Hot today. Full-scale summer hot. Not brutally oppressive, not yet; that's for August. But when there's a good twenty degree difference between outside and outside, you don't stay out much.

Which is a shame. If I were still a kid, I'd love this weather. You can work up a good sweat when it's hot. Run around, chase a ball, play in a creek, and just let yourself get soaked with sweat. You don't care so much about comfort when you're eight.

It was a good day at work. Found out that there were some problems with the data resulting from my scripts, but that it's all due to problems in the original data, not my script. So I've washed my hands of that.

I also feel good because I have a new short story in second draft form, and I dusted off an old one and tweaked it, and I think it's worth sending out there. I'll probably give them both to the writer's group soon.

So, a productive day. Now I'm torn between diving into Grave Thoughts, my next comic, or wandering the neighborhood with my camera and an open eye. It's a good choice to have.

A grey, drizzly, London-by-Foglight morning. I felt subdued as I drove in to work, my radio silent in deference to this week's Media Fast.

Ah! The Media Fast. This is my second in as many years. I spend a week avoiding all broadcast media: TV, DVDs, movies, newspapers, magazines, books, the world wide web, and podcasts.

By the end of the week, I want to continue it forever. I feel so free and focused when I haven't been subjected to input. And then the first book afterwards: Wow. It's an intense experience.

A quiet day of heat and rain. It began with a jog in the dense mugginess of a D.C. area summer. A few clouds provided scant, thin cover for the sun. But they muscled in and eventually obliterated it. By mid-afternoon, I was back from church and my parents had come over with the dogs, and thunder grumbled in the distance like a worried dog.

Then, rain! Sheets and torrents. Bits of hail, too. It was a brief tantrum, though, followed by several hours of steady rain. My parents ducked through the downpour around dinner time, I ate some melon and bread, and made some strawberry candies in between loads of laundry.

And now, to bed. But not before my hard candy recipe:

Put two cups sugar, 3/4 cup water, and 2/3 cup light corn syrup in a small pan. Put the pan on the stovetop, and turn the burner to half power (3 out of 6, 5 out of 10, or whatever). Put in a candy or probe thermometer.

When the thermometer reads 260 degrees, add drops of food coloring until it reaches the desired color. Don't stir; it'll be bubbling just fine by itself. Meanwhile, put parchment paper in a rimmed baking sheet and spray with cooking spray (the parchment paper isn't strictly necessary, but makes it much easier than without it).

When the thermometer reads 280 degrees, add 1 tsp flavoring. You can use an extracts or a flavored oil. Lemon extract is a good start. Again, don't stir.

When the thermometer reads 300 degrees, remove from heat and pour into the prepared baking sheet. If you can, put the sheet on a wire rack. Immediately rinse the thermometer and pan in scalding hot water. The candy should melt out in a few minutes.

Touch the candy occasionally. When pressing it no longer leaves an indentation (unless you shove really hard), put the candy on a cutting board and cut into squares. It should still be somewhat soft. Don't wait until it fully hardens, because then you'll have to just shatter the entire thing (as I had to with my strawberry candies tonight).

Wrap each square in rectangles of wax paper. You should be able to put it in the center, wrap the paper around, then twist each end twice to seal it off nicely. Parchment paper can substitute, but it's thicker and harder to fold and twist.

By the way, anyone have any ideas on what I could use to make the candies white (not clear)?

This morning, a trip to the farmer's market. In My Neighbor Totoro, Satsuki compares her neighbor's vegetable garden to "a mountain of treasure." It's a childish, overwrought sentiment, but when confronted with thousands of vegetables in a rainbow of deep, rich color, I have to agree.

So, I came home with several plastic bags of apples, tomatoes, and a watermelon. And that surprises me—all the vendors at this market use plastic bags. Why not paper? Especially since most folks are buying small quantities.

Anyway. Back home, I felt culinarily inspired (no doubt due to rewatching Ratatouille). So I made a pizza, prepared and refrigerated some cookie dough, dumped some beans in the crock pot for baked beans, and set up my bread machine to make ciabatta for Guy's Night Out tonight. And washed a lot of dishes.

