Imperfection

I never quite know how to take a compliment. Praise triggers this bizarre discomfort, tempered though it may be by the joy of recognition, that I find very difficult to endure. Even off-hand or obligatory acclaim rarely passes without generating this most unlikely of sensations.

To be perfectly honest, I am not a modest person. While I think many people hold exaggerated views of my ego, it is admittedly of healthy dimensions. Securely am I certain in my abilities and even, though it is unbecoming to say so, my advantage over others. Daily is it reconfirmed (at least from my own somewhat circumspect position). I have faith in me, and perhaps it goes further than life has thus far born out. In any case, my aversion to compliments does not stem from some sort of self-revulsion.

When someone is kind enough to applaud my efforts or my person, I generally try to change the subject, or make a joke of it. I am happy, because indeed who does not warm to the touch of approval, but it is a shameful bliss that I shirk at the nearest opportunity. Whether other people find themselves presented with the same difficulty I don't know. If you don't, I suppose this all seems a little silly (or, maybe, a lot).

Focus Group

I have started a new blog for The Candidate. Should you have the inclination, please read it and leave any comments. Rest assured I do not seek merely acclamation of the masses, but rather I invite any questions or comments.

Now, there is a lot of text, so even if you are willing to read it, don't be a hero. Space it out.

Thanks.

You can never have too many riding shotgun.

The descendents of Jesse James (direct or collateral I'm not exactly sure of) increased by one with the birth of a baby girl. Congratulations to Jackson and his family.

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious

I have always wanted to write a Shakespearian play. I love the language of Shakespeare, and it must be said I have never shied away from the opportunity to use big words. Still, something in me says that this desire is mere vanity, and even unbecoming at that. I suspect the results would be more tedious than anything else, and it could be that the entire format is one properly relegated to the Bard's own time.

Even so, I bet it would be fun.

Animal Cunning

Nature shows are some of my favorite television programs. Now, camping, hiking, and generally going outside hold little appeal for a lazy, allergy ridden, internet addicted man, and so I tend to spend very little time in the wilds. Even so, I personally have a vast and unbounded love of nature, but it is the kind of affection best practiced from afar. In fact, my principal participation comes in the form of animal documentaries.

While watching these programs, I am often struck by the fundamental difference found in animal thought and priorities, vis-a-vis people. To illustrate this contrast, I'll use an example I recently saw on Animal Planet.

A group of lions had managed to separate a buffalo from the herd and quickly pounced on it. After an epic struggle, the assembled lionesses managed to wrestle the beast to the ground and proceeded to administer those tender grips by which animals become food. As for the poor hamburger's friends, they stood around for a little while before eventually continuing on their way.

The thing is, if the buffalo actually help each other, then none of them would die. If the lions bring down one, the others could come charge in and save it. This has both short-term benefits, in saving the intended meal, and long-term too, by frustrating the feeding attempts of predators and driving them to starvation. Of course, many animals are incapable of this kind of planning. They simply roam around at their own leisure, their only concerns being food and personal (or, in some cases, familial) safety. Whether that is a better life than we have, or worse, I cannot say for certain. But the difference sure is amusing.

Temporarily It

The dictates of social convention require a short divulgement of relatively insignificant personality traits, followed by a subsequent assignment of like responsibilities on other candidates.

1. Horror and post-apocalyptic movies truly, sincerely scare me (I suppose that is one of the drawbacks of an overactive imagination), yet I just can't resist watching them.

2. I like blue drinks. On those rare occasions when I go drinking with friends and actually drink, I ask for "something blue".

3. My favorite Transformer is Soundwave, although Star Scream is a close second.

4. In a role-playing campaign I once game mastered, a character was executed for his own murder.

5. I carry a torch for Mira Sorvino. So much so that I'll actually watch The Replacement Killers if it shows up on TV.

Because I feel it is more in keeping with the spirit of the game, I am tagging people I do not know in "real life". Apologies.

SKY, Doug, Gurn, Moon Goddess, and Guruh are now "it".

The Inequity of Chromosomes II

I'd like to take this time to write a short exposition on how much it'd suck to be a girl. Now, I do not mean to imply with that statement those improper assertions of female inferiority, the maintenance of which is a disservice to both women and men, that have long plagued society. Rather, I conclude my entire premise solely on the made for TV movies on Lifetime.

