Oh, the Irony of a Name! Service Time Air Conditioning

Long story short, our AC unit went out on us last Tuesday. Mind you, we are in Phoenix, Arizona and have a two year-old son. It has been hot here lately, to say the least. A record twenty-plus people have died from heat-related causes over the last couple of months alone.

We contacted Old Republic, our home warranty company, in order to get this fixed. I knew that when they told me they would notify the company they used (Service Time Air Conditioning-Heating-Appliance, located at 2908 W. Camelback Rd, Phoenix, AZ, #602 298 1633) - and that said company would be getting in contact with me within a half an hour, and that it was only after my calling them after over an hour of not hearing from them - I should be worried.

First off, they weren't even able to get a technician out to look at the unit until Friday, the fourth day after they got my work order. "But sir, we're extremely busy now!" Blah blah blah. I'm sorry, but if you can't handle the normal summer conditions for the area you operate in, in a timely manner (especially in cases where people are dying), then maybe you should rethink your business methods. And so I paid the forty dollar deductible to the technician just to have him spend five minutes on my roof looking at the AC unit. No money, no service. In this case - Some money, hardly any service. But money is the oil that lubes the machine of this society, as we all know.

I call as the tech is leaving, and Service Time (oh, the irony of a name!) says that they will call to get authorization right away from Old Republic for payment for parts, and will call me as soon as they hear anything. This is around one PM, Friday afternoon. I wait...and wait...and wait...until about four PM comes around, and I call them. Notice how not once, so far, have they called me to update me, but it has always been me having to call them for status updates? Long story short again, and they basically say, "Our person is on the phone with Old Republic right now, we'll call you to let you know we have authorization." I worry that it's close to five PM, their closing time, but for some reason have faith in Service Time. After all, they told me they are open Saturday, and can order the part then if Old Republic is slow.

And I am punished for my faith.

No call from them Friday evening, and so I wait, hoping they will call me Saturday morning. Saturday rolls around, and we're on the fifth day of living with family. I wait a good hour after Service Time's opening hour, and still no call from them. So, once again, I call them. They say they are waiting for authorization. I'm completely confused by this point about the whole process, and call Old Republic. I tell them that Service Time said they talked to you last night to get authorization. Old Republic tells me, "We don't talk to them on the phone. They fax us all the information, and it probably just hasn't reached our system yet as it is probably in the mail room still." I know now that one of the two parties is not being quite honest with me.

And yet again, long story short, I argue with people on the phone from Service Time, trying to figure out just how in the hell their whole business works; with all it's authorizing (it turns out that sometimes "authorization department" means Service Time's, and other times when they say "authorization department", they mean an authorization dept. at Old Republic, lol), checking, calling-back, etc. Old Republic ends up calling Service Time directly, and gives the authorization. That was simple...why didn't that just happen Friday? Yay! So I'm happy now, ready to have the part ordered and installed! But, ahhh, the catch. Wouldn't you know it, but the ordering dept. at Old Republic isn't open on the weekend! Service Time says they'll call me first thing Monday morning when they hear from Old Republic that the part has been ordered. Why all the authorizing, etc. if Old Republic is the one that orders the flippin' part?

Monday morning, day seven, counting the first day this happened, as it was the morning when the call went in. Service Time opens at eight AM. Nine AM comes, and nothing. Ten AM, nothing. Well, they must be waiting for Old Republic. I call Old Republic at around ten thirty AM, and they inform me that they ordered the part a couple hours prior. I call Service Time, and they have it in the system. Why they didn't call me, I'll never know. Oh, wait, I do know why! It's because they are Service Time! That's the only reason...they are what they are: a company lacking any sort of customer service ethic or ability to promptly handle business. So the part is due Wednesday they say. I ask, "When will it be installed?"

They reply, "We'll set up the appointment when it arrives. We can't do anything else until it gets here."

"Well, what is the average time it has been taking?"

"It varies sir, we are very busy."

"Okay, okay. Look...say it were to arrive today, when would it be put in", I question in a frustrated tone. How hard is it for them to give me an answer?

"Well sir, if it arrives early Wednesday morning, we can put it in that day. If not, we should be out Thursday to put it in."

Ahh! An answer! Finally! Now I wait some more. Living with family is fine enough, but being out of your home is only endurable to a point, the arrival of which causes everything non-stressful to become so. Every morning my wife struggles to get ready, and that's hard to watch. I really wish we were home!

