passable

I've moved to http://arapehlivanian.com

2005-10-04T21:06:00.000-04:00

Well, I did it. I have my own site: http://arapehlivanian.com. Right now it's just a stock install of WordPress until I figure out how to make it do what I want it to do. So please be patient with me. I'm going to try and keep writing during the setting up process. This blog will remain for the indefinite future. I'm not sure if I'm going to move any of the posts from here to the new site. We'll see.

Truth in advertising

2005-09-29T21:27:00.000-04:00

There's so much I could and want to say, but maybe it's better if you see for yourself:

Getting old or just sneezing too hard

2005-09-25T18:06:00.000-04:00

No I'm not talking about a bladder problem. I'm actually talking about my mind and its recent inability to deliver words to me correctly. I don't know what's going on, but more and more I find myself at a loss for words, turns of phrase, simple expressions of thought, and even clichés. I can't seem to articulate the thoughts that are swimming around my head. It's possible that this is because I'm getting older (hitting the big three oh next year), or that I sneeze too hard and lose precious braincells as a result, or maybe it's that I was never really that good and am only coming to terms with it now. There is another possibility. It could be that in the pursuit of a better grasp of the language, I've become a little too self-conscious of the way that I speak/write and it's spawned an insecurity in me that inhibits my ability to formulate my thoughts in a cohesive and (uhm, uhm... what was that word... thesaurus... on yeah!) timely way.

*sigh*

the simple web

2005-09-19T01:00:00.000-04:00

As you know (yes, all one of you) I'm a web developer by day and an aspiring author by night. Except that maybe I'm a little lacking in the commitment necessary for the latter. At any rate, I want to let you know that my time will be divided between passable and the simple web, my new web development blog. That's where I'll discuss the work that inspires me and puts food on the table. (Thank God). Enjoy.

"Waste"

2005-09-02T00:01:00.000-04:00

Waste

Somewhere a hero waits to save the day
A leader waits to lead the way
But not right now
Not just yet
Let's just have fun for one more day

Somewhere a warrior wants to win the war
A conqueror wants to conquer
But not right now
Not just yet
Let's escape and run away

Somewhere a helper wants to help
A servant wants to serve
But not right now
Not just yet
So much to see, so little time

The passing of time goes unfelt
The numbness is fed
The feeding feeds on itself
What a waste
What a waste

Somewhere a teacher longs to teach
A wise man to share his wisdom
But not right now
Not just yet
Can't slow down, must go faster

Somewhere an innovator wants to innovate
A visionary with a vision
But not right now
Not just yet
Too distracted, too...

Somewhere a lover wants to love
A heart longs to share
But not right now
Not just yet
Distortion distracts

So much potential, so much wasted
Discipline yields to sloth
Purpose gives way to selfishness
And the world writhes in pain while I play

While I play

Decay, decay, the rot of today
It's all the same yet seemingly new
Under the surface the potential lay
Nothing is different from yesterday

And the world writes while I play

While I play

Technorati tags: Poetry, Writing

"The Call"

2005-08-12T22:16:00.000-04:00

The Call

Harold Cruickshank walked into his Ottawa office at a quarter to six in the morning. A widower, he spent more time at work than he did anywhere else. Though, work for him didn't always mean being in the office, today it did. The sixty-two year old dropped his Hartmann Legend briefcase onto his desk and walked over to the coffee machine on his credenza. His secretary wasn't due for another fifteen minutes and he liked to start his mornings with caffeine. He flipped on the machine and reached for the TV remote. It actually controlled two televisions in his office, one was set permanently to CNN and the other to CTV Newsnet. The director of Canada's Security Intelligence Service had the enviable task of keeping one eye on his country's affairs with the other warily trained on the United States. And since the Americans hardly ever carried news reports about their neighbors to the north, he needed two televisions for the task. To make matters embarrasingly worse, reporters were sometimes his first and best source of information -- much to the chagrin of members of his agency.

His phone rang, it was his secure line. His secretary not yet being in, he picked it up.

"Mornin' Harold," the voice on the other end of the phone needed no introduction. It was Bill Marshal, the Communications Security Establishment's chief. As head of Canada's equivalent to the US' NSA, Bill worked very closely with Harold, especially on matters of counter-terrorism.

