It’s just snow, folks

Maybe it’s just a side effect of having lived in Alaska for 26 years, but — it’s November, and it’s snowing in various places across the country. Am I the only person on the web somewhat _un_impressed with this?

No, I’m not really annoyed. Quite amused, though. Admittedly, though, this is not a type of post I’m immune to, so I probably shouldn’t talk. The trend in posts did catch my eye, though.

Meanwhile, here in Seattle, it’s gorgeous, clear and sunny, and 48 degrees. And apparently, Alaska is still without snow, though the forecast seems to think that rain and snow will be battling it out for the rest of the week. Ick!

iSfP

It’s kind of funny how one subject will lead to another, which then takes off and gets something of a life of its own. A throwaway comment by Mark Pilgrim in the midst of explaining a new data format giving his Myers-BriggsType Indicator led to an interesting couple of posts by Jonathon Delacour relating MBTIs to the blogosphere.

I know mom was big into the MBTI tests a few years back, and I may have taken the test at some point — though if I did, I don’t remember how I came out. So, since one of the posts gave a link to a free typology test, I took it and ended up coming out as iSfP: Introverted / Sensing / Feeling / Perceiving.

Besides being concrete in speech and utilitarian in getting what they want, the Composer Artisans are informative and attentive in their social roles. Composers are just as reluctant to direct others’ behavior as are Performers, though they appear even more so, since they are more attentive.

While all the Artisans are artistic in nature, Composers (perhaps ten per cent of the population) seem to excel in the “fine arts,” having not only a natural grace of movement, but also an innate sense what fits and what doesn’t fit in artistic compositions. Of course, composing must not be thought of as only writing music, but as bringing into harmonious form any aspect of the world of the five senses, and so when an especially gifted painter, sculptor, choreographer, film maker, songwriter, chef, decorator, or fashion designer shows up, he or she is likely to be an Composer.

Composers, like the other Artisans, have a special talent for “tactical” variation, and such talent differs radically from that possessed by Idealists, Rationals, and Guardians (who have their own unique and inherent abilities). As the word “tactical” implies, Artisans keep closely in “touch” with the physical world, their senses keenly tuned to reality. But, while the Crafter is attuned to the tool and its uses, the Composer is attuned to sensory variation in color, line, texture, aroma, flavor, tone-seeing, touching, smelling, tasting, and hearing in harmony. This extreme concreteness and sensuality seems to come naturally to the Composers, as if embedded “in the warp and woof” of their make.

— Description from keirsey.com: The Composer Personality Temperament Style

It doesn’t sound too far off — some of the time. I do know that I tend to move between two extremes, though, and I’m not sure how accurately this version of the test (it felt like a shorter, less detailed version) would pick that up with it’s 72 yes/no questions. I’ll have periods where I’m much more social and extroverted, and other periods when I’m much more solitary and introverted. I did my best to give accurate answers to the questions (though I did wish that some of them were more of a sliding scale than simply yes or no), and as I said, the iSfP profile doesn’t sound too far off, but I’d be interested at some point in investigating whether the full “official” MBTI test is any more accurate.

All this did also remind me of something else mom relayed to me a long time ago. I don’t remember where it came from, but she was reading something that gave an alternate explanation of “extroverted” and “introverted” that I found to make much more sense than the typical definitions, especially as applied to my own life.

Traditionally, extroverts are those ebullient, outgoing people at the heart of every gathering. The life of the party, always surrounded by people, comfortable in every situation. Conversely, introverts are the shy, quiet type, often off in a corner if they’re out of the house at all, observing rather than participating. The book mom was reading, though, posited that rather than defining extro- and introverts based on their outward, public personas, we should look more closely at how they see themselves, and most specifically, what they do to relax and “recharge themselves.” In many cases, this would end up flip-flopping the definitions around.

For example, my brother has always been the classic extrovert, while I’ve been more the classic introvert. He often had large circles of friends, was involved in sports, student government, and other such group activities. I, on the other hand, prefered to stay at home with a book or a computer, hang out with Royce (who for years was my only close friend), and generally stay “behind the scenes” while my brother took the limelight. However, our methods of relaxation couldn’t have been more different. My brother would come home and hole up in his room, spending time by himself, even at one point taking up stamp collecting for a while. I, though, have always felt a need to be surrounded by people. Even when I wasn’t directly involved or the center of attention, as often happened later on in life when I was DJ’ing, I would often go out to the school dances or other large events, just to be around the groups of people and feel the energy and social dynamics present in such situations. By that, then, this source would classify my brother as the introvert and me as the extrovert, because though our more visible public personas fit the classic definitions, this argued that it was what we did to relax, recharge, and stay at peace with ourselves that really determined our emotional/temperamental makeup.

I always like that a lot, and felt that it made much more sense as a way to classify people (if one really feels the need to find little boxes to drop everyone into, at least).