So now, for those of you whom can see a calendar or, unlike me, are constantly aware of what day of the week it is, you are probably aware that today is Thursday.

"Well," I hear you asking, "what happened?" I will get to that shortly. In fact, I'll get to that now.

I called Wednesday morning (day nine) and they hadn't heard anything or gotten their shipment. I waited, and called again around three PM. They had trucks there, and were processing the parts, and would call me when they were done. Remember, they close at five Pm. I called again at four thirty, and they said they were almost done. I called at four fifty, and the machine picks up. I called again at four fifty five, and five ten PM, and was again answered by a robot.

So here we are, on Thursday. I call them this morning, first thing, at around eight forty-five, giving them some time to call me first. This, of course, never happened. They say they are in the process of calling the people who's parts have come in, and I will hear from them within half an hour. I wait...an hour, and then call them. They now say I will get a call in a few minutes. I wait...another hour, and then call them again.

"Sir, I understand your frustration (is she sitting in a cool place, and living in her own house? then no, she doesn't understand at all.), but we have a huge workload and have many calls to return. Can you please hold?"

And so, after five minutes of the Almighty Musak, she informs me that the part will be installed SATURDAY between eight AM and noon. I am astounded, of course, at the prospect of waiting another two days. I remind her that they told me it would be installed the same day if it arrived early enough. She says that because of the high rate of business, they can't get out earlier than Saturday. After I get off the phone, I remember that on Monday they told me it would take a day. If they are suddenly more busy than they were on Monday, wouldn't my order be ahead of those that popped up between Monday and Thursday? I guess not. In any case, I call and lodge a complaint with Old Republic, who is full of apologies of course, but no solutions. They say that in the future, if I have problems like this, that I should inform them so they can offer me other options. I remind them that I asked if there was another company I could go with, after that first day when Service Time didn't contact me, and that the representative said, "I'm sorry, but that is the company we use in your area. There are not other companies you can use."

Did I mention that a friend's parent's AC went out, for the same problem, and it was fixed in five days? Did I mention that another friend's went out this Monday, and through their warranty company (Century 21), it is going to be fixed this Thursday? Did I mention that I am switching warranty companies when this one expires?

The cost, including the warranty plan price, will be approximately $490 and twelve days. To do it on our own would have cost approximately $700 and probably just six or seven days. I'm torn between which would have been better. So make a long story short, Service Time is anything but a company that provides service on time. That is, of course, unless they mean the time for service is two weeks from now when it could be just a few days.

Image from http://www.bobjude.co.uk/psptubes/misc/e.gif

Pick up your Banana Peels

A lot of my ideas come to me when I'm driving around in our vehicle. Today, I was driving in the right-hand lane, and for some reason I started thinking about a certain psychotic episode. What would happen, I wondered, if some such incident overwhelmed a driver, and they lost control of the vehicle? As consciousness and sanity fled, would they have time to pull the emergency brake, so as to stop the vehicle's motion? Would they be rear-ended by cars behind them, unable to stop in time? Would they perchance pull the gear-shift, hoping for the PARK position, but only be able to pull it to REVERSE before losing control of themselves, slamming the car backwards into cars to the rear?

This may all seem silly, but it is such that many of my thoughts are throughout the day. As I thought of this, however, I started wondering about insurance. Would insurance cover such an accident? When you rear-end another vehicle, from my understanding, the rear-ender is always at fault; even if a vehicle swoops in front of them and slams on the break. In the insurance industry, they even have a name for this tactic. It is called "Swoop and Stopping" if I remember correctly from my few years in that business. So would a person be at fault for rear-ending someone, even if the car in front of them suddenly slams into reverse?

As I was thinking, I began to laugh at the idea of insurance. It is good, in practice, of course; especially in our day and age where we all possess such expensive things, many of which we don't even actually posses, but are simply borrowing on credit. We say, "My insurance...", but in actuality, ninety percent of the time it is the leinholder's insurance. We pay a monthly fee to protect what is largely someone else's interest. Shouldn't the leinholder's pay the insurance, at least until it is less than half owned by them? I began to see each vehicle on the road as surrounded by an invisible bubble of insurance, and was reminded of a saying I once heard: Insurance is sort of like putting a cup over a banana peel instead of just picking it up. It doesn't solve anything, it simply helps when things go wrong. In this case, the banana peel is a car. I'm not quite sure what my point is, other than to say we should all get rid of our vehicles. This of course, in our day and age, is a ridiculous request.