Then, Guy's Night Out. I was tight-lipped about the films I'd picked for tonight, which fueled some fun curiosity. I didn't tell them anything until I played the first disc, at which I announced, "One important thing to do: Turn off your brain."

Then we watched The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension. If you've never seen it, I'm sorry; I can't describe it. I literally can't do it justice. It's weird, and fun, and truly adventurous, and wildly imaginative. Perfect for GNO.

Then upstairs for ice cream and apple pie, and back downstairs for the final film of the night: The Legend of Drunken Master. Arguably Jackie Chan's best film. Certainly some of his best fight scenes. Everyone seemed to love both films (there were a lot of "Ooof"s and "Woah"s).

And now, home, after driving beneath an arcing light show of royal gold and purple lightning, the clouds a neutral curtain backdrop to Thor's bunraku.

I've been getting mediocre, bland, cheap-American-beer sleep all week. I've been getting up late as a result, which means no time to exercise in the morning. So I'll get in a brisk walk here and there, but nothing really solid. Which may explain my mediocre sleep.

Plus, it's been hot. Well, duh; it's late July. But today's been hot and muggy in a way that D.C. natives love to complain about. Nothing's quite like standing outside the Smithsonian in damp heat, the sun radiating off the marble and concrete, knee-deep in excited schoolkids. Ugh.

I left work early today to attend a Toastmasters meeting. This is my second time at a Toastmasters event; the first was at a small club that couldn't really find members; this is a larger club (about six regular members) that's been going for months. Good people, interesting topics, and some really great speeches. I'm looking forward to it.

Why am I going to Toastmasters? As I told them:

1. Tom Peters told me to.
2. As I read about great people, I keep reading their recommendations to join Toastmasters.
3. Since I'm teaching, I want to be really good at speaking in public.

So, that was fun. Then, for my weekly "recharging the creative batteries" time, I saw Ratatouille again. I enjoyed it at least as much as the first time I saw it. Great animation.

And now, tonight, I contemplate how much I've enjoyed keeping my celphone off all day. I really do want to pull myself further off the grid. So, proposed: I will only check blogs and comics once a week. I will only check email once a day, in the early morning. My celphone will remain off except in the evenings, or when I expect a call.

Let's see how it goes.

Today, I began work in earnest on my new project at RC/STS: RCVA. It's a desktop, instruments-only flight simulator aimed at small training facilities. We build an application that contains all the panels you'd find on a given aircraft (throttle, airspeed, etc.), and sell it off.

The application development process involves copying a lot of files, running various scripts to build everything together, and lots and lots of fiddling with the instruments to make sure everything works. This is what worries me. I don't know aircraft. I haven't spent a lot of time in trainers. My mentor on this project—a great guy named Jonas—assures me that that won't be a problem; I can ask him for help, and I'll learn as I go. Still. I don't like this kind of uncertainty.

So, I spent the day installing and running the tools. Which didn't work; turns out I need access to a remote folder, which I don't have access to. So it may be a few days before I can actually build anything. :sigh:

I took a breather around noon and spent an hour with a fellow anime lover, assembling Gundam model kits. If you've never had the pleasure, imagine a Lego set that builds a detailed, poseable giant robot. Great fun, and completely absorbing.

Back home. Tired. Lazed around for a bit, then read a bit more of Michael York's great little book Are My Blinkers Showing, then took care of a few nagging projects: mending a shirt, re-reading notes for a series of Bible messages I'll be teaching in AWANA this year, putting up a recycle bin; that sort of thing.

Oh. Recycling. That may surprise a few people. I haven't recycled up to now; recycling an aluminum can requires more energy that manufacturing one, so I've heard. But it's not just about energy; it's also about physical resources. I believe Earth has plenty of resources left, but...eh, I'd like to help out a bit.

Plus, I've established a goal: one bag of trash a month. The caveat is that I'll recycle.

Which gets to the real reason I'm recycling: a flyer came in the mail a few days ago, explaining that we can dump everything into one recycle bin and leave it out every Wednesday. No sorting. That's easy enough to get me to do it. I just need two trash cans. So I set up the recycling one, and I'm good to go.