Hmm…this entry just keeps getting longer and longer, too. Another aspect of my personality that I’d be curious as to how it fits in with everything is my tendency to be what my friends at one point deemed an “instigator.” A few years ago, James (I believe) and I were discussing the dynamics of our particular group of friends, and he realized that while I wasn’t the most obviously outspoken member of the group, and would rarely actively take the lead in any activity we were doing, if one really traced back where any particular idea came from, it often came back to me. I’d make a comment here, or a suggestion there, dropping hints at the right time or place in a conversation, or to the right people, and after a while, that’s the direction things would end up moving in. It wasn’t obvious, and I can’t even claim that I did it consciously or intentionally most of the time (though, there are times when being able to do it does come in handy), but with a close enough look at how things went, it did seem to show as a fairly common pattern.

I’ve looked at myself occasionally since then, and that does seem to be something I’ve always done, and probably always will do to some extent. Why? I’m not entirely sure, though I’d hazard a guess at one possible source in my psyche.

Basically, it’s my love of the “behind the scenes” aspects of life, the drive to find out “how it works.” That’s been a running and fairly obvious trend in how I approach things for years. In high school, the two things that I got really involved in and enjoyed were yearbook and the tech crew side of theater. My jobs for years have been in the copy/print-shop industry. Much of my fascination with movies is the special effects, and the fascinating high- and low-tech ways people have of solving problems. All of these share a common theme — finding and playing with the pieces and parts that make something up. It’s often not the final product that interest me nearly as much as the component pieces. In my world, the parts are far greater than the whole. Even my interest in web pages, where the actual design is of less import than figuring out the code beneath it that makes it work, or my love of Star Trek, where the weekly soap opera in space is of less import than the fascinating technobabble and world building that has gone on to create the Trek universe, carry on this theme.

When you apply all that to social dynamics, it seems fairly obvious that I’d end up being something of an “instigator.” Just doing something, or tossing out an idea to the group at large, well, that’s boring. The sledgehammer approach to making progress towards a goal. It’s far more satisfying to take what I know of people, their interests, how they will react to given suggestions or situations, and make a few small adjustments here, a few tweaks there, until suddenly all the pieces fall into place and we’re off and running. Far more satisfying. More fun, too!

Of course, on re-reading all that…it may be a good thing that I never got into politics. Or that I’m not more self-serving. Or both. Something to think about, at least.

And with that — I just ran out of steam. And I need to get going to work.

Pros and cons of newsreaders

One of the great things about using a newsreader like NetNewsWire Lite to keep up with the sites I like to read is that I can skim over the headlines of (at present) 69 different websites, picking out the ones I’m more interested in reading, and skipping the rest. It’s a great way to keep track of a lot of information without getting overloaded.

The downside, though, becomes very apparent when one has more or less ignored things for a few weeks (or even days). 69 sites times about two weeks of neglect equals one hell of a lot of posts to wade through. I think I started at around 700-some, right now I’m down to just over 200-some, and the number will just increase again by the time I get home from work.

So — as a personal favor to me — would all of you nice people who keep me informed about the world, thinking about current events, and considering new ideas on how to tweak my website, kindly pipe down for a day or two so I can get caught up? You should be able to start babbling as normal round about Thursday, I think.

Thanks. I appreciate it.

;)

God is good

And God said, “You have hot water, and can take a bath.”

— sign on the front door of my apartment building

‘Bout damn time, too!

I’m back

I had an absolutely wonderful and very relaxing Thanksgiving weekend with Prairie and her family. Details and pictures will be up later on, probably this evening.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Okay, so it’s slightly early, but that’s okay. I’m heading out in a matter of a couple hours or so to spend Thanksgiving weekend with my friend Prairie and her family down in Portland, so probably won’t be around to make updates until Sunday night or so.

‘Cause my updates have just been so slam-bang, mile-a-minute frequent lately.

Hrm. Right. Anyway.

Have a good Thanksgiving — more when I get back!

Now there’s an image for ya.

I’ve got tears in my eyes from laughing right now…

I once had a Beige G3 300, and a spider of some description decided that the ethernet port seemed like a pretty attractive living space.

One day, I could not for the life of me figure out why the ethernet port wasn’t working. I got round the back of the computer, and noticed a little bit of what appeared to be plastic thread hanging out. I pulled, and pulled and pulled, and I swear I pulled out the longest fucking piece of spider web you’ll ever see.

— hype7, on /.

You think you were surprised — I’m envisioning the world’s most alarmed spider as you pull thread out of its ass as fast as it can produce it. Now there’s an image for ya.

— Myco, on /.

Dreams are odd

I had a dream last night that I was DJ’ing at a dance somewhere, with a lot of high-school age kids asking me for lots of bad rap. Unfortunately, all I had with me was bad techno (not even good techno), because I’d accidentally packed one of my music cases with boxes of cereal, instead of CD’s.

Odd.

The Captain Crunch was goood, though.

NyQuil yay!

Just when I was going to work on actually popping my head in here more frequently than I have of late, I’ve managed to come down with a fairly nasty cold. Ugh, bleah, and pffffffffffffft.

Ah, well. Hopefully it won’t last too long.

Hooray for NyQuil — the sneezing, sniffling, coughing, aching, “How the hell did I wake up on the kitchen floor?” medicine!