Or is it?

Picture taken from http://www.leisuretown.com/stories/local/bpeel/art/7.jpg

Right vs. Left...and the Winner is?

Well I stumbled, this morning, upon a certain right-wing blog and it got me thinking. The side panels of this blog were all plastered with the typical hateful and arrogant banners you see on such sites; "Democrats Suck", and the one with the soldier holding a cup of coffee saying, "How about rooting for America for a change, you liberal scumbag." These are typical of most conservative sites these days, at least in my experience. It's funny how the left gives the impression, at least on the surface, of being about human rights and equality, while the right seems to be about extreme nationalism. I am well aware that these stereotypical qualities may just be the visible beliefs of each side, as it is more common for someone with an extreme belief to go out and tell it to the world than it is for someone with a less extreme philosophy. However, these are the qualities most seen, and therefore do tend to influence those of a more moderate slant within each side to a more extreme bent. On a quick side-note, I couldn't help but notice the picture above, seen on said blog. The similarities to other non-too distant seals in our world's past, from around, oh, say the 1930's in a certain country who's name begins with a "G", were unavoidable to me. On one side you have a group of politicians fighting for human equality, fair government, and assistance for the less fortunate among us. On the other, you have a group of politicians using seals like the one above. It basically boils down to something I heard on a message board the other day. That is, "Conservatives tell you to shut up and defend your country, while liberals tell you to speak up and defend your country." What a great sentiment I think, upon first reading this. Unfortunately, as with most things in life, it is not so simple.

Now first, let me say that I am affiliated with nothing. I am neither a Christian, nor an atheist. I am not a republican, democrat, libertarian, or any other such nonsense. I am who I am from day to day, and this is me today. To quote Emerson, "If I know your sect, I anticipate your argument." I prefer to remain my own individual from day to day; all the better to win debates with those who think they know me. Some may say, "If you stand for nothing, you will fall for anything." I would like to think it more honest and truthful to say, "If you stand for anything, you've already fallen for something."

With that said, I wonder about my reaction to the saying above. Is it so true? Well yes, I think it is. However, which is more insidious? I feel as if all government would like us to shut up. At least the right is brutally honest, while the left, which is still the government, pretends that they want everyone to be free. Well, if they want us to be free, then they would abolish government as soon as they take power. A man who becomes a politician, and gains a measure of power, quickly becomes so consumed with pleasing his constituencies that he cannot take action. He is held is the paralytic grasp of meeting the wants and desires of a thousand different petitioners. This causes him to desperately grasp for more power; the power not only to meet his petitioners needs, but also to fulfill his personal desires. As the power grows, so does his disinterest in the petitioners. Ironically, this eventually this leads to the taking away of liberties from his constituencies. This change happens much lower along the climb up the ladder of power than most would think, I'd imagine. Anyone that would do good would do good, with or without the title of president, wouldn't they? What political office did Gandhi hold? Martin Luther King Jr.? I could be wrong, but I don't think they held any of any import. Perhaps the most influential person in American history, Benjamin Franklin, held few political positions. His impact on our nation is possibly greater than any other American, and the highest appointment he ever held was as the head of the Albany Congress. A man who would do good, will do good, in spite of his political standings.

So we have the right, with its brutal honesty, and the left with it's idealism shadowing the true intents. I'm sure for most on the left, they are even unaware of the true intents...even so far as up to the top of the Democratic Party. I would say, "Speak up", and leave it at that. Why defend your country? Why is it my country? It is not that at all. It is its own land, for itself and no one else. It is unowned by anyone. I should feel no more allegiance to this piece of land surrounded by the imaginary lines of men, simply because my parents had sex and birthed me here, than I should have to the sheets (or couch, or kitchen table, for that matter) on the bed at the moment of my conception. And now, I leave you with Emerson's Hamatreya.