"Aren't you supposed to be teeing off at Eagle Creek right about now?" Bill was an avid golfer and always liked to start his week off with a round of golf.

"Yeah, but some COMINT came in at around 4AM and, well, you know how it is." Like any such agency, the CSE had watch officers on duty twenty-four hours a day. This particular Monday morning was no different, and once the recording in question was identified, catalogued and subjected to a preliminary analysis, it was flagged as High Priority and bumped up to the chief's office. Of course when dealing with a High Priority signal, "not being in" didn't matter a whole heck of a lot. You were simply found, and the message that there was something really important needing your attention was relayed. Bill cursed the pervasive nature of modern communications whenever he was contacted during his predawn slumber, or when his golf was interrupted. Then again, his agency existed to exploit the very communications he bemoaned. Such was the mad world he lived in.

"Heh, I hear ya," Harold replied. Though for all the free time that men in their positions craved, Harold wasn't one of them. Ever since the loss of his wife, he imersed himself deeper into his work and had nary a regret for its demands on his time.

"You should be getting a fax right about now," Bill said. He held in his hand a first draft translation of what the analysts said may just be the first satellite phone call placed by the head of Al-Qaeda in years.

As if on queue, Harold's secure fax came to life and within a few seconds he was holding onto the same document. "Son of a...," his voice trailed off as he read through the translation. "After all this time and he makes a call to Canada. The boys at NSA are going to go ape when they see this," he said.

NSA had an alliance with several friendly nations all of whom, coincidentally, could trace their heritage back to the UK. It was called aptly enough the UKUSA community and included Canada's CSE, Britain's GCHQ, Australia's DSD and New Zealand's GCSB. The agreement was that they'd help one another cover more ground than any one of them could alone and thus, every satellite transmission, phone call, fax, cellphone call, and really any signal that passed through the ether around the world was duly pirated, copied, and fed into Platform, the network that connected the UKUSA community.

"Bill, I think the Prime Minister needs to see this right away," Harold said, rereading the copy. "If this is real..."

"I know," Bill cut in. "We're already putting in a request to ECHELON to back check the contents of this message. This may not be the first. We only twigged to it because of his voice print. There could be others that we didn't catch."

"Hmmm," was all the reply Cruickshank could give. He was deep in thought. Canada had recently started to beef up its HUMINT (human intelligence) capacity. For example, they'd taken full advantage of resulting chaos from the fall of Saddam Hussein's regime to insert intelligence assets into the middle east. So far, they hadn't done much more than get themselves established. Now, while still in the preperation phase of their assignments, they'd be sent orders to try and confirm the contents of this transcript. Could this be a false flag operation? Was Al-Qaeda sophisticated enough to try and root out foreign intelligence assets by sending a bogus message so easily intercepted? That was something to consider. Or was there something else? "Okay Bill, thanks for the intel. I've got to go lock some of my guys in a room and spend some time working on this. I'll get back to you when we develop anything."

"Sure thing," Bill replied. "We'll keep diggin' on our end."

And just like that, Harold's day went from run-of-the-mill to interesting, and the news networks hadn't flinched. Wasn't that something, he thought to himself with a smile.

Technorati tags: Fiction, Writing, Short Stories

"Gone?"

2005-08-11T00:15:00.000-04:00

Gone?

I lost a thing the other day
While going about my routine
It was of some import to me
I wonder, what could it have been?

It slipped my grasp and slid away
Or did I let it go?
A vague remembrance of something...
...I know I had once long ago

All I have are these myriad scars
No memory of cause, no pain to tell...
...Of why these lesions run so deep
New numbness I know too well

There was a reason, there was a rhyme
A raison d'être, a joie de vivre
There was a time that I could feel
Alas, no more. No more.

Technorati tags: Fiction, Writing, Poetry

"The Snitch"

2005-07-07T21:04:00.000-04:00

The Snitch

Rupert tried unsuccessfully to sit still in his high back leather executive chair. He'd been waiting for what seemed an eternity. His red rimmed eyes darted from the door to the clock on the wall and back in a nervous dance that had occupied him for the better part of the past thrity minutes. Two AM, where is he?

