The Domino Men

A century and a half ago a drug-addicted Queen Victoria sold the citizens of London into slavery, to be harvested at will at some future date by a being called Leviathan. In exchange for this great bounty the House of Windsor was guaranteed control of Great Britain for all time. Since then a secret division of the civil service, known as the 'Directorate', has waged war against the crown in an effort to win back the future of their city.

Enter Henry Lamb. Once a flash-in-the-pan child star he now works as a filing clerk for the government. After his grandfather, a former Directorate agent, falls into a coma he is drafted into the war. What follows are London's final, precious days of freedom before the deal is completed. And only Henry, a mysterious woman named Estella, and the Prince heir Arthur are there to stand in its way.

The author of The Domino Men is Jonathan Barnes, writer of last years The Somnambulist. This is a fine easy read with very little to recommend it to the ages. I enjoyed the development of Arthur and found Henry a sympathetic sort, but occasionally Barnes falls prey to the British desire to shove a comedic moment down your throat at every turn. It's also readily apparent that this isn't the end of the tale. Many of the characters from The Somnambulist return here, and very little is done to develop the repeat characters nor identify their fates.

Recommended for readers with a liking for sci-fi and humor.

Whoo-hoo! Creed Tickets!

I've been a fan of Creed for years, and had the opportunity to see them in person in '01 or '02 (a Christmas present from Lisa). I was bummed when I heard they broke up, happy when I heard they reunited, and sad when I realized I wouldn't be able to afford to attend their concert here tomorrow.

Still, I had a gut feeling that fate was about to bestow some luck on me, once I realized I had off for the night of the concert. Why have it on a Tuesday night, if not to allow the universe to bless me with tickets?

Tonight my wonderful co-worker Ashley M stepped forward to save the day! She won tickets for the show but wasn't interested in going. Remembering that I was a fan, she gifted me the floor tickets, which sold for $85 each, for a mere $5 apiece!



Tentatively, it looks like I'll be taking my nephew to the show. Hoobastank is opening, and I couldn't care less, but seeing as it'll be his first concert I'll probably suffer through it. :)

[And never fear, you know I'll blog about it]

One thing that sucks, and seems downright stupid, is that their album doesn't drop until October 27th. I'm annoyed that I won't know all the songs before I go, since half the fun is singing along.

There is one song that's been released: Overcome.



Don’t cry victim to me
everything we are and used to be
is buried and gone
now it’s my turn to speak
it’s my turn to expose and release what’s been killing me.
i’ll be dammed fighting you it´s impossible impossible!
say goodbye with no sympathy!

I’m entitled to overcome
completely stunned i´m numb (?)
knock me down throw me to the floor!
there’s no pain i can’t feel no more.
I’m entitled to overcome
overcome!

finally see what’s beneath
everything i am and hope to be
cannot be lost.
I’ll be dammed fighting you
you´re impossible impossible!
say goodbye with no sympathy!

I’m entitled to overcome
completely stunned i´m numb (?)
knock me down throw me to the floor
there’s no pain i can’t feel no more
I’m entitled to overcome
overcome!

overcome!

You’ll never know what I was thinking before you came ‘round
take a step take a breath put your guard down
I cannot worry anymore of what you think of me
I may be crazy but I’m buried in your memory

I’m entitled to overcome
completely stunned i´m numb
knock me down throw me to the floor
there’s no pain i can’t feel no more
I’m entitled to overcome
overcome!
(repeat)

I may be crazy but I’m buried in your memory

The first day of the 2009/2010 School Year

Today (Monday) was the first day of school for my girls. We had intended to re-adjust them to a school schedule over the last few weeks, but near constant sleepovers stopped that dead in its tracks.



Well, last night YaYa had trouble sleeping, and came downstairs at midnight crying. She claimed to have seen a ghost in the hall. It's not as crazy as it sounds, as Lisa claims to have 'felt' and heard spirits here. Even if true, I reckon the ghosts are no danger to us. My family has owned this house for nearly 70 years, and the only people I know to have died here are my great-grandparents (one of whom died in this very room).

Around two, when I went to bed, I found our 'ghost' - LuLu was not only awake, but having a grand time playing in her room. [edited for language].

Surprisingly, despite those events they woke up more cheerful than their parents, and the school day went well.



Not so a subsequent trip to the grocery store, where LuLu and YaYa fought over seating in a car cart - the automobile shaped grocery carts used when shopping with little kids. Well, enough was enough. I abandoned the cart and dragged the girls home, kicking and screaming. No number of "sorry's" could sway me - after many years, I have converted to Lisa's hard(er) line stance with the kids.

