Mint jelly annex

Hey, I'm not saying I'm not part of the problem. But it's not like I did not suspect this would be the case. At the very least, it is safe to say that in a year and a half not enough of my midguard associates have settled in here to justify having Vox replace my typical long-form friends-and-family missives. Meanwhile, hourly back and forths are handled via recently-developed megaphones such as tumblr, twitter, and the venerable yet unbeat-for-instant-gratification SMS/text messaging.

Add to that a handful of public-oriented periodical-content projects, the demands of whatever social networking site is dominant for the season, and secret societies, and it all adds up to online-community fatigue.

I have a collection of small robots posed on various ledges and shelves in my Geek Room. Just now I noticed that one which, I am fairly certain, was standing next to one of my video displays last night is now sitting on the lip of the shelf, legs dangling over the edge, with the left arm raised in a casual dismissive gesture as if to say "Do not fret, I just needed to take a breather."

It would be when I realized:

The set of things I value in is smaller than the set of things I do not value. Thus, it is worth my while to invest time in finding, supporting, or reifying the former rather than finding, despairing, or enabling the latter.

Presented as a public service.

Listed in order of increasing coolness/decreasing lameness.

1. "I am dressed as myself."

2.  Nametag/label, wig/hat, prop with no costume, camo.

3. "Crazy" clothes found in the attic, army/navy surplus.

4. "Sexy/poor ____", "One of the Village People".

5.  Celebrity, "Spooky/dead ____".

6.  Reference to current events, obscure literary figure (+3 if no verbal explanation needed).

7.  Movie/TV character (+2 if robot or monster, +1 if genre character -- see below).

8.  Clown, pirate, ninja, princess, fairy.

9.  "Punny" costume (-3 if verbal explanation needed, -1 if someone else is using same pun).

10.  Animal.

11  Genre character, original creation (superhero, science fiction, fantasy, horror).

12. Traditional Halloween (ghost, vampire, witch, mad scientist, zombie)

13.  Robot or monster

Additional bonuses:

• Home-made = +1 for any levels 4 and up.
• Props = +1 for levels 4 and up.
• Cosplay-grade = +2 levels 4 and up.
• Able to interact socially in costume = +1 for levels 8 and up.
• Group costumes = +2 for levels 6 and up. 
• Normal clothes worn over/under costume = -1 for levels 3 and up.
• Unintentionally deteriorating costume = -2 for all levels.

Note: This scale is not to be confused with the Hiearchy of General Costume Party Costume Lameness/Coolness or the Hiearchy of Themed Costume Party Lamness/Coolness, which use different rankings and bonuses.

One of the birthday gifts Jammer gave me a few months ago is an appointment with an acupuncturist. I've long thought of having as session -- partly out of interest in eastern medicine, but mostly out of the same clinical torture fetish that prompts me to look forward to having dental fillings.

I had been putting off the visit until such a point that I could put myself into a mental state that would be amenable to concepts such a chi alignment. But since the spinal MRI last month, Jammer has been increasingly insistent that I am confusing the role of the cart and the horse. Such is the nature of my crafty inverted procrastination that she was forced to cross her own carefully maintained protocols and take the step of setting up an appointment for me.

Admittedly, I did not know what to expect. I have not had any personal experience with naturopathy or holistic medicine and have not done much reading on it. I have been of the opinion that much of its benefits trickle down from putting the patient psychological state of wellness -- but I am largely of the same opinion about modern medicine. Still, all I had available to prepare myself were a few flimsy stereotypes, and I figured I best discard those if I were to reap anything worthwhile.

I was impressed by the offices of the wellness center. They definitely had the somewhat organic, feng shui aspect you would expect, but there were enough nods to a western industrial notion of a clinic to assuage the concerns of analytically minded folks such as myself -- they even had the obligatory stack of paperwork to complete.

The technician -- maybe I should call her doctor, but I'm unfamiliar with the accreditization titles, and since she uses tools, I will bestow upon her one of my favored honorifics -- was both engaging and professional. It is no small thing to feel that you are simply having a friendly get-together while someone is diagnosing you, but I imagine it is a skill critical to someone whose profession is to turn you into a pincushion. Truth told, she had me from the get-go when she demonstrated a keen understanding of what the MRI report had diagnosed. Plus she beat me to my punchline that though lumbar arthritis is arguably better news than a pinched nerve of displaced disc, it is a bit of a mixed bag because, well, what can you really do about it?