But will I keep it up?

And I'm back. And I'm exhausted. I had a great weekend with Saalon and Nick at Otakon; the con is always much more fun with friends.

We had a pretty standard experience. Watched some anime, bought some fun stuff at the dealer's room (little figurines, Gundam model kits, bags, etc.), and went to a few panels. Watched a bunch of drunk folks outside the hotel scream, "I'm at Otakon!" at 2:00 A.M.

A fun weekend, all around. But I'm very glad to be home.

Leaving today for Otakon. Probably won't blog again until at least Sunday. Do something really cool this weekend, okay?

Just finished watching The Last Unicorn for the first time.

I know several people who love this film. They all saw it first when they were kids. And I think that explains their love. I just don't think it's a great film.

Why? Well, I'm no big fan of America's music; it's okay, but it's just okay. The voice work is superb. The colors are perfect. But the animation..., well, there are several aspects to animation, and it always annoys me when people criticize "the animation" of a piece. So, let's break that down.

1. First, there's the aesthetic beauty of the art. Does it look beautiful, or does it look like Star Trek: The Animated Series? Full marks here. I admit I love Rankin-Bass's designs, but beyond that the backgrounds are lovely and the colors are just right.
2. There's the sheet count. How many frames of animation (drawings, or sheets) are in an average minute of film? More is better (generally). ''The Last Unicorn has a pretty good sheet count for an animated film. Not Disney, but not Space Ghost.
3. There's the quality of the drawings. Do the characters look the same in each shot? Are characters facing the right directions when the shot changes? The Last Unicorn is, again, pretty good in this department—there are several places where characters are pointing the wrong direction after a shot change, but generally the characters look the same from shot to shot.
4. Then there's the realism of the characters. How do people walk? Are they stiff or natural? When a girl puts on a pair of shoes, does she put them on one at a time, mechanically and obviously, or does she just slip them on without thinking? TLU's not so hot on this score. Lots of weird gestures. If I'm making a point during conversation, I don't wave my hand back and forth across my chest. When I walk, my arms aren't hanging stiff at my side.

So, the animation is mediocre. There are good qualities to it, but much of the physical acting is depressingly stiff.

Then again, most of the Japanese staff went on to make a little film called Nausicaa of the Valley of Wind, which is better than this but does suffer from some stiff character movement.

The writing, unsurprisingly, is excellent. Some great lines in there. And while I was annoyed by the trite obviousness of the first two-thirds of the film, I was surprised when it pushed at the fourth wall as the characters debated meta issues like the requirements of the heroic form. Neat, though a bit jarring.

And the end was great (I'm amused that Miyazaki cribbed elements for the ending of Nausicaa).

So, overall, much as I'm sorry to say...I didn't much like The Last Unicorn.

A small voice warns me of hubris. It whispers in my ear, spinning a memory. I feel the cool air of the movie theater, and the presence of the girl at my side. I was nine years old. I was drinking in the greatest animated experience of my young life: An American Tail. If there's one reason that I've watched hundreds of animated films and series, that's the reason.

But An American Tail had many, many more flaws than The Last Unicorn. I couldn't see past them then, and I can't see past many of them now. That movie formed me.

And so, if this film formed others, who am I to judge too harshly?

Photos are back up. I bought a Panasonix Lumix DMC-TZ3 to replace my broken camera, and am very happy with it so far. The 10x optical zoom is what sold me. I just like getting close and detailed on things.

It was a good retreat. Not as full as I'd have liked, but I was shocked when confronting the idea of two and a half days of intense creativity.

I ended up reading a good amount of Tom Peters, and journalling lots of ideas. Which is not a waste of two and a half days.

Today begins my creative retreat, three days of reading, programming, writing, and generally making stuff. Incredibly important for my creativity, I've found; otherwise I feel frustrated by not having time to just go nuts and make stuff.