He was wired, riding a nerve freying high of caffeine and nicotine that forced upon him a painful and unwelcome alertness. His body cried for sleep, yet was denied that most precious of commodities. Strung out, with patience running low, he decided on another cigarette. It might help him, if not calm down, then at least to pass the time. Reaching for the pack on his desk he noted that he'd have to do somthing about the mountain of butts in his ashtray soon. He grabbed the pack. One left. With the deft hands of a seasoned pro he liberated the smoke and had it to his lips about as fast as his trembling hands would let him. What are you, afraid? No, it's got to be all the coffee.

A knock at the door. Startled, he nearly lost control of his coffee laden bladder. He rested his cigarette on the edge of the table, letting out a soothing lungful of smoke. He opened the top drawer of his desk for a quick glance inside then, satisfied, closed it and stood to answer the door. As soon as he got to his feet, it was gravity that reminded him of his now urgent need to visit the mens room. He made his way to the door, cursing the two extra large coffee's he'd had every step of the way.

Why can't anything go right? He raged. As he reached for the doorknob, it suddenly dawned on him how incredibly stupid of him it was to be having this meeting at his own office! Should he ignore the knock? No, it was too late now. He opened the door, unaware of the pained look on his face. This wasn't going well at all...

Technorati tags: Fiction, Writing, Short Stories

"Paradise Ranch"

2005-05-27T19:11:00.000-04:00

Paradise Ranch

"November One-Niner-Seven-Six Zulu, you are in restricted airspace. Change course immediately or you will be fired upon," the disembodied voice said over the radio. Howard looked over his right shoulder out of the cockpit window and sure enough there was an F-16 falcon flying formation just a few feet off of his right wing. Turning his head he saw another one on his left wing. He was sure that there were at least two more behind them.

"Howard, what the hell are you doing?" his passenger panicked. Mike was sitting in the Gulfstream G550's co-pilot's chair, though he'd never piloted a plane in his life. He had ended up here through a decidedly bizarre turn of events and was now wondering if he'd live long enough to even soil himself.

"Six Zulu, this is your final warning. Either change course or we will be forced to open fire!" the voice was all business.

Howard figured he'd excited his guest long enough. He casually picked up the radio mic and keyed the switch. "This is November One-Niner-Seven-Six Zulu, requesting permission to land."

"Six Zulu, are you out of your mind? You're flying a civilian aircraft in restricted military airspace, now turn your plane around!"

"F-Sixteen, I repeat, request permission to land. Authorisation Papa Romeo X-Ray One," Howard replied letting his finger off the switch. "Suck on that, hotshot," he said under his breath and looked over at his passenger with a grin. Mike was as pale as a ghost and quite visibly shaken.

After several moments the radio crackled again, "Uhh, Six Zulu, permission is granted, sir. Change your heading to Zero-One-Niner and follow us in."

"Roger that F-Sixteen."

"What just happened?" Mike stammered.

"Relax buddy. Every air force base has a 'hot list' of codes used by special ops types in case of an emergency." He saw understanding in Mike's face only to be replaced with confusion once more, although this time without the added contortion of panic.

"But how is it that you have a code?" His question only evoked a smile from Howard. Mike was beginning to learn that being with Howard was an exercise in frustration. Every answer he'd gotten for his questions thus far only resulted in more questions. A lot of which were dead ends. Just like this one.

Howard keyed the mic again, "Groom Lake tower, this is Jolly Jumper on approach bearing Zero-One-Niner, do you copy?"

"Roger Jolly Jumper, your signal is five-by-five. You are cleared for runway two left, winds are twenty knots south by southwest, just follow the lights in." Just then a dim row of lights became visible on the horizon.

Technorati tags: Fiction, Writing, Short Stories

"Awakening"

2005-04-21T22:32:00.000-04:00

As some of you may be aware, I aspire to eventually write a novel. So in an effort to exercise my authoring abilities I've decided to write (very) short stories from time to time and post them here. This of course will allow me to practice while hopefully garnering constructive criticism.

For those who are about to read: Enjoy.

