J’accuse!

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Yeah, they're pretty cute. Lucky for them!

IT IS MY HABIT, when preparing to go to bed, to read a bit. Nothing weighty, perhaps a periodical, or some fine book that can easily be read in small doses, or a book I’ve read before. I prepare a beverage of some sort, and a small something to nibble on.

Last night, as was my custom, I poured a glass of milk, and joy, there were some chocolates in the fridge. “Just the thing!” I thought. Being modest in my desires, I took two of these dainties, and went to my bed, placing the milk and chocolates on my nightstand. I had, of course, attracted the attention of my chattels, to wit: a 65lb white Shepard mix named Dojo, and a small black cat, Pyewacket. I do not normally share the bedtime snacks, but hope springs eternal in the belly of the cat and dog.

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The Computer Guy

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Image: Cover art for The Feral Chicken of Clayton (and other essays)

I WAS WALKING INTO THE OFFICE the other day, after a delightful 55 minute commute, when I noticed that there were going to be potential productivity problems. Specifically, my computer was gone. All of the cables, mouse, monitor, and other things were there, but no computer. “That’s remarkable.” I remarked to no one in particular.

My neighbor, being no one in particular, responded. “What is?”

I silently responded with a flourish towards the area where 19 months of gainful employment was formerly housed. My neighbor, hearing no response, looked at my desktop (I do not yet merit an entire desk) and then provided enlightenment, by stating with thinly veiled mirth: “The Computer Guy came and took it after you left last night.”

The Computer Guy! What Horror! The very name of this individual struck fear in all worker’s hearts. My poor PC would be mysteriously ‘worked upon’, my files would be lost, and I would be given a replacement computer long enough to grow dependent on it, whereupon it would be whisked away as well. My mind was reeling, my heart raced, when I realized that, even worse, I would now be forced to try and FIND the Computer Guy.

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Driving Physics

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Image: Cover art for The Feral Chicken of Clayton (and other essays)

(This essay is several years old and refers to my very patient and forgiving ex-wife. Enjoy.)

I DRIVE TO WORK. Thirty-five miles is the exact distance from the end of my driveway to the driveway of my workplace. Over a period of two years, this drive took exactly 35 minutes per day, due to the speed limit over the bulk of my sojourn being 70 mph, or so I thought. I recently discovered the reason my journey took so little time. It was because of Driving Physics. I will explain.

Physics is the science of explaining why something beyond understanding happens. It succeeds, because it uses mathematics as it’s language. This leaves most people at a bit of a loss. Attempts to explain physics using a written language almost always fail, and further attempts to show why the math works ends with hurt feelings. Expressing the incomprehensible ideas of physics with math, for most people, is like taking your car to a mechanic. When you’re done, it works, but you have no idea why.

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Car Rides With In-Laws

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Image: Cover art for The Feral Chicken of Clayton (and other essays)

(Author’s Note: This essay is several years old and refers to my very patient and forgiving ex-wife and her relatives. Enjoy.)

THE OCCASION WAS AUSPICIOUS. My wife and I were to sojourn to the Great State of Arkansas, (the Natural State) spend 24 hours with her sister and said sister’s spouse. After that, we would all travel in one vehicle North, until we had reached Missouri (The Show Me State), whereupon we would spend Thanksgiving with my wife’s Father, his wife, and her 2 children. I was making efforts to try to remember the current family tree, while my spouse was determined that I would know the history of the tree as well. In addition, I had been given clear instruction not to mock or ridicule things that seemed peculiar to the region. I planned to ignore this advice, but I did not say so at the time, for I was not in the mood to defend my right to be sarcastic and ignorant as I chose.

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Beat Your Face

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Image: Cover art for The Feral Chicken of Clayton (and other essays)

HAVING SERVED PROUDLY in the US Army, I find myself often asked about basic training – that initial period of indoctrination into the military. For myself, it was eight weeks at Fort Jackson, SC (The Palmetto State).

Of course, one does not simply go from being a slack-jawed yokel to hard-bitten soldier. There are many steps required to get a person trained. Logistics take up the first week or so. They train about 300 troops per ‘cycle’, so you have to wait until that critical number of people arrive in one place. This ‘Reception Battalion’ is a kind of rest stop for people joining the Army. You fill out paperwork, get your head shaved (mostly), get gear, boots, etc. You are introduced to the military in a very simple, non-threatening manner. Then the buses come.