I suppose some readers may be wondering what I am doing watching Lifetime. I assure you it is simply because that's the network that shows Frasier (However, were I inclined toward Lifetime generally, I would be secure enough in my masculinity to admit it). When the object of my interest lapses in favor of commercial advertisement, I am subjected to the network's programming notifications.

As a man, my television requires nothing other than explosions and women. Although I may decry the results of pandering to such a common denominator, at least it must be said that male television is entertaining. But what's more, it's empowering. The subjects and characters in our television are dynamic, energetic, and confident.

Women's television, on the other hand, is just as shallow but tends to rely on the weakness of the audience. Lifetime's inane offerings have titles like She stole my family, My unfaithful husband, or A child's ransom. The closest thing you get to active characters are battered women who finally rise up and kill their oppressor. To make matters worse, the remaining commercials on Lifetime are an endless succession of cleaning agents, laundry detergents, and culinary implements. Women are shown brought to the heights of ecstasy by the opportunity to use a new vacuum cleaner.

It is not my intention at this time to rail against the status of gender stereotypes. Certainly they are unfair and troubling, but they are also beyond the scope of any single post or even (to be perfectly honest), my general interest. However, I feel it appropriate to commiserate with women everywhere (at least, everywhere where they are subject to Lifetime) the pathetic offerings that make up their television networks.

Pointless Factoid XVII

The calculation of the digits of Pi is a method occasionally used to test the capabilities of computers.

Another fun fact about Pi, since learning of the concept in whatever grade of school I was in, I have yet to ever encounter any situation where that knowledge was of any degree of relevance.

Blegh

I think that's the only word that adequately describes my condition over the last few days. However, I seem to have turned a corner and am generally feeling better. More of my particular brand of irreverent irrelevance later.

Little Favors

To preserve the sanity of my readers as well as the commentary of an issue of importance, I have made this "throw-away" post for people to indulge in their reciprocal commenting obligations. If you would like to read my long diatribe on torture, you are more than welcome, and to comment as well. But if you would rather avoid the novelette, I have provided this alternative.

Like a Seinfeld episode or The Crying of Lot 49, there's nothing to this post, but even I cannot be insightful all the time.

A Protestation on the Nature and Uses of Torture

A few days ago, President Bush admitted the existence of secret CIA-run prisons. "Secret" is, of course, more a description of their ideal rather than actual status, knowledge of their operation having been fairly common for some time now. Accompanying this admission was a stout defense of the institutions and the "tough" interrogation tactics used by CIA personnel. These revelations were met with pretty much the sort of responses you would expect, acceptance or rejection according to one's political proclivities. It should come as no surprise that I have an opinion on the matter too, but I hesitate to discuss the matter.

Politics has always represented something of a problem for me, at least on the internet. Every time I feel like discussing some current event, I must overcome this peculiar falling sensation. You see, political discussions online seem to me nothing other than a vast abyss, a deep void of unimaginable depth. Like a black hole, once you've been caught, there's no escape. I could see myself become consumed with argument and counter-argument, although the reality is that such substantive communications are likely the minority in a field that almost assuredly reduces down to strawmen and insults. Thus it is with great reluctance that I occasionally make political posts.

Having temporarily overcome my hesitation, I choose to take this opportunity to denounce the secret prison program. I do so for substantive, moral, and legal reasons, though ever cognizant of the possible dividends to be gained through such constructions.

Torture

Torture is something of a buzz word right now. The left wields it like a club, swinging away from a moral high ground reduced to a mole hill through cynical political opportunism. The right's position is far hazier. Although they always begin with a disclaimer denouncing torture, conservatives tend to defend it in principle with a variety of arguments, ranging from accusations that liberals would "coddle" terrorists to apocalyptic prognostications resulting from it's rejection. I highly doubt that few Republicans would be willing to criticize the administration even were it revealed that there was wide-spread and officially sanctioned acts of depraved brutality.

This suspicion stems from the fact that all of the conservative rhetoric on "tough interrogation tactics" applies equally to torture (and indeed it is not quite clear that the aforementioned inquisitorial activities are not torture). Thus, in order to reasonably reject the prison system, one must reject torture. But is that really such a good idea? I think so, and I shall endeavor to illustrate why it is the only rational, moral, and strategically sound decision.