She checked the pulse on both wrists while chatting. I had never heard of a "kidney pulse" before, but it seems that mine is a bit weak. Then she took a look at my tongue -- apparently all manner of internal circumstances can be divined by examining the color and texture of the tongue. She was visibly surprised at mine; saying that mine was the best she had seen all day. The fact that I was so interested in her description of what she was looking for that a double-entendre did not even occur to me is evidence of her professional manner.

Then it was time for the pricking. This session, naturally, was to focus on my back, so I rolled over and placed my head in those ring-shaped face rests familiar to those who, unlike me, have had a professional massage. The harness for the arms that hangs below it is a nice touch, I feel. The drawback to the configuration, though, is that I was unable to see any of the rest of the process. I guess this is probably a feature for some first-timers who may be nervous, but I really wanted to see myself bristling with quills.

She said typically in the first session she used Japanese-style needles, which are thinner. I was tempted to say bring out the nails, especially after the first few placements: beyond a slight tap during insertion, I couldn't feel them at all. I received six to ten on various areas on my back. One at the top of the head, and two on each ear. She described what each point was targeting as she went, but I confess I lost track as I entered into what passes in my psyche as a meditative state. I do recall her explaining how the ridge on the ear represents the nervous (or maybe musculatory) system that runs along the spine, and thus that needle is for the lumbar, and that one is for the neck. The ears smarted just a little, but as I said, there was no pain save for a dull ache if I flexed my back muscles.

All in all, the experience was turning out to be better than I expected. But then came the best part, which was a complete surprise: cupping! Ever since I saw "Shower (Xizao)" I wanted to try cupping. I can't really say why, there just seems to be something visceral about it that appeals to me. These weren't fire cups, but contemporary glass jars with a pull-valve on the top that created the vaccuum (I am deducing this from tactile and auditory cues, I of course could not see what was going on.) She cupped four or five places along my back; the sensation was much what you would expect, but perhaps slightly more transcendental given the slivers of metal poking out of me. She also applied some burning mugwort and did some work with hot rocks, both of which are highly recommended.

And then  the session was done. She explained some of the results I could expect over the next couple of days. It's too soon to say whether there are tangible effects -- actually, given my rather detached relationship with my body it would take a major change for me to register something mentally. I did notice, as I was finally going to bed, that my back had hickeys from the cupping, including a remarkably dark one right where you would see a tramp stamp tattoo.

But even if I don't notice any long-term changes, the actual  experience was enjoyable enough that I think I will try a few more. Especially since my insurance will cover the cost with a co-payment.

For reasons that compose an essay unto itself, I have never been a blogger. Outside of obscure and/or painstakingly anonymous Web projects, my use of the internet as a communication medium is overwhelmingly toward the end of interacting with people I know.

To some degree this is with mailing list or discussion board-based communities which I have "met" via the internet, and tend to be technophiles -- or at least webophiles -- familiar with the medium. But by a large margin most of the megabytes of text, images, and interactive toys I have generated have been for individual friends and associates I know from analog, face-to-face relationships, most of whom happen to be only casual web consumers.

I mention this because I believe I understand the niche Comet/Vox aims to fill in the internet's ecosystem: that is, the gap between broadcast blogging for a public audience and narrowcasted sharing amongst more intimate connections. I support the enterprise; the concept aligns with many of my values regarding community.  Given that my career is in web application development, I will always be interested in new web tools, so it's fun to be involved in the preview process. But given my focus on the personal over the public with respect to digisphere, I wager that I may be closer to the expected eventual audience than most of the peers in my current neighborhood -- most of whom have already demonstrated an interest in public blogging, and most of whom I already interact with via other community channels.

And that's the rub. The group with which I suspect I would share via Vox is not yet on Vox. Of course they aren't; this is a preview. But until those people show, the magic goes unsummoned.

I am curious to see whether and how a media sub-type such as this develops its own style: to what degree it holds a quality of personal intimacy, to what degree the members of a neighborhood interact and reinforce personal bonds, to what degree it attracts and enables individuals and communications that have not already sought outlet on the internet. I hope its something new and interesting. My personal bias is that it takes on a quaility more personal than blogging and richer than social networking websites. What I am realizing is that until the "newbs" arrive, it will probably be closer to each.

Still, I have to do my part. These very words are largely lifted from a rumination composed to be sent via email to someone whose participation with the 'net is nigh exclusively via Hotmail, Google, Amazon, and a handful of additional entertainment and news websites. Instead, I am putting them here. Since this is a personal interaction, I will not endeavor to create a satisfying conclusion.

(Why I tend to use such a stilted, formal style even in my personal correspondence is the topic of yet another essay, I suppose.)