The Road to World Conquest: Juicebox pilfering

So, lesson learned: We don’t park the Juicebox on the street in front of the house ever again.

Last night, I almost moved it back into the driveway next to Catherine’s Honda. Unfortunately, when it occurred to me to do so, I was already fading from the effects of the Benadryl that I’d taken a little while earlier.

When I woke up this morning and took Huck for his walk, I found that the car was unlocked. The glove compartment was open. Papers were scattered on the passenger and driver seat.

No damage to the car. But…yeah, stuff was missing. What they took:

* The Garmin GPS device. It was kind of wonky, anyway. I didn’t use it because the virtual keypad sometimes just didn’t register the touch of my finger when I tried to hit certain letters or numbers. It’s not too reliable. And the guy yelled “Recalculating” way too much. Good riddance!

* The iPhone charger/radio transmitter we picked up in Mobile during our road trip. This let me listen to iTunes over my car stereo while it charged the phone. It wasn’t perfect, but it was useful. I’ll miss it.

* The multi-socket power adapter. This let me plug in my iPhone, the Garmin, and Catherine’s Blackberry charger. I’ll miss it too.

* Size XL Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band souvenir T-shirt from the greatest hits collection that I picked up a week or two ago. I liked to let Huck lie on that when he was in the back of the car. Smelled like wet dog. I won’t miss it.

Things they didn’t take:

* The car title. Yay!

* The hub caps. Woo!

* The checkered silver and black tie draped over the back seat. Not my favorite tie, but glad it’s still around.

* The basketball on the floorboard. Apparently, my thief was just a gadget freak and not at all into fitness. I suspect he’ll pay a price for that in the long run.

This is the first time I’ve been the victim of a property crime since the 1990′s, when thieves stole my Honda Accord and took it joyriding around Tampa while playing death metal on my cassette player.

Welcome to Durham!

The Road to World Conquest: Crime may not pay, but at least it’s not extorting me like being a good guy

I’m breaking the law.

My Alabama license plate expired at the end of July after we moved back to Durham, North Carolina. I’ve been trying to get new NC plates since we got here, but suffice to say that this has been…challenging.

Last week, I reported to the DMV with my old NC license plate, my Alabama car title (which I had just received after getting my Alabama plate in March), and a checkbook to cover the cost of the new tag. The amiable old man behind the counter looked up my license plate number and informed me that Wake County had a tax block on reissuing a tag. Apparently, I owed some money to the county from 2010. He didn’t know how much. Also, the system seemed to think that my GEICO car insurance had been cancelled, so I would need to bring in a Form FS-1, which I would have to request from the insurance company.

That day, I called the tax office and discovered that I owed about $6 somehow. Paid it immediately, removing the tax block. I called GEICO and requested the FS-1 so that it could be mailed to me.

Yesterday, the FS-1 form arrived. I had everything I needed!

This morning, I jumped in the Juicebox. When I got to the tag office, however, I realized that I had brought everything except the FS-1 form. Not to worry. Luckily, I live just a few blocks from the DMV. I drove back home, snatched the form from the box on the kitchen counter, and then made my way back to the mall.

The clerk this time was a kindly middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair who took my old NC tag, my driver’s license, my GEICO FS-1 form, and my Alabama title. She started filling out a form on the DMV computer. Then she told me that because I hadn’t turned my tag in after moving to Alabama, and because the system showed my insurance as being cancelled, I would have to pay a $100 fine for driving without insurance before I could get a valid plate.

I’ve had car insurance the entire time. However, I shifted it to the state of Alabama after moving there.

“Can I make that fine go away if I can demonstrate that I’ve been insured the entire time?” I asked. “Because I have. My coverage never lapsed.”

“Oh, sure, you can do that,” she said. “You’ll need to get an FS-1 form from your insurance company.”

I pointed to the one on her desk. “Already did that, didn’t I?”

“That’s not for the right date,” she replied. “You have to get one that proves you had coverage on 1/22/11.”

“Really not making this easy for me,” I said.

“At least you’ll save the hundred dollars,” she said.

“Maybe,” I said. “Can I get a temporary tag?”

“Not without that form.”

“So maybe I’ll save $100, but maybe I’ll have to pay a fine for driving with an expired tag,” I said.

“I don’t know how much that would be,” she said. “I’m not a police officer.”

I checked the web. Non-moving violation fines like that can cost up to $500, but it’s probably more in the neighborhood of $150.

Now I’m back to square one. Gotta call GEICO again, swim through the bureaucracy, and snag a different FS-1.

