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Between the undeserved parking ticket and my colon deciding it had been ignored enough, Saturday ended with difficulty. Sunday morning is at 4ish, as I could not sleep anymore. Thus, I am writing the blog with the night still in the sky, and the coffee made too early but still good.

Returning to my memories and recalling experiences of Saturday, I rose with my alarm more like a Dracula than a happy start to my day. I seemed to float, rise, sit, and look at my footwear, wondering why it did not put itself on. Eventually, likely at least five minutes of waiting, I grab and put on the slippers, leave my bedroom, and search for the morning in the house. Morning was in the kitchen.

I was time-boxed again for a Cthulhu Prayer Breakfast meeting at 10AM in Portland at Sonder Listening Bar in the Hollywood district. After yesterday’s experience of being late, I planned to arrive after an hour’s commute. I first arranged for coffee.

Breakfast was paid for in Portland, so I just made liberal coffee in my French press. When others lived in the house, I would make a pot of coffee in the coffee maker and leave the pot on all day in an empty house, which seemed like a waste and created the possibility of a coffee-based catastrophe. Today, hot water is boiled in my electric pot and poured into my French press after filling the bottom with liberal coffee.

While I have told many amusing stories about coffee in the last couple of blog posts, dear reader, know that I think about left-leaning, pro-world coffee every morning. I try to be worthy of my coffee and accept the responsibility that even an honest cup of coffee can change the world. Some of you would accuse me of next asking for the clapping for Tinkerbell and other dramatic performances, exaggerating the importance of my caffeinated hot beverage, but know that what we do matters, even making coffee, and yes, clap if you think it helps (Tinkerbell would be happy).

I write the blog quickly and publish it before 8:30. I clean up and soon dress. Today, I am wearing blue-gray cotton pants, a lightly striped white and blue dress shirt with a button-down collar, another Structures tie from the 1980s, and a navy blue sweater vest. The day starts in heavy fog, and I pick the warm brown wool hat today. Air Volvo is ready for me, and soon, I will fly through Beaverton and Portland and arrive thirty minutes early. I make a mistake. I scan the QR code, put in the plate numbers, and press enter. It fails to finish, but I think I am good. Later, a ticket will be placed on Air Volvo at 8PM for $50 in honor of parking there.

Unaware of the parking calamity, I blissfully head to Sonder’s, across the parking lot from the former Rite Aid, which has roof parking. I saw Cody in his priestly vestment, alerting me I was in the right place; he was already there. A small group of us selected this, not all VIPs, Cthulu Pray Breakfast, and soon we were jockeying for a seat in the limited seating. This is the first time here, and the logistics are complex, and seating is less flexible than expected. The food is excellent, and the coffee, although I am unsure if it is liberal, is good.

Cody Goodman leads that program and even gives a sermon. There is singing of hymns to various Lovecraftian gods which ring close to Methodist hymns such that I manage to sing strongly and boldly (remembering John Wesley’s instructions) to the surprise of my table mates; churchgoers are not usually present at this prayer breakfast and would indeed object to the new words. I know the melodies! My fellow cultists expect me to be excommunicated, but I point out that I am on that committee, being a wise cultist, and that was unlikely. That did get some raised eyebrows as the internal workings of a Christian church are foreign to these folks and seem as arcane as any of the texts they purport to study. Breakfast was excellent, and the singing was terrible, as usual.

High Priest Cody’s sermon again starts with the disappointing (and obvious) news that the apocalypse did not happen last year. Cthulhu still sleeps, and the Way is not open. Cody explains that normal folks accuse their neighbors of various crimes without evidence, using a picture of Cody with a pet as an example. Cody is shocked to report that we cultists appear to be more reasonable and respectful than most political organizations (“When did we become the ‘sane’ people?”). That factless conspiracy-based beliefs are no longer just for us cultists. But Brother Cody is hopeful that this year will be our last because of humanity’s general loss of connection to kindness, inward focus, and global warming’s impact. “We lurk.” We chant and know in our optimism there is no chance we will meet again next year.

Various music events follow different levels of success. Breakfast breaks up as we approach noon and the start of Day 2 of the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival here in the Hollywood Theater. I find my usual seat, the third-row aisle on the left side, and Elizabeth takes her seat behind me and even brings her parents, who are surprised to meet me and to learn that we have years of experience sitting next to each other.

