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The Stereotypical New Year’s Resolution Post
I’ve jumped into the stereotypical slop of the new year. I have it hanging all over me, like the coagulating goop from a Nickolodeon game show. So while I’m sitting here reveling in my ooey-gooey goodness, I figured I better write out what I hope to do with myself in 2013.
These goals are largely to help me motivate myself against the reigning monotony of everyday work-life. Before I go any further, I had a moment this morning after reading a damn, fine passage in “Boy’s Life” (on break at work, of course), where I saw myself growing old behind these cubicle walls. It’s not exactly a revelation, but more of a fact at this point. We need money to survive and I do love my job. So, if I’m going to be sitting enclosed by gray fabric walls for the next couple decades, I might as well have fun doing what I love outside of work, and also step up my game while behind those crushing gray plates.
Goal number one: Write more. As a personal hobby, writing has become less and less a part of my life in the past five years. That changed a bit in 2012, as you’ll notice from the blog, but I want to write a bit more seriously. And, I’ve given up on the novel for the time being. I’m called to the short story form, and that’s OK. I’m not in it for money, prestige, or fame, so the short story vehicle works for me and my voice. I’ll stick to it and write more often.
Goal number two: Exercise. As I mentioned, I have the newness of 2013 coating me right now. I’m feeling newborn alive, screaming and wailing against the very things that oppress me. That and I’m fat. I went to the gym two years ago and cut 20 pounds. I’ve re-upped my subscription to a gym closer to home and cheaper by $10 a month. It’s on. Going to start on the 1st. Goal is to workout three times a week.
Goal number three: Quit smoking. Some of you may not know this, but I’ve struggled with smoking for the better part of the last five years. I’ve quit numerous times, only to return to the dark habit out of fear, loathing, you name it. 2013 is going to be different. I shall quit the thundersticks once and for all. Boom.
Goal number four: Read more novels. I did decent this year. Che and I stripped television out of our lives like a deadbeat tenant who was behind six months on rent. I only watch the occasional television show nowadays, clocking less than five hours a week in front of the glowing god. In it’s place, I’ve read a few books this year. I really want to step it up. I’m going to try for 36 books this year. I’ll be doing the Goodread’s challenge, so you can check up on that goal if you so desire.
Goal number six: Enjoy my family and nature. Last year we took our first family camping trip. We headed to Lake Shelbyville and had a heck of a time, save for the nasty lake virus Aleah brought home. This year I would like to camp in Tennessee for a weekend, a few state parks, and just have a good time with my wife and daughter.
American Gods, A Review
I finished reading American Gods. The book by Neil Gaimon has garnered a fair bit of hype since it was first published in 2001. It’s won the hearts of fantasy readers and could be a bit of a genre-breaking book too, as its gained much attention from mainstream readers.
There are spoilers in the coming paragraphs…don’t read them if you don’t want the plot ruined for you.
The story begins by introducing us to Shadow, a prisoner closing in on completing a three year stint for what turns out to be a robbery gone wrong. Shadow is a big man, an imposing figure. He’s also got a love of his life, Laura, waiting for him on the outside, and a decent job from a good friend. But then something terrible happens, Shadow is called into the Warden’s office and told his wife has been killed in a car crash. This occurs days before he was to be released and reunited with her. He’s devastated. As a result of her death, the prison lets him go early.
After his release and on his way to attend the funeral of his beloved wife, a man by the name of Wednesday tries to employ him, and this where the book takes off. Wednesday wants an errand boy, a driver, and someone to give his eulogy should he die. What he doesn’t tell Shadow is that he’s an old god, one of the greats, and his latest quest is to save the old gods from extinction.
The story gets a bit weird here. Shadow ends up joining up with Wednesday and meeting a whole cast of characters, old gods, new gods, and some fickle characters in between. It’s a romp in a fantastical realm, where old gods once conquered the hearts and souls of men, but now fight for their survival.
The story pits the old gods against their modern counterparts. The new gods of the internet and public relations have no interest in keeping Thor or his historical brothers in the world. They’re working against them to try to stamp out their existence.
The book does a great job pulling together all these mythical characters and breathing quality, non-cardboard cutout lives to them. The book sheds light on how we worship new technology, just as our ancestors worshiped their mythical sky creatures.