Why We Torture

November 23rd seemed like any other day. Difficulties both foreign and domestic catapult the Democrats to Election Day successes, wrestling control of both Congressional Houses from the Republicans. Liberal celebrations are cut short, however, by the news of a nuclear blast in the port city of Los Angeles. Hundreds of thousands confirmed dead, millions injured, and California's largest city reduced to radioactive rubble.

This is the doomsday scenario. It features prominently in every single conservative defenestration of torture and abuse, and resides deep within the heart of every American too (that's what makes it such a good political tool). If we knew of such a plot, and we knew we had someone in custody who could reveal its inner workings, wouldn't we be justified in forcing the revelation through torture?

Realistically speaking, there can be only one answer. Of course, if you knew, and the decision was one person against thousands or millions, the only choice lies in the preservation of the group. As Vulcan logic long ago illustrated, "the needs of the many outweighed he needs of the few, or the one." By such arithmetic, there really is no other conclusion. And I use arithmetic purposefully, for it would then be a simple matter of mathematics; as in math, there would be only one solution to the equation. Given this assertion, how can I maintain hostility to torture?

To begin with, we will never actually know. We may suspect with degrees of confidence, but utter certainty will always evade us. This is true in everything that we do; all human events are subject to unforeseen vicissitudes. We have a word for that. It's called risk. When we accept torture, we will do so not with the comforting absolution of necessity, but the far more dubious justification of the possible. Of course, one could imagine probabilities so probable as to be virtually inevitable, and one would also have to allow that more latitudes are appropriate where there is more risk. And therein lies the trap.

Suppose instead of certainty, we had but a one-percent or even perhaps only a fraction of a percent of uncovering a nuclear plot. It would not be acceptable to torture someone for shoplifting revelations under such conditions, but nuclear devastation is another matter. So we apply the most abusive coercions with the least justification, or maybe even none at all, absolved by the magnitude of the threat.

It should shortly become obvious that this line of reasoning eventually vindicates any efforts, no matter how cruel or depraved, so long as the expected evil is sufficiently menacing. It would not take long before torture sustained the use of torture, and all the ills we feared from others we visit upon ourselves.

Frail Constitution

Loathed though we may be to admit it, there is a certain degree of comfort in the belief that torture would be limited to a distant and hostile people, burdened by primitive cultures and characterized by a barbaric religion. Please note that neither of those two things are true, but in the minds of many (but thankfully, not most) Americans, abuses committed on Arabs, especially aggressive Arabs, are no great crimes. Unfortunate, regrettable to be sure, as we are not a cruel people, but if necessary then so be it.

However, not only is this position morally bankrupt even were it accurate, but the arbitrary dividing line between foreign and domestic would quickly dissolve. Only two categories would remain after the inauguration of atrocity: Convicted and suspected.

Democracy is a frail thing. Despite our modern sentiments, a quick review of history reveals that security and not liberty has ever been the great concern of the masses. People purchase security through expediency, and abstract niceties like Due Process are quickly discarded in favor of more comforting paradigms. Already the Constitution withers before the oppressive sun of secret warrants, military tribunals, and illegal detention.

American citizens have been held for long periods, deprived of rights, refused the presence of counsel, and imprisoned without recourse to the judicial process. Executive fiat has become a law onto itself, buttressed in equal part by a compliant Congress and an effective trade in the currency of public apprehension. For now these travesties are the exception of an otherwise laudable rule. But how long would the Bill of Rights, for all their majesty nothing more than ink and paper, stand against the claims of necessity?

The acceptance of torture is nothing other than the acclamation of tyranny. The end may come by small steps or great bounds, but our democratic heritage will not survive the enthronement of atrocity.

Poor Dividends and Unfortunate Externalities

Finally, as if the self-expanding and tyrannical implications of torture were not bad enough, we are also faced with the fact that it is an implement of dubious strategic value.

Torture, by its very nature, produces extreme stresses on a person. The target may hold out for a time, subject to his nature and conditioning, but eventually everyone breaks. The thing is, "breaking" someone does not always produce the best results. In their desperate attempt to avoid further pain, a tortured subject will provide both what he knows and what he thinks his interrogator wishes to hear.

Both true and lie, having proceeded from the same coercion, wear the same shroud of reliability. That is, either high for you believe that a broken man would not lie, or else low, as you suspect that he may simply be squealing to save himself. In neither case is one piece of "intelligence" more worthy than the other, unless you have at hand other sources. If you have such alternatives, then the reliability increases somewhat (subject, of course, to their own confidence), but still remain suspect. And in their absence, what you have may be no more valuable than the musings of a high school cheerleading squad.

