell phones. Oh the things I wanted to say! But I was too afraid of embarrassing myself, not just in front of the texters, but other folks as well.

It shouldn’t be that way, of course. I mean, I should refrain from embarrassing people because it’s just rude, and not merely because I’m a coward. I’ve met a few people in my life who seem to have no fear whatsoever, and always speak their minds. Always call others out on their nonsense. It takes some getting used to, I guess, but they seem to have as many friends as anyone else.

You know what makes me squirm? When people sing in public. I don’t mean a concert or recital, but spontaneously, for whatever reason. Not just someone walking down the street, but when, for whatever reason, someone decides to sing to the people there with. I’m trying to think of an example. A bunch of people at dinner, and the conversation turns to music, and one person says “My favorite these days is ‘Call Me Maybe,’” and then she proceeds to deliver a few lines. Man does my cell phone come out for some distraction, fast.

Probably some innate fear in myself. They say that fear of public speaking is the number on fear in the world. Not for me— I can talk to crowds of any size, no problem. But ask me sing in front of people? Not going to happen. I’d rather die.

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NaBloPoMo Day 9: Light

Today’s NaBloPoMo Prompt: Free Write

A pop, fuzz, fizz, crackle, from the other room the AM radio and voice says something about baseball. It blends into the whir of the fan, the hum of a clothes dryer rolling, and then the smell of coffee and it’s been there the whole time. Clammy bed sheets from night sweats. A dagger of sunlight from between disturbed black-out curtains. Raggedy breath, uneasiness in the belly, a gurgling, warm pressure in the bladder. Damn it.

Legs like shards of broken glass, a coalescing in the knees. The creaking of the bed. Feet numb and puffy, but not too insensitive to feel the transition from scratchy carpet to cold bathroom tile. There’s more light in here. Too many windows. A fat hot stripe of pain behind one eye. And now a green cloying in the back of the throat.

Clunk of the seat going up, ice on the ass. Lava flows. Tension and then a moment of peace and then a small circle of pain, sharp, instantly fading, unphysical throbbing. Kegel one two three. Paw blindly at TP. That stupid scented paper. Scrape, drop. Stand. Head rush. Two finger flush. Leave the seat down, lid up. Screw him. Who listens to baseball at his hour.

Gimme some of that coffee.

Today’s NaBloPoMo Photo Prompt: Light

<blockquote class=”instagram-media” data-instgrm-captioned data-instgrm-version=”4″ style=” background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% – 2px); width:calc(100% – 2px);”><div style=”padding:8px;”> <div style=” background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;”> <div style=” background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAAGFBMVEUiIiI9PT0eHh4gIB4hIBkcHBwcHBwcHBydr+JQAAAACHRSTlMABA4YHyQsM5jtaMwAAADfSURBVDjL7ZVBEgMhCAQBAf//42xcNbpAqakcM0ftUmFAAIBE81IqBJdS3lS6zs3bIpB9WED3YYXFPmHRfT8sgyrCP1x8uEUxLMzNWElFOYCV6mHWWwMzdPEKHlhLw7NWJqkHc4uIZphavDzA2JPzUDsBZziNae2S6owH8xPmX8G7zzgKEOPUoYHvGz1TBCxMkd3kwNVbU0gKHkx+iZILf77IofhrY1nYFnB/lQPb79drWOyJVa/DAvg9B/rLB4cC+Nqgdz/TvBbBnr6GBReqn/nRmDgaQEej7WhonozjF+Y2I/fZou/qAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;”></div></div> <p style=” margin:8px 0 0 0; padding:0 4px;”> <a href=”https://instagram.com/p/juAcmzyqbZ/” style=” color:#000; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none; word-wrap:break-word;” target=”_top”>Waiting for the sun to rise. #Seattle</a></p> <p style=” color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;”>A photo posted by Jason Edwards (@bukkhead) on <time style=” font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;” datetime=”2014-01-28T16:14:47+00:00″>Jan 28, 2014 at 8:14am PST</time></p></div></blockquote>
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I, A Go-With-The-Flow Kinda Guy, Don’t Have Enough Passion to be Jealous

Postaday for May 8th: Green-Eyed Lady. We all get jealous from time to time — what wakes the green-eyed monster for you?

I can’t think of how I suffer from jealousy. But everybody suffers from jealousy, so I’m going to characterize that as a character flaw in myself. I wish I suffered from jealousy! I want to suffer from jealousy. I am so envious of you people who suffer from jealousy.

And trust me, I know what jealousy can do. Oh, to have that drive. But I don’t, so there must be something wrong with me. For example, this happened recently. I have this good friend, let’s call him Oliver. Oliver is the captain of our pub trivia team, Venetian Blondes. Oliver decided to make this guy Charles the co-captain of our team, even though I‘m, like, the best when it comes to 1997 Mariners trivia. But am I jealous? Nope.

Anyway, this girl, let’s call her Desiree, starts hanging out with Oliver. Whatever. I don’t even know about it until Rodney the bartender tells me, and he only tells me because he wants Desiree for himself. So I’m all like, fine, let’s kill two birds. I tell Oliver that Charles is putting the moves on Desiree. I figure, he’ll kick Charles off the team, and I’ll be co-captain, and then we can totally kick ass in the pub trivia finals. We’re going up against the Master Turkey Basters, those jerks!

Oliver goes ballistic. He’s all like, “we need to take Charles out.” And I’m all like, “you know it!” I get the paperwork to have Charles removed from the team. I give it to Rodney. Rodney calls Charles. They get into a fight. Charles totally kicks Rodney’s ass. I can’t have that, so while they’re brawling, I bust a glass on Chuck’s head. He goes down. I call an ambulance, ride with both guys to the hospital. While we’re on our way, I accidentally pinch the line on Rodney’s oxygen mask. Accidentally, I swear.

We get to the hospital, and guess who’s there. Only Oliver and Desiree! I guess kicking Charles off the team wasn’t enough. He had to take it out on Desiree too, sheesh! She’s in a coma, Rodney’s in a coma. Chuck is in a coma, and then this girl Emily shows up, and she’s all like, he lied! Desiree never slept with Charles! And Oliver goes nuts, attacks me, and when the cops come running, he throws himself out a window. Now Oliver’s in coma. Great.

Everyone is in a coma except for me. It’s not fair. All I wanted was to help my team win, and these idiots get crazy jealous and put themselves in comas and now I’m all alone. Not cool. And now I’m thinking, if only I’d been jealous, too, maybe I would have done something crazy and get to be in coma like all my friends. I just want to be a normal everyday jealous person.

But I can’t! And it’s breaking my heart. How do you people do it? How are you able to be so human? Why can’t I be deep and emotional like you people?