Camp Katrina on The Mall will be a historic event.
I am looking for someone to spearhead the effort to make Camp Katrina a reality. I will pay $15/hr for 20 hours to a person with the passion and energy to do the job - $300 total for now.
This job will become a long-time position, as the Chief Activist will also fundraise. I have already had offers on DU to donate to Camp Katrina.
I need help to push this idea. I am disabled and my energy is limited.
The person for this position must:
- Understand intuitively what is meant by "Camp Katrina on The Mall".
- Have the passion and energy to make Camp Katrina real.
- Have time RIGHT NOW to do the work necessary.
- Be creative.
- Be familiar with the history of Mall protest encampments. Google
for Hooverville and "Dewey Canyon III" to learn now.
- Be willing to be hated. Think Cindy and Camp Casey.
- Realize that this effort is a catalyst. Ultimately the energy and
power behind Camp Katrina must come from Katrina survivors wanting
to express their anger and demand change.
- Have some web expertise.
- Be good at getting people to work for free.
- Ideally but not necessarily - be connected to other effective
Please write a few short paragraphs expressing your vision of Camp Katrina and explaining why you should spearhead the effort to make it happen.
I will make my decision as soon as I can, hopefully by the end of
today - 9/4/05.
I urge all of you to volunteer for this effort. We can change history. We can be instrumental in driving Bush's criminal bastard bunglers out of office.
I am just planting a seed. I am a disabled keyboard activist. Camp
Katrina may be my proudest memory.
Apply for the job at:
Here are some threads on Camp Katrina:
Original Poll - http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=132x2059147
|Subject:||On the Road|
I'm in Memphis at jwharris house. The trip has been a success so far - relaxing. I'm feeling particularly uninspired this morning, so I will pack my car and hit the road to the Appalachians.
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I'm off on a road trip of over 8,000 miles. Ahhh. I need it.
Tonight I'll be in Portland staying with my best friend, Kellyn Beeck. We go back to 1984 when he was acquisitions dude at Epyx games. He bought my very first published game, ChipWits. Since then we have been friends. We've been through a lot together. We even stayed friends while crashing a little game company together - Cineplay Interactive. Kellyn is the nicest guy in the world.
The next few weeks should bear out another of my blogological discoveries: When things get interesting in a person's life their blog gets skimpy. It's sort of the reverse of how a biography treats important events. One of the most important events in anyones life - death - gets totally ignored in most blogs.
Everyone remain seated quietly until I return from my trip. I'll be back in early Sept. at which point you may resume your lives. That is all.
Yesterday was really nasty on old Droogles. So I wrote nice about blackberries.
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Today I will write nice things.
Tomorrow I drive to Philly and back visiting fellow Clarioneerites along the way: Jim H. somewhere the hell in Carolina or something, Bert! in his igloo on the windswept ice fields of Wisconsin, and with any luck a hat trick (Ysa, James, Adrian) in Philly. About 8,000 miles the way I plan to wend. I'm going to take it slow. Enjoy the country. Walk a lot with Mika.
Oh, yeah, I'm also taking Margaret to look at some colleges. Fun. We're going to visit RISD and Parson's School of Design. She wants a college big on both art and tech because she wants to make computer games if she grows up.
My advice to M on college: the most important thing is to have fun there. I had good times. Maybe did a few too many fancy chemicals, but that was part of the curriculum in the early 70's. Also I have imparted this wisdom to her: Don't let school get in the way of your education.
Margaret flies and I drive. I love long road trips. Especially in my broken state, driving and driving relaxes me like nothing else. Tunes and daydreams and shooting random pix out the windows. I will add greatly to my collection of pictures of rest stop urinals. Soon I will have more urinal portraits than anyone on First Hill.
I'll be checking in to LJ sporadically. Those who turn to my LJ for spiritual solace and daily guidance are screwed.
I meant that in a constructive way, of course.
The taste of a tart blackberry fresh off the vine.
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Among my (too) many projects is "Brainrot: The Book". I've been collecting notes. I carry a small digital voice recorder with me. I use it to collect thoughts for all my projects, but most of my notes are about my Thalamic Pain Syndrome. I see the book as a collection of fragments grouped into topical chapters: the experience of pain, pain and my place among humans, medical marijuana, extreme nightmares during night seizures, metaphors for my pain, brainrot's impact on my life's work. Cheerful stuff, but it's my life and as such grist for my prose.
