TrickJarrett.com

Last night I crawled through the Internet Archive's archive of my old blog, ronincyberpunk.com, and I grabbed about a dozen posts to import here, as you'll see there are now posts in the archive from the 2002-2007 era which is when I used that blog. I opted not to import them all for a few reasons:

1. It wasn't a complete archive anyways - I was getting random day snapshots from when the Internet Archive had snapped the moment of time.
2. My writing was largely banal - So much life logging or self-important writing as a young man who thought he knew everything

It was fun though to remember things I had forgotten, it was also gut wrenching to see the recurring theme as I struggled with college and repeatedly bemoaned it without ever really figuring it out.

I intend to do the same for other writings from various blogs or websites over the coming weeks, months, perhaps years. We'll see.

Also, as I did this, I have become aware of some bugs I need to fix, and features to add for Glowbug. So, after four months without touching the code, I'm coming back to work on it in the near future.

Moving to new domain

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Ronincyberpunk.com is an old home. It's for a person from high school. A face of me that has slowly changed and now is not nearly professional enough. So I'm moving to a slightly more professional domain name, TrickJarrett.com.

Sad news

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Yesterday we took my mother off of life support and she left this world for the next. The support from friends and family has been astonishing, though as I told a friend, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I've been managing the blog we kept for mom while she underwent the transplant and I wrote the entry yesterday, here it is:

Day 248 ~ She is at Rest

Today is a very sad day. Patrick here, to deliver the saddest of news.

Mom's oxygen numbers plummeted over night. Dad received a call at 3:30am saying that we were needed at the hospital. Her condition had finally worsened such that no machine could bring her oxygen levels up again. Around 11am we had the most difficult discussion of my life.

Going into this mom and dad had made the decision to fight to the end but no further. They would try everything they could to get mom better, but they would not prolong it unnecessarily. And before intubating mom, they had a long discussion going over it all again and making sure that they, the nurses, and the legal requirements were all on the same page and in order.

At 11am we all unanimously agreed that the time had come. At approximately 1:30pm we took mom off of life support and she left this world to enter the next.

There will be a memorial service for mom on Sunday, March 18th at 4pm. It will be at our church, Presbyterian Church of the Lakes. There will not be a viewing or a burial. It was her wishes to be cremated, but her body's final resting place has not been decided yet. We know it's short notice for the memorial service, but with the majority of the family all ready in Orlando, dad is trying to be considerate of them.

We know people who can't be there may wish to send flowers or make donations. We decided to encourage the donation of flowers given that mom had to avoid them for the past eight months.

If you'd like to make a charitable donation, we recommend the MPD Foundation, which funds research into the family of diseases which mom had.

There will be future updates to the blog, we will discuss in more detail the last month and the time in the hospital. Dad wants to discuss what exactly happened, what errors were made and how they might be side-stepped by others who might follow a similar path.

Just recently I began counting hits to mom's blog, she's averaged over 400 hits a day in the days I've been tracking. And using that as a benchmark as to visits to her blog, she's had over 100,000 visits to her blog in the time since it began.

Our entire family wishes to thank you all for your support, well wishes, financial aid, and love.

Patronage in the Modern Age

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Patronage by definition is the act of sponsoring someone, some group or some institution. Jason Kottke, in his move to go pro, has attempted to open the door to patronage for blogging once more. So I felt it would be interesting to look back over the history of patronage.

Patronage is an old practice, going back as long as there has been economy. The wealthy supporting the artistic or musically inclined, is not uncommon, and it is the tool for many stories. Without this act we wouldn't have the vast majority of amazing art which we have today.

But what happened? What changed that people no longer put the same support in for the individual? Why are artists, performers, musicians and the ilk no longer directly under patrons. The truth is that patronage isn't gone, it's face has just changed.

During the middle ages and renaissance and even colonial America, education was different. It was not government funded, it was not the long drawn out system it is now, and there were no liberal art degrees. During those times, education was predominantly an apprenticeship system, no matter the field - instead of going to a school for rote learning, it was hands on and single goal oriented. As such, people were trained in a specific area and they were set on their path for life. Today's schooling is aimed much more at making well rounded individuals. The higher you go in education, the more specialized you become. This is quite a switch from the apprentice style of learning.

One thing which has not changed is that people love beauty, it is universally loved, though what is considered beauty may change, everyone has their mark for it. Call it genetic predisposition, call it whatever you want, but it's true. And as such, the people with money, seek beauty. Whether in people or items. In today's world they can have it, plastic surgery, purchasing paintings, clothes, jewelry, cars, homes; everything is at their disposal through the magic of modern technology.

But back, before the industrial revolution, and even before the printing press, the story was quite different. Technology did not have the replication factor it has today. A masterpiece was one of a kind. It wasn't valuable due to a publisher's decision to limit production, it was valuable because it was the production it was the master's work. Sure you could have copies made, but those were hand made and susceptible to obvious mistakes or differences and they downplayed on the individuality of the original. And so to have a great artist on your staff, or in your service, was a great boon in the search for beauty. This spurned patronage to begin. And from this style also came the patronage of music, theatre and even technology.

One thing you'll discover about the history of education is that the age of entering the work force was fairly young for a long time, even into the beginning of the industrial revolution. It is a fairly recent jump for the increase of the age to begin working full time. Doctors now have almost ten years in school and a handful more in hospitals before we consider them safe to enter the public practice on their own. Architects must go through their schooling and then enter an apprenticeship period before becoming a licensed architect. Where the college educated workers enter the work force around 23, other workers usually enter in their mid to late teens, which is still years later than when children barely seven or eight would enter the work force as apprentices to someone. Sure you could argue we enter the workforce earlier with our afternoon jobs or summer jobs, but I'm referring to full time, sunrise to sunset jobs.

With this shift in education and change in the availability of art, so changed the style of patronage. No longer is patronage focused on the individual, but instead it is focused on the institution. The famous Andrew Carnegie is a perfect example, he was of the firm belief that instead of donating his wealth to individuals or to the poor, he would donate it to educational institutes and in doing so would help raise the overall level of society by enhancing the educational facilities. I don't know for sure if the change was society following his lead, but it wouldn't surprise me if it was a big factor.

