Jeff Duntemann's Contrapositive Diary Rotating Header Image

Daybook

Descriptions of what I did recently; what most people think of when they imagine a “diary entry.”

Letting Bigfoot Go

We’ve thought about it for some months now: Our 24′ Bigfoot motorhome has been out with us exactly seven times since we bought it, all of those being quick weekend getaways that we could squeeze in between frantic trips to Chicago. We might have driven it to Chicago at least once, but neither my sister nor Carol’s sister has any place to park something that big, and we’d have to rent a car anyway for local travel.

The Chicago situation isn’t going to change radically in the near future. So, as much as we’ve enjoyed it, we’re going to have to let it go. I’ve posted a For Sale ad on the Bigfoot owners’ organization site. (Photos and floorplan there.) It was a little small for our needs (although on short trips space wasn’t a horrible problem) and when life settles down enough to consider RVing again, we’re going to look for a unit with slideouts and something approximating a real bed.

It’s a 2006, model 30MH24DB. We are the original owners, and it’s been garaged indoors at a storage place ever since we bought it, figuring that if we decided it wasn’t for us, it wouldn’t have been out in the sun in the interim. (The sun can get pretty intense at 6600 feet.) It’s only got 3,300 miles on it, and there are no scrapes or dents. There is a downloadable PDF from the manufacturer with full specs and lots of pictures, which you can get to from this page. (Find and click the button “PDF Download.”)

Again, we’ve enjoyed it a lot, but we’re paying for the loan and for indoor storage, and if we can’t take it out a full week at a time to see some of the West (instead of short weekend trips within a hundred miles of home) we’re better off putting it in other hands.

A Fine Fritter

Last night I did something I hadn’t expected to do: I signed up for Facebook. As Terry Dullmaier almost immediate wrote on my Wall: “Apparently we all end up on Facebook eventually!”

Indeed. And I guess I signed up for Facebook for the same reason I bought an XP machine: Sooner or later, I’m going to need to know something about it, so why not now? I was a little boggled at how many people I know are on there, including both of my nephews and most of my friends, some of whom go wayyyy back. (Terry and I went to Catholic grade school together. Dominus vobiscum and all that.)

So I’ve been doing a fair bit of frittering this afternoon, trying to make sense of it all as both a technology and a phenomenon. There are games like Farmville and Mafia Wars that I have no intention of playing, but which are interesting to watch. And refreshingly little politics, though I’ve already been warned that it’s out there. I’m just not looking hard enough. Thanks; I’m looking as hard as I want to.

I’m not sure what all it’s good for yet. I already have a blog in two places and plenty of Web pages, and the amount of email that shoots through here gets scary sometimes. Do I need any more social machinery? I’m not looking for a job (there’s plenty of contractor work for me if I want it) or a girlfriend (I’m very happy with the one I’ve had for forty years now) and whatever else I might need I generally find on Amazon, ABEBooks, eBay, Craigslist, or NewEgg.

It’s always good to be findable, but I think I was pretty findable before. I need to post covers of my books in an album, especially now that a new one’s in the chute. Beyond that, I stand a little puzzled before the whole thing. If you’ve got some insights as to how Facebook is best used (beyond the obvious: “sparingly”) definitely drop them in the comments.

“Here’s my card…”

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I was in here working earlier this morning when I heard some minor disturbance behind me, after which a white blur hurtled toward the door. Sensing something interesting going on, I grabbed my pocket camera and followed Dash to his little tiger-striped dog bed, where he sat with four or five of my old business cards hanging from his mouth in only slightly chewed condition, paw extended as though to shake on a deal: Don’t hit me, and you can have your cards back.

I didn’t hit him. And I allowed him to keep the cards for a minute or two, since they were in fact obsolete and headed for the recycle bin anyway. (I need new business cards, but not as badly as I need the time to create them.) It wasn’t until he began to shred them and swallow the pieces that I took what was left of the cards away from him.

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Ten minutes later, he ambled back into my office and went directly to the bottom shelf where the box of cards lay. Looking over my shoulder, I watched him carefully withdraw another five or six cards from the nearly full box and edge toward the door again. Gotcha! This time I actually dumped the box into the recycle bin.