Later, I did make the trip, successfully, with Smiley and YaYa (Lu wanted to stay home.)

In the late afternoon I decided to clean the fish tanks and the turtles enclosure. With the sun shining and a moderate temperature on hand, I decided to give Franklin some time to roam around outside.





Smiley was drafted to stand guard, and he radiated happiness and fun while doing the job. Keep in mind, Franklin can move. No one ever believes me because a) he's a turtle and b) he plays it close to the vest until you grow complacent. But I turned my head to give my attention to YaYa and turned around to find him gone. Another 30 seconds and he'd have been completely under the porch, the only real means of escape from the yard.



I put the kids down SUPER early, at 5:30, but they were exhausted. I think LuLu was fast asleep in a few minutes, with Smiley following soon after. YaYa is stubborn, and pitter-pattered around for awhile.

All in all, a good day, as most of mine are. ;)

Is Michael Jackson Alive? Nope. But this video claims he is.

It's started folks - Michael Jackson sightings! This video allegedly shows Michael hopping out of the coroner van that was bringing his "body" to the morgue. With all the secrecy and delays in his burial, stuff like this was bound to surface.

I'm big fan of these odd obsessions, even though I'm 100% a non-believer. In the '80's I read Is Elvis Alive? (His name is misspelled on his tombstone. Gasp!) and avidly listened to the enclosed tape of "Elvis" discussing his literal lfie after death. Good times, good times.

It's said MJ's life mirrored Elvis' - did they both fake their own demise??? ;)



h/t

UPDATE: A German TV crew has taken credit for the hoax

Fat Pencils, Stuffed Peppers, The Who, and the Meaning of Life

It's been a long but not unhappy day so far. For starters I went to bed around 1:30, which was pretty stupid considering I had to work in the morning. Worse yet, I woke up every ninety minutes or so. Although I had no problems falling back asleep each time, it SUCKED.

Then I went to work, which went ok. Afterwards I was sent on some last minute school shopping, since the girls go back to school tomorrow. We had put their school supplies on layaway six weeks ago, paid it off and took it home last week, and patted ourselves on the back for being responsible. We were done. Except it turns out we weren't. No matter how hard you try, something always slips through the cracks. It helps support my notion of (what I believe is) the true meaning of life:

Life exists for one reason, and one reason only: to F' up your day. Still, it's much better than the alternative.

I was looking for 'fat pencils', wide pencils demanded by LuLu's teacher. When I was a kid we used normal sized pencils with rubber triangle holders, but in 2009 the sophisticated first grader must have a 'fat pencil' to master the art of writing.

Walgreens didn't have them. Neither did Target, Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Dollar General, Office Max, or Family Dollar. I'm told they're sold out throughout the city. It figures. But I did manage to score a cool pair of shoes for Lu at Wal-Mart for a mere ten spot. Hot dog!

Sidenote: I've always thought it counter-intuitive that wider items are easier for LITTLE hands to handle, and narrow widths easier for BIG HANDS. It even hold true in baseball, where peewee bats have monster handles, and adult versions narrow ones.

Sidenote #2: My mother-in-law dropped off a stuffed pepper for me. Yummy! Thanks Jeanne!

Anywho, here's a little Who for no particular reason whatsoever. This is Baba O'Reily, performed live in what I presume is the '70's. Check out Townsends energetic persona. It's a hoot.




Out here in the fields
I fight for my meals
I get my back into my living
I don't need to fight
To prove I'm right
I don't need to be forgiven

Don't cry
Don't raise your eye
It's only teenage wasteland

Sally ,take my hand
Travel south crossland
Put out the fire
Don't look past my shoulder
The exodus is here
The happy ones are near
Let's get together
Before we get much older

Teenage wasteland
It's only teenage wasteland
Teenage wasteland
Oh, oh
Teenage wasteland
They're all wasted!

New Music

I'm listening to Creed's new single "Overcome" for the first time, and it rocks.

Molecules, crooked union leaders, hunting, and my Mom

Ouch. I got home from work an hour ago and my foot is killing me. Stupid heel spur. It's the first time in weeks it's bothered me, but of course it has to return at full strength.

* * *

I was at my Mom's apartment this morning while she watched Ted Kennedy's funeral, and she asked if I could pick up a copy of Ted Kennedy's autobiography when it drops in September. I sighed and rolled my eyes, but agreed. She soon grew angry and mentioned the '83 letter I wrote about here, which apparently makes me obligated to his clan forever, and about how she can't believe I'm no longer a fan of the Kennedy's.