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The Snake Charmer

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Image: Snake

Coluber constrictor - The Black Racer

(Author’s Note: I am re-publishing all of my past writings here on the new Komejo.com. This essay is several years old and refers to my very patient and forgiving ex-wife. Enjoy.)

THERE ARE MANY CHORES that befall a man when he owns a house. Lawn care is traditional in this regard; there are few men who pass up the chance to wander the yard in the company of the lawnmower. In the summer, this task must be performed every two weeks or thereabouts, and it adds still more order to an otherwise well regimented existence. All men know the true meaning of a quietly rhetorical question about the state of the lawn. It means you need to hop to it, man!

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The Feral Chicken of Clayton

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Image: Cover art for The Feral Chicken of Clayton (and other essays)

IT WAS IN THE SPRING, while upon my daily commute, that I began to notice a peculiar sort of atmospheric disturbance. It seemed to be snow, but the time of year and region (North Carolina – the Tar Heel State) dictated that this could not be. Onward I drove, and the ‘snow’ seemed to increase, until at last I seemed in a veritable blizzard. Only then did I realize my error – I was driving behind a chicken truck!

I had been steadily gaining on the truck for some time, but had been so absorbed by the odd situation that I could not properly adjust my frame of reference. Now, however, I had ample opportunity to observe. It was a normal sized semi tractor trailer – an ’18 wheeler’. The bed of the truck was flat and consisted of several very large palettes, each of which contained many small cages, stacked very high, with about a dozen chickens per cage. They (the chickens) were white, and decidedly fat. They were undoubtedly bound for the dinner table. Adding insult to injury, they were being buffeted by the winds on the freeway. I resolved to be more circumspect the next time I ate poultry.

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The Dishwasher Incident

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Image: Cover art for The Feral Chicken of Clayton (and other essays)

(Author’s Note: I am re-publishing all of my past writings here on the new Komejo.com. This essay is several years old and refers to my very patient and forgiving ex-wife. Enjoy.)

I CLEARLY REMEMBER the first episode in my marriage that caused dissent between my wife and myself. It was in the spring, perhaps a month or two after our blessed union, that we were in the process of cleaning the kitchen after an evening meal. I was clearing and cleaning, my beloved was rinsing and loading. After a few minutes, I began to notice certain difficulties with my wife’s method of loading the dishwasher. It became apparent to me that the entirety of the night’s dishes would not be accommodated by the limited space afforded.

Somewhere, floating in the dark recesses of my mind, is a list. This list contains the many things that I find slightly annoying, mildly irritating, and extremely bothersome. I became suddenly aware that the inefficient loading of a dishwasher was on the ‘slightly annoying’ part of the list. Being the wise and thoughtful fellow that I am, I waited until my wife had completed her activities, then made my way over to the dishwasher, and calmly analyzed the situation. Continue reading ‘The Dishwasher Incident’ »

Avatar

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Image: Avatar

Hey Mr. Kittymans

Last night my lovely wife and I went to see the James Cameron epic, Avatar. We went to see it at the Raleigh IMAX theater in 3D. I’ve not been impressed by the local IMAX theater – it gives me the feeling that I’m sitting too close to the screen. However, this was 3D! Perhaps it would add something to the experience?

It did! It was, in a word, hellish. I seem to be in the small number of folks who get motion sickness from certain 3D effects. I spent about half of the first hour with my eyes closed.

By the time I got used to the effects, the story was well underway. I found it heavy-handed and obvious. By the end of the movie, I found that the characters who had started out interesting were one-dimensional at best. The dialog is flat, even the acting is quite unremarkable. I’m sure that in the script, the line that’s used most often is “…and then, just in the nick of time…” because that happens in every almost every action sequence.

I think because of the wow factor in the effects, most people are overlooking the fact that the movie itself is really quite bad. I don’t think it will hold up well after the novelty has faded.

Welcome

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Image: Joe Komenda

Hi there!

Welcome to the new Komejo.com! I hadn’t been posting to the site for a number of years, but since moving to a new hosting company, I decided to do a proper reboot of the site using WordPress.

I also decided to narrow the focus of the site to cover just the things that I’m still interested in, mostly writing. I’ll be posting all of my previous essays, links to my books, comics, and art collections, as well as serializing my new novella.

Oh, and thanks for stopping by!