A fortune in dog toys, and he wants to chew pasteboard. Or maybe it was a noodge to clean up my office. With dogs, it’s hard to tell.

Hereeeeeeee’s…Dash!

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A certain four-legged somebody ambled into my office a little while ago and presented me with one of my bedroom slippers. Every man’s dream, right? A dog who brings his slippers and his evening paper? Except that it was 10:30 AM and I’d been up and dressed for four hours…and the slipper had teeth marks in it. I grabbed for the slipper…and he expertly dodged and headed back for the door at flank speed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure I was in pursuit.

Let’s just say we don’t let him anywhere near the newspaper.

Dash On Lounger Cropped 300 Wide.jpgHeh. Meet Dash. I tagged him Redball at first (see my entry for July 12, 2009) because he was the “red” puppy out of that litter (puppies in a litter are often color coded with collar ribbons or a daub of nail polish on their ears) and because he liked to chew on the red ball on the mini-bungee holding his Lixit bottle in place. But puppies eventually tell you their true names, and with Dash it became clear from his head-down, pedal-to-the-metal running style that he had lots in common with young Dashiell “Dash” Parr, particularly when his pack was in play mode or when the pack was not, but he wanted to be. Like this morning, with my slipper.

For now, indeed, we have a pack. As most of you know, we fostered a mamma dog and her litter of three puppies when their owner was hospitalized, and we decided to keep one of the puppies. We also have Jack, AKA Jackpot and Jackie Gleason, a very large three-year-old male bichon whom I myself have handled in the show ring. Dash makes four, and it’s been interesting to observe pack dynamics and the ongoing discussion over pack hierarchy. QBit is the sometimes challenged but still unvanquished boss. Although clipped, he’s the oldest and the most muscular, and his muscle evidently generates enough testosterone to keep the other guys in their places. QBit can flip and pin 10-pound Aero without half trying, and although Jack is larger and a little heavier than QBit, he’s far less muscular and just naturally submissive. The dynamic most in play is the one between Aero and Jack: Aero would like to be the boss but won’t be any time soon, and Jack seems to understand that even though he’s lost some weight he still has ten pounds on Aero and doesn’t seem interested in playing the dominance game.

And Dash, well, he still has full puppy privileges. He can crawl on top of QBit and lie down, or take bones away from both Aero and Jack if their bones are the ones he wants. In fact, Dash treats both Aero and Jack as babysitters and sometimes as just another pair of stuffed toys; he’ll grab one of Jack’s ears and pull as hard as he can while Jack stolidly stands there, waiting patiently for the young brat to get bored. Aero and Dash play a sort of gymnastic “flip” game that consists of Aero flipping Dash over while Dash swats back at Aero with his front paws. We’re guessing that Aero is trying to get a jump on the pack hierarchy question while the brat is still small enough to flip, but we’re also guessing that a mature Dash will outweigh Aero by at least five pounds, and an unclipped Dash may not just roll over for Aero out of simple seniority.

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Dash’s pigment is improving as time passes (he’s now 13 weeks old) and Carol thinks he’s definitely show-quality, if not as generally perfect as Aero. One oddness is that his eyes reflect a luminous blue in a camera flash, which I’ve never seen in a bichon before. (Aero’s eyes reflect gold, and QBit’s green.) Most significantly, Dash is taking to the litterbox quite well, and although he still has accidents, he’s better on potty discipline at 13 weeks than either Aero or Jack are as adults. He’s noisy, confident, and extremely playful, and having a puppy in the house from six and a half weeks is an experience we’ve never had before and may never have again, so we’re paying attention, taking pictures, and enjoying it as much as we can.

Zoom! There he goes again! (And my other slipper is now missing…)

The Power of Lawn Thatch

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Sometime this spring, a dent appeared at the low point of my sister’s sizeable back yard in Des Plaines, Illinois. It wasn’t a hole, but simply a dimple…and over the next couple of months, got lower and wider. I hadn’t seen it for seven weeks when we went over there about a week ago, and this time, at the center of the dimple was a five-inch-wide hole into blackness.

