Alex M. Bright's Blog, page 2
April 17, 2020
A 99 Year Old "Absolute Legend"
Read the article:
Tom Moore served as a soldier during WWII (and other conflicts). He KNOWS anxiety and real doom and all the other feelings we're experiencing... yet has chosen to fight for others even when he should be long past fighting for anyone but himself.
"Moore said the walk was inspired by the care he received from Britain's state-run National Health Service when he broke his hip and when he was treated for cancer."
I'm glad the UK has the NHS and I'm glad we have our own universal health care system in Canada. It's not perfect, but it's better than the nightmare of the US, where one victim of Covid-19's last words were, "Who will pay for it?" when he was told he needed to be put on a ventilator. Remember that, next time and every time we're at the polls, voting in a provincial or federal party which would gut health care in an attempt to privatize it.
Tom Moore served as a soldier during WWII (and other conflicts). He KNOWS anxiety and real doom and all the other feelings we're experiencing... yet has chosen to fight for others even when he should be long past fighting for anyone but himself.
"Moore said the walk was inspired by the care he received from Britain's state-run National Health Service when he broke his hip and when he was treated for cancer."
I'm glad the UK has the NHS and I'm glad we have our own universal health care system in Canada. It's not perfect, but it's better than the nightmare of the US, where one victim of Covid-19's last words were, "Who will pay for it?" when he was told he needed to be put on a ventilator. Remember that, next time and every time we're at the polls, voting in a provincial or federal party which would gut health care in an attempt to privatize it.
January 27, 2020
Holocaust Memorial Day -- 75 years later
It's been estimated that upwards of 17 million people were exterminated by the Nazis. The largest group targeted was 6 million Jews -- a horrific genocide. However, that leaves 11 million more... the disabled (both cognitive and physical), Slavs, Roma, political dissidents, and, of course, LGBTQ folks were also deemed unfit for life by the Nazi Regime.
We must remember them all, because there are STILL plenty of people around who would gladly attempt the Final Solution once again.
Please feel free to add your own article links and/or books below for others to peruse.
We must remember them all, because there are STILL plenty of people around who would gladly attempt the Final Solution once again.
Please feel free to add your own article links and/or books below for others to peruse.
December 25, 2019
My Top 10 of 2019
I'll be honest. I was once a prolific reader, but by the time I finished university and started my career I began to read less often for pleasure. It was all kids books and textbooks for me! That didn't work very well for my spirit, though.
Last year (2018) I was introduced to this wonderful group on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ called the SciFi and Fantasy Book Club (SFFBC)... and reintroduced myself to a former passion. I read more than I had in a long time and it felt good. For 2019 I set an original goal of 30 books... and surpassed it by a mile! I know I don't read as much as some others do, but I'm proud of my 51 (probably 52 before the year is out) total. Beats the heck out of the 3-5 books I had been reading a year for the better part of two decades.
Anyway, with that out of the way, here is my Top 10 list of books I read this year. The placement was tricky, but I did my best! Positions don't necessarily reflect my star rating alone, but also how much of an impact I think they had on me overall.
1. Wayfarers (The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet/A Closed and Common Orbit), by Becky Chambers
2. The Left Hand of Darkness, (Ursula K. Le Guin) -- Thanks for introducing me to her, Anthony!
3. Rosewater (Insurrection/Redemption), by Tad Thompson
4. The Amber Spyglass, by Philip Pullman
5. The Sandman: Overture, by Neil Gaiman
6. Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
7. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick
8. I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream, by Harlan Ellison
9. A Night in the Lonesome October, by Roger Zelazny
10. The First Men in the Moon, by H.G. Wells
Last year (2018) I was introduced to this wonderful group on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ called the SciFi and Fantasy Book Club (SFFBC)... and reintroduced myself to a former passion. I read more than I had in a long time and it felt good. For 2019 I set an original goal of 30 books... and surpassed it by a mile! I know I don't read as much as some others do, but I'm proud of my 51 (probably 52 before the year is out) total. Beats the heck out of the 3-5 books I had been reading a year for the better part of two decades.
Anyway, with that out of the way, here is my Top 10 list of books I read this year. The placement was tricky, but I did my best! Positions don't necessarily reflect my star rating alone, but also how much of an impact I think they had on me overall.
1. Wayfarers (The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet/A Closed and Common Orbit), by Becky Chambers
2. The Left Hand of Darkness, (Ursula K. Le Guin) -- Thanks for introducing me to her, Anthony!
3. Rosewater (Insurrection/Redemption), by Tad Thompson
4. The Amber Spyglass, by Philip Pullman
5. The Sandman: Overture, by Neil Gaiman
6. Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
7. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick
8. I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream, by Harlan Ellison
9. A Night in the Lonesome October, by Roger Zelazny
10. The First Men in the Moon, by H.G. Wells
November 9, 2019
Metamorphosis
I just started reading To Be Taught, If Fortunate, by Becky Chambers, and at the beginning the narrator speaks about the amazing ability of a caterpillar to metamorphose into a butterfly. It reminded me of a short story a wrote many, many years ago. I never knew how prophetic it would be concerning my own life.
A Butterfly’s World (2002)
Once upon a time there was a group of happy caterpillars. They lived in a huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree that bore no green except for moss and mistletoe. The leaves had once been plentiful, but the little caterpillars had eaten them all in anticipation of the Winter air that was beginning to creep over them. They knew that come Spring, all would be well and the tree would be green once again � that was the way of Nature. Now, as a cold breeze swept through the trees, the caterpillars met for one last time before they cocooned. In Spring, the tree would miraculously transform, and so would they.
All of these little creatures were coloured brilliantly in shades of blue and green and orange and yellow. That is, all but one. This little caterpillar (who was even smaller than most) was grey, and had been taunted endlessly by the others for her lack of color. In her tiny heart, she hoped against hope that when she emerged from cocoon she would be the most brilliantly coloured of all the butterflies.
“Why, you’ll be nothing but a moth!� many of them said. “A silly, ugly grey moth!� But still she hoped, and after the last meeting she inched off to the farthest part of the old oak tree that she could. She hummed lightly, the sound breaking occasionally in her sorrow, while she wrapped herself up tightly for Winter.
The months passed, the moss froze and the mistletoe was picked. But soon the ice on the branches melted in the sun’s rays and the birds called forth Spring. All the little cocoons started to move and break apart, as beautiful butterflies of blue and green and orange and yellow flew out into the newly born world. That is, all but one.
In the cocoon of the little grey caterpillar, the creature thought, “I’m not going out. What if I’m still grey? What if I really am just a silly, ugly little moth?�
Outside, the butterflies gathered around this last remaining cocoon shouting, “Come out! Come out so we can see you! We really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings before... if you are a moth, so what? You can still fly! Come out!�
Hearing this, she began to break open her cocoon. When she emerged, and saw the expressions on the butterflies� faces, she looked down at her wings. They were mottled, ashen grey and rather too small for the rest of her. She tried to fly, but she couldn’t keep herself up. In an instant, she found herself in a hole in the ground. The Spring rains, so necessary to make the old oak tree green once again, had her wings covered in mud.
Looking up, she saw the rest of the butterflies winging off to explore the world. They knew they could do nothing for her, so spent no time grieving over her � next spring there would be more creatures born and the world would go on.
The sky went grey and the rains began again. The hole started filling up with water. She said to herself, “But a silly, little, ugly grey moth should still be able to fly... why can’t I fly?�
The next day, the first green leaf sprouted on the old oak tree.
A Butterfly’s World (2002)
Once upon a time there was a group of happy caterpillars. They lived in a huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree that bore no green except for moss and mistletoe. The leaves had once been plentiful, but the little caterpillars had eaten them all in anticipation of the Winter air that was beginning to creep over them. They knew that come Spring, all would be well and the tree would be green once again � that was the way of Nature. Now, as a cold breeze swept through the trees, the caterpillars met for one last time before they cocooned. In Spring, the tree would miraculously transform, and so would they.
All of these little creatures were coloured brilliantly in shades of blue and green and orange and yellow. That is, all but one. This little caterpillar (who was even smaller than most) was grey, and had been taunted endlessly by the others for her lack of color. In her tiny heart, she hoped against hope that when she emerged from cocoon she would be the most brilliantly coloured of all the butterflies.
“Why, you’ll be nothing but a moth!� many of them said. “A silly, ugly grey moth!� But still she hoped, and after the last meeting she inched off to the farthest part of the old oak tree that she could. She hummed lightly, the sound breaking occasionally in her sorrow, while she wrapped herself up tightly for Winter.
