Somehow I managed to miss seeing Along Came A Spider until now. I remember reading the book and enjoying it, and I found the movie well done too. It had been long enough since I’d read it that the plot twists caught me off guard. All in all a good movie.
Rating: Put it on your Netflix queue.
Rating: Worth seeing in the theater. Maybe even purchasing the DVD.
After nearly six years of having a blog, and close to 900 entries, the one thing I don’t have is many comments. There have been twenty-nine comments total, to be exact, barely three percent in ratio to the postings. I don’t really write here for the comments, and I suppose that most of my postings are a bit personal for people to participate in by adding their two cents worth.
Henceforth I will not be enabling the comment feature on new postings. Eventually I’ll get around to turning comments off on all the existing postings, just to avoid getting any comment spam while I’m not looking.
If you want to respond to something I’ve written here, please feel free to email me. There’s a contact link towards the bottom of the colophon.
Ever since they started becoming widespread I have been a fan of pay-at-the-pump gas stations. That I don’t have to go stand in line behind someone buying a lifetime supply of losing lottery tickets, or brave the stale, smoke-tinged air of some service stations is fine with me.
Part of the pay-at-the-pump experience is waiting for your card to be approved before you pump your gas. I’ve often wondered about the algorithm behind that approval process. Is it programmed for a set amount, say $50, or does it input the current price of gas and multiply by an average amount of gas purchased, perhaps 20 gallons. Lately this curiosity has increased as the price of gas has increased. If the pumps are set to pre-approve a set dollar amount it is likely that rising prices have forced all the pumps to be reprogrammed to have a higher set point. Filling my 22 gallon tank with 91 octane regularly exceeds $50 now, and on occasion tops $60.
It would be easy to pre-approve $100 on the thinking that few vehicles would hold more than 30 or so gallons of $3.00 gas. But what about the poor guy who just wants to top off his tank before leaving town and who only need 5 or 10 gallons (a $30 purchase say) whose card has a currently limit less than the $100 set point? This person would be denied the sale not because they didn’t have the funds, but because they didn’t have the minimum funds to get approved.
I realize that the gas stations are more concerned about getting guarantees that the credit and debit card sales made at the pump are in fact viable in terms of ability to pay. And I suspect they are willing for a certain percentage of customers to be denied in the interests of not losing money on non pre-approved sales. As a developer of software I am always curious about the larger social implications of seemingly minor programming decisions.
Throughout my life I’ve never been able to remember my dreams. On rare occasion I’ll wake up and know that I’ve been dreaming, but the images in my head are fleeting and disappear almost immediately. It has never really bothered me, until now.
Before the reason for my upset will make sense I need to explain about the week Michele’s father was killed. On a Thursday evening, late in October we were sitting in our living room with the television on; Michele was in the easy chair and I was at my desk working on the computer. I was suddenly aware that someone had walked between me and the TV, however when I looked up no one was there. Knowing that Michele sometimes saw people I asked her if anyone was in the room with us. She looked past me and said, “Yes. There’s a man in uniform standing behind you.” At the time neither of us knew that her father had been in an accident that day, and was currently in a coma on life support in Knoxville. It would be two more days before we learned he was even in the hospital. Later we understood that the image I had seen move across the room, and the man in uniform she saw, was her father come to say goodbye.
Until that event I wasn’t 100% sure that spirits, or whatever, moved among us. I’m an empirical kind of guy and there just wasn’t any real evidence. Seeing it for myself finally convinced me. Since Michele’s death I have often wondered if her spirit has visited me. On several occasions her side of the bed has been turned down when I’ve come home. I know that Taz (one of the cats) is doing this when she burrows under the covers to sleep. But it is only ever on Michele’s side of the bed, and it is usually done very neatly - especially for a cat. I am certain that Michele is standing there egging Taz on so as to let me know she is okay.
All of this leads up to my dream this morning. I dreamed that I was talking to Michele, and her to me. When I awoke whatever we talked about was gone in an instant. In fact at the time I didn’t realize I’d had a dream about her. It was only later when I discovered that I felt like I did after talking to Michele. Maybe all of this is conjecture and projection on the part of my grief. Maybe it truly is real. Either way, I felt a tiny bit better today for having talked to Michele in my dreams last night.
Sweet dreams indeed.
Rating: I miss Peter Graves, Leonard Nimoy, Barbara Bain, and Martin Landau.
The latest in the Lincoln Rhyme series, The Twelfth Card is a good suspense/thriller. There are a couple of nice misdirections and plot twists to keep you guessing.
Rating: Good page turner
Today has been a particularly tough day. I feel defeated on all fronts, and it feels like there is no where to turn for relief or even respite.
After lunch I took one of the team leads aside at work and admitted to him that due to my emotional situation I was not making much progress on my assignments. Keeping focused for more than a few minutes is almost impossible for me now, and finding motivation in an environment my seemingly healthy colleagues find stressful, is not happening. He was very understanding and we agreed that there are some more rote tasks I can tackle while people with a spark left in them take on the more creative tasks. I felt utterly defeated to admit that I’m not getting my work done. Moreover I feel like I’m letting a lot of people down. Michele would counsel me that it took a lot of strength and courage to face this truth and share it with others, especially at work. While that mitigates my pain somewhat, I still can’t help but feel like I’ve failed.
A few minutes ago I spoke to my father and learned that my mom is losing ground faster now. She slept most of the day yesterday and is unable to get around with the cane anymore. She can get by with the walker but only just. Hospice is coming in the morning to evaluate her and to lay in a supply of pain medications to combat the increasing levels of pain mom is having. I’m too tired emotional and physically to make another trip this weekend, which means I have to accept the possibility that last weekend’s visit was the last time I might see her alive. I’ve known all spring that one of these trips would be the last one. While I am prepared to accept that, and I have made my peace with her, I am not at all ready for the new onslaught of emotion that will come with her death.
I just want to collapse in bed and cry. I don’t want to talk to anyone and yet I want people to call so I won’t be alone. I need the structure of work to keep me going but I can’t stand being there, and I feel like I’m breaking all the rules when I just sit and stare at my screen for hours at a time. I want to go to Decatur to be with my mom, and I don’t want to see her like this anymore. I want Michele to be here to comfort me and hold me and make it okay. I am spent, worn out, and exhausted.
Rating: Good suspense, nice plot twists, worth a read