I sat through the start and then headed out, as the movie was starting too late for me to see more than one-third of it. I give up my good seat and head to Battle Grounds coffee and gaming store, a few blocks away. I am early for the Dreamland game offered at 2:30 to 6:30 (overlapping the films). Stephen is there for any folks overflowing for the Dreamland game, and I chat with him. I have brought Ottoman Sunset, a solo board game that simulates your efforts to save the Ottomans from history; the empire fell in 1919 after World War 1. He is fascinated and looks through the game while I get coffee and tour the store; I have time.

Stephen is teaching Arkham Horror Role-Playing Game, which is based on the board and card game and on the Mythos, not the DC comic. The system is a single box with a single story and is more traditional for RPGs, as it has a group of players and one person to run the adventure. The box set is impressive and includes puzzles and handouts (both parts of Mytho-based adventures in many other systems).

Jason appears. He is the author of the new Dreamland role-playing game. I soon realized this is not a Call of Cthulhu role playing game version based on Lovecraft’s other stories, such as The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, but different rules to be more connected to dreaming and story creation. Today, I play a merchant and a dreamer in the “real world” who manifests in Dreamland as “Lefty,” the Merchant. I speak and seem allied to flying and black as night night-gaunts who bring me various mysterious dusts of magic. Two other players are also dreamers. Jason begins a story that he has already mapped out in his mind. But the details come from word cards he deals out, and he displays them tarot cards-like to us.

In the game, I have a few abilities as a merchant, including haggling and persuasion, for which I can roll dice. However, I must use the word cards and make a story for other things. The colored cards are more powerful (and descriptive) words, and if I use too many, I may cause a change in the dreaming and partially wake up, which is not a good thing. The other players have other abilities, and Jason moves the story forward with each of us participating.

This is Jason’s story, and I will not recount it here as he is making a living by making this story and the game work. I was hoping he would send me the picture he took of our group, but so far, it has not happened.

I found that I would listen to the story and not notice when Jason directed it to me, meaning I had to pay more attention. Jason did well, but I could see it was an effort to create the whole story, fitting it to the players’ dreamers, teaching us how to play, and recording notes to move the story forward.

I found it to be an enjoyable game, and we succeeded, whereas most groups failed, according to Jason. Sadly, my dreamer was unable to receive any benefits from the dream as I failed my awakening roll and would only be allowed to have dark memories should I play again with the character (no, but not for any reason other than the game is still being created). Our rat catcher and fellow dreamer, who slew the princess at the end of the adventure (her soul was polluted with darkness), succeeded. The final seemed too based on dice for my taste and I thought some parts of the game need more structure, but overall I liked it and will support its upcoming Kickstarter.

The designer is Jason Bradley Thompson, and his game Dreamland from Exalted Funeral can be found on dreamrpg.com.

Tired and late for the start of the festival, I find my usual seat is taken, and instead, I pick row two and one chair over to the left. I stay through the keynote and the first block of shorts. A film creator, Aaron Horehead, for some well-known (though I don’t like them) films, gave a presentation about octopuses and how we seem to use tentacles and octopuses to represent alien intelligence. He includes tentacle-based shorts from his movies in the presentation and points out that his films were called Lovecraftian before he knew what that meant. While entertaining, I did not learn much more other than not to eat octopuses as they are intelligent.

The shorts were darker and more brutal than the previous set. There were no jump scares. The movies were based on stories about the unknown, time travel, and alien invasions. All were well done.

I was tired, and it was 9:30. I headed to Air Volvo to find the ticket on the windshield, which really soured my mood. The return across Portland and Beaverton was in high traffic that was moving fast, with some cars racing. Passing in the tunnel is never a good idea, but the blasting sounds of engines filled the tunnel. I was traveling below 65 this time, which was my slowest trip, as cars were everywhere and speeds seemed random.

I am disappointed to find no reference to paying for parking despite using the app. I will have to pay for the ticket. It is unfair but accurate. I have no proof of payment as the app did run me through the process and then did not charge me. F**k.