Goodbye forever, once again

Last Saturday, as part of the birthday celebration for Prairie, myself, Prairie, her sisters H and K, and H’s boyfriend P went to see local artist Jason Webley‘s final concert of the year. I first discovered Jason during Bumbershoot the first year I was here, and have been a fan ever since. I managed to talk Prairie into going to his last show with me, and she got everyone else to go along as well. Made me a bit nervous, as everyone was going just on my word, but I wasn’t too worried.

While I’d not yet been able to make it to any of Jason’s big shows, I’d been captivated by Karen Olsen’s writeup of his Halloween 2001 performance.

At last, the Last Song (still my absolute favorite of all Jasons songs) began to play, and the band members and other cronies brought the giant puppet to a standing position, its arms looming over Jasons head, while flanking him with two candelabras of small homemade candles and the cardboard signs. People linked arms and held up joined hands and a few cigarette lighters as the house lights went down, and Jason began to sing the song that has held many of us together during the recent times of crisis:

And we say that the world isnt dying, And we pray that the world isnt dying, And just maybe the world isnt dying Maybe shes heavy with child.

The chorus rang out with hundreds of voices, clapping hands and stomping feet, while noisemaker bottles were tossed out to us by Ishan who dragged a plastic sack of them forward at the last moment. Harmonies broke out all over, and were taken up by the band members as well. At the end came the chant of Igga-di igga-di igga-digga-dup which went on and on, growing into six- or eight-part harmonies as we began to follow Jason up the aisles and process out of the theater en masse, and it was the sweetest thing youd ever want to hear. I rushed as quickly as possible to grab my sweatshirt, trenchcoat, cloth bag and bodhrn (I can never seem to learn to travel light), and exit along with the rest of the crowd, fearing that I might miss something if I didnt hurry.

After reading that (and the rest of the review), I was determined not to miss this year’s final show, and the added benefit of being able to introduce some more people to Jason at the same time just made it all the better.

Suffice to say, the show was incredible. Jason’s bigger shows are generally somewhere between performance and performance art, and involve a lot of crowd participation, sometimes blurring the line between performer and audience. Absolutely incredible stuff, we all enjoyed the show, and it was most definitely well worth the time. As with last year, Karen has written a wonderful recap of the night’s events…

The last line is taken up by the crowd, with one harmony line over another over another, just as we did at the May Day concert, only with many more voices this time. We sing it on and on as if to make the moment stand still and last as long as possible, and that one line, We row the boat ashore, Hallelujah interlaces our hearts together like Celtic knotwork, with Jason and with each other. Jason stands back and listens, grinning rapturously at what he has helped to create and nurture. What music has joined together, let no one put asunder As the boat chorus goes on, Maureen and another woman, now both in white satin gowns, pilot small boats topped with candles, and feathers hanging over the side, through the crowd; people eventually figure out that they are to take the feathers joined with cards and connected with soft twine that looks and feels like fake hair. Finally, Last Song breaks in, with the crowd and band joining in on the verses as well as the chorus. Jason attacks the song with his entire being; by now, hes been singing his heart and soul out for at least two and a half hours. A box above the hanging knife begins to sprinkle feathers like snow on Jasons head as he sings, One day, the snow began to fall

People are singing so joyously, many arm in arm, that they are not prepared for what happens when the song finally ends. Jasons attendants remove his hat with a feather stuck in it, his kimono, shoes and socks, and finally the loose orange trousers. All he is wearing now is the burlap loincloth from May Day. He drinks a glass of red wine that has been handed him. The knife begins to be lowered toward him, and the two ghosts raise a white screen in front of him, showing Jason in silhouette with the knife slowly descending closer and closer. As the knife reaches his head, fake blood is splashed on the screen, and someone yells, NO! Jason’s silhouetted hand slaps against the blood-drenched sheet.

When the screen is removed, the nearly naked Jason stands alone, looking stricken and speechless, as if all the musical energy has gone out of him. Three women in white tie ropes about his chest and arms, connected to ropes anchored to the speakers on either side of the stage, as incidental music drones louder and louder from the band. Jason is raised into the air and hangs suspended, in a posture of crucifixion, several feet above the stage. One of the women loops another rope about his knees, which is connected somewhere near the back of the theater, and he is raised higher, in a horizontal prone position, and drawn off the stage and above the aisle, as several people, including Josh, carry a narrow, rectangular beam toward him. He is lowered onto the beam on his back, nearly falls off of it, and is secured to it with numerous ropes before being carried out of the theater and into the frigid night air. The music is crashing down on us in a pitiless monotone, in the mood of a death march. I grab everything I brought with me, not bothering to put on my jacket and sweatshirt, which I removed when it began to get crowded and hot in the theater. Thus I end up outside in just teeshirt and jeans, after the long push by the crowd to exit for the procession. Not everyone joins in. Not everyone has left alive. Once outside, I look north and can just see the main procession disappearing up University Way. Feeling exhilarated in the cold, fresh air, I run into the street with dozens of others who are trying to catch up, wondering what drivers and others in the vicinity must be thinking about this spectacle.

Incredible stuff. Even without the theatrics, the music itself is wonderful, amazing, stuff. You really should get your own copies. Trust me on this. You won’t regret it.