Emerson and Thoreau

Reading Emerson, and even more so Thoreau, changed my life. These two authors, which I have never come into contact with other than hearing their names, have had an immense and incalculable effect on me. I feel as if I have found my voice in them. Not since reading Trumbo’s Johnny Got His Gun, have I been more affected by a piece of literature. Thoreau’s Resistance to Civil Government moved me and validated many thoughts I’ve had my entire life; especially of late. As Thoreau said, “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity” (p.1692). I have always put too much stock into television, and work, and being busy, and not enough into sitting quietly. I am a definite product of my generation and society. Always, something has been amiss. Now I have found what it is. After reading parts of Walden, I want to sell our home and take my family on the road, only to settle later at some remote place. While this seems like a dream, and impossibility, Walden has awoken in me the possibility; but in more actuality, the ways to make the philosophy of such a life applicable to my current situation.

Emerson’s Self-Reliance has validated my entire outlook on life. I am often chided and teased by family members and friends, all in friendly terms and out of love of course, about my personality. I am very passionate, and talk a lot about the thing I am currently interested; books, certain philosophy, politics, hobbies, etc. However, these come in the waves of phases that can last weeks, months, or years. Sometimes new passions will contradict prior ones. A few years of devout Christianity (church three times a week and teaching Bible studies) followed by atheism, for example. While I take myself in stride, and often don’t care what others think, sometimes I wish I was not this way. I seem to contradict myself often. However, when I read Emerson say, “Suppose you should contradict yourself; what then” (p.1560), and the following passages, I was inspired and validated. So what if I change my mind? As he says, why should I “drag about this corpse of…memory” (p.1560). I am a changing person, and I show my change, while many others do not show it, let alone change at all for fear of leaving others with “no other data for computing our orbit than our past acts.” Most people are “loath to disappoint them (other people)” (p.1560).

I honestly felt this paper would be late because I found myself unable to just skim Self-Reliance, without having to read it in its entirety. I am disappointed that I have to move on from these authors, because with my schedule, what little time I have for reading must be spent reading for assignments. I feel as if a new world was opened to me, only to be shut back up and put off to the side for the next year and a half until I finish my degree.

All page references are to The Heath Anthology of American Literature, 4th ed., Paul Lautier Editor

On Creativity

Where does this flow of creativity come from? I’m sure this is a question asked by every writer, sculptor, painter, and other “artiste” throughout history. I’m sure I am no different. Reading of Hawthorne’s life, I see close parallels, even in my so-far short life. I worried for sometime, over the last eight or so years as they passed, if my fountain of expression was simply a product of the ever clichéd “teenage angst”. It seemed to disappear as the mountain of adulthood grew larger, closer. My writing slowed first, then ceased, only to bubble up in moments of inspiration, which came infrequently. It was gone; that eternal fountain of my teenage years, where I could hardly contain the torrent of words.

As I think back, it seems, however, not to have been adulthood. The adoption of my religious system cooled my heart, as I gave myself up for something else. This thing replaced all creative output with a vacuum that absorbed all creative movements. I was stifled in the most devious sort of trap. For what is worse; the cell with bars and cement, dank and dreary, or the cell that is not apparently a cell, warm and welcoming? In either cell you have become separate from the world, and even often separated from yourself, forced by necessity to do things diametrically opposed to your intrinsic nature. Men perform acts behind bars that would normally go against their true character. Or do they? Perhaps these circumstances simply strip a person to his base, exposing all he truly is behind the masks of ordinary daily life. But this has all been said before. It was in this cell that I moved onto a further trap. That was the trap of escaping the first, and unintentionally entering into a new one. The new was more sinister. It was not a prison simply constructed by religious philosophy, but one of actual contract; the breaking of which would cause the imprisonment of my body, the following of which gave support to war and possibly my death for nothing. To say for nothing is perhaps too kind and not quite clear or truthful. That death would have been in support of suffering. It would have been in support of the destruction of independence, the taking of men’s lives, women’s lives, and children’s lives. It would have been in support of greed and the taking of freedom. Such a death would have been in support of a host of crimes against humanity. The grave would have been amongst national heroes, I am sure, but it would be there, as most others were, under false pretenses. These were heroes who were not men, such as I was not a man, but one of the “men of straw…a lump of dirt”, a man “manufactured that will serve” the unquestioned motives and entirely selfish desires of their leaders. Those that serve, such as I, and constitute the sweeping arm of our government, commit the greater sin against their fellow man. Is the evil greater of those who use the puppets for ill, or the puppets used, when they could choose not to be used at all, leaving the puppeteer with no means with which to proceed? I think that of course there will be other puppets, but I cannot live with clear conscience being counted amongst them. And furthermore, I cannot live, nor see how others live, without taking all they can in action when presented with the chance to bring other marionettes from their wooden forms to become real men.