It shouldn’t be such a hassle to try to be a good guy.

The Road to World Conquest: Distracted

Three weeks without a new blog entry? Seriously?

I could understand this level of neglect for someone who has a job. But for one of the unwashed masses living off unemployment, it’s totally unacceptable.

What else have I got to do, after all? Watch soap operas? Those are all getting cancelled and replaced by infomercials. Take a walk outside? Don’t you know the terrible things that await people who try to cross in traffic? Or, perish the thought, look for an actual job? I’m really enjoying all this free time listening to Huck bark at squirrels, rabbits, joggers, fluttering leaves, wind, cracking asphalt, satellites in high orbit…

Actually, I’ve been plenty busy.

First, thanks to some very generous backers, the OtherSpace Kickstarter project was a success. So, next Thursday, a new story arc will start, underwritten by sponsors for the first time! We’re still looking for more OtherSpace sponsors, though, so if you’ve got a few dollars burning a hole in your pocket and you want to help enable my caffeine addiction, I’ll return the favor by putting your name in print and maybe sending you some OtherSpace swag!

Second, in preparation for the arc, I’ve been busily building a new grid on OtherSpace for the city of San Angeles on Earth, where most of the action will take place during the next few months.

Third, I’ve been looking for so-called “real jobs” in the video game, journalism, and public relations industries in the Raleigh/Durham area. No word back on any of these opportunities so far. Maybe they’re waiting until October to see how the fiscal quarter wraps up. Maybe I’m too old. Maybe I’m not math-inclined enough. Whatever. I’d just like some kind of feedback that provides either hope or closure.

But, you know, the Roy Neary part of my brain – the part that wants to build mountains out of mashed potatoes and chase UFOs across the country – that part doesn’t want me to settle for a real job.

That’s the part that made me go online and order a new magnetic Jointhesaga.com sign to slap on the side of the Juicebox so I could drive around town advertising OtherSpace. It’s the part that has me reaching out to Triangle gaming enthusiasts and local colleges to build word of mouth. And it’s the part that, emboldened by the success of the Kickstarter fundraising effort, decided to add the element of tiered sponsorship and rewards to the new JTS website.

It wants me to do what I do best for a living. It wants me to finally turn what I’ve been doing as a hard-working hobby for 13 years into a serious paying concern that does more in the long term than just give me a little extra spending money. Here’s me telling the universe: I want to build something that can support OTHER people, not just me.

I think it can happen, especially if I work on building more local support in the Triangle area as well as continuing to promote OtherSpace throughout the Internet.

Meanwhile, I’m definitely hedging my bets. I spend a good part of my mornings looking through websites for job opportunities, each and every day, because it’s the responsible thing to do. But I’m also spending a good chunk of time simply promoting my project, whether it’s on Twitter, Facebook, this blog, or by slapping the sign on the side of my car while I drive around Durham on my way to the UPS Store, Southpoint, or the Duke trail.

I’ve also signed up with a freelance writing gig site, just on the offchance that I can land some quick-and-dirty/no-long-term-committment jobs.

So, all that stuff has kept me kind of distracted from the blog.

Sorry!

The Road to World Conquest: Goin’ to Carolina in my car

I’ve survived several killing attempts by Alabama.

It couldn’t take me out with tornadoes. The ruthless heat waves didn’t melt me. And I made it through the gall bladder crisis largely intact.

But I can take a hint.

So, on July 25, the movers arrive to haul my stuff to the place I’ll be sharing with Catherine in Durham – back in North Carolina.

I met some great people while working at Bit Trap. I’ve had the opportunity to reconnect with my cousin Donna and her family. But life’s taking me back to the Eastern time zone and away from the crazy weather of the Tennessee Valley.

Before leaving, though, Catherine and I are taking advantage of our geographic base of operations to launch a road trip to Birmingham, Mobile, and New Orleans. We’ll pack Huck in the Juicebox and spend about a week on the road. I’m looking forward to it!

Then, once we’re back, we prep the apartment for our departure. On July 26, I should be back east of the Smoky Mountains in my previous stomping grounds.

What happens after that is up in the air. I’ve got several opportunities – some in journalism and public relations would keep me in Durham. One would keep me in the video game industry, but would require me to move to Austin, Texas.

One adventure at a time, though. I’ll worry about that situation once the road trip’s done!

The Road to World Conquest: Stayin’ Alive

Catherine really doesn’t want me to die.