So where does that leave us? I started this by talking about Jason Kottke and his blogging. He's attempting to do what other bloggers have failed to do, and that is make a living off of the 'micropatrons' of the blogosphere. Right. Back on track.

So if I say Public Broadcasting, people immediately think of America's PBS, which is probably immediately followed by the memories of Red Skelton telethons or maybe Sarah Brightman singing songs from Phantom of the Opera, which PBS always seems to be running for their fund raising. Why is that? Why can't they run one marathon a year and then stop bothering us for money? The answer is quite simple, because we're their patrons.

When an artist had a patron, he usually lived with the family, perhaps in a guest house or something along those lines, but he could either live on a stipend or perhaps have access to his patron's line of credit. Either way, as long as he didn't go hog wild on spending, he didn't necessarily have to bother his Patron for more money except when the stipend was due.

PBS, and those who rely on the public patrons, have to run these telethons or pledge week's because they need the money and they won't get it if they don't ask. It may be annoying to us, but it works.

The game has changed though. It's now possible, via the magic of technology, to schedule payments or donations on a regular basis. I'm amazed this hasn't become a bigger thing in the world of patronage. Over the summer, when I'm earning income again, I'll be setting up a monthly donation to Jason Kottke because I value his ability to write and share what is on the Internet.

In an earlier version of the entry I wrote this: Musical patronage would only work for the lesser popular areas. The music industry has become such a widespread full blown massive money maker that it has no need for patronage anymore.

But that isn't true. There are a number of composers and musicians who don't make it. What we see on CD labels are *cough* cream of the crop and the luckiest of the lucky. Music would still benefit from patrons if they sought out musicians and composers and provided them with an income to allow them to create the aural beauty.

Patronage is not completely dead, it's simply completely different than what it used to be. Instead of seeking one person to sponsor your organization, organizations are seeking multiple donors to support them. Fund raisers and pledge drives are commonplace, but it seems like everyone is clamoring about how, if they want to drum up donations, they have to offer compensation for donations. And that drives me up the wall. Society has engraved something so deeply into our minds that we react reflexively whenever someone asks for what appears to be a free handout.

I'm not talking about beggars on the street, those people are asking for true free handouts. For the most part, they aren't supplying anything in any form to society. What overrides that notion is that they are humans and our care for the fellow human being we are pushed to give them fifty cents or a dollar and help them survive. I'm not saying we shouldn't help them out, but I want to separate them from my current topic for the time being.

What I am talking about is PBS, or NPR radio, or schools, or Jason Kottke the blogger. Don't they provide for us already? PBS provides an outlet for entertainment. NPR provides us Beethoven and Bach during rush hour. The schools already educate and provide for those in attendance. Jason Kottke has a way of blogging which enthralls the readers and keeps us reading daily. Why should they provide us with incentive, beyond what they already do, to donate? My answer is that they shouldn't have to. They're spending money, which they need - thus the pledge drive, to bring in more donations.

It isn't that they need to provide further incentive, but it is that we as the donor need instant gratification and a feeling that our money wasn't wasted. Even if we know we'll be watching PBS with the kids, or listening to NPR the very next day, or even sending a kid off to our alma mater in the coming years, or maybe we'll be opening the browser and going to read Jason's site later. It still isn't enough for many of us.

A sort of Pandora's box was opened when telethons began offering a vhs cassette or any number of other rewards for donating and now it can't be closed. It is literally impossible to avoid negative comments if someone asks for donations and does not offer anything in return and that's a sad thing.

Now there is one caveat to what I've said about giving items in return for donations. It's something having to do with persuasion and the deeply embedded social rule of trading. The Hare Krishna's are a religious group, and for a long time they've been out on the streets and outside stores, requesting donations so that they can continue their work. But they found something out, something which is now a staple example in psychology courses across America. They discovered that by giving people a small flower, a daisy for example, before they requested a donation, netted them a staggering increase in people who stopped and dug for a dollar or more. This again shows the mental tattoo that where able, we should always trade. And that they gave us a flower, so the least we can do is give them a dollar.

I wanted to point this out as a counter point to giving gifts in return for donations. This is a persuasion technique designed to bring in donations.

So we've seen where patronage was, where it is, so there is only one place yet to go, where it will be.

But then we have to ask ourselves, how can full blown individual patronage work in the modern day? There are several concerns which will need to be addressed by some who may get involved perhaps for profit. Who owns the work which is produced while under patronage? Is it the artist / writer / musician or the patron? What are the requirements for fulfilling the duty of patronage? But this seems to me to defeat the purpose of patronage, all these questions can be avoided by simply giving someone money and then leaving them be.

I think we'll see a minority of patrons arise in the coming months, or perhaps years. Blogging is still very young and people are still of the belief that it might just be a long lasting fad and that people might stop writing. I think we'll eventually find some people who come forward and step up as patrons. These people may not be Marc Cuban, in fact they may not really be all that wealthy, they'll just be well off enough to donate to perhaps one other person.

If someone were ask me directly where I think patronage is going, I'd be hard pressed to make firm predictions, I'm no Nostradamus I'm just a normal guy.

Thinking over this all, I think there is one more thing I need to address about the future of patronage. And that is, having a single person who you know you can go to and ask for money, is kind of an odd feeling. You have one person, as opposed to the hundred which Jason has, who has made you an investment and while they may not expect any return on the investment - it becomes a motivating factor. And it's an odd sensation to realize this. It's difficult to call someone up and ask for more money knowing that they're providing it for you so you can do your thing. It goes against our grain once we are out of the parents' house and "on our own."

For patronage to make a full blown return, those involved are going to find it takes some adjusting.

An Open Letter to Comcast

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

The below letter contains many expletives and may cause nausea and vomiting for those with weak stomachs. And this isn't normally the way I write, please do not judge me by this letter. It was written out of anger and frustration. But I mean everything in it.