I showered and went to bed. I was back up at 3 with proof of hydration, and my colon wanted to empty unexpectedly after 3 and 4:30. Realizing I would not get more rest, I rose.

But that is for another day’s blog. Thank you for reading!

I am time-boxed this Saturday morning and will only cover the highlights of Friday.

I rose and made liberal coffee, which I have been drinking since President Trump was elected. The coffee reminds me to be vigilant and “wokes” me to the possibilities of a better world. The bitterness reminds me of how hard that will be and how long it will take. Trust liberal with your coffee and taste the possibilities.

Rushing, I wrote the blog while having breakfast and finished it before 9:30. Today, it is the black suit, looking more Lovecraftian, with a blood-red vest and another 1980s tie. I leave at 10 with an hour to get to my game. It is raining, not just Oregon Mist, and the traffic, seemingly never experiencing rain before, is extra slow. The roads, still with summer’s mess on them, are slick. I crawl in Air Volvo towards the Hollywood District in Portland. Through the tunnel, a car slows and then brakes. I react, but the safety controls slam the brakes, anti-lock braking takes over, and Air Volvo stops within a few feet of the vehicle. I believe I would have stopped the car in time, but Air Volvo was sure it was time to stop, bringing us to a complete stop sooner. The cars behind me do not take me out. We continue to crawl across Portland, undamaged

I arrive at the Hollywood district with minutes to spare, enjoying an ambulance’s passage on Highway I-84. I park Air Volvo on (really ‘on’) the old, now defunct RiteAid; you park on the roof and have to walk down the ramp. It is wet, and I have to walk four blocks. I am a few minutes late and damp; a spare seat is there.

Battle Grounds, a new gaming store and coffee house (a good combination), is a neat, clean-smelling gaming store on Sandy, just a few blocks from the Hollywood Theater. We all had $20 credit each and a separate space with a door. We could close off the noise of the rest of the store. They brought me coffee (a holy ritual producing a European-style cup) and, later, for lunch, a sausage and cheese bagel sandwich on pepper spiced bagel. It almost made my eyes water. Sean from the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society was hosting the game with props, some sizable, and provided us with characters that we selected at random; I was Colleta, the local librarian and widow.

This is unpublished and professional material, so I will not recount the story here.

Sean tells a great, terrible story and voices and acts for all the characters we meet in the story. While the rules of Call of Cthulhu Role-Playing Game are manifold and explained in two one-inch texts, like most games, there was seldom any reference to the rules and not a single rule text on the table (I left mine in the cargo hold). This is a prop-heavy theater of the mind game and adult fiction with enough horror that the story still bothers me. Perfect.

Sean said they will likely soon publish this adventure and may release a prop set for purchase. I would be willing to invest in this story, set in the Great Depression year of 1935 in Providence, Road Island, and H.P. Lovecraft’s home. I will lurk and hope it shows up soon. While playing, my character managed to go insane temporarily, and as I was a librarian, Colleta was later found reading Agatha Christe at the local library. After my characters’s brush with insanity and the mythos, most of my words involved books; I threw books at bad guys and wandered often. I make every sanity check after that. Colleta had seen this before and accepted it, like any scary book.

We finished the game with only partial success, which is usually all you can hope for. We broke up, and soon I found solace in pizza nearby. The Festival did not start until 6 and was always late, so I had time for pizza. Some of my fellow agents located pizza, too, and we chatted. Soon, I was in line to enter the Hollywood Theater in the shorter VIP line, shaking hands with friends not seen in a year. This theater, built in Portland in the 1920s, is pretty but violates many safety rules, and one must be careful. I did not fall, but I did need to be more cautious than my last visit (before the brain surgery).

I acquired my usual seat in the main theater, an aisle seat on the third row left side with a perfect view of the screen and stage. I put my hat and umbrella there. Then, I went off for beer, popcorn, and my goodies from being a Kickstarter supporter (that is how I got the VIP status and was included in the CoC game with Sean). I return loaded up and realize I still have more time. I would usually risk the ramp to the second floor, but once was enough for me with my new revised one-sided balance system. I am also feeling fatigued. But the hallway outside of the main theater was lined with vendors. Matt, whom I met last year, remembers me and sells me Tenebrous Press’s new magazine, issue 0 and 1. I still have not finished the books he sold me last year, so I demur when offered Tenebrous Press’s latest books.