Now that she’s in Huntsville for a hiatus during the next couple of months, she has seized control of the kitchen.

The refrigerator and pantry are fully stocked with ingredients that she’s using to make three healthy meals a day, keeping me well clear of fast food and soda as much as possible.

She worries that I’ll drop dead if I don’t stay on top of my diet. It’s sweet of her, and I don’t mind going along with it because the woman can cook and I can cope with being spoiled.

So let’s not tell her that dying young doesn’t really run in my family. Don’t mention that Mama Bess made it to her 90s after a lifetime of deep-fried Southern cooking, sugary cakes, and sweet tea by the jug.

Let’s keep quiet about my hard-drinking, cigarette-smoking Grandpa Jack who made a long run of it too.

Best we hold these secrets close to the vest.

Don’t want to ruin a good thing!

The Road to World Conquest: Plan A

It’s time to stop putting off Plan A.

When I was a young writer, I admired Harlan Ellison for this gimmick he devised, wherein he would park himself at a typewriter in the display window of a bookstore and spend the day churning out fiction. Sometimes, he’d draw inspiration from a reader for a title or theme. Then he’d just run with it.

I can’t say I’ve ever been comfortable in the skin of a traditional writer who labors best in solitude. So, when I used to ride to high school on the bus, I’d share outlandish stories that I wrote about my friends. When I worked at Walt Disney World, I turned day-to-day task ledgers into collections of creative missives that a friend of mine says he still has in his Tennessee home decades later. Back in the BBS days, I’d post message board epics on Vic DeGiorgio’s Philosopher’s Stone. At Valencia Community College, I partnered with Jeff Stanford and Liz Sentz to write fiction. After college, I became a journalist, putting out stories with a byline day after day after day for thousands of readers of the St. Petersburg Times. When newspapers started a serious decline and the Internet began its meteoric rise, I turned my attention back to creative writing with an audience. Instead of a school bus, though, it was an original-theme space opera MUD with a focus on collaborative storytelling rather than quests and monster-slaying. I called it OtherSpace.

It’s been online since 1998. Save for the occasional server crash, it’s been consistently running for 13 years – 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. That’s a lot of history gone by, in game and out. Three U.S. presidents. A madman blowing up a colony world. YouTube. A rift crisis threatening to tear the universe apart. Hulu. Everyone fleeing an invasion force aboard a giant lifeboat called Sanctuary.

OtherSpace outlasted my first marriage. It bridged the gap between my careers as a reporter and computer game designer. It was around before World of Warcraft and EVE Online.

All this time, I’ve rarely had the opportunity to treat OtherSpace as a day job. It’s always been more of a hobby, something done just for fun. It wasn’t practical to call it a job. But, make no mistake, it is work. Some of the best work I’ve done, I think, but it’s still work to pump new energy, new worlds, new characters, new stories into OtherSpace.

Now, I’ve got the chance. Thirteen years later, we’ve got Kickstarter.com at our disposal. So, I’ve kicked off a fundraising project with an eye toward subsidizing the next major arc project on OtherSpace, which I plan to run from Sept. 1-Nov. 30, 2011.

If we land the funding in the next 30 days, I’ll start working on pre-production for the arc – Across the Multiverse. It will be more ambitious than any that has gone before on OtherSpace, through major events, news articles, and short stories. And I’ll work it like a full-time job during that period, intent on giving every participant a chance to shine and experience an epic adventure that might make their characters into the legends that future players will talk about.

I think the time and the circumstances are ripe to get the support necessary to make this happen.

So, help spread the word and make sure OtherSpace: Across the Multiverse meets that 30-day goal!

The Road to World Conquest: Dogs and Cats, Living Together

I may have hit on the secret of Huck and Sienna safely – and peacefully – cohabitating.

For the past couple of weeks, ever since the third “litter bombing,” when Huck flipped the cat’s litter box and spread the contents all over the kitchen and living room floor, I started an experiment. The experiment began with a premise: It’s not just anxious behavior, it’s personal. Sienna and Huck never really got along, but until recently they had a “mediator,” for lack of a better word, in Elsa – Sienna’s sister, who I had to let go after she suffered a seizure that left her in a coma.

Elsa loved Huck. They got along great. Sienna could cope with that. She just lurked behind the couch and let her sister handle the big polar bear dog.

Now that Elsa was gone, Sienna no longer had that barrier and Huck wanted a playmate. That wasn’t a role Sienna could fill.