In a moment of manic heedlessness, I stuck my arm down the hole, and it went all the way to my shoulder without my fingers brushing anything like bottom. I waved my arm around, and found that there is substantial emptiness down there. I went back into the house for a broom, and with the handle found that the hole was four and a half feet deep, and went on horizontally in all directions farther than a broom handle would reach.

This was interesting because I was standing right where my sister’s broomstick told me there was no dirt supporting the grass. The grass didn’t seem to be yielding under my weight (about 155 fully dressed) and although I didn’t try jumping up and down, I did feel around the edges of the hole, and discovered that the thatch was about six inches thick and very dense.

Then I got a wonderful, non-grinchy idea: I ran back to the car and grabbed my small Kodak EasyShare V530 digital camera. I turned it on, gripped it carefully, and then thrust it down into the hole. I took eight shots before the battery croaked (it had been in need of a night-long charge for days and days) and when I got back here, popped the camera’s SD card into the reader on the PC, and discovered a dark, creepy wonderland.

Most of the shots failed simply because there was a jungle of dangling root tendrils hanging from the underside of the lawn thatch, and the camera’s autofocus mechanism focused on the roots and not on the more distant walls of the cavern. I had hoped to catch a glimpse of the storm drain pipe that ran nearby (there’s a manhole about six feet away from the hole) and which we suspect has collapsed. But no; there are roots and fresh plant debris washed down into the hole, but not much else to see. The village has told Gretchen and Bill that they are going to (at some point) dig where the hole is and see what needs to be done. That will be interesting, though when it will actually happen is unclear. The hole is still too small to admit dogs or small children, so it may be awhile yet. I want to get back there and take a bunch more photos on a fully charged battery, angling the camera in the direction of the manhole and hoping that I won’t drop it.

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I am amazed at the strength of healthy lawn thatch, and only a little less amazed at my enthusiasm for such a peculiar thing as a hole in the backyard. (I guess my inner 12-year-old isn’t completely dead.) Then again, life generally hands us fewer peculiar things than we might want, and in an otherwise slack week they can make life deliciously worth living.

Redball!

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Heh. Told ya! (See my entry for July 1, 2009.) Keep puppies long enough, and you just don’t want to give them back. And so it was that Carol and I wrote a check for Redball the other day, just before his eight-week birthday, and added him to the Duntemann bichon pack. (The photo above is earlier, from just before he was seven weeks old.) “Redball” is what (in the publishing industry) we call a working title. His real name may be something else entirely, and we won’t know until he tells us. As of this morning he weighs four pounds two ounces, and is gaining a little less than an ounce a day.

The other two puppies have also been sold and are on their way to new homes, one in Albuquerque and another in Ohio. Bella (their mother) is back home now, though for health reasons her owner is looking to reduce the size of her own pack and is trying to find adoptors for Bella and several other bichons.

Red was definitely missing his mother and brothers last night, and even though he had a cozy Sherpa bag on the nightstand right next to Carol’s side of the bed, he fussed until 10:30 or so. Carol got up twice to take him to his litter pan to potty, and he’s doing pretty well in the housebreaking department for one so young. Pan/pad training works: QBit was pad-trained from an early age and rarely has accidents in the house. (Aero, well, is not so well-trained…)

Although we won’t know for sure for another month or so, it looks like Red will be show-quality, and Carol is considering showing him. (He’ll probably make his show debut at next year’s Bichon Frise Nationals in Indianapolis.) In the meantime, we’re happy to have him romping around on the laundry room floor, grabbing QBit’s hind leg and jumping on Aero’s back. The big guys have been extremely tolerant of Red’s rowdiness, especially Aero, who’s taken the brunt of the biting. Red has a habit of grabbing the end of Aero’s tail and hanging on for the ride while Aero tries to flee. Even so, Aero will roll on his back and bat at Red with his front paws, trying to be a good sport.

I’ll post better and more current photos as we get them. He rarely stands still long enough to get a good shot, especially with the latency of our digital cameras. We do, however, have some wonderful movies. They’re only small like this for a few weeks. We’re trying our best to enjoy every minute.