When I see him, Cody Goodman, dressed in a priestly vestment, salutes back to my raised beer. Only fifteen minutes late, a new record for quickness for the festival, Cody walks on stage with a gal dressed in a tight costume, reminding us of Cthuhu (known as Cthulhu girl), and leads us in the main theater in chants to open the film festival. Gwen and Brian, who run the show and the Kickstarter, come on stage to provide opening remarks and some instructions. Friends from the early game sit next to me. Folks from last year sat behind me, and we chatted before the start. One of the filmmakers sits in front of me. For me, the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival reconnects me with fellow cultists I see about once a year and some new ones.

In the main theater was block 1 of short films; my favorite part of the festival was the shorts made by small teams, but often scary or funny. The first film was a short educational film on how to be a good parasite-host, and while not really a Lovecraftian Mythos-based film, it was funny. Some other films were disturbing and usually focused on one terrible and sleep-losing theme. Excellent. One had jump scares (yes, I jumped), something we don’t usually see. Block 1, according to Brian, who introduced it, was a tour of styles and types of shorts. I enjoyed it, but I was growing weary.

I collected my stuff at 9, when the first break happened, and left. I was dragging and soon returned to Air Volvo, which got me home without incident, but it seemed like a long ride. In the Volvo Cave, I disassemble my apparel, shower, and find my bed comfortable in my PJs. I read Slow Horses for a while but soon fell asleep, though I was wired a bit from the horror shorts. I do not recall my dreams, which is good, I suspect.

Thanks for reading!

I rose early with my alarm to start the blog, enabling me to finish the blog before lunch plans, Scott. Scott and I have both retired from Nike. I put on my slippers and headed to the kitchen–it was still in the same place; the house was cold, 66F (13C), and the orchids seemed to enjoy it. I did not stop by the 185th Corner fruit and veggie stand, meaning I had no bananas for breakfast. Instead, I would open a can of peaches, 1/2 for breakfast, and go with a few scoops of cottage cheese dusted with sea salt and smoked paprika.

I had liberal joy in my cup. I was tasting the opportunity to help others and maybe raise taxes on those who can afford it to pay for it and make a real, measurable difference. My cup of liberal coffee glows with opportunities, suggesting a minimum tax in the bitterness to pay for helping others—not direct inflationary payments, but improving and maintaining the country’s infrastructure and creating real jobs while reducing pollution. My coffee, Equal Exchange brand, made in my French press, was flavored with “Yes We Can!”

I spent the early morning writing, reading emails, checking the news (looking at Jerusalem Post, NW Times, and CNN), and updating my transactions in Quicken. I write for about two hours to get a story done. I am fighting with Grammarly and often have to retype my sentences to return them to their original meaning. I still use it to correct wrong words, typos, missing plurals, and mixed tenses in sentences. Still, it often offers a fix to the paragraph, not just a typo fix, and those I usually reject as I later find the changes are more profound than I realized. I did notice that I had a malformed sentence, which caused the AI to go out of its mind. Once I re-wrote the sentence, we both aligned. I will carefully check that Grammarly is crazy because I have a poorly formed sentence.

Next, Apple fails to email me the photos from my iPhone. I have seen this before. I try again. No email. I text myself the images and then download them to my Apple’s picture directory. I’m not sure what is wrong with Apple-land, but the emails never surfaced (it did work for this blog). I publish the blog, dillydally for a while, and then dress and head out.

The trip across Beaverton took no time, and soon, Air Volvo had me at Elephants Delicatessen at Cedar Hills Crossing. I decide on the Italian, a cold sub, and Scott selects the delicious and artery-freezing Ruban sandwich that is so good (I might have sandwich envy). And while I often have a like sub from other sandwich shops, Elephant’s does not taste like generic deli packs laid on bread, but somehow is more complex and suggests that this is really a sub with roots in Italy.

Scott and I talked about travel, including my recent trip to Chicago and my upcoming trip to New Orleans. Scott and his family are meeting in Italy in December. We chatted about housework and politics. It was a pleasant chat.