As if the questionable reliability of torture were not enough, such indulgences do not sit well with a substantial portion of Americans and an even greater percentage of foreigners. Every abusive revelation makes it that much harder to deal fairly with those Arabic countries who wish for a more peaceful way. Each outrage fans the flames of global terrorism, likely producing far more dangers than you ever prevented in the first place. The acceptance of human degradation here also makes it harder for us to impose moral authority on bankrupt and cruel regimes abroad.

However, disdain for Americans will not be limited merely to our enemies. Our allies too have profound misgivings of our activities, and our methods. Some may say we don't need anyone else, and that might or might not be true. However, certainly it would be easier to protect ourselves with the cooperation of others. Safety, that great enabler which first led us to the atrocious expedient, is not furthered by the alienation of allies.

Finally, many Americans oppose torture. They are just as patriotic as their more aggressive countrymen, and perhaps more so, as they stand for the proposition that a society is to be judged not only in how it treats its own, but in how it treats others. We are heirs to a great democratic tradition of individual liberty, restricted governance, and guaranteed protections. Acquiescence to this malevolent proposition tarnishes our legacy forever, leaving us with less to protect and less to pass on.

Veni, Vidi, Vici

This last weekend I was at the Conquest gaming convention in Burlingame. These conventions always completely floor me, as four consecutive days of little sleep, poor nutrition, and constant activity prove very draining. However, the experience is always pleasant and I look forward to their occasional though regular occurrence.

Over the length of the con I participated in a myriad of games, portraying everyone from the King of Prussia to a juvenile knife-wielding cannibalistic sociopath (roles not entirely dissimilar). My efforts met with a mixture of success and failure, but were in all instances entirely enjoyable.

An unfortunate side-effect, however, is this distorted sleep schedule. I slept for almost 24 hours after returning from the convention, and the rest of the week has labored under this unfortunate externality. Sleep comes at odd times, when at all, exasperating a problem I have long dealt with. My waking hours are of little more value, as a general malaise drains both energy and enthusiasm, coloring even simple tasks with the most oppressive shades of difficulty. That is, in fact, the reason for the dearth of posts this last week. However, I can do little else but ride it out. Guess I'll have something more to say then.


P.S. Lest you think I have forgotten you, I shall resume my ordinary diligence in tracking the various minutiae all of you see fit to post about on your own blogs, and respond to any comments any of you might have regarding my own trivialities later.

The volume of an irregular object

Over the last few days, I took the opportunity to catch up on Eureka, a new show on SciFi. I had previously seen the pilot and, having been sufficiently amused, fully intended to follow up with the regular episodes.

For those unfamiliar with the series, the premise centers around a down to earth sheriff charged with policing a small town populated by super geniuses. Everyone in Eureka is connected in one way or another to Global Dynamics, a huge secret research company filled with bizarre high tech projects that cause problems on a weekly basis. And it's the main character's job to try and restore order after something blows up.

My initial opinion was favorable but ultimately uncommitted. I would have watched and been entertained, but it didn't seem like the show would lay claim to any genuine affection. The third episode changed that, turning me into a full fledged fan. Specifically, there is this scene about two-thirds the way through where the protagonist confronts the villian with owning the following impliment:

"A wormholing, time bending, invisiblying device that shields you from the mind."

As far as I'm concerned, this is the best show SciFi has produced since Farscape. If you have a few hours to waste and either good TV channels or an internet connection, I fully recommend giving it a look see.

Replacement

Well, I ordered a new laptop to replace the one that was stolen. Last time I bought a Sony Vaio. It was an adequate machine, but large and clunky, and the fan developed this annoying squeaking sound somewhat reminiscent of an asthmatic rodent.

This time I went with a Dell Inspiron. I upgraded the video card, screen, and RAM. Then, when I made an innocent query regarding the student discount for SCU students, the helpful sales associate person further enhanced my prospective purchase with a DVD burner and some Bluetooth thing. I don't even really know what Bluetooth is exactly, but now I can use it.

In the end I spent a little more than I wanted to, but with my student discount I ended up getting a much better machine than would have otherwise been within my limited means.

The time value of money

Warning: This post contains examples of misused economic terms and concepts. Those sensitive to the proper construction of financial principles would be advised to skip this entry.