So, Sienna got in the habit of occasionally relieving herself on the couch where Huck liked to sleep. My theory: Huck decided to wreck her litter box in what might equate to “dog revenge.” He just didn’t realize that the revenge affected me far more than it did Sienna.

It occurred to me that maybe I was just anthropomorphizing the animals just a little. Still, I figured, what the hell? Experiment time.

During the day, I segregated them. I left Sienna and her litter box in the side of the apartment with the bedroom, the bathroom, and an open door to the laundry room where she could reach her food. Huck got the living room, kitchen, and the stairwell leading down to the front door.

And, what do you know: Peace in our time!

The couch hasn’t been soiled lately. Huck has stopped tearing things up. They seem to get along most of the time now when I get home and open the doors, allowing them to mingle again.

Apparently, they just needed their own space.

Whatever works!

 

The Road to World Conquest: A better path

I’ve always felt like the treadmill was cheating.

Sure, it does a pretty good job of simulating a walk, jog, or run. But it does so inside the comfy confines of a gym. In my gym, at the YMCA, I can jog while watching TV.

Cheating.

When I was a kid, my strength was cross-country running. I loved getting out and making my way around the neighborhood, through wooded trails and down limestone roads. I’ve never quite warmed to treadmills.

So, today, while I spent the third day of my long weekend at my desk, I decided that 1) I couldn’t go another day without a decent workout and 2) I wanted something real. I’ve been in Huntsville since January, nearly six months, and I’ve never really checked out public running courses. I hit Google and found that there’s a cross-country course less than a mile from my apartment, running around the town’s municipal golf course off Airport Road.

I got in two miles – a mix of running and walking (I am in no condition to take that thing on at a steady run yet) – and I loved it, despite the heat. Plenty of shady spots. Some nifty terrain changes. Even an obstacle to avoid here and there.

The downsides:

* Can’t take the dog with me. He would really benefit from the exercise, but the path gets pretty narrow at times. It’s probably best for all concerned that pets aren’t permitted.
* The mosquitoes. Must remember the repellent next time.
* My shoes. I need to follow Catherine’s advice and get a decent pair of shoes designed for running. I’ve got sneakers, but they’re just not appropriate for the terrain.

The upsides:

* I’m burning calories from running, jogging, walking, and just being out in the heat, which I think does more for me than a stroll on the treadmill.
* I don’t have to drive as far. The closest Y is a few miles distant.
* It’s not as crowded. I like the relative solitude of the course.

The Road to World Conquest: Stormbringer, Part II

April 28, 2011

I hadn’t eaten since after the blackout the night of the tornadoes. I’d sat in the darkness, eating tuna from a foil packet that reminded me of the astronaut snacks we used to buy in the Orlando Science Center gift shop when I was a kid.

In another example of poor planning on my part, I had neglected to grab a breakfast bar from the kitchen before taking Huck on our big gas hunt.

The drive to Athens really drove home for me how woefully unprepared I seemed to be. Had I given it any real thought, I would’ve stopped by the apartment before making the run to Athens. I would have grabbed some food. Fed the cat. Grabbed my luggage. And then I would be ready to just get the hell out of town once the Scion’s tank was full.

But, no, I played this far too much by the seat of my pants. While the gas dwindled toward empty, I found myself contemplating what might happen if we ran out of fuel. Huck and I would be stuck out between Huntsville and Athens, and we would become an unnecessary problem for emergency personnel. Calling AAA wouldn’t do much good: I had very little signal, if any, most of the time. On the radio, they kept saying, again and again, “Stay home. Don’t travel on the roads. Don’t become a problem.”

Yet here I was, potentially doing just that. No, I’m not proud. But, the simple fact was that I had made plans to get out of Alabama before this disaster struck, my girlfriend was stuck at the airport, and if I could get us out of town – well, we would no longer be a risky drain on local resources.

So, it was foolish, but I meant well.

While I waited in line at the gas station, I tried sending texts to family, friends, and co-workers. I texted my cousin Donna, a longtime Huntsville resident, but the message didn’t go through. I messaged my boss, Jamie, and that went through – but I wouldn’t hear back from him until the next day. I messaged my old friend Jeff in Florida, so I could follow up on plans to meet with him and his wife on Saturday, but that didn’t go through. I contacted my mother in Deltona, and that text transmitted just fine. I heard from Josh Drescher, one of my co-workers, who was heading north to Nashville with his wife. I tried calling and texting Catherine at the airport, and only got through to her once to let her know I was alive and well and seeking gasoline.