I return home and just hang out. Next, I dress in my blue suit with a golden vest plus a 1980s tie. I remember older friends telling me they had ties older than me. When did I become that guy? Next, I added black shoes with dark socks to my ensemble, which I had to put on three times to find a matching pair (when did I get so many black socks that don’t match!?). I pick the boater hat as this for the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival VIP and summoning party. It seemed an excellent choice on a sunny day. It is now past the summer, and the hat is not technically allowed, but still, it looks good on a sunny day. In days in the distant past, I read that hooligans would knock off the straw hats worn in the fall and warn the wearer to change to proper headwear. I received no criticism today.

I boarded Air Volvo early as Rossi Farms was hosting the summoning near the airport, and I had never been there. It was Thursday rush hour, the worst day for travel in Portland. I would rely on Nav to get me there.

Nav was unhappy as I headed to the car wash and cleaned Air Volvo because it was too early to leave. Next, Carl’s Jr. supplied one of my guilty pleasures: a single Western Burger. Bacon, onion rings, BBQ sauce on a burger, and a promise to add to your waistline and thicken those artery walls!  But it is so good, and I have anti-cholesterol drugs (my doctor is grimacing somewhere). I forgo the fries and drink a chemical-rich Diet Coke, thinking it will help.

After finishing the burger and managing not to spill food on my tie or vest, I headed across Beaverton and Portland. The traffic was, as expected, heavy, and once again, I was amazed at how polite and slow our drivers were. I queued, took two light cycles, and reached the highway, but I was in no danger of reaching the speed limit. The Highway 26 parking lot was available today. A new thing is that motorcycles run fast between lanes, likely an extra-legal expediency. I am unsure I could stomach flying between lines on a cycle with only a helmet to make my remains, post-crash, recognizable (I see no other value of a helmet in this type of driving). But I am glad something is moving (being overly polite Oregon drivers, we just smile and applaud their risk-taking).

(We listen to songs from the period or appropriate to the theme, including Mac the Knife and Anything Goes)

I was not in a hurry and running too early. I watched aggressive and useless lane changes. Also, I witnessed the frustrating vehicles that cut in after I politely crept along for ten minutes. But we, being overly polite and passive-aggressive, just rolled our eyes and let them in. Soon, I will be above 12 miles an hour, and traffic, while packed, will increase its pace. I am shocked by the apparent non-moving exit to the airport, a warning for my next trip. I exit the now-moving highway traffic and soon am forty minutes early.

(Cody summoning the festival)

I read my book on my iPhone’s Kindle app, which syncs with my iPhone and Kindle device. I see a group of folks waiting, and I join them. I started reconnecting with folks who, like me, are here yearly. We are lined up and getting our badges nearly on time, which is unusual for this event. Soon, the following line is no charge for wine and beer. I join folks (names escape me again) at a table from Canada I have seen for the last two years. Other folks I have not seen for a year connect with me, and I will see many of them in the Call of Cthulhu game on Friday morning.

I talked with a local author, Cody Goodman, about AI. Later, he led us in two summoning rituals held in Rossi Farm’s ghost town section. The second one was longer and more funny, including a prayer to stop any criticism of the ritual. I chatted about food, travel, and AI stuff. There is finger food, including the ubiquitous, for catering, meatballs in a red sauce, and country fall desserts like donut wholes and pumpkin pie.

By 9:30ish, I am cold and ready to have Air Volvo wisk me across Portland and Beaverton to the Volvo Cave. I am more tired than I realize, and the other drivers are more drunk or high than they should be. My fellow drivers seem to believe drifting across the lane lines is usual. Air Volov arrives with all its paint, and I am happy to put the blue suit away without tears, torn bits, or blood stains.

I am soon showered, in my PJs, and reading. I fall asleep while reading, put away the Kindle, and turn off the light. I sleep through the night.

Thanks for reading.

 

I rose later, around 8AM. I had slept but rose once for proof of hydration. I woke at 5, 6, and 7, still sleepy, rolled over, and tried to sleep some more. Waking and seeing it was past 8 on my clock, I rose and put on my slippers. I was wide awake already to start my morning.

And a song for those who stay up all night: here.