Eh, I'm not a fan of He-Man and Thundercats anymore either. Things change.

As I wrote about when Michael Jackson died, people should be allowed to grieve for who they want, in whatever manner they see fit, for a respectable amount of time. Therefore, I don't pass judgement on anyone broken up over his death, although it is difficult to sit through saccharine comments like this on Facebook:

[The dark skies during the service were] so apt. And, if what I saw was lightning in the background, it was as 'tho the heavens were also making their own statement about Ted Kennedy's death....

* * *

Speaking of the honored dead, Saturday would have been Michael Jackson's 51st birthday and some local stations were playing his music in heavy rotation. Kudos to them. YaYa and Smiley were jamming to "Black or White" at the local Dollar General . . .

* * * *

Ex-police union leader Brad Debraska has been convicted of two felonies. He forged a memo he used in a lawsuit against the city, which seems a stupid thing to do, even as crimes go. Debraska was a major player in the union for years, and I grew up seeing him on TV defending officers whenever something went wrong.

Through Job Prior I had some minor dealings with him and his son (who was sent to prison some years back), but I doubt the man even knew my name.

* * *

First the union members at Mercury Marine vote away their jobs. The company calls their bluff and starts the move to Oklahoma. Cue the workers asking for a re-do of the vote, but the union blocked them, citing union by-laws. It is, of course, more important to follow the bylaws than save the 1800 jobs at stake.

Well, now a few days later, it looks like the union leadership has bowed to pressure. They've agreed to a second vote, but I'm not sure it'll make a difference. They might have cut their own throat last week. We'll have to wait and see.

UPDATE: In this morning's paper Mercury Marine killed the vote, saying the deadline for an agreement has passed.

* * *

Next week, ten year olds in Wisconsin will be allowed to carry guns during hunting season for the first time. The current minimum hunting age is twelve. The theory is that introducing children to hunting at an earlier age will help preserve the state's long and ingrained hunting tradition.

I've never been hunting, and have no real desire to go and shoot something that isn't shooting back at me. It's hypocritical, as I'll gladly eat cow and poultry, but there you have it. I guess if you told me to shoot a cow, I could do it, provided I was going to consume the animal. Sadly, there's not much of a Cow Hunting season in these parts.

That being said, I would like to accompany someone hunting in the next decade or so. I'm not sure I'd even carry a gun, but I acknowledge that it's something of a rite of manhood here. I would like to live the experience and camaraderie at least once in my lifetime. Perhaps with Lisa's Uncle Tim or my friend Jose?

* * *

It looks like the British did sell out the victims of Lockerbie for financial considerations. Quoting the Times of London:

The British government decided it was “in the overwhelming interests of the United Kingdom” to make Abdelbaset Ali Mohmed al-Megrahi, the Lockerbie bomber, eligible for return to Libya, leaked ministerial letters reveal.

Gordon Brown’s government made the decision after discussions between Libya and BP over a multi-million-pound oil exploration deal had hit difficulties. These were resolved soon afterwards.

Unbelievable. Disgusting, to tell you the truth.

* * * *

A hoard of Viking silver, buried in British soil for a milenium, has been unearthed. Valued at a million pounds, it was found by a father/son team of treasure hunters and turned over to the authorities. Kudos to them on their remarkable find.

* * * *

Finally, using an Atomic Force Microscope, researchers at IBM have taken the first ever photograph of a single molecule. The carbon rings and the positions of the hydrogen atoms in the molecule can clearly be seen.

Get this: the space between the carbon rings of the molecule are roughly a million times smaller than the diameter of a grain of sand.

You're probably used to seeing illustrations of a molecule that look like cleverly arranged tinker-toys. Now I imagine my children's biology books will feature this:



Congrats to IBM, and the crew responsible!

District 9

District 9 shows us a world where, in 1989, an alien craft appears over the skies of Johannesburg. Inside is a race of aliens, soon derisively called "Prawns" by humans, who are on the verge of starvation. Why the craft journeyed to Earth, why its controls seem to have failed, and why its crew was in such poor condition is never known.

Mindful of their apartheid past, the government of South Africa extends a welcome to the aliens, but there are immediate conflicts with mankind. The aliens have no respect for private property, have as much propensity for senseless violence as their human counterparts, and soon make a nuisance of themselves. In response to complaints from all quarters, the camp is isolated. By the time the movies opens in the present day, it has descended into a virtual ghetto - District 9.