Mopping Up…

This is just a quick note to people who may still be checking this site: I’ve reinstalled WordPress and gotten all the database issues corrected. The hosting folder has been wiped and is now clean. My hosting service froze the account not because I didn’t pay my bills or because I hit some bandwidth cap, but because some SOBs broke in and shot the PHP full of malware and stuck porn links in all my HTML. Fused did the right thing. I’d have frozen it too.

I might have fixed it sooner, but the timing on all this was optimal bad. Carol and I had just left the house for a 4-day campout, and I didn’t have my Web files with me. I was in the last leg of reading copyedits for a 200,000+ word book, a process that included de-tabbing all the source code examples and making sure they would fit in 78 columns. And on top of that, as soon as we got home from the campout, Carol and I became temporary caretakers for a mama dog and her litter of three bichon puppies, who were not quite seven weeks old when they came to us. It’s not that they’re that much work–but they won’t be here long, and there’s nothing quite like having a lapful of bichon puppies, who all want to lick your nose at the same time, and when they can’t lick your nose they’ll be happy to chew on your shirt buttons, and yap in your face when you’re not paying them sufficient attention. What’s a little poop stacked up against that?

I’m still waiting for HTTP to be turned back on for my static pages on junkbox.com, which should happen later today. And in the meantime, I’m trying to reconfigure WordPress to more or less what it was before the attack, which is made more difficult by my not having saved my custom CSS. I may have it somewhere, but if I can’t find it, I’ll have to go through it all again. So what you end up seeing may not be quite what you saw before–but maybe it’ll be better.

At least that’s what I’m hoping. We’ll see. Keep checking back.

OMG! PUPPIES!

Bella's puppies on 6/30/2009Carol and I took four days away in our RV and it was just the thing–more on Field Day later–but we came home to word that one of our friends in the local bichon club had been taken to the hospital very late Monday night. It’s nothing life-threatening, but she’ll be there probably until the weekend. So it was that Carol and I volunteered to host a past champion bichon bitch and her litter of three six-week-old puppies until next Sunday.

We’ve seen and held younger bichon puppies in the past, but we’ve never cared for puppies this young for any length of time. We got Mr. Byte and Chewy at 8 weeks, and both QBit and Aero older than that. As I write this it’s been 24 hours and we’re both a little pooped. We set up an exercise pen in our laundry room over a layer of old towels, with a kennel for Bella and the puppies. They were in the process of being weaned when they came to us, and we’re feeding them Fromm’s small-format kibble with a protein supplement called Puppy Gold. (They still nurse a little when Bella lets them.) We also put a puppy litter box in the exercise pen, and (remarkably) the puppies are trying their best to use it, though one in particular is still a little unclear on the concept. (He puts his front feet in the pan and then pees over the edge.)

Six-week puppies are something to watch. Their lives consist of sleep punctuated by (short) periods of furious kinetic activity. Carol and I take them out of the pen several times a day and let them run around the laundry room until they tire themselves out–after which they’ll sleep together in a pile for another three hours. They’re not especially coordinated, and don’t really walk well. They run by something I’d almost call hopping, and generally end up falling over on the linoleum, looking sheepishly around them for a moment before launching off in a different direction. We’re trying to get them socialized and used to close contact with people so that they can be placed when they’re old enough. All of them are probably show quality (it’s still a little hard to tell on things like pigment) and although one of them is bouncier than the other two (he’s the one on the left in the photo) all three are happy, friendly, and extremely playful.

It’s fun having puppies around again, but there’s lots to do here and I think we’ll gladly hand them back when their little vacation is up this weekend. I still have three biggish chapters worth of copyedits to read by the Fourth, and other work has piled up in the meantime. Besides, there’s a sort of Point of No Return with puppies: Keep them too long, and yup, you just don’t want to return them.