My mornings now mean writing the blog and updating myself with the news, emails, and transactions for Quicken. It is no longer rushing to prepare for the first meetings at the shoe company here or at the office. Dressing and getting ready for the rest of the day is delayed until I finish the blog. There is no sense of rush or working.

The movement in food production to use cooperatives and provide a reasonable price for items has produced excellent products like Equal Exchange brand items, including coffee, chocolate, dried fruits, and nuts. There is a Fair Trade logo for other products. Please look for these brands or logos; they cost more, but they are, as they say, fair-traded.

When I lift my cup of liberal coffee, black in the morning, it is flavored with justice and kindness. We are called by God, and I think the universe, to justice and compassion, even in a cup of joe. My coffee speaks to me in the morning and says, “Here is justice!” Drink deeply and listen to the liberal coffee! “Here is compassion!”

With all the justice and compassion in my coffee, I had yogurt and toast. The toast finished my two-serving little jars of jam. Instead of having large jars of jam, I bought a handful of these jars with different flavors. There is only me here. Yum, Orange Marmalade is a favorite for me.

I wrote my blog, tried to recall the previous day, and filled in my set pieces (boilerplates, if you like). I also looked at the dirty dishes to remember lunch. I remembered, and soon, the day was being recreated in words in WordPress. I enjoyed my craft, and the day’s story was decorated here and there with some fun writing.

I did remember something later and inserted that; it often happens even a day later. Memory is not linear; it is more like hooks for ornaments and paper chains on a Christmas tree that is your previous day. You will remember them in bright bits, and then handmade chains slowly form and connect once you find the start. You can never recall the whole tree, just bits. Slowly, the image reforms and is transformed into a story.

I let the morning expire, and I am still not dressed. I make lunch in my PJs, a BLT with one of Dondrea’s tomatoes. I watch more ShipHappens, a show about rebuilding a WW2 small ship. They are testing their engines on the old boat, and the port engine has a cooling issue. Water is not following through the engine. The through-hull is blocked, and when they cleared it, a wincing moment to watch, the water rushed into the ship (a through-hull is a hole in the hull that lets water in, hopefully in a controlled manner). They managed to shut the valve. Oh my. The port engine worked once they cleaned the filter, unblocked the through-hull, and reconnected everything. Yikes.

I was dressed, and it was a lovely sunny but hot day, so I decided to head to Portland and the Chinese garden. I boarded Air Volvo after checking that my iPhone and Kindle were correctly synced. I only needed to take the iPhone. I brought up the Hop app and soon, after four tries, got my app to recognize the scan post at the station with Air Volvo parked in the free parking lot. The new cars are excellent on the red line now extended to our area.

I read and enjoyed the trip. The tunnel is loud, but my new less hearing means less noise, an unexpected bonus. Soon, I am at the last stop, China Town, before crossing the river and de-train. It is two blocks from the garden.

I gave my ID and soon got a pass; I am a member with a two-person pass. At the entrance, I am told I am minutes from the start of a tour and join the tour. Charles is giving a tour; we soon learn he is a former school teacher. He lectures and has a plan for his lesson. I asked many questions, as others did, and to Charle’s credit, he can ‘check and adjust’ and answered our questions as best as he could. He changed his talk to fit our group, and we focused on plants more. He covers about 1/2 of the garden and illuminates for me the purpose of some of the rooms and what a Scholar’s Garden is. The Portland Garden is designed after the existing Scholar’s Gardens in China. A couple, Brent and Anne, befriended me, and we exchanged information. They have just sold their house, stored their items, and now are touring, looking at possible places to live, and enjoying the travel. They have been traveling for months, and Anne let me know that after a hot and sticking month in Boston, that location is off the list.

I have a snack and tea at the tea house, wonton soup and wontons. I walk through the garden, prepare to leave, and buy the books containing translations of the inscriptions (Charles had one, and they are in the gift shop) when I see I am missing a credit card. I walk back to the tea house and find it. It is gray colored on gray tiles. It had fallen out of my pocket (a new hazard of looser fitting pants). I know I should return the card to my wallet each time I use it, but I made an error, slipped it in my pocket, and forgot it. I am happy to recover the loss and buy the book.