I recently received an email from a user regarding a comment I left on a third user's blog. The letter was somewhat irate, in which I was accused of committing certain heresies against the orthodox of money and it's relationship to happiness. Below is my original comment, reproduced in full, from Purple Haze.

I think the evidence is pretty clear. Money can't buy you happiness. And yet, it seems obviously true that the more you have, the more likely you will be happy.

Money is an enabler. The ultimate enabler, in fact, at least in a capitalist society. Money allows you to do the things you want, or avoid those you'd rather do without. It converts actual time to personal time, real time to free time.

If you can't be happy with money, that speaks volumes about who you are as a person, but it doesn't say anything bad about money.

Just so there is no misunderstanding, I do not believe that money can itself guarantee happiness. Nor do I assert that rich people are necessarily thrilled with life. You can be poor and ecstatic, you can be loaded and miserable. Money is an it, a thing, a possession. It doesn't make anyone do anything. It can't make you happy, nor can it force sadness on you.

However, it is also undeniable that money plays a big role in most of our lives, and the inability to manage it or put it into proper perspective can lead to big problems, and that was the point of my comment. As I said, money is an enabler. It allows you to do things, and the more money you have the more options are available. But it does more than that.

Money is power, and with it you can reduce opportunity costs and limit unpleasant externalities. Financial means allows you to manage your time according to your inclinations, by providing alternative solutions to annoying but necessarily problems. After all, many rich people don't clean their own homes, and they convert the time that would be spent into other pursuits. This then brings me to my comment's second conceit.

If you are rich enough to where you can choose how to spend your time and you aren't happy, that is an indication of a serious deficiency. Where the fault lies would differ with each person, of course, but it should be manifestly obvious that someone relieved of financial concerns has a significant leg up in the pursuit of happiness.

The limitations of unfocused ambitions

I have taken away one lesson of principle importance from my screenwriting class yesterday, and that is my own woeful inability to meet my artistic expectations. That is not necessarily very surprising; it was only the first class. Still, I cannot escape this persistent, if pessimistic, sensation of impending failure. The problem, you see, is dialogue.

Screenwriting had always held two great interests. First, I had hoped that the firm structure would help focus my often disparate aspirations. And second, crafting dialogue and conveying the nature of a person through their words has always seemed like an engaging challenge.

My estimations of the genre's dimensions have proven accurate, but my particular talents may not be well suited to the task. I find myself extremely dissatisfied with my varying efforts constructing conversations. The words just feel stilted or artificial, the characters far from engaging. In large part, I blame my own writing style.

Some people are kind enough to remark favorably on my literary endeavors, and I think it within the bounds of respectable modesty to admit that I harbor some degree of pride in my writing. Even so, my voice does not seem well suited to that of others. This style that now characterizes my composition, for whatever pleasant particularities may arise in prose, has not carried over into dialogue.

I do not write as people speak. I don't even write as I speak. In fact, my own conversation is marked by nothing as cumbersome, nor as when it may arise, as elegant, as comes from my pen. How this happened I'm not quite sure, but it is now a matter of some frustration.

Of course, it is not necessarily a fatal defect, the application of aberrant discourse. Some of my favorite movies and television shows are stocked full of characters unusually and perhaps even impossibly erudite. So if it were simply a matter of big words or clever phrases, I should be okay. Unfortunately, my limitations are somewhat less forgiving.

Aside from any inability to actually write in the manner the genre demands, I also seem to suffer from a distinct lack of concept. Everyone else has apparently entered the class with some long cherished storyline. Although they naturally vary according to the talents and dedication of the authors, the best offerings are wonderfully intricate, and bring my own inadequacies into stark focus.

I knew, coming into this, that I would have a lot of work ahead of me. But to be perfectly honest, I had not expected to be so completely unprepared. Perhaps my own expectations were unrealistic, and certainly it would not require the fulfillment of standards to which I hold myself simply to pass (although the grade and credits are in every way irrelevant). However, I first took this class in order to satisfy my own artistic desires. Now that I am faced with the possibility of failure, in personal if not absolute terms, I cannot help but regret the enterprising inclination that led me to try in the first place.

Somewhat more organized than before

I have now included a categories section in my sidebar, and have begun the process of organizing my posts. Most of them have been included in one or more of the listed divisions.