Dear Comcast,

How are you? I hope this letter finds you well, because when I am finished with you you will be bleeding from every orifice in your body. We are now in our eighth month of a relationship, having started off beautifully when I first signed up for your television and cable internet combo. And now... and now we are in our third month of 'rockiness.'

Let me refresh your memory.

It was November of 2004, only a stones throw in the past, when I suddenly was informed that apparently someone in my house was ordering Video-on-demand, it was around $50 worth and as we had not put a protection code on the box, I accepted it as a possibility that no roommate would step forward and take credit for it. So we paid it with minor upset, mostly talking to support finding out if it is possible that there is a mistake. That maybe we hadn't actually ordered this, but when we were assured that it could not be a mistake and that it was someone in our house, we let it be and found out how to protect it.

Or so we thought.

On that first period of rough road, I had been told about setting a number or password to prevent anyone unauthorized from calling and ordering anything.

Or so I thought.

It seems you failed to make it clear that this phone number would not thwart any attempts to order on the cable box.

Now I am sure your corporate entity believes I am just a member of a house of college guys hellbent on ordering bad porn for over priced amounts and then skipping out on the bill. Since we all know college students, much less engineering students who are well acquainted with the Internet, would actually order porn off the tv. Absolutely.

And so the month changed and we entered December. Our house emptied and we all went to our respective homes to be with family and enjoy the break between semesters. While the house was locked and we were all snuggled at homes, as far reaching as Kenya (that's in Africa in case you didn't know), we apparently had a thief break into our house and order more porn!

Oh no!

No electronics were snatched, no valuables gone missing, but I'll be damned if this thief didn't order us a bill of over $150 in late night porn.

And yes, one of your employees actually suggested that as a possibility.

Fucking morons.

And it was at this point I was informed that the phone code was not all encompassing, instead I needed to also set a code on the box. Which I did, while I was still the only one home, so no one in this house knows the code except me. No one. Are you with me so far?

So after five calls to your various off shore offices I finally got ahold of a woman who saw a glimmer that maybe I was serious and this was faulty, so after having been assured multiple times that there was no way that this could be a mistake, she forwarded our problem to the technical services department and promised I would hear from them within a week.

I let ten days pass and then I called back, to talk to a barely english speaking employee who told me that my account would be credited for all invalid orders. Apparently it wasn't a thief in the house, apparently it was my cable box ordering porn on its own.

And at this moment my heart swelled, angels sung, and I hoped that our rough times were over and we could enter a period of happiness and tranquility. And yet... it was not to be so.

Here we are today, January 26th, I've received the latest bill in my mail and upon opening it I am rather dismayed at what I see. Sure enough you did keep your word and credit me for last months 'troubles' but what do my despairing eyes behold?

$112.90 in Video on Demand porn orders.

I sit down at my desk, anger rising in me like bile preparing to be spit into the toilet before I flush the turd that is Comcast down the toilet.

I dial the local offices and after several minutes I get a hold of a "service agent" or whatever your catchy title for them is. It doesn't really matter, I've got a new name for them, "Masons." Why? Because you have them trained to the T to brickwall any upset customer.

"I'm sorry sir I'll take this information and forward it to our technical services department."

So let me lay it all out for you Comcast. Unless you get your fucking act together I'm going big with this, I'm going to find anyone else having this problem and I'm going to build a coalition. I'll call news channels, I'll write to the Atlanta Journal Constitution. This is bullshit, and I'm done with it. And unless you call me back in two days with a solution and promises that it will never happen again, on top of paying the outstanding bill, you've lost this customer, and whoever else I can convince to turn away.

You think just because you have a monopoly on local cable tv you can pull this kind of shit?

Fuck you.

Sincerely,

Ronincyberpunk

TheFaceBook.com

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

A couple of days ago a roommate asked if I had been to thefacebook.com and I sort of shrugged and shook my head. I was of course deep in study mode at the time. When I did eventually find my way there I realized I had been there before but then, when I had first visited, they weren't set up to accept GT students.

On this go around they were all set to accept GT students and let me tell you - this is a party like no other social networking site I've been too.

Thefacebook is a social networking tool aimed at college students, faculty and alumni. It includes tools to find fellow students at your school, or as I've been using it predominately for - finding high school friends.

It's only been 2 and a half years since I walked across the stage with all my friends. Wait. Holy crap. 2 and a half years!? That can't be right. Dude. 2 and a half years. No wonder we all look different.

I posted one of my thoughtful pose pictures on thefacebook and I've received a handful of comments on it. The comments range from saying that I look dashing to "I didn't recognize you." The latter being completely understandable as I don't know how easily I would recognize me either. Maybe I'll dig up a high school photo and a now photo and do a comparison...

Anyways, thefacebook is very cool and has potential to keep me coming back (orkut lost me after a few weeks).

You all will be seeing a few projects come rolling out of RCP Studios in the coming weeks. We'll see how things go over the winter as to the timing of it all. But I'll just say that the Internet will never be the same ;)

And so the game changes

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

In the 1800s there were not really any such thing as novels as we knew them today. Well there were but they were not the money business that they are today. Instead many authors chose to write for newspapers.

One of these authors was Alexander Dumas, the author of The Count of Monte Cristo or The Three Musketeers. He wrote dutifully for newspapers in serial novels, the soap operas of the day. If you go back and read the editions of his work that are the least diluted by editing you will note that almost every chapter ends with a cliffhanger.

Dumas worked hard to keep readers wanting more, to bring them back to the newspapers to get more of his tantalizing stories. And it worked. It worked so well that in fact there are stories of people waiting in crowds on the docks for the latest shipment of his serial chapters in the newspaper to arrive.

For over two years now Ronincyberpunk.com has lived as my personal journal and publisher online, carrying my life stories to you my readers. While my audience is not nearly as large as Dumas', nor is my writing abilities nearly parallel to his, I do hope I've shared some tales of my life with you all.

As of this posting, I am taking the longest sabbatical I've ever taken from blogging, and this one is for real. I've blogged for my whole college career, sharing with you all my triumphs and failures. And as of last semester, I've reached an all time low in school. My GPA took a major hit such that I cannot continue anywhere near the road I am currently on.