I walk to Ground Kontrol (only a few blocks from the garden), as I still have some credit left on my card. Security gives me a blue wristband, signaling I am allowed to order adult drinks, but instead, I head to the pinball machines and prove that these low scores are possible even when trying. In one pinball game, I believe I never hit the ball with a paddle, creating a score so low the machine gave me a free ball. Yes, I get pity from the machines! I managed one good game, for me, on the newer Adam’s Family machine (the classic ones that survive are now collector items and not found here for mere mortals to use). This was followed by two dreadful games. I also tried to play the old Tron game, remembering Eric mastering it and winning, but I never completed a light cycle contest in three plays (yes, I never left the RPG level, my first programming language I learned on the job). The older video games are half-priced here, which is an incentive for me. I returned to pinball and enjoyed that more. There is a room for new edgy games that are higher priced, but I never bother to do more than look at them. Still, I enjoyed myself and will be back.

Next, I walk to the local Irish pub, Kells, and have a locally made Irish-style red. I also ordered and ate a shepherd’s pie very slowly, so hot from the oven that I warmed my hands over it. I read Slow Horses on my iPhone and just relax. I am in no hurry today, and the beer hits me harder. I decide on dessert and read more. The bread pudding and coffee are perfect together.

I walked a short distance to the MAX station. It was cool, and I only had a T-shirt. I quickly boarded a train. A couple boarded, and I gave up my seat for them. I got a seat a few stops later, as the train soon emptied. The gal lost her bracelet in the seat. The other passengers and I helped her get it out of the benches. It had fallen off her wrist and into the space between the bench and the wall. She was relieved and managed to get it back before her stop.

Air Volvo was there when I de-trained. I soon returned home and decided to try Kaos on Netflix. Imagine our world ruled by the Greek gods and all the advertisements and culture directed towards the gods. This is an excellent re-skinning of our world. The series retells the myths mixing freely from American Gods, a reality TV format, and current shows like Wednesday and the Sandman. I managed two episodes but found none of the characters sympathetic, like in Greek myths. I cannot recommend it, but it is well-executed and worth a peek to see if you like it.

I did not return to coding, writing, or some church work. I will have to rise early on Thursday to do that. I read more Slow Horses, which is getting better. The first season seems to closely follow the book’s story and pathos. So far, I can keep going.

I closed my Kindle (which did sync with my iPhone reading). I managed to fall asleep before midnight. I do wake at 3ish to prove hydration.

Thanks for reading.

I rose late, rolling over at 6ish and 7ish, finally putting on my slippers and leaving my comfortable bedroom to start my day nearing 8. While I do not feel I really start the day until I change out of my PJs, I spend the morning writing the blog, which is done in PJs, as is making breakfast. Breakfast is liberal coffee, half a can of canned pears (juice mostly ignored), and small curd cottage cheese with a dash of sea salt and smoked paprika. I am out of bananas.

While drinking coffee is not a prayer, in some ways, it resembles praying. It brings us focus, especially liberal coffee, which reminds us that we are even helping people with our coffee, and the bitterness reminds us there is so much more to do. Most mornings, we leave behind the shades of sleep, start to sharpen our minds, our day comes into focus, and we sip our brew. It is a ritual. We take it black, with milk or cream, and with sweaters and complex if a barista is around (or you or your partner takes on that role). We believe in coffee! We look into our cup and see the swirls that will soon be inside us and helping us start. Lift up your liberal cup with me, friends, feel that holiness from being granted another day, call out Hallelujah, and drink! My sermon, “Welcome to the rest of your life! I take mine black or with cream.” Amen.

That means I must choose a song for this morning’s caffeinated worship: Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. For me, the ‘Secret Cord’ is French Roast, black or with cream, and Equal Exchange brand. We should not forget something from the Moody Blues’ progress rock album Search for the Lost Chord: here, the recessional, if you like.

Returning to the narration, I wrote a long blog and enjoyed writing and being creative on Tuesday morning. It took all morning to write a better-than-usual 1,600 words. Tuesday was quiet, and I coded through much of it. I did my usual reading of the news and switched to the Jerusalem Post for some of my news with the wars heating up in the Middle East. I read the ‘liberal’ press, which is not how I would describe the NY Times. And CNN for events (Ok, they might be ‘liberal,’ but I still don’t see too many stories about helping people), and searched the Internet for information on North Carolina and Asheville. We heard from Glenda and Joyce at Brooks-Howell Home in Asheville today (Susie’s aunts). They are OK, and the retirement facilities took no damage from the storms (they had one before the hurricane). They are managing without power and water to the building as there is a nearby church with power and water. Toilets are being flushed with water from the pool. We, the family scattered all over the USA, are much relieved.