Enter Wikus van de Merwe, a mild-mannered family man employed by an agency overseeing the camp. During a tour Wikus is infected by a solution manufactured, in secret, by Prawns. When the solution alters his body chemistry Wikus becomes a vital but expendable commodity to the militaristic corporation that controls the District.

He escapes their horrific lab and becomes a wanted man. With no other option he must flee to the area he once helped rule - District 9, and hope that there is someone, human or Prawn, who can help him before it is too late.

District 9 is a very good film, and if not for a last half hour that turns into a standard shoot 'em up, a great one. Despite director Peter Jackson's assertion that apartheid did not overtly factor into his vision, the choice of Johannesburg resonates with history. Here is a segment of the population - albeit one of a different species - that is segregated, viewed as inferior, and treated at times like cattle.

But Jackson isn't trying to vilify a nation. Having the demure Wikus as the protagonist was a grand choice. It reinforces the idea that whatever good/evil the camp spawns is not the byproduct of superhuman archetypes (despite your standard Hollywood Evil Corporation), but of banal everyday folks just doing their job.

And another important aspect of the film: while they deserve none of the more vile treatment they receive, the Prawn are hardly a public relations dream. Jackson shows Prawn that are prone to senseless violence, theft, stupidity, and vice, and they surely don't paint themselves in a good light to a planet that welcomed them in their darkest hour. In other words, the Prawn are nearly human in temperament.

And that makes the conflict between the two species all the more poignant.

3.4 out of 4.

Ginger on her birthday

Just to fend off any questions about the Rocky Balboa impersonation Ginger's putting on, she spent the day before her birthday at my parent's place. While there Lulu, on rollerskates, decided Ginger could 'walk' with her whle holding hands. The inevitable result: a face-first fall onto the cement.

Oh, and she came home with blue hair, because Smiley had tossed blue chalk into water that was later poured over her head.

Sigh. Hey - free babysitting, ya know? ;) Naw, I'm kidding. Lord knows it coulda/woulda happened whenever.

The full text of my March 30th Journal Column

Yes, it snows in Wisconsin. Get over it.
By Daniel Slap--

Posted: Mar. 30, 2009

This past Christmas, we received a Christmas letter from a friend and native Milwaukeean now living in Louisiana. She wrote about experiencing her first hurricane and of the expense and terror of packing her belongings into the back seat of a car and evacuating out of state.

It was bad, she admitted. Real bad. But, she went on, at least living in Louisiana she doesn't have to worry about snow anymore. It wasn't a joke.

Mind you, she's got a point. Why, I can't count how many times I had to evacuate the family to Minnesota because of snow flurries back in '07.

Seriously folks, it's water. We should be used to this by now - even the unwelcome spring snowfall, like we had over the weekend. Aside from an increased risk for drivers, the stuff stopped being a legitimate threat to our species around the time fireplaces were invented.

(Oh, I know there are dangers involved in shoveling. But if yours truly has a heart attack clearing the sidewalk, don't blame the snow; blame the 300-pound guy trying to move it).

I'm no snow junkie. I don't snowmobile, ice fish or do anything in winter more involved than walking to and from my car. And as someone who cavorted around town for 12 years in a Ford Aspire, with all of about 20 horsepower at my disposal, trust me, I hate driving in snow.

But I live in Wisconsin. Cursing the snow here is like living in Chicago and moaning about corrupt politicians; it's part of the landscape. There's no use crying over it.

You wouldn't know it from following the news. There's storm team coverage, emergency alerts and live reports for a day before and after a snowfall. Show me a lawsuit, and I'll show you two lawyers. Show me a snow flurry, and I'll show you five reporters predicting disaster.

I can't fault the media. They're just making a living, no different from you or me. And as Journal Sentinel columnist Tim Cuprisin has pointed out, there wouldn't be so much storm coverage if people weren't interested in watching it (even if they only watch it to complain).

I agree. I just think, in this era of specialization, we should cater to the audience a little more. There should be one channel for old hands - one that tells us how many inches to expect and which schools are closed - and another for people who, until now, apparently had no idea they lived in a northern climate.

Such people must exist. I know this, because having lived here more than a week, I do not need to know that "plows are out," that "roads can be slippery" or that it is important to wear a hat and gloves in the cold.

Maybe they can hold a séance and ask my great-grandparents why, after leaving Poland and traveling across an ocean and half of North America, they chose to stop in a cold and snowy city like Milwaukee.

Really, Gramps, would it have been that hard to push on to San Diego?