I failed two classes and received a barely passing D in another. None of which I am proud of and all of which I could and truly should have done much better in.

This summer it all changes.

Were my life a reality TV show, I would have just told all the contestants that this is no longer a game of surviving - it is a game of thriving. Except I would have used a thesaurus and located the most fantastic buzzwords to use instead, making it more marketable. Obviously.

I've gone two years enjoying my college life. As I rightly should. But for most of those two years, the enjoyment still permitted me to make decent grades. Now the enjoyment has taken me to unacceptable grades, and the game has to change.

Both myself and my parents are questioning if I should be here. Not whether I want to be here, because I truly do. I love going to Georgia Tech. But whether I belong here - because thus far I have yet to show myself to be anything more than a tag along in a game with the big kids.

So where is this all going to change? How can taking a blog down have an effect on my life? What exactly am I going to go for in this change?

As I said, the game isn't to survive, it is to thrive. I am going to make straight A's this summer. Which is wholly doable. I am only taking twelve hours. Six of which are independent study. The other six are two classes, each I have had a taste of before – one I failed last semester, and the other one I dropped. And this summer I conquer them like the fat kid in the kiddy pool, they're mine.

I have to learn discipline, every time I've announced a sabbatical from the blog – I've never held to it. I've always come back early. Which is a testament to what I feel this blog does for my life. It is my journal, my keystone to sanity perhaps. But it is also distraction. And so, for now it is going to be pushed aside. I'll be turning off comments and actually removing Moveable type from the server to make it even more difficult for me to cheat the system. I will of course backup the site and the templates, but I must make it difficult for me to break this sabbatical.

No, I am not leaving blogging. I promise that. I know in my heart I will make a return – but not for several months. Currently, I'm setting my vacation at six months. Six months to build up stories and six months to change my life. So, I will return to blogging on November 12th, 2004.

This change is not only in my organization of time, it is a makeover. To use one of today's buzzwords – it is an extreme makeover. I'm not going to shave my head or enter into the Church of Scientology, but I am going to change myself.

I'm going to change the way I think about time. I'm going to change the way I think about school. I'm going to change the way I look at my world.

A few weeks back I wrote down on a pad just what I classified as "wrong' with me. These are my opinions, and my feelings toward myself. I appreciate people who disagree with me, but this list is MY list. It's how I feel and is how I want to change. The list is not something I will post here for you to read and critique, instead I'll leave it up to you what you think I will be changing, and when I return in six months – you will find out then. And only then.

Other than scant basics I won't even be telling my roommates what I'm changing. This is something I'm doing for myself, by myself. My parents, as I've asked them, are playing minor roles in this story – but only because I asked them too. They respect my having left the house and my being out on my own – and thus far I have too, but this change is going to require discipline I don't really have yet. And so, until I develop them on my own, I am going to rely on my parents for their help.

So where does this leave you, my beloved readers. It leaves you in a tough position, like a fan of a movie waiting impatiently for the sequel – I am going to make you wait six months before you see this front page push this long article downwards. I am going to make you wait six months before I return to ronincyberpunk.com.

I am not, however, going to make you wait six months before I will talk to you. I will be checking my email, dutifully as always, And I will be more than happy to keep in touch with any of you.

I will hardly be on AIM, I only log on for special occasions and even then I am not on for very long.

I won't be on IRC except for rare rare occasions; it is another tool that magically sucks time out of my clocks.

I will have my cell phone, so if you call me I will most likely answer.

I will also be on the radio on Monday mornings, from 6 to 9 on WREK 91.1fm or you can tune into the webcast at wrek.org.

I will see you in six months. And hopefully some of you will meet me on the docks. November 12th.

This Summer

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

So do you know where I'll be this summer? I'll be here in Atlanta working in the Computer Engineering building in the Digital media lab. Oh sure that doesn't sound exciting but wait there's more.

I'll be coding in Java. Oh no, that's not the exciting part.

I'll be working on a project which involves intelligent systems interacting with users while they brainstorm on whiteboards which the computer monitors and interprets their writings and then searches databases for references and information related to what they're writing.

That's the exciting part. This is exactly the thing I've wanted to get involved with ever since my interest in Computer forensics has lessened. Not quite sure what I mean? Well imagine working for a company and your team begins brainstorming how to build an engine so you all begin drawing on the board, writing pieces you'll need and as you do the walls around you fill with pertinent information about your design thus far.

Or if you want to look further into the future, think Minority Report and think of this as a step in that direction.

I'm so stoked.

So let's talk about frustration

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Two days ago I decided I needed to upgrade my video card. I found a good deal and I got myself a geforce 4 video card. Not the hottest thing out there, but it was perhaps the hottest deal out there. So I was happy, waiting for the package to arrive.

Thanks to FedEx loving GT and Buy.com shipping the next day, I got it today. Picked it up in the Student Center after waiting for 20 minutes in line. I took my box and went upstairs to find the table of chess players.

Chess. My bane. My vice. Like a comet hurtling through space, I was so excited to have the video card I wanted to get back to my room and put it in and play, but like a large mass in Space it drew me in and held me.

It was bughouse time. Bughouse is perhaps the most addictive chess variant there is. You play it in teams of two and each of you plays opposing colors. So I was black and my partner was white. My partner is one of the best chess players on campus. He's near Master level and just fantastic at the game.

I had all intentions of playing like 2 games but we just kept winning, we won like 7 times before I finally announced that this was my last game. And of course, with that announcement, I lost.

So I broke free of the gravity and headed on home with box in hand.

Coming into my room I set about installing my card, uninstalling the old card I turned off the system and put in my new one. Turning it on it seemed to be looking hopeful, looking good. After some wrestling I got the card configured.

But wait, all is not well inside this little microcosm of the digital universe. Apparently the new card conflicts with my network card... and for some reason the audio card is having trouble.

So with several hours and many words which I wouldn't say in front of my neices and nephews (who I am going to see tomorrow), I finally concede a temporary defeat and retreat. I put in my old card and reconfigure my settings to return to the old setup.