Unfortunately, the blogger tools themselves don't allow for any easy way to achieve this degree of categorization. If anyone wants to know how I did it, see the guide here.

Sometimes you wonder if you're doing the right thing, then God sends you a sign and everything is clear again

My family recently received an invitation to a wedding reception. The sister of one of my brother's childhood friends is getting married, and though the ceremony is occurring in Washington, they made the gesture of sending us an invitation. Nice enough, by most standards I suppose, and yet I have it in me to be offended. For you see, there's a reason why the invitation is to the reception alone.

The people in question are Mormons, and the unelect are not permitted to sully the actual sacrament with their presence. As if that weren't offensive enough, they then expect others to happily attend a celebration of a union inaugurated in, if not quite defined by, the exclusion of otherwise valued friends and associates on the basis of religion. For my own part, I think it represents a particular lack of shame to slap people in the face and then invite them in for booze and a buffet so they can toast to your good health.

Although I am ever aware of my good fortune to have reached such a state, these occurrences make me feel even better about my atheism. I should not like to turn this post into a polemic against Mormonism or religion in general (topics for another time), and I deny nobody their right to choose their own associations along such lines as they may feel prudent.

Even so, I can't help but feel at every turn the vindication of compassionate reason. The test should rely on the humanity of a person's beliefs, not their form. A test the high-minded monothiesms seem to fail in proportion to their ability to influence social policy.

When someone's religion or politics offend me, they do so not because they use unleavened bread in the Eucharist or because they think Ann Coulter actually represents someone with the semblance of intelligence and respectability. The manner in which people choose to believe, although it often expresses itself in ways I personally find curious or amusing, is in the end irrelevant. It's what you do with those beliefs.

If you use them to abuse or degrade others, that's when I object. When, as is so often the case, they allow the expression of vile and hateful sentiments cloaked within the auspice of true revelation, it is not merely proper but right and even necessary that they are challenged. In a just world, they will not stand such scrutiny. In ours, it remains to be seen.

Spectator Sports

Although I do not indulge in the ostentatious resuscitation of former and impending disasters that has become cable news, nonetheless I endeavor to remain abreast of current events. So it is that I, like the rest of America, am aware that someone by the name of John Karr has confessed to the 1996 murder of JonBenet Ramsey.

Leaving aside the specifics of this particular case, I am left wondering at what point individual tragedy became a spectator sport. There have always been violent people. I'm sure back in caveman times, there must have been a Cro-Magnon by the name of Grog who just couldn't deal with the stress of the daily hunt and decided to take his stone club to a few of his subterranean neighbors.

But although there have always been violent people, has there always been a market for this narrative, or are we just more degenerate than our predecessors? I admit I do not know the answer, though I suspect the reality is that our means simply provide us with a way to fulfill and even exceed our macabre interests to a degree unimagined by previous generations. Either way, violence on this scale, although undeniably unfortunate, should not be the subject of national interest.

To be sure, I do not mean to belitte the death of another human being. But really, nothing involving Scott Peterson or OJ Simpson or John Kerr is the least bit relevant to my life. National news should not become the aggregation of personal loss. It is a disservice to us, yes, and to the victims as well, who do not deserve to have their own grief aired for public examination.

Not only isn't it the proper subject upon which to focus national attention, but this fascination with individual incidents stems, I suspect, from voyeuristic and degenerate impulses. Unfortunately, we live in a society where the loss of life, although far from trivial, is nonetheless accepted. These reports serve to titillate, not to inform. They provide details, unnecessary and preferably intimate, their value increasing in relationship to their extremity.

Tragey is a spectator sport now. Popular, lucrative too, and completely unworthy of a humane society.

It was a dark and stormy night...

Earlier this evening I met with a woman, Gina, and together we resembled a writing group. I had answered her post on Craigslist, and to my surprise, something actually came of it. Not that Craigslist isn't a useful venue, because it is, but most of the people on there are either flakes or in the grips of some severe psychosis.

In any case, we met at a Starbucks in Mountain View, traded stories and comments, and an hour later resolved to meet again. I thought the encounter was pleasant, entertainment and personal improvement rarely go together so conveniently. It was originally my hope that a writing group will help provide the focus and reinforce my flagging enthusiasm, and though I feel no overwhelming urge to grab my pen and craft the Great American Novel, I think it likely at least that this collaboration will result in more and better literature.