Fingerpainting with a Spoon

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I surfaced yesterday after several days immersed in copyedits, which are done and returned now through chapter 8, of 12. (Another batch will fly out from NY on Monday, if I understand the sked correctly.) My publisher surprised me last night by sending me a first draft of the book’s catalog copy, which was so unspeakably horrible that I immediately volunteered to rewrite it from scratch. I used to do that a lot at Coriolis and I’m good at it, and I think my editor knows me well enough to know that I’m good at it. She might have just asked me to do it (I certainly would have) but I’ll admit that seeing what other people would say about my 200,000 words if I did not added some urgency to the task.

Done in a trice. So I woke up this morning with no more work to do than I generally have, and that’s a feeling I haven’t felt in some time. Over breakfast I let my mind wander, and when I got down to the bottom of my bowl of yogurt, I had an idea, an idea born out of irritation: There is no way to get the last of the yogurt out of the bowl. I mean, you can scrape with the spoon until you’re purple in the face (which can happen, with blueberries in the mix) but that’s just fingerpainting with the spoon and you’re always going to leave a little. This yogurt is peculiarly good, too: Greek Gods full-fat pomegranite, just half a notch thinner than cream cheese and capable of keeping me cranking most of the morning. (A scrambled egg, its partner-in-breakfast, takes care of the rest.) I am loath to leave any, even for the dogs…and besides, having a pure-white dog lick purple yogurt out of a bowl has consequences.

Then it struck me: All-metal spoons are just so third-century. Why are we still eating Greek yogurt with the same implements the ancient Greeks used? Is this not 2009? And so I sketched out what I wanted: Spoons with metal handles but bowls molded from heatproof silicone rubber, formulated to be a little stiffer than a kitchen spatula, but sufficiently flexible under a little force to conform to the curve of the bowl and get enough of the yogurt out so that leaving what remains wouldn’t bother me.

I looked online for such a thing this morning and came up empty. The basic concept is feasible: We have a silicone-rubber serving spoon in the drawer, but it’s far too big to fit in my mouth. Could it be that nobody else has ever thought of this? Or could it be that we just don’t like our food enough to want to finish all of it?

Souls in Silicon on Amazon at Cover

SISSmall.jpg Boy, I sure wasn’t expecting this: An email this morning from Lulu informed me that my SF story collection Souls in Silicon was now being offered through Amazon Marketplace at its $11.97 cover price–not cover plus 30%, as I reported in my May 29, 2009 Odd Lots entry. It’s evidently a test program of some kind, and not all Lulu books are included; in fact, of the eight Copperwood Press titles, Souls in Silcon is the only one in the program. Somebody’s giving up significant margin here, and odds are it’s not Amazon.

But this is an awesomely good thing. I have a hunch that Lulu heard that POD publishers like me were going with other systems (like Amazon’s own BookSurge) to get into the Amazon database somehow and started to worry. Hey, I’d worry too. All Copperwood books would probably be on another system (probably BookSurge) by now had the assembly book project not taken over my life last November. I would not have pulled them off Lulu, but everybody knows that Amazon is the first place people go looking for books online.

I want this program to continue and go mainstream, not just for me but for everybody, so I’m going to make a slightly weird request: If my writeups on the book piqued your interest and you figured you might order Souls in Silicon someday, now is the time to do it–if you do it through Amazon. I’m about to order a few here, and if I could scare up a couple more orders from elsewhere it could support the test and convince them that the decision could pay off for them, by generating higher unit sales even at obviously lower margins.

Here’s the Amazon sales link. (The same link is on the cover image above.) And if you know any other Lulu books in the same program, consider buying them as well. If Lulu’s going to survive it has to be able to get its products into the Amazon database. This may be their best shot, at least until they allow me to use ISBNs from my own set.

UPDATE: I just discovered that within the past hour, all the rest of my Copperwood Press titles were updated on Amazon to their Lulu cover prices. Dare we hope that the test program succeeded?

UPDATE: Chris Gerrib wrote to tell me that his Lulu SF novel The Mars Run is also in the program, which in fact includes the top 100,000 Lulu titles by sales rank. Even my slowest seller, The Pope and the Council, is at #37,303, which makes me wonder how many copies the bottom two million Lulu titles have sold…