So here I am, frustrated.

But enough of that, this week has put enough frustration and stress into my life. This weekend is going to be an interesting relaxation weekend. Tomorrow is my eldest neice's sweet 16 birthday party. And my sister is going absolutely bonkers with the stress of it all.

We all know how it was being 16, the undeniable urge to resist our parents. And it seems my neice is taking a more direct path to resist. So my sister is frazzled and she talked to me for 15 minutes. In short I'll be a "chaperone" for 20-30 young women. Yeah, my life's rough.

So then Sunday is the big day, Pats vs Cats. I think I'm going to go for the Pats. I just hope it's a good game.

Next week is going to keep me busy, Monday is a business meeting for the SCA@GT and it's going to be busy with lots and lots of stuff to go over. Past that I have two tests and a job fair on Wednesday. Hopefully the job fair will open some doors for me, perhaps the FBI (crosses his fingers.)

And that's where I am, was and will be for the next week, how about you?

Hearing his words

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Alright folks, next chapter of the story. If you want to read the past entries go visit the archive for "The Immortal"

Captain Davis sat in his chair, shining his sword, the sway of the vessel causing the soft sound of metal sliding over metal. The boards of the ship creaked under the stress as the steersman brought her about for the next leg of the tacking. His expression was cold, his face emotionless. He took this sword and held it into the light, watching the light shine he nodded his satisfaction and slid it into his scabbard. Rising he walked to the door of his quarters, his boots clicking with each step. He stood for a moment longer, his hands clasped behind his back, pausing to clear his mind.

The doors to his quarters opened as he emerged, he let them fall closed behind him and he looked over the port side to spy the much larger ship, the Union Jack easily visible flying from their mast. Katja and Ian stood fidgeting, waiting for him to either say something or give some sign of his thoughts. He merely nodded to them, and they both took only a moment to realize he either had guessed as much or was accepting it that quickly.

Cicero strode his deck, nodding to his crew to acknowledge their efforts, he approached the bow and turned to look back over the ship. Clearing his throat and suddenly the deck fell silent, before every battle he gave words – words of wisdom, advice, of calm.

"Today, we face a new opponent. One you all have undoubtedly noticed was lacking on our list of prey, one which will promise us a new level which we must attain. Thus far we have but given them our ship's name and my name to call us by, after what this will bring, they will know each of your names. They will know your stories, and for those of you they don't – they'll make them. Regardless of how long you stay aboard my ship, our ship, you will leave with a name to be recognized." He paused, taking two steps to the stern, his hands still clasped behind his back. "Today, we will take that ship. And will take that flag. And we will put it below our decks, adding it to our collection of such items. The Queen knows us only through the victories we hold over others, today – she will know us personally. Whatever we claim today is yours. I will have no share in it, this victory will be my share."

And with that he fell quiet, calmly striding to the stern of the boat – and for a moment the only sounds were the clicking of his heels on the deck as well as the straining of the ship's very hull. That relative quiet was shattered by the uproarious cheers of his sailors.

"Captain, do you hear that?" Lieutenant Adams inquired. Both the Lieutenant and Captain Williamson turned to look across the water to watch the ship with it's red flag.

"Do we know it's name yet?"

"No Captain, the sun at her back puts it in the shadows."

"Fine, then continue preparations, anyone cocky enough to fly their red flag thus openly deserves to feel our bite."

The Ship on the Horizon

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Ian bent over the edge of the crow's nest as he spied the ship on the horizon, "Captain! Ship off the starboard!" It was too far to tell anything more than that. He pulled himself back into the nest and sat with his back to the shallow wall.

Ian was lazy. Absolutely 100% lazy, he would have spot the ship 15 minutes earlier had he been keeping a constant look out but instead he was sitting up here nodding off and did his occasional search of the horizon.

He used to get all jittery and excited with the possibility of combat but now it bored him, The Immortal hadn't gone to battle in weeks, instead it had found merchant after merchant who might take off trying to outrun them before it eventually gave up and surrendered the plunder.

Captain Davis stood behind the steersman and looked to the horizon, the sun to his back he could see the miniature white sails filled with the wind as the ship sailed towards them. Looking upward Cicero looked past the crow's nest and examined his flag, the openly threatening red billowed in the wind.

Other pirates fly fake flags of peace of merchants, luring victim ships in and then feigning weakness or trouble to get them to pull along side, when it's too late the ships are drawn close and boarded. Captain Davis didn't need this trick. Let them spy his flag, the pure crimson red belying his true purpose – and let them run. Let them put their fate to the chase.

A small smile creased his face, a smile most of the crew knew. The smile of the hunt. Turning on his heel he spoke crisply to the steersman, "Bring her about, begin tacking towards that ship. I want her identified before she turns about." The steersman nodded and smoothly began bringing the ship about. Cicero turned and began bellowing orders, "Katja, I want you to identify that ship and if it is anything but a naval vessel with an armada behind it – I want it."

"Aye Captain," Katja nodded and turned to the crew. Her form was what many would consider beautiful, lithe and strong yet her demeanor squashed any hopes the men on the ship had. She was dominant; the only person who she respected was the Captain and the crew knew it. "Prepare for the battle you Sea dogs!" And with that it was official. The crew let loose a howl as one and the deck was enveloped in the commotion of the preparations for the coming battle.

Ian pulled himself back up out of the crow's nest and pulled out the spy glass, fumbling with it he found the ship, now substantially closer due to the fact they were rushing towards each other, the Immortal tacking it's way closer to the oncoming ship. And then he saw the flag.

"Aye! The ship is the British Royal Navy!" He squinted into the spy glass and tried to read the title off the bow. "Pray… Pray-tor-ian" He closed the spy glass and jumped out of the crows nest, grabbing the rope he slid down to the deck. His small form was mousy compared to the rest of the crew, his eyes were small and brown, his hair black. Running across the deck and ran up to the Captain's door and rapped on it several times, rubbing his knuckles afterwards having rapped a bit too hard.