The months passed, the moss froze and the mistletoe was picked. But soon the ice on the branches melted in the sun’s rays and the birds called forth Spring. All the little cocoons started to move and break apart, as beautiful butterflies of blue and green and orange and yellow flew out into the newly born world. That is, all but one.
In the cocoon of the little grey caterpillar, the creature thought, “I’m not going out. What if I’m still grey? What if I really am just a silly, ugly little moth?�
Outside, the butterflies gathered around this last remaining cocoon shouting, “Come out! Come out so we can see you! We really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings before... if you are a moth, so what? You can still fly! Come out!�
Hearing this, she began to break open her cocoon. When she emerged, and saw the expressions on the butterflies� faces, she looked down at her wings. They were mottled, ashen grey and rather too small for the rest of her. She tried to fly, but she couldn’t keep herself up. In an instant, she found herself in a hole in the ground. The Spring rains, so necessary to make the old oak tree green once again, had her wings covered in mud.
Looking up, she saw the rest of the butterflies winging off to explore the world. They knew they could do nothing for her, so spent no time grieving over her � next spring there would be more creatures born and the world would go on.
The sky went grey and the rains began again. The hole started filling up with water. She said to herself, “But a silly, little, ugly grey moth should still be able to fly... why can’t I fly?�
The next day, the first green leaf sprouted on the old oak tree.
August 2, 2019
A Story from 1965
In 1965, my Aunt Trish and her then husband, Red, were travelling down from Minnesota to Florida to visit family before heading to Texas to make a new home. They were heading through Georgia when my aunt saw an ancient black couple stranded on the side of the road, their car having broken down. She asked her husband to pull over -- he was good with cars -- to see if they could help. As Red got to work figuring out the problem, my aunt noticed saw that the old woman had started bawling... not just crying, but bawling. She asked what was wrong.
The woman, probably in her late 80s if not in her 90s, explained that her mother had been born into slavery and she (who would have been born not long after the abolition of slavery in 1865 in Georgia) had grown up seeing exactly what it had done to people, the poverty and how difficult a transition it had been. I doubt it would have suddenly been all roses and sunshine going from slavery to "freedom" -- they were still a group of people "burnt by God" and "evil" in the eyes of many. She had been hateful and fearful (with good reason) of white people all her life. The woman said she never would have expected two white people to pull over to help them. Needless to say, it stunned my aunt, who'd spent most of her life going back and forth between Liberia (in West Africa) and Minnesota.
What struck me about this story was not "Wow -- look how great my family members are -- we aren't racist!" Pride doesn't factor into something that has always been a logical norm to me. It would be the equivalent of saying "Wow -- look how great my aunt is... she brushes her hair -- she isn't a slob!" Personal hygiene is expected, not celebrated. No... what struck me was how long that ancient soul needed to wait to see a kindness from a white person. One hundred years after abolition.
Now, I'm sure there were plenty of white people in 1965 (or even 1865) who would have pulled over to help -- but for a long time there was still segregation (which ended in 1950s), and a lot of people tend to hold on to the norms they're comfortable with. Even when laws change. I always understood this, but this story put a fine point on the matter for me.
It's been over 150 years since the abolition of slavery in the US, and things are a lot better, but the fight against racism still isn't over. The centuries-old battle against racism is a cautionary tale, as well, to those who stand up against other various forms of prejudice: You can change laws to reflect an ethical truth, but it often takes a lot longer -- far too long in some cases -- for people to catch up. Some never do.
But the fight is worth it.
The woman, probably in her late 80s if not in her 90s, explained that her mother had been born into slavery and she (who would have been born not long after the abolition of slavery in 1865 in Georgia) had grown up seeing exactly what it had done to people, the poverty and how difficult a transition it had been. I doubt it would have suddenly been all roses and sunshine going from slavery to "freedom" -- they were still a group of people "burnt by God" and "evil" in the eyes of many. She had been hateful and fearful (with good reason) of white people all her life. The woman said she never would have expected two white people to pull over to help them. Needless to say, it stunned my aunt, who'd spent most of her life going back and forth between Liberia (in West Africa) and Minnesota.
What struck me about this story was not "Wow -- look how great my family members are -- we aren't racist!" Pride doesn't factor into something that has always been a logical norm to me. It would be the equivalent of saying "Wow -- look how great my aunt is... she brushes her hair -- she isn't a slob!" Personal hygiene is expected, not celebrated. No... what struck me was how long that ancient soul needed to wait to see a kindness from a white person. One hundred years after abolition.
Now, I'm sure there were plenty of white people in 1965 (or even 1865) who would have pulled over to help -- but for a long time there was still segregation (which ended in 1950s), and a lot of people tend to hold on to the norms they're comfortable with. Even when laws change. I always understood this, but this story put a fine point on the matter for me.
It's been over 150 years since the abolition of slavery in the US, and things are a lot better, but the fight against racism still isn't over. The centuries-old battle against racism is a cautionary tale, as well, to those who stand up against other various forms of prejudice: You can change laws to reflect an ethical truth, but it often takes a lot longer -- far too long in some cases -- for people to catch up. Some never do.
But the fight is worth it.
May 13, 2019
Morpheus Art Commission
I had this Sandman art commissioned at Ottawa Comic Con, since Neil Gaiman's series is my favourite Graphic Novel! The artist is Alex Chung, and he's amazing!
March 4, 2019
Warning: Gross Imagery Ahead
Nothing like laying naked on the bathroom floor at 4 am, sweating and shivering, after the umpteenth time of evacuating from both ends and questioning everything.
How the hell does a person keep vomiting when there's literally nothing left to vomit?
Do I have the energy to crawl back to bed, or should I just sleep here?
Is this what the seventh circle of hell feels like?
Is this how/where I'm going to die?
How do single parents with kids get through this?
How many pounds have I lost already?
I apologize for the visuals. That was my Saturday into Sunday. I slept through Sunday for the most part. I've actually managed to stay awake for two hours straight today, but I still have a fever and haven't eaten any solid food yet. Just water, ice chips, and cranberry juice. Might try broth a little later.
Gastroenteritis (aka Stomach Flu) is a bitch.
How the hell does a person keep vomiting when there's literally nothing left to vomit?
Do I have the energy to crawl back to bed, or should I just sleep here?
Is this what the seventh circle of hell feels like?
Is this how/where I'm going to die?
How do single parents with kids get through this?
How many pounds have I lost already?
I apologize for the visuals. That was my Saturday into Sunday. I slept through Sunday for the most part. I've actually managed to stay awake for two hours straight today, but I still have a fever and haven't eaten any solid food yet. Just water, ice chips, and cranberry juice. Might try broth a little later.
Gastroenteritis (aka Stomach Flu) is a bitch.
February 14, 2019
Valentine's Day
This is why I love teaching. I love literacy and, more importantly, I love the kids and sharing the wonders of literacy with them.
January 21, 2019
When Is Horror Not Horror?
I thought I'd do a post on my favourite horror movies -- or books... yes, I should probably be doing books -- but where's the fun in that? So, instead here are some "horror" movies I will never watch. I put horror in quotes, because to me most of them are just torture and/or rape porn. I don't watch horror movies to throw up or be completely traumatized. Do you agree/disagree? Have any to add?
A Serbian Film
Saw (any)
Hostel (any)
Human Centipede (any)
Audition
The Hills Have Eyes (remake)
Last House on the Left
Cannibal Holocaust (real animal deaths)
The Devil's Rejects
I Spit On Your Grave (any)
³§²¹±ôò
*Warning: If you have no idea what some of these movies are about, and you have a sensitive disposition, DO NOT look them up. Especially A Serbian Film. It's not worth it. Trust me.*
A Serbian Film
Saw (any)
Hostel (any)
Human Centipede (any)
Audition
The Hills Have Eyes (remake)
Last House on the Left
Cannibal Holocaust (real animal deaths)
The Devil's Rejects
I Spit On Your Grave (any)
³§²¹±ôò
*Warning: If you have no idea what some of these movies are about, and you have a sensitive disposition, DO NOT look them up. Especially A Serbian Film. It's not worth it. Trust me.*
October 14, 2018
Zeppelins Will Destroy The World
I remember my dreams every night -- often two or three of them. If I don't remember my dreams for a few nights in a row, it means I'm getting sick. Most of my dreams the average person would classify as "nightmares," but they don't bother me. Occasionally, I have WTF batshit crazy dreams. I had one of those last night.
For some reason I was in what was supposed to be downtown Ottawa -- somewhere near the Arts Centre slash Rideau Centre, just north of the overpass if you have any idea what I'm talking about. The same overpass I stood on with a throng of people last year as a dragon came down the street, and a massive spider climbed up the side of the bridge. The dragon spit fire, and one of the spider's legs nearly hit me in the head. That's not from a dream. That's an actual event called La Machine. It was epic.
Anyway, I wasn't on the overpass in the dream, but below, and about a city block north of it. There was an old, new-world Victorian house (which doesn't actually exist) which was about five stories high. Young children were climbing all over the outside of it. One of the children fell from about four stories up, and I ran over to help. So far, so normal. Pretty par for the course in my dreamscapes.
I never got to the child because the dream suddenly shifted when I heard screaming from behind me. Turning around, I saw what everyone else did: a massive black zeppelin of about 200 metres (600ish feet?) gliding low in the air, over what would have been City Hall, three blocks south. The shadow it cast made it look like nighttime had fallen. It took everyone a moment to realize it was crashing. I, stupidly, started heading toward it, thinking I could help the people on board. A few others had the same idea, but most were heading in the opposite direction.
That's when my stomach lurched. Something was terribly wrong. As the zeppelin crashed, I noticed it wasn't entirely black -- there was some sort of Asian writing on the side, in white lettering. It was crashing -- it wasn't an accident.
It had been aimed.
The zeppelin didn't ignite when it hit the ground, but about 30 seconds later several explosions could be heard as its payload began to detonate. It was at this point that I saw several other shadows looming in the distance, bearing down on our capital.
I spent the rest of the dream running around, trying to stay away from the crash zones, and attempting to contact my mother, who was eight hours north. When I did reach her, I was told that many capital cities had been attacked with the zeppelins, including DC, London, and Berlin. It was North Korea. Turns out their nuclear program was just a cover -- they knew they couldn't create nukes -- and their real mission was to create undetectable zeppelins with incendiary bombs as their payload.
How they made them undetectable I have no idea, but I woke up shortly thereafter.
For some reason I was in what was supposed to be downtown Ottawa -- somewhere near the Arts Centre slash Rideau Centre, just north of the overpass if you have any idea what I'm talking about. The same overpass I stood on with a throng of people last year as a dragon came down the street, and a massive spider climbed up the side of the bridge. The dragon spit fire, and one of the spider's legs nearly hit me in the head. That's not from a dream. That's an actual event called La Machine. It was epic.
Anyway, I wasn't on the overpass in the dream, but below, and about a city block north of it. There was an old, new-world Victorian house (which doesn't actually exist) which was about five stories high. Young children were climbing all over the outside of it. One of the children fell from about four stories up, and I ran over to help. So far, so normal. Pretty par for the course in my dreamscapes.
I never got to the child because the dream suddenly shifted when I heard screaming from behind me. Turning around, I saw what everyone else did: a massive black zeppelin of about 200 metres (600ish feet?) gliding low in the air, over what would have been City Hall, three blocks south. The shadow it cast made it look like nighttime had fallen. It took everyone a moment to realize it was crashing. I, stupidly, started heading toward it, thinking I could help the people on board. A few others had the same idea, but most were heading in the opposite direction.
That's when my stomach lurched. Something was terribly wrong. As the zeppelin crashed, I noticed it wasn't entirely black -- there was some sort of Asian writing on the side, in white lettering. It was crashing -- it wasn't an accident.
It had been aimed.
The zeppelin didn't ignite when it hit the ground, but about 30 seconds later several explosions could be heard as its payload began to detonate. It was at this point that I saw several other shadows looming in the distance, bearing down on our capital.
I spent the rest of the dream running around, trying to stay away from the crash zones, and attempting to contact my mother, who was eight hours north. When I did reach her, I was told that many capital cities had been attacked with the zeppelins, including DC, London, and Berlin. It was North Korea. Turns out their nuclear program was just a cover -- they knew they couldn't create nukes -- and their real mission was to create undetectable zeppelins with incendiary bombs as their payload.
How they made them undetectable I have no idea, but I woke up shortly thereafter.