So as this contract took place, it slowly pervaded and overcame the mind in much the same way religion had. After a point, what need was there of the religion, when this new contract took care of numbing my creativity? No, it was no longer needed for that purpose and was discarded. I continued along, uncreative and happier in a sense not to have feelings as I had. The point is now ascertained; that I hid first in religion, and then in military structure so as to numb myself from the creativity of my earlier years. This, it would seem, is an epiphany; an ellipse that has long remained un-followed, waiting to be succeeded. The placeholders I have put there can now be tossed away as the truth is made clear to me.

Why should one hide from creativity? Well, the saying is often said, that an artist must suffer for his art, but does not the artist suffer because of his art? I would say so. For isn’t it easier to live, un-confronted by your inner workings laid out before you on a page or canvas? Release may do well, but being forever reminded of your problems each time you see what you created may actually be no release at all, but simply their eternalizing.

So in my military service I continued, numbly rehearsing my life, day in and day out. It is strange how daily routine can blind you to the purpose behind your actions. To me, military service became a job; what I did each day to take care of my own. I woke each day, showered away my dreams, and suffocated my true self under the new skin of camouflage. Donning my cap so as to prevent my mind from flying away to freedom, I ignited the engine, burning up my Middle Eastern fuel, and spent my day doing what I could to ensure that when the United States was ready to wage war, it could. This was not so apparent in the daily routine of maintenance, lunches, and goofing off with fellow G.I.’s. We may as well have been making Freedom Fries at McDonald’s for all we knew, or cared to think in any case. This process continued for years, with changes along the way such as location, but the over arcing routine remained largely the same.

In a twist of irony, the change came when I obtained my first non-commissioned officer rank. It was at this time, in 2004, that I was sent to attend the Air Force’s Airman Leadership School for what they call “re-bluing”. You see, when one gets out of Basic Training, and Technical School, both of which are highly propagandized, a person is usually very energetic and accepting of the military way of life. This attitude, in the Air Force, is considered a “blue” attitude I suppose, which is the Air Force’s color. However, as the days pass, and become weeks, months, and years, this “blue” attitude fades as routine takes over. However, as said before, this routine makes most forget they ever were “blue” in attitude, yet the routine keeps them satisfied; not so much satisfied as unaware they are discontented. However, for fear that enlistees may wake up to this fact, the military sets up schools that members attend, usually a few years into service, and again a bit after the midpoint, around the fifteenth year of twenty, give or take. The first of these is Airman Leadership School. I attended, and was bombarded with military philosophy once again. Keep in mind the base purpose of the military and you can see why there has to be so much military philosophy and propaganda pushed on its members. While I was told we were to defend our country, I know that these veiled words really meant we were to die in foreign countries, or cause others to die, while protecting our nation’s interests, not its freedom or any other hogwash. What freedom? The freedom to ignore the important things in life, busying ourselves to make ends meet, and once met, enrich our lives with empty substance such as big screen TVs and SUVs while we pay our government to pursue its own selfish ends, which are often contrary to our own? I don’t call that freedom. Thank you, but if that is the freedom I am risking my life to defend, then no thank you.

So as this “school” piled and piled upon me, I began to ask questions. In much the same way as my religion was destroyed, so was my satisfaction with the military. And that is the point of government; to keep you too busy to think. Thinking leads to questions and questions to change. So as my questions were stifled and went unanswered, my dissent grew. This led to more questions, followed by indignation and disgust. I, and a friend of similar mindset, became nicknamed the “Axis of Evil” in our class. While the term was mostly in jest, I felt proud to be called evil while amongst a group of mind-dead lumps of dirt. If by “evil”, they meant “unlike us”, which I can logically presume they did, then so be it. And so it was, that upon leaving Airman Leadership School, I immediately began pursuing ways in which to escape my contract. And that is the irony; that the “re-bluing” program completely and wholly succeeded in “de-bluing” me.