The first version of Project Psi, the board game Nick and I came up with a week and a half ago:

Equipment:

• One square of paper, 4.5" per side. This is the starting territory.
• Two 3x5" red index cards (or white cards colored red), cut into 1.5" squares. This is mountain territory.
• Two 3x5" blue index cards, cut into 1.5" squares. This is ocean territory.
• Two 3x5" green or yellow index cards, cut into 1.5" squares. This is field territory.
• A handful of white 3x5" index cards, cut into thirds. These are creature cards.
• Several small binder clips
• A pile of coins.

On one side of each creature card, color it red, green, or blue and write the following:

On the other side of the creature card, draw a nasty beast.

Place the starting territory between the two players. On each turn, a player may both:

1. Place a territory onto any adjacent edge of the starting territory or your own territory, OR add a coin to any of your own territories (maximum of 2 coins), OR convert two coins on a territory to a creature of the same color as the territory.
2. Move a creature OR use a creature's ability.

Ocean creatures cannot move onto land squares, and land creatures cannot move onto ocean squares. However, ocean creatures can move to any ocean square on the map. The starting territory counts as one land square.

All creatures can move one square per turn (so "double speed" means two squares per turn).

Once each player has spawned at least three creatures at some point in the game, whoever kills all of the other player's creatures wins.

Refinements forthcoming (and greatly needed). Suggestions welcome.

I have hundreds of books. Love 'em. I'm an unabashed bookworm. I get warm fuzzies thinking of a blustery winter day ten years from now, when I remember a favorite book and can pluck it off my shelves and sit down with a mug of tea and just read.

So I've been thinking. What if I got rid of all but a few dozen of my books? How would that change me as a person? Why do I want those books? Why have I spent all that money for that feeling of security?

Would I feel more free if I had only a couple dozen books? Would I feel less attachment to things? Might I be a deeper person if I weren't gripping all these things with such determination?

The great religious men of history had few possessions.

Do I fear that kind of poverty? A poverty of books?

Just finished watching disc 2 of Pani Poni Dash, a silly comedy. Boy, I needed that. Just something fun and relaxing.

Long day at work. Long, good day at work. Finished up a bunch of nagging projects, and reframed some existing commitments into projects that might make a few people say, "Wow."

Which should keep my life interesting.

Two everyday objects in my life, and the quality of their design:

Good design: My wristwatch. The leather strap conforms to the shape of my wrist, and it's light enough that I barely noticed its weight. The face is large enough to be easily seen in the dark. It numbers every other hour: 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, and 12. This allows those numbers to be large. To activate the baclight, I push the little dial on the side in. Easy to do, even if my other hand is otherwise somewhat engaged.

Poor design: The tops of Yankee Candles. The lids are so heavy that I often find myself off-balance when removing the lid. I've nearly dropped the candle a few times. Lids are supposed to be light, especially compared to the baes object; all other lids are.

The second meeting of the animation club was today. We had one new attendee, Joe, and we had fun. We watched Appleseed and My Neighbor Totoro, both of which improve with a repeated viewing. Even Totoro, which I've seen at least half a dozen times.

Then I stopped by a meeting of Tangent Artists, the artists who I gathered for the now-defunct Otherspace Productions. Great to see them again; they're all doing very well. And making a comic, which is quite cool.

Then home, to chat on the phone with Saalon and take care of other stuff around the house. And, soon, to bed.

No takers on playtesting that game I mentioned? None at all?

I want to rant. To eloquently express my frustration with a DVD that contains episodes in the wrong order.

And then I realize that I want to rant because I bought an anime DVD of a brilliant, beautiful series that happens to be ordered in a way I dislike. Am I really that petty?

Why do such things upset us so? Why do we get so emotional over a slight difference between expectations and reality? Why do we work so hard to mold reality to fit our expectations?

Why not just let things be?

Imagine a game based on expanding territory. On each turn, you can lay out another acre of land; forest, mountains, or sea. Or, if the land has lain fallow long enough, you can cause creatures to appear there...fish in the sea, elk on the plains, and fantastic creatures drifting through the mountains.

But the fish are all psychic, the elk are murderously xenophobic, and the mountain creatures thirst for blood.

That's basically the game I designed on Sunday, thanks to some brainstorming between me and Nick. If you'd like to playtest it, email me and we'll work out a time.

If it's fun, I'll post it here.