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Here are a few notes for the book:
Pain in the foot like an inside out porcupine. Pain in the legs like searing maggots eating their way out from the bone.
S&M hobbyists might think, "Pain every day. And in such heaping helpings. Where do I sign up?" There is no safe word for Thalamic Pain. It isn't a toy. It isn't a game. It's pain. Pure. Simple.
Clarion West writer's workshop: Glazed over with pain.
Trying Provigil again made sense, but it's depersonalizing me. I feel like I'm watching a not particularly interesting movie. It bores me. It is my life.
I've tried plenty of seizure meds that depersonalized me. I'd rather take the pain than lose myself.
It's all in my head.
Somewhere deep in my brain, the ME organ, lies a flaw, a lesion- an alien insinuating word, almost onomatopoeic - so goes one theory. Some of the wiring doesn't connect. The thalamus, distributor of sensation, is broken and sensation is routed to pain. And so, instead of a fully functioning brain in a broken body I've got a broken brain in a healthy body. Not what I would have chosen. Gotta play the best I can with the hand I was dealt. I've become very good at enduring intense pain. Not bragging, that's just the way it is.
Brainrot has left me intelligent but not smart. I'm trying to learn how to be smart at a slower speed. Wise I'm still working on.
Trying to be smart slower. Have to keep track of steps, be methodical, double-check crucial steps. You can still be smart even when your cognitive abilities are pretty destroyed.
Everyone contains an ember of pure joy. Maybe lodged in the wrong place.
Excuse me for droning on and on about my brainrot. LJ writing has become a mechanism for me to think about it.
I can't hear the birds. Can't unclench my body and mind enough to call it relaxation. Can't enjoy bird songs when every muscle and neuron is clenched tight.
I'm a rank amateur birder. I can recognize a (very) few birds from their calls. Last Spring it hit me that the boidies were singing their little guts out and I couldn't listen to them. I could hear them, but I couldn't enjoy what I heard. Often I was too tensed to even hear them.
My mind and body are clenched whenever I am awake. My whole being is a tight fist, or more accurately a turtle with all appendages sucked tightly into the shell. This state is a result of being lashed with pain every day for hours. I have found no way to relax while being tortured.
As a result I shut myself off from the outside world. I know my clenching insulates me because of yoga. A year ago I took an intro yoga class. The first 5-10 minutes of each session, as we stretched and relaxed and tuned in to our bodies, was hell. I had to unclench and the pain raked my body and psyche.
As I sit here and type the thought of relaxing frightens me.
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Threat rating: Medium. Your total lack of decent
family values makes you dangerous, but we can
count on some right wing nutter blowing you up
if you become too high profile.
What threat to the Bush administration are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Treating my brainrot by doing as little as possible is working. I feel pretty darned good.
In addition to watching copious amounts of television (mostly Sopranos tapes) I am attempting to keep all my conversations to under 5 minutes.
I learned a lot of new stuff about my thalamic pain syndrome from this article. One of the points that hit home hard is the observation that thalamic pain usually hits minutes after the stimulus. In most TPSer's the stimulus is touch. In my case the stimulus is primarily conversation.
This delayed pain sets up an unstable feedback loop. When I talk I often end the conversation when I begin to feel pain or when pain becomes too intense to continue. By this time I am way past my trigger threshold. The instant I feel pain, I have overshot my threshold and the pain will continue to build, still lagging the stimulus. If the pain hit the instant I hit my conversation threshold, I could stop and the pain should start to recede right away. Instead I overshoot and must suffer quite a while.
By limiting conversations to around 5 minutes I stop talking before I feel the pain, and usually before I hit my threshold, so I don't feel pain. By avoiding pain fairly completely I have been rebuilding my neurological reserves. My neurons aren't being constantly irritated.
The danger in feeling good is that I'll see it as a sign that I should dive into some project with my usual enthusiasm. This results in a big crash.
Most people have to push themselves to hit their limitations. Mine are constantly in my face.
Good thing I am a huge fan of living.
I have made a significant discovery in the field of blogology:
It is easy not to update your blog - just don't write anything in it.
My plan to feel better by watching The Sopranos non-stop is working quite well. I have also decided to forestall my speaking pain by cutting off conversations before I feel any pain. Today I talked to maybe 5 people, each for less than 10 minutes. This may work.