Now back to my pacifist roots, the ones that were turned from with the gain of my religious fervor, I searched into obtaining conscientious objector status. However, while pursuing this, I discovered the Air Force’s Force Shaping program, in which they were letting people in over-manned positions get out early. This, during a time of war. Now that is a prime example of military intelligence. And so ended the eight year stifling period of my life.
So far, I have only discussed what the cause of non-creativity has been in my life. The total writings of those eight or so years amount to about a few months worth of writing from earlier years. Now, the gates are reopened; but gates to what, exactly? Where are these words coming from, after all? You cannot say simply, from a human mind. While that said is true, it is not that simple. If so, then every human would do so. Perhaps every human would do so, if not for the constraining aspects of their lives, such as my religion or military. Perhaps we each have this inner voice, but each drowns in separate things, as a person drowns in water; a fish, in air. Maybe creativity is simply about finding what stops your insides from turning out, and disposing of it. But this doesn’t answer our question, it simply makes clear to us the means to allow creativity. We may each have an eternal wellspring that would flow if we allowed, but what is the source? Throughout my life I have consistently returned to this question in vain, as it seems now.

Is our creativity, which seems so amazing to us, simply instinct? Does it appear to us who, as cognitive creatures are able to pontificate, inspired by something beyond us, when it is in fact simply the going through of motions? Isn’t a spider’s web, upon close inspection, as amazing and beautiful as the Sistine Chapel? Michelangelo spent about four years of his life on that project, and that is perhaps part of what amazes us. But consider that the days spent creating a spider’s web, in its life of usually only months, are of equal investment when put beside our great artist, whom lived almost ninety years! Surely, the ratios are closer than we think, for those of us whom have thought about such things. Why do we marvel at certain things, and not others? Why do we hold the Sistine Chapel in such high regard, when equal works reside in the bushes outside our homes? Is it simply because by seeing such a work by one of our kind, we feel as if it could be possible by any of us? If this is so, then why doesn’t everyone begin a life of artistic pursuits when seeing such things? I’m sure some do. But perhaps the greatness of such a work is simply overwhelming, to the point that it beats down its viewers aspirations. Maybe this is the root cause of peoples’ unwillingness to open the tap on their creative well. If there were less great works, or at least less available for most to see, would there be more works, overall? Does it take a certain person to tap their well in the face of greatness? A person, it would seem, must be confident that their voice is worth hearing, before they speak, mustn’t they? Or perhaps they must simply be mad enough not to know when to shut up, as seems to be my case. So confidence or madness appear to be the two main factors, at least on of which must be present to be creative. I do not think that this is far from the truth. After all, aren’t most of humanity’s greatest artists known for either their brashness or their madness? When I think of artists, I see the pictures of men cutting parts of their ears off, while others sit gloomily in the stupor of absinthe. Perhaps madness is the greatest contributor to artistic greatness. Van Gogh cut his ear in earnest love. Pollock was a frenzied man, unable to connect on real levels with those around him. Poe was a drunken, strange man. Even our Michelangelo is rumored to have been autistic.

In the end, it would seem that human creativity is just that. Human creativity is something purely human. Something a person has simply for being human, something built into the human condition, like hope, and love, and thought, and breath. As some are forced, through circumstance, not to love, so are some forced not to create. As some would hope for better things, but have had their entire sense of hope crushed by life, so do some never being to create due to the path their lives take them on. As some never bloom to high thought, some are not nurtured to the creativity that sits, like a seed, within them. A seed will not germinate without water, sunlight, and other necessities, and neither will a person begin to write, paint, or compose without certain necessities. So we come to find that creativity comes from no place other than simply being human. It is perhaps one of the most indelible parts of human nature. It is simply a matter of finding your spigot, clamping down upon it, and turning with all your might, uncaring of what may flow out. The point is not to care whether it is water to quench the masses’ thirst, or putrid slime for no one but yourself. After all, some taps first bring forth brown water that clears to pureness after some flowing, do they not? But no matter the result, one must turn the spout, for to not do so is to not be fully within your humanity, and that is no way to exist, is it?

Image by Mark Townsend, found at http://www.fractalartcontests.com/2000/en/entry-430-4.htm

The "men of straw...lump of dirt" and "manufactured that will serve" quotes in paragraph two are from Henry David Thoreau's "Civil Disobedience"

Welcome to my first post

Drumroll please...

Well here is the first post, and welcome to my home. I've longed for a place to call my own, and over the last few years have had various online homes and aliases. I've decided to consolidate, as it were, and here it shall be for the foreseeable future.

My main online presence prior to this could be summed up as http://www.livejournal.com/users/myndreach/

You can read most of my stuff to this point at that URL if you so choose. Welcome, for the none of you that are watching.

And so it fires off into the endlessness of virtual space...