Captain Davis sat in his Quarters writing in the log, his quill pen moving smoothly over the paper as the ship rocked and creaked with the sound of it passing through the waves. He always wrote an entry before battle. Who knew if this would be his last. He knew it wouldn't be. He couldn't die yet. Not yet. He continued to write after hearing the rap at his door. His crew knew better than to bother him at this stage of preparation. So he ignored the knock.

Katja spied that weasel of a man standing in front of the Captain's doors. "You!" She marched over to him and stood next to him, her tanned skin and well formed face glared at him, "Do you realize what you just did?!" She was irate, this ship ran perfectly because she had trained this crew within an inch of perfection. And here he was breaking one of the most well known traditions and rules of the ship. Don't interrupt the Captain before a battle. As she went through this mental rant she finally tuned back into what Ian was saying:

"…Royal Navy, The Praetorian!!! Don't you understand? It's Her Majesty's vessel!!!" He was shivering he was so excited – no he was probably nervous. Scared he might get a cannon ball through his crow's nest. So this presented an interesting question, up to this point the Captain had avoided enraging the British Royal Navy – having dodged a few of their ships and not engaged one yet. But he had been in the mood for a plunder today. Do we continue on course? Or perhaps the weasel was right – ask the Captain.

To be continued next Thursday, as always

Prologue

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

This is the first installment of what I hope to be weekly or bi-weekly story postings. Today is the prologue sort of setting some of it up for you, future postings should be much longer and much more in depth.

[Edited for some spelling and some additions, should reread if you haven't already]

Captain Cicero Davis stood on the deck of his ship, The Immortal, staring over the bow watching the horizon. His hands clasped behind his back, his face was cleanly shaven and his hair was pulled back out of his face. Many would say his face was too young to be that of a captain of a ship, much less captain of one of the most revered pirate ships to sail the seas.

Cicero Davis was an anomaly of the sea in almost every form. Most sailors were English, Spanish, Portuguese or French. Cicero was the offspring of a Greek mother and Scottish father, wrong for a seafarer on both counts. His parents were a mystery even to his crew. But this isn't a surprise; the captain himself is a mystery. He's a quiet man, and an infuriatingly patient man.

One thing many people don't realize is that most pirate ships run on a form of democracy, the crew has to be part of the decisions else they mutiny and overthrow the Captain. It's the simple way a good pirate ship runs, and Cicero Davis' was no different in that aspect.

But it is different in so many other ways.

The Immortal is the best. That is enough to say right there because explanation only confuses the simple truth. The ship can easily draw up to its prey and invariably the Galleon's broad side with its 22 guns facing the prey would oft be imposing enough to deliver a bloodless surrender. This was encouraged by Captain Davis' distaste for bloodshed, though he is no stranger to the sword.

So is Captain Davis a pirate? I know you have to be thinking that. Nay he does little that would claim the title of pirate, except pillage and steal. No one truly knows what drives him to do what he does. He could have been a very successful merchant captain, or even a naval admiral, yet he took this job.

Why?

Who knows? Not even his first mate Katja can truly say. Oh sure, it's quite easy to make assumptions. Now you are wondering what the story between Captain Davis and Katja is. Well let me stop you right there. They aren't. Captain Davis is intensely private and his mind is his own, but his actions can be observed by all – he treats her as one of his men. No different. And truth be told, she does nothing deserving to be different. She'll help rig the sails or hoist the anchor just the same as the burly twins he brought on board in Tortuga.

The Immortal has perhaps the most eclectic crew to sail the seas. Captain Davis himself is almost his own culture, taking bits and pieces from the world which he's sailed for the majority of his life. Katja brings aboard a strong yet, in truth, beautiful Slavic first mate. The Chiurgeon of the ship, Roland, is a tall lanky black fellow, a freed slave who was taught medicine by his once owner, later adopted father. Quite the story he has, but that's for another day. But I mustn't forget the Swedish Chef, rarely seen on deck as it is rumored he has grown too large to leave the kitchen through the door. Also rarely seen on deck is the Chinese Master of Arms, Xu. He's a quiet man, his face belying his rumored age. He only comes on deck to smoke his pipe, not daring to smoke it below deck near the powder store. He rounds out the majority of the crew, other faces will pop up as the tales of The Immortal grow, such as Ian the Irish snitch – often found in the crow's nest or the nameless twins who are rarely found out of arms reach of the other. But those will come as the stories write themselves.

Finals Week

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

*sniffs the air* Ah Finals week! Smells like... STRESS.

Yup, stress is upon us and it is time to tread softly on the GT campus for fear of setting someone off. I spent the majority of yesterday studying for my finals, fighter practice was cancelled due to cold weather so studying was my main recourse for the day.

Now, let's talk about last week.

Last week I lost myself. I lost control and became a machine to work on this project for school, I neglected my friend and I even neglected Amanda, causing a great deal of pain because of my tunnel vision. And for what? A stupid number in my grades?

I screwed up last week and let my workaholic personality take over. Something that is now on the top of my list to change. I could almost envision it as if it were a movie, a friend pulled me off to the side and said 'Let's talk a walk.' And on that walk we had a long discussion about it and about what I needed to do differently for myself, and for the sake of others. Indeed it is something that has left me little else to think about. *sigh* But that will pass, it always does.

Lonely Heart

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

It's been a while since I wrote an intraverted thought, or at least it has felt like blessedly long, but tonight I feel pretty lonely. I'm tempted to close my door and bask in the quiet, and let myself fall into a novel, perhaps continue reading Frank Herbert's Dune or maybe crack Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card.

I know what it is, it comes every Spring, and thus far I've done well to avoid it.

Every Spring, a poem by Patrick Jarrett

Like clockwork I feel very

lonely.

I want to hold someone

close,

to feel a heartbeat kindred

to my own.

It's 3am

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

do you know where your Shrek is?

I'm about to get in the shower and then head to Universal. I have a 4am call time for the grand opening of the new Shrek attraction. It's going to be fun.

So Let's Play Catchup

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Alright, so because of the server switch I didn't post because it was already going to be a hassle switching over. And if I wrote I would have to continue exporting to be ready for the server switch. So now we're playing catchup.