I dress, write some AI Python code, mostly copying from examples, and then go for a long walk, adding about 4,000 steps (I finished Tuesday with 4,600+ steps). Lunch is reheated eggplant parmesan that I have wrapped in plastic wrap and then in foil to freeze. I toss the foil and partially heat the food in the microwave to loosen the plastic wrap. Once unwrapped, I heat the food for four minutes and let it sit, balance, and reach an edible temperature. It is excellent, and the breading stops the eggplant from disappearing in the cheese and sauce.

Corwin got paid, and he is still repaying me for his truck. He stopped by with my money and took one of my good spare headphones–I don’t need two. Mariah asked to have dinner together, and soon Corwin and I were in Air Volvo, stuck traveling 17 miles, mainly with Air Volvo at 12 miles an hour or less, for much of the hour-long trip. We did have to gas Air Volvo, which delayed us enough to push us into rush hour. We arrived after 5 with Mariah waiting for us. We were at Nudi Noodles in SE Portland, a local food joint about good Asian food and incredible but weird drinks, and not about naked dancers. It does make for a disturbing transaction in Quicken! I have the kiwi margarita and the boat noodles with beef and more beef of various types in a heavy beef broth.

Corwin is creating music with an AI tool. I am mostly listening as I am not good with music, mixing, or playing instruments, I am interested in some aspects, but mostly, I am over my head. It sounded exciting. I have not looked into sound and Python as they are not things I understand well.

I could not hear the dessert’s name, but I ordered one. Crème Brûlée Sweet Potato is an excellent finish. Mariah and I shared one. Corwin’s dessert disappeared in a moment. It is a wonderful holiday idea and a good use for yams. Hmmm.

Air Volvo had no problem taking Powell out of Portland to Beaverton and across Beaverton. I was not paying enough attention and was over 75 a few times. I was still going slow for the I-must-get-home-now Oregonians likely headed home to help with homework after a soccer game with the kids. While I saw no lousy lane changes, I did feel like someone was shooting mini-vans and SUVs from a cannon at me, borrowing from Charles Stross. Or, borrowing from Douglas Adams, the improbability drive changed, and it was very improbable, the Oregonians to speed-loving drivers. I am sure the effect has worn off by now.

I showered and dressed early. I read for a while, finishing The Long Way Home: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel (A Chief Inspector Gamache Mystery Book 10), which was another well-written and excellent story. The author, Lousie Penny, tells a poetic tale somehow mixed with crime and mystery. When I am done, I always think, “How does she do that!” I started Slow Horses after the show and discovered that there are actually eight books, not three, as Amazon stated earlier. Amazon doesn’t update their information as much as they suggest. It is harder to read than the Inspector Gamache books but not as opaque as other spy and crime novels I have tried and abandoned. Surprisingly, indirect storytelling and imprecise language are captured in the look of the TV series. 

I returned to coding after finding that I was scanning and not reading Slow Horses. Switching from the near-perfect prose of The Long Way Home is a poor choice. I discovered that much of the code I used was wrong and built for something else. My AI classifier selects a choice from five options without making a real number value. I instead looked up and remembered that I could ask the classifier model to rate itself. The model was at 59%, terrible, but random would be 20% (with five choices). Likely, the model is overfitting as I have not spent time removing matching features. Generally, you want very different data to find the subtle differences. Using features (columns in the data) that closely match makes the AI model guess these values should be more valuable, thus overfitting. I should drop columns from the training and test. I managed to get just under 61% by tuning the model parameters. I follow Ernest’s style and copy in all the parameters, but I don’t comment on the starting values like Ernest (it is available online). I started making mistakes and stopped after 11. Time to sleep.

I read a few more screens of Slow Horses on my Kindle, put it away, and went to sleep. I managed to sleep past midnight through the night.

Thanks for reading.