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5 people is a lot for me these days. It felt good to talk to them on my cell phone.
Here's a little LJ meme pointed out by rimrunner. Check her Aug 7th, 03 11:43 entry.
(since some of you don't get it: this is an "interpretation" of the content in droogles' journal.)
This should mean it. I'm a pair of scintillating prose eruptions. I just got sucked into a surprisingly manly giggle; author. We hit the fucked mailing address for hours from a kick out of a lot of that any more cool. She's much more; great artwork, I can't be a Graham Greene frame of shore on that would be proud of dogs until then off leash and I live reserve the treats and watched a place on a lazy mutt in buying Channel Zilch in style, than in a ton of other day a wimp in buying one.
It only works for paid users. Go here type your LJ username after the question mark in the URL, then hit "refresh".)
Anyone remember my short story "Folders" autosummarized by MSFT Word to 100 words? This isn't quite as funny, but it has some good stuff.
"If a thing is worth doing, it's worth doing poorly." - attributed to Various
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In a year I am going to buy a cabin on the lake. Wisconsin or Minnesota about 2 hours from the Twin Cities.
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Margaret will be in college and I always knew I would move back to MN then. I lived there for 18 years - all between the ages of 19 and 41, I have very good friends there. I have friends here, and I will miss them and visit.
I love winter, snow, slush, ice, blizzards, snow camping. I miss the seasons. I love Seattle but I miss the extremes of weather.
I want to have a place where I can hermit. I want to reduce stimulus as much as possible. A simple cabin on an acre of shore on a small lake. Not a motorboat lake, but a canoe lake.
One of my recreations is to look for lake cabins on the Internet. I've bookmarked a few realtors in the Mpls area who specialize in lakeshore property. It's mesmerizing to page through the pictures of cabins for sale. Next year at this time I will be caught up in buying one.
Sometimes I picture my cabin, always me looking in, standing in the snow. There is a fire in the fireplace. The windows spill gold light. I turn and see the frozen lake with my day's cross-country ski tracks shining right alongside Mika's footprints.
Feeling lousy on a beautiful day. I overdid it yesterday. My cool aide, Gisela, came for 2 hours and we got a lot done. We even started sorting old, old boxes of misc shit. I crashed hard for 3 hours after that. Then off to Bellevue to drop Margaret off. For me that's a major day.
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Damn. Of all the fucked-up things that my brainrot does to me, limiting my available energy may be the worst. I am a doer. I love to work on projects and get things done. I can't do that any more. From a game developer and manager of many people working on intricate software projects I've changed into someone who finds it challenging to change the mailing address for one of my magazines. I estimate that I take 2 weeks to do what I used to do in a day.
This should mean that, since I intend to do more great artwork, I should be very parsimonious with my energy. That is so antithetical to my nature. I am an enthusiast. My nature is to work on multiple projects while I brainstorm on even more. Like my Dad, even when I'm well I always have 3 times as many projects on my plate as I can accomplish. Maybe that would be frustrating to some, but it always worked great for me. Because of the frustration caused by my brainrot I try to be very realistic, read pessimistic, about what I can accomplish now. Bleahhh.
I'd trade my brainrot for a life as a quadriplegic in an eye blink. Yes, I'd give up sex in order to recover my ability to create art.
I have officially decided not to write any more Channel Zilch until after I've watched all episodes of The Sopranos. I've got a soft spot for gangsters. My second, and best-selling, game, King of Chicago, was an homage to gangster films. I watched a ton of them researching the world and characters of gangland Chicago. I am still proud of that game.
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As one day I will be proud of Channel Zilch.
Writing on Channel Zilch has been a big fat bust. I can't be creative when I am burnt to a crisp. Rebuilding my strength, divorce shit, and figuring out how to live well alone have all taken energy.
I rented the first Sopranos vid tape a few days ago. I'd never seen it and was intrigued. i rented the next 2 tapes - episodes 4-9 - yesterday and watched them all. I'm hooked. I've consciously decided to be a vegetable for a few days. Lay down some reserves of relaxation. Recharge. Avoid pain for a few days. Eat lots of magic brownies and smoke the healing smoke. I will finish Channel Zilch, but I can't push too hard or it'll turn to shit.