Thursday night Brandi came over, we watched Man in the Iron Mask and as she was leaving, it was about 11:30 at night, she opened her car door and it wouldn't open all the way. That's when we noticed the damage to her car. She had gotten hit while parked in the street in front of my house. After doing some gum shoe work we discovered the culprit to be my neighbors across the street. They hadn't left a note or called us or even come and knock on the door. So we called the police to get a report, they tell us if we don't know who did it they won't do shit to help us.

So after some faltering we go across the street, knock on the door and ring the doorbell. And I'll be damned if they didn't turn the ligths off on us. So we go back across the street and called the police again and this time we told them we were sure who did it but they hadn't confessed. After about 30 minutes the Florida Highway Patrol arrived and too make a long, rather boring story short, my neighbor was most upset by the fact we called the police. "Why didn't you call us?" So we explained we knocked on the door and rang the doorbell and no one answered. But he insisted why hadn't we called. Well why should we call if we knock on the door?

The cop was already perturbed at my neighbors. I mean it's really rude to hit a car and not leave a note or a call. And they gave the cop a run around, delaying coming outside. They even called my house while we were outside with the cop and talked to my dad saying "why did you call the cops!?"

So like I said, long story short, they got three citations. First was improper backing, that is - hitting the car. $80 and 4 points on the license. Next was the criminal citation for leaving the scene of an accident and not leaving a note or anything. Mandatory appearance before a judge. And finally a citation for not reporting the incident, in the state of Florida you have to report incidents to the authorities.

So justice was served, now she can get her car fixed and everything.

That was Thursday. Friday I went back to work, Saturday was my last day at Poseidon. I spent all day Friday outside to enjoy the day with guests. They were in a good mood, no big events or anything. Saturday, since it was my last day, I was granted my wish of staying inside in the final room all day. This afforded me the ability to see most people who came through and to relax most of it.

It was sad to leave work knowing I wouldn't be returning to work there again.

Also I am getting shafted with this transfer to being Shrek. I thought I began training today. But instead it turns out I'm training NEXT week, so I lose an entire week of work. So I'll need to find ways to make up for it.

And the site is completely transferred over. Any incoming links to entries will not work, I've redone the organization and everything. Sorry, you'll have to redo them.

Dad was right

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

I'm going off the air, I'm keeping the domain and the hosting, but I just can't afford to write on the page and salvage this semester.

I screwed it bad. I really screwed it and now I've got to play the perfect game. And this site isn't in the game plan.

Hopefully I'll be back. But right now, I can't let it distract me.

See you later. Hopefully.

Blogging Breeds Better Writers

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

The following is an essay I wrote for my English class, it is rather short because of the word limit she placed on us, which is thankful because I feel I could have gone on forever had I been given the free reign.

Education consistently teaches formal writing styles, often neglecting the informal. Blog is a term that reporter William Safire of The New York Times reports to have originated in 1999 from a web site called "Robot Wisdom Weblog." Blogs, such as my personal website, encourage both formal and informal styles as a method for recording personal events, communicating both thoughts and ideas while offering a non-traditional way to exercise writing. As I read over my writings from the beginning to the end, I could see my writing style change and grow as I learned and practiced writing.

To learn something, someone must not only practice when directed, they must practice constantly. For a long while, in my own life, I did not realize that I could practice writing overall, I thought it was either formal or informal style, and so when I occasionally wrote informally, I was in truth helping my formal writing as well. My blog has given me a reason to practice, a way to record my life as a journal; but often when keeping a private journal the urge to write would decline and it would eventually fall to the wayside. With a blog, I have readers who I don't know and have never met, but they are someone who comes to my web page wanting to read about my life. This fact causes me to feel an obligation, I write to an audience but I write for myself.

Society is becoming very outgoing and open, sharing things that would normally be confidential; things that would be written only in a private diary are frequently published on newspaper headlines and discussed in depth on television talk shows. Whatever the content, blogs offer a way to post thoughts and feelings in a journalistic manner. They are not limited to news events; they allow a way to share ideas or concepts. However no matter how wonderful the idea, it must be presented well to be accepted, J. Michael Straczynski put it best by saying that "the quality of our thoughts is bordered on all sides by our facility with language." To build that facility we must be able to write well.

Bloggers form a community on the Internet, a large and extensive society of writers from all over the world. This is a communication system of real people, voices of housewives, television actors, jobless computer programmers, teenagers, authors and thousands of others. These people are bloggers; they share opinions on the mundane, stories on their daily lives, and compare thoughts among one another. They are one giant community filled with thousands of "contact zones" as defined by Mary Louise Pratt, this digital crossroad allows people to come together with others who they may never have gotten to know. The blog community is filled with "social spaces where cultures meet, clash and grapple with each other" (Pratt 607). So many opinions in a community guarantees that opinions will differ and emotions will flash causing these clashes as writers compose volley after volley in their debates, these opinions offer new areas for a writer to explore, a new perspective for the writer to consider.

All writers, when asked, speak of how it is necessary to practice – just as it is in any other hobby where style and ability is measured. Many great authors have kept journals as a form of tracking thoughts and practicing the written word. Since the advent of the Internet our society has sped up, language abilities in many have deteriorated into verbal shortcuts and ways to cut a few precious keystrokes in search of speed in communication. But with blogs comes an online medium for communication where we are judged by our words, talking to people who don't know us, only our words. Writing on my blog provides a way to practice my English skills, a place to write about what I want to write about without stress over grading, without an editor – only me. It is that place where my writing flourishes and grows.

Works cited:

Pratt, Mary Louise. "Arts of the Contact Zone." Ways of Writing. David Bartholomae, Anthony Petrosky. Boston: Bedford, 2002. 607.Safire, William. "Blog." The New York Times. 28 July 2002. 15 Sept. 2002.

Ms. Parrish

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Ms. Parrish was my junior English teacher, also the teacher who let me use her room for my personal study my Senior year. But we're focusing on the teaching she gave me during English class. She taught us to write, I don't mean just stylistically but I mean truly prepared us for college writing. I always liked to write but I truly got skill during her class, and now in college I know just how well I was prepared.