Awakening

Slowly, ever so slowly, the oblivion began to fade. What had been an intangible void reluctantly began to give way to darkness. Though it wasn't much, it was still identifiable and so welcome. Next came the cloudy awareness of self, a mind trying to make sense of its environs. Familiarity was one of the first things it reported, as though the oblivion had temporarily receded several times before. Hovering on the edge of consciousness and hungry for sensory input it tried to focus through the pervading haze in order to get its bearings.

Its first attempts were met with failure. No response. Just darkness. Then, gradually those connected to it began to report in. One by one, they made their presence known: lungs (labouring), throat (sore), mouth (dry), arms (heavy), and so on. Finally, in a muddled chorus, the whole of them communicated complete exhaustion, as though every last one of them had been exerted to their limit. Then, one by one they began to fade, disappearing in the returning oblivion.

This time it was different though. Rather than fading to nothingness, the darkness gave way to images, inexplicable dreams, each more frightening than the one before. The net effect of which was a paralyzing terror causing the mind to reach out to its subordinates in desperation.

The lungs were the first to respond, with a sudden and deep gasp of air filling them. The dormant muscles in the back came to life arching tightly to assist the lungs in maximizing their capacity for oxygen. The heart by now was pounding at a feverish pace.

Then it happened.

The eyelids snapped open widely, letting in a flood of light through the unprepared pupils. The resulting overload on the retinas translated into a sharp stabbing sensation in the brain. That's when the entire body slacked.

Some time passed while the mind absently pondered it's awakening. Little by little, it began to venture into higher levels of thought culminating in one distinct question: "Who am I?"

Technorati tags: Fiction, Writing, Short Stories

Ever go rockfishing?

2005-04-15T06:59:00.000-04:00

Not like this you haven't.

Technorati tags: Film, Movies, Entertainment

Are you really surprised? Really?

2005-04-14T23:14:00.000-04:00

It's been almost two months since the Gomery Commission began to investigate the sponsorship scandal and I have one question for everyone who's dumbfounded at what they've witnessed thus far: are you really surprised at what they've uncovered? I mean really?

Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Lord Acton (1834-1902)

I'm not being cynical here. Honestly. I'm being serious. Can you find one government, just one--past or present--whom you can point to without a doubt in your mind and say "they're honest!" I'm willing to bet the answer is a resounding no.

Unfortunately, ethical behaviour in the political arena tends to be the exception to the rule, and "looking out for the people"--as we are no doubt all aware--only happens in an election year. Promises are made, flesh is pressed, smiles are flashed and the charisma--whatever little of it there is--spews from politicians with the solitary objective of being elected into office. Once they're there, well that's a whole other story. We all know this right? So why is it that when there's a Shawinigate, or an Adscam, we act as though the accused have somehow let us down?

I don't get it. On one hand we make jokes about corrupt politicians, and on the other we hold them up to a ridiculously high standard. So which one is it? Are they corrupt through and through or are they defenders of the moral high ground? Scammers or beyond reproach? One or the other. But you can't have both. The choices are mutually exclusive.

Sadly however, we want both. We want to take our jabs, and still expect ethical perfection. Which is why I think the real scandal is the sad state of Canada's society with respect to its politics. For the most part, Canadians are apathetic. Voter participation is in steady decline. Nobody cares. Our shock factor 24/7 entertainment soaked minds no longer have the capacity to soberly consider societal politics. If it isn't naked or blowing up, we're not interested. But give us scandal and you've got our attention--for a few minutes anyway.

T.S. Eliot said it best: Humankind cannot bear very much reality.

Technorati tags: Gomery, Adscam, Politics, Canada

Canadian War Heroes

2005-04-11T22:59:00.000-04:00

This past weekend I finished reading Canadian War Heroes: Ten Profiles in Courage by Giancarlo La Giorgia. Whether you're a history buff, a war fanatic or a pacifist, if you're Canadian, you need to read this book. In fact, Americans would do well to read it too.

In a day where our national identity is based on mimicking our neighbours to the south, where war is sterilized--I dare say trivialized--with such euphemisms as "collateral damage," where the closest we get to being at war is catching the surgical strike footage on CNN in the comfort of our living rooms, and the biggest threat to democracy is a sponsorship scandal, it may be a good idea to familiarize one's self with the real struggles and heroism of our country's past.