I had not seen any of the horrifying footage of the giant tornado wall that churned across Tuscaloosa. Since the power outage, I had been cut off from TV news, the Internet, and, for all intents and purposes, my iPhone. My only source of information: Local radio. It may be antiquated, but it sure is reliable in crisis situations.

Primarily, I listened to Lite 96.9, which has offices on Memorial Parkway, not far from my apartment. Their transmitter was on generator power. They asked for donations of fuel to keep the generators running. They talked about a TV meteorologist who had tried going into his house, only to have it blown away by a tornado. A church and a Doppler radar station had been obliterated outside town, they said. A neighborhood called Anderson Hills was largely destroyed. A huge swath of TVA power distribution lines were down and would have to be rebuilt practically from scratch.

It was a little piece of Armageddon, right in our back yard. I couldn’t wait to leave town.

As I drove south from Athens on I-65, I saw more devastation with my own eyes: A wrecked fuel tanker, shattered billboards, downed power lines, twisted trees. Traffic driving north to Nashville had slowed to a crawl, but the southbound lanes toward Madison and the airport were relatively clear.

Within 20 minutes, I pulled up in front of the airport terminal to find Catherine waiting for me. We loaded her bag in the back of the Juicebox and then drove onto I-565, making the eastward run to the apartment so that I could get my luggage and make sure the cat had plenty of food and water for the long weekend.

Again, I didn’t think this through. If I had, I would’ve packed Sienna along with Huck in the back seat. By just leaving Sienna with a limited ration of food and water, I created an unnecessary time pressure on myself that might require me to return to Huntsville prematurely. What if power wasn’t back on at my place for more than a week?

I opened a window for the cat so she wouldn’t get too hot, filled several food bowls for her, left a door open to the toilet and gave her a couple of large bowls of water. Then we locked up the apartment, jumped in the car, and drove west on I-565 toward the airport and I-65.

We then drove south. We made our way past more wreckage of the storm – outside Birmingham, we saw highway light poles that had been twisted like soda straws. We saw caravans of power crew trucks rolling north. We saw what might have been a Secret Service detail proceeding north, escorting a presidential-looking golf cart on a flatbed truck. NPR reported that President Barack Obama, fresh off the silly birth certificate issue, would be stopping by tornado-shattered Alabama on Friday morning.

Eventually, we stopped a couple hours south of Birmingham for gas and food. My first meal of the day? A burger and fries from Jack’s, with sweet tea to wash it down. Not diet friendly. Not cholesterol friendly. But, hey, I felt stressed. I needed comfort food.

My goal that day was the Florida Panhandle. We reached that goal at about 8:30 p.m., when we pulled off I-10 into the little town of Marianna and checked into the Super 8. This motel was conveniently located next to a Sonny’s BBQ. I called just before 9 to see what their hours were.

“Actually,” said the man who answered, “we’re closing right now.”

So much for barbecue!

We left Huck in the motel and drove to a strip mall across the street, where we found a little Mexican hole-in-the-wall restaurant that appeared to close at 9, but the waiter insisted that we could come right in. However, we had to order everything we wanted right then – even dessert – because the kitchen was closing.

We passed on dessert.

The Road to World Conquest: Stormbringer, Part I

April 27, 2011

I woke up before dawn on my day off so that I could walk Huck before my 7 a.m. appointment at Firestone. The Juicebox needed new brakes, especially since I was planning to carry Catherine and the dog in it on our drive to Florida so that she could meet my folks.

The news on TV chattered about storms rumbling toward the Deep South from Arkansas. They talked about tornado concerns. I’d been living in Huntsville for more than four months. The words “tornado watch” and “tornado warning” came up with numbing regularity. Longtime residents talked about the freak tornado of 1989 that wiped out Airport Road with a sort of reverence that suggested it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing that would never happen again.

I didn’t take the early warnings seriously on Wednesday. All I cared about was making sure I got those brakes fixed before lunch, so that I could be home during the thunderstorms to help keep Huck calm.

While the mechanic worked on the Scion, I started reading Blackout by Connie Willis, a novel about time-traveling historians sent back to key moments to witness major events, from the Black Death to Dunkirk to the second World Trade Center attack. On the TV, forecasters warned again that we would face some nasty weather in Huntsville. Rain fell for a while. I noticed a drip-drip-drip from the ceiling onto the carpet beside a table loaded with magazines. The manager told me the roof had a leak. They’d been planning to fix the roof, but hadn’t gotten to it yet. He fetched a bucket to catch the drops.