My classmates in English continue to complain about how hard it is to do this short assignment and I've written it three times until this final draft is something I am happy with, something I feel fulfills the prompt.

Thank you Ms. Parrish, for all the teaching you did.

Bring it on

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

New computer, new risks. I am about to build my new computer for school so I may be offline for a few days depending on the troubles I run into. This is just some fore warning. While the computer will be getting some major boosts, a P4 1.6 gHz, 64 meg GeForce 2 video card, 16x DVD Rom and a 40x12x20 (I think) Burner. So I am headed out to finish getting ready for work. One more day of work...

Sad Memories

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Even now my eyes carry soft tears, unshed for their purpose. I saw Lilo and Stitch with Brandi tonight after a wonderful day at the beach, but in the movie it touched something which hadn't really come to the surface for many years.

I know I've talked about him to friends but I haven't mentioned him on here as far as I can remember.

George was my best friend all through elementary school, when I first moved to Orlando he came knocking at my door the day we moved in - and from then on we were inseparable. Getting into trouble and exploring, wrestling and playing, we lived side by side. We loved sports, YMCA, backyard, just running. He loved them more than me, but it was a common thread which we shared.

When we were on the same YMCA Soccer team, we held practices in the evening and I was goalie, while George was one of the offensive positions. Well I was rather bored as the ball had not come near my net for the practice scrimmage, as it began heading my way George stole it and began up field, only to trip and fall. Someone else on our team got the ball and kept going, and the action moved away - away from me, away from George, away.

Then he didn't move. He didn't roll over. He didn't stir. Coach Rick thought he was just being lazy, but when he didn't respond to his name being called Coach ran out onto the field and rolled him over. By this time his lips had began turning blue and I began sprinting for the YMCA offices. Another kid ran with me, I don't know who - but we both got there and immediatley called "Dial 911!" and when she did I ran back out to the soccer field. I stood and watched while coach Rick did CPR on George, and I will never forget the sound which came from George as the air escaped his lungs.

It was one of those moments when I knew the truth but, being 10, hoped for it to be wrong. I hoped it was not true. I hoped I hadn't lost him.

It took me a while to get past it, he was my best friend, the one who knew all my secrets - the one who knew all my thoughts. And when I lost him, I lost trust. I had used him as support when I needed it, and when I lost him, I lost my faith in others.

George holds a special place in my heart, and when Lilo and Stitch talked about the broken home, the loss of loved ones, I just felt the tears flow. Soft, unseen except for when I whiped them away. And more remain, for another day.

9/11 cleanup and social awakening

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Well the clean up of Ground Zero has nearly completed, the final beam will be removed in an hour at a special service. What a tragedy to have lived through, an event which forever changed the face of the earth. But while it remains one of the greatest tragedies and vicious attacks that have taken place on American soil it is also one of the greatest wake up calls ever. America had again dropped into arguing over trivialities, people were segregated emotionally - until this occurred. The loss of life is in no way repaid by the change I have seen in my home, my city, state or even my country, but it is a wonderful way in which a tragedy was turned even slightly into a victory.

I salute every soldier who went overseas to wage the war against terrorism. I salute every policeman and fireman who rushed into the towers. I salute my President. And I salute everyone who came together in this tragedy, everyone who realized what hate was and curbed their behavior, even the tiniest bit.

I am ashamed to admit this. When the planes hit the towers, my first thought was for the lives which were lost, but my mind did not dwell on it, almost immediatley I thought to myself "I turn 18 next month." And that was when no one really knew how we would react, how big this would get, how it would all end. For all we knew, the draft might have been reinstated and my fear was being forced to serve. I was afraid I would have to go to war. Not that I would die. But that I might cause someone else to die. And this bothered me, I thought long and hard about it and war. Fighting for what you believe in. It is something almost alien to my nature. And I would romanticize myself in war, how I could write a novel and describe the faces I remember.

I have always had the ability to memorize faces. If I walk through the mall odds are I'll recognize someone but have no idea where or how. And my fear in going to war, if I were on the front lines, I would have the faces of dead soldiers engrained into my memory. I don't know if I could do it and remain who I am today. I feel sure it would change me. And that is why I salute the soldiers with such vigor.

Cap and Gown Origins

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Having graduated last night I was struck with the urge to find the history of the odd cap and gown, after posting on the wonderful "Straight Dope" site message boards, I was told the true name of the cap was "the mortarboard" after the mortar spreader used by brick masons and such.

With my new found term I googled and got lucky with the first hit being this page. Which gave such wonderful information as follows:

THE CAP. In comparison to the gown, the mortarboard is relatively young. It descends from a favorite headdress of the medieval laity, the pileus, a close-fitting felt cap that was adopted by the Church in 1311 and became typical at the universities.

Quite an interesting answer.

Now I am off to enjoy the final night with my brother and sister-in-law before they leave for Georgia again. We are off to see Star Wars Attack of the Clones.

Alright - here goes

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

Alright, so I have the frame work up. I'm gonna devote a good chunk of tomorrow to getting this page flying. As my best friend Josh pointed out this layout is not as flashy as the other one, but with changing from Blogger to Greymatter I ran into some trouble so I am working my way through this all before I get flashy.

I do want opinions on this layout, so please leave me a comment about what you like and what you hate about this one. As I said earlier, I'm just moving in and to give you a bit of perspective, the old page had several weeks of building put into it. This one is what I have come up with currently over two days. I am exploring how possible it will be for the old layout to reappear if I hear that outcry. But right now this is a simple yet elegant layout that works. And so it shall stay until I am ready to run it for its money.

Moving in

The following post was from my original blog on ronincyberpunk.com, it is archived here for posterity purposes

I always found a new web page to be much like a new computer or a new home. Something that was brand new and needed to be broken in, beaten into submission and brought into your trust. So here I am beginning this process - something both enjoyable and frustrating.

Such as now, I am attempting to change the author name from Alice (Through the Looking Glass) to Ronin...