My favorite part of the book came by way of asides to the main narrative. These after-chapter jaunts into a god’s singular creation seemed to be the best written part of the books. We see a brother and sister sold into slavery in Africa, travel to Barbados and the US respectively, and transform into god’s among their people there, leading a revolution in Barbados and healing family in the US tale. There are other asides throughout the novel too.
I’ve not read any other Gaimon, and American Gods is a good ten years old. But I think it’s worth a read if you’re at all intrigued by the old gods.
How to check which version of Ubuntu server you’re running
I ran into this issue today. I wanted to see the Ubuntu version on my VM. The -uname -a command showed the machine name, but not the distribution info. So I found reference to a file in the /etc/ folder. Try reading the content of this file if you need the distribution version info:
/etc/lsb-release
The American Quest
Alex’s breath fogged in the cold night air. The sweatshirt he’d grabbed from the back of his chair smelled like old milk or cheese. Alex checked the pocket and pulled the lint out, throwing the tuft into the bushes. By two-ish in the morning, the streets had died. Earlier, pangs of hunger had set in, and Alex didn’t want the last package of noodles, crunched and broken on the cupboard shelf. He deserved a treat.
The corner-store was less than two blocks from his single bedroom flat. The neighborhood was built in the 1970s and had gone into disrepair due mostly to landlords hording money against unsung bullshit. No one really knew the state of things anymore, especially with how much the politicians garbled. For Wall Street things were fantastic, thought Alex. For the out-of-work, code monkeys, not so much.
Alex walked through the intersection of Derby Street, dimly lit against a flickering streetlight. He could see two figures standing next to a parked car, their hoods pulled over their heads, creating a single, large shadow behind them. He figured they must be kids, probably breaking into cars. He watched as one guy slapped the other’s arm with the back of his hand and pointed towards Alex. For a moment, Alex thought of the game he’d just left. Maybe they were players too. He always wanted to meet fellow gamers in the wild. He’d love to talk to someone about the loot he’d collected or the secret dungeon he’d crawled through for the fiftieth time, all for a random chance at a glorious riding mount. He’d been trying for half a year.
“Hey, you got a light.” One of the hooded men asked as he came shuffling up the sidewalk. He held a bent cigarette between two fingers.
“No, man. Sorry.” Alex looked down the sidewalk.
“You got a few bucks then?” The guy turned toward the corner store, shouldering next to Alex as he walked. The other guy pushed lightly on Alex other shoulder with a hand as if to say he was repeating the question. Alex kept walking. He thought about the night he’d won the crown jewel riding mount off the six armed beast, Death Strider. The mount was coveted by players throughout his server. Many farmed it after the weekly reset, because that was the best time to defeat the boss and get the mount — the statistics gathered from thousands of playing hours suggested as much. Fourteen had been found dropped within an hour of server reset.
“I don’t have any extra money. I’m heading to get a few slices of pizza,” Alex’s voice cracked. He was sorry he’d said it. Why would he tell them what he was doing?
The only time Alex saw the mount, the raid leader, a goblin named Chugbugoo, had pocketed it for himself, even though Alex’s character, Teemo, was the one who rolled the highest. The mount was rightfully Alex’s. He’d filed a petition and waited for redemption, logging in at odd hours to see if his request had been fulfilled by Sky Support. Then the green check-mark had been ticked and Alex saw the stupid response. Loot rules needed to be said upfront. A master loot raid was up to the discretion of the leader. Alex then knew the dice rolls were for show — the true power was held by the raid leader. After that, he’d always forced the lead to announce loot rules in chat.
The guy behind Alex said, “Why don’t you just give us your wallet and we’ll go in there and get what you wanted?” He said it like the offer made sense, like he was talking to a fourteen year old girl looking to buy Schnapps, not a guy who hadn’t seen the Death Strider mount in fourteen weeks, a guy who only wanted to buy a few slices of pizza to push down the bile gurgling up his throat.
“No.” Alex stopped walking, his hands hanging dumb at his side. “I’m not giving you shit,” He looked at each of them. He saw their scrawny faces, the sprouts of hair under their chins, acne scars, bloodshot eyes. He saw terror curtained behind a drugged veneer.
“Now leave me be.” The one guy laughed, and the other followed with a snort and a short squeal. “We’re just giving you the rub,” the other parroted the same, but Alex didn’t care. He was going to get his reward.