Despite appearances, I am a fairly reflective fellow. Thinking is one thing I can usually do if I'm not on the way to a seizure. So I was tinkink about writing for LJ. In my vast experience (less than 2 weeks with an LJ) what piercing insights have I wrested from my experience?
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I write for LJ in a much more relaxed style than I write fiction or even e-mail to friends. My sport and art writing tends to be intense and goofy - exuberant, as princeofamber described it. So far I haven't sat down to update my LJ with an experience or thought I am burning to share. What I've written here is pretty tame, both in subject and in style. I felt at first that LJ writing was going to be a bust because I only wrote flaccid, vapid stuff. I reserve judgment on that.
I know some of my entries are going to be garish droog-style(TM) prose eruptions. I get high a lot. Cannabis is the only medicine that boths stops my seizures and soothes the intense pain from my thalamic pain syndrome. I live in the enlightened state of Washington and have an enlightened neurologist so I have legal authorization to use medical marijuana. I call it my "Killer Weed Hall Pass". I'm a member of Seattle's Green Cross Patient Co-op which I visit each week to get my magic brownies and ganja. It is a positive, relaxed scene at Green Cross. I'll write about my weekly visit sometime.
Until then, stay cool.
|Subject:||Droog is droog|
Ah, 'tis good to be alive. i awoke at 12 today and it was good. Mika is always a lazy mutt in the morning, hallelujah. If she was a crack-o'-dawn pooch she'd be at the pound. She looks all drowsy and innocent. I scratched the back of her neck until she drifted back off to sleep.
Mika and I are developing a routine in the morning:
Wake up anytime 9-12
I tell her, "Stay. I'll be back." Then I take my shower, dress, fire up the laptop.
I grab a leash and take her out for her first Wiz Walk of the day.
Back to the apartment for food. About half the mornings I stuff her hollow Kong toy with treats and walk her down to Aunt Elizabeth's coffee shop where she snarfs the treats and I eat a scone and drink my morning latte.
3 mornings a week I have help come midmorning. Twice a week, my aide Gisela comes to help me out. She helps me with tasks that my brainrot makes hard or impossible. Paying bills, calling people about insurance issues, making appointments, helping to organize things. She's a life saver and she is super-cool. She's a great painter. We share a lot of laughs. Sometimes I tell her I should charge her since she gets such a kick out of making fun of handicapped people.
One morning a week Vyolet of Urban Dawgs comes to give Mika and obedience lesson. Because my brainrot doesn't let me attend classes I arranged to get a tutor. Mika's learning fast and thoroughly enjoying it.
About every other day I drive Mika to an Seattle off leash dog park. Mika adores the dog parks. She chases and wrestles other dogs until she's exhausted. A tired dog is a happy dog. I make small talk with other owners. Nice people, nice dogs.
Mika is a babe magnet. Since getting her I regularly converse with interesting, attractive women who want to find out about Mika or tell me how beautiful she is. Nice. The other day a very cute mid-30's woman and I got into a nice conversation. Definite interest on both sides and she boldly got right into my personal space. Fun. Then I began to hit my 15-minute brainrot conversation limit. I had to tell her I couldn't talk for awhile. I was confused by then and wandered away.
I am not interested in getting into a meaningful relationship right now, but I'd love to get into a meaningless one. It's a bit of a "handicap" not being able to flirt. I always enjoyed a little flirting, though I was a straight arrow faithful husband. I need to print up some flirting dialog cards that I can hold up. I think I could handle eye contact if I didn't have to talk. Damn, even with Mika as bait I don't get nearly as many people flirting with me as friend zellandyne does.
Off to the dog park with the Meekster.
You people are fabulous. Stay just as nice as you are!
Just got back from Mika's favorite place on Earth - Golden Gardens off-leash dog area. She wrestled and chased other dogs until she could hardly move. A tired dog is a happy dog. This time she picked a pair of dogs about her size to be her buds - a 4-month old Doberman and a 2-year old Coyote/Schnauzer mix. They played and rested, played and rested.
It's a drag not to be able to talk to other owners much. My brainrot limits me to about 15 minutes of chitchat, 10 minutes of intense conversation. Everyone wants to find out about Mika (it's true) and I can talk to a few but then have to mumble apologies when my brain starts to go on the fritz.
At least Mika gets me out and walking. I'm way stronger than I was last Spring when I spent about 3 months virtually bedridden.
Things are looking up!