After reading this book I was left with two things: a sense of pride for the nation which I call home, and an appetite to find out more about the ten heroes profiled in this book. It's not expensive, it's very well written with a vivid recounting of events, and it's bursting with facts.

I could tell you more about it, but I'd rather you read it for yourself.

Technorati tags: Canada, War, Heroes, Politics

Ben Shelton 1974-2005

2005-04-06T20:30:00.000-04:00

Ben Shelton a.k.a. Diablo died on March 30, 2005 of a sudden illness.

I knew Ben from my days in the demo scene. We first met in '95 at NAID Apraxia in Montreal and kept in contact on and off on the #trax IRC channel where he went by the nic "olbaid".

It's always tragic when someone dies at such a young age. Though we weren't very close, I did know him and am saddened by his passing. I pray that his family and loved ones find comfort in this time of mourning.

Rest in peace Ben.

Doctor Who?

2005-04-04T23:34:00.000-04:00

If you were like me when you were a kid, the first thing you did on Friday evenings after you got home from Scouts--even before changing out of your uniform--was turn on the TV to channel 57 (because you didn't have cable and the huge aerial on your roof did a marvelous job of catching the VPT signal from across the border on channel 57) just in time to catch the really cool title sequence for Doctor Who.

It was the mid 80s and I was privileged enough to have cut my geek teeth with Tom Baker as the 4th incarnation of the Doctor. The cheesy special effects did nothing to dissuade me from becoming an instant fan. The Doctor was an intellectual hero who rarely employed violence. Rather, he'd walk into the face of danger with nothing more than an oversized scarf, his brain, and very sharp rhetoric.

You're a classic example of the inverse relationship between the size of the mouth and the size of the brain.
The Doctor

Not too long ago I fell ill with a hefty bout of nostalgia for my beloved Doctor when ExpressVu gave me a month of trial programming including the BBC Kids network which ran, you guessed it, Doctor Who reruns! (Albeit at 2AM). I was not too happy when the trial ended. For a while there, I'd record the two (yes two!) episodes every night and watch them the following day. Then, just like that, the music died.

Recently however, I upgraded my satellite package and got BBC Kids. As you can guess I was really happy, especially since the reruns were of the 4th Doctor. But then life happened and there were interruptions in programming which caused me to wane a little in my nostalgic reverie. Not before asking my wife to buy me The Key to Time, the complete DVD box set of Tom Baker's stint as the Doctor. Who knows, maybe she will.

Then, a couple of months ago, while on the BBC Doctor Who Cult website, I saw the announcement. That's right, he's back! A new season of Doctor Who begins tomorrow (April 5, 2005) evening at 8PM on the CBC. Christopher Eccleston will be playing the 9th Doctor, and get this: though the BBC's ordered another season for 2006, he won't be playing the part! The DWIN reports: The reasons cited for leaving the role included the grueling schedule and fears of typecasting. Sigh. Off to a good start I see. I guess it's ok, since that's the whole reason for the Doctor's ability to reincarnate in the first place. Easy actor interchangeability.

Technorati tags: Doctor Who, TV, Entertainment, Series

Letting go

2005-04-02T00:38:00.000-05:00

I'm not like a lot of people who ascribe to broad labels like "right wing" or "pro life." Though I share values with right wingers, I can't say that I agree 100% with their points of view. Neither do I wholeheartedly disagree with those sitting on the left side of the isle. So what does that make me? A moderate? Maybe. But my definition of moderate may not be what you think. I'm not always in the middle on everything. I can't consistently apply one point of view to every situation just because "that's what my group believes." That would mean not thinking.

I prefer instead to weigh out my stand on things case by case. Where I may agree with conservatives on one thing, I just as soon may take the opposing point of view on a similar situation under different circumstances.

Which is why Thursday's passing of Terri Schiavo got me thinking. From her parents right on up to the President of the United States I saw people passionately making a case to save her life. But what was best for Terri? You read that right, I believe there's a difference. Saving her life and what's best for her don't automatically mean the same thing, and I don't think I saw one person address that question. Everyone I saw on TV was fighting passionately to keep her alive, and it seemed quite clear to me that they were doing so because, well, they believed that life was worth preserving.

As a Christian, I believe in the sanctity of life. But that doesn't mean that I blindly believe that life must be preserved at all cost, by all means, at all times, in all cases.

Many millennia ago, the author of Ecclesiastes in his infinite wisdom penned:

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die;... A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

Could that mean that sometimes, under certain circumstances, even if we can keep it from happening, we must simply accept that it's a person's time to die? A while ago I heard someone--a psychologist I think--say:

We stay in a relationship because being with that person makes us feel good about ourselves.

In other words, you stick around for you, not them. Which, when you're dating, makes sense. But just because it's valid in that particular setting, it doesn't mean that it's suddenly applicable in every relationship situation under ever circumstance in our lives.

That's where my brain made the leap. If our motive in a relationship is primarily the way we feel about ourselves, then why in the case of losing a loved one are we to automatically assume that mourning their loss is actually an altruistic emotion for their loss? Which of course brings me to the next leap: If we're in fact mourning our loss of them and not their loss of life, then is it possible that our fight to keep them alive is less for their "right to live" and more for our inability to let them go? And can that lead us to selfishly cling to someone whose time has come to die?

Maybe we should follow Mattie Stepanek's mother's example when she said to her dying 13 year old son:

"Mattie, it's okay to rest. You are everything God created people to be, you are everything God created you to be, you have done everything you came here for, and it's okay to rest. I love you."

Technorati tags: Life, Current Affairs, Politics

Will the real Dan Cederholm please stand up

2005-03-31T11:45:00.000-05:00

Further to Nikdo's "hats off" to my wonderful design, I must give credit where credit is due. It was not I but Dan Cederholm who created this wonder of wonders of a template called TicTac.

The only credit I can take is for choosing it from the collection of stock templates offered by Blogger.

Thanks anyway though, it's always nice to get compliments...

Technorati tags: Web, Blog, Web/Tech, Blogging

Science advances one funeral at a time

2005-03-30T23:53:00.000-05:00

What do the television camera, bioelectricity, meteorites and rocket-powered space ships all have in common? They are among the many scientific advances and discoveries that were originally ridiculed by the scientific establishment of their day.

Today's meteorite is cold fusion, potentially a clean, cheap, and virtually limitless source of energy. It was announced to the world--perhaps a tad prematurely--on March 23, 1989 by Stanley Pons and Martin Fleischmann. It was supposed to change the energy landscape of the world forever.

Alas, it did not.

Rather than see it for the potential it held, scientists preferred to take pot shots at it; claiming that Pons and Fleischmann were suffering from delusions, and were incompetent boobs.

Well in August 2004, the U.S. Department of Energy--who had initially denounced the 1989 discovery--quietly reopened the case by inviting a handful of cold fusion scientists before a panel to answer one question: Is the work surrounding cold fusion legitimate science? Their conclusion? The evidence is still inconclusive.

This blogger has a hard time believing that the United States of America--one of the world's leading consumers of non-renewable fossil fuel energy (oil)--would be so hard nosed about a potential Holy Grail to their impending energy crisis. Logic dictates that an energy source which is finite will eventually run out. So why wouldn't the U.S. be interested in investing a few dollars--literally, since cold fusion experiments can be conducted in a high-school chemistry lab--to investigate a potential miracle solution to the problem it's already beginning to face? Especially since hot fusion--the scientific establishment's own attempt at fusion energy--is getting billions of dollars of funding and hasn't much more to show for their efforts?

Either the DOE has been conducting secret experiments itself or the solution to the energy problems of the future has truly fallen victim to the most heinous tyrant of them all: the human ego. Scientists who denounced cold fusion in '89 are faced with evidence from numerous labs from around the world confirming the reproducibility of the cold fusion effect. But it seems they would rather save face than admit that they may have been wrong. After all, who wants to do the world a favour when their ego's on the line? In that case the only hope we have is in what Max Planck said: Science advances one funeral at a time.

Unfortunately the old guard may be dying off at the same rate as the cold fusionists. Young scientists steer clear of the field for fear of ruining their careers. The only ones daring enough to work in it have tenure, and they're the ones slowly dying off.

If only someone with guts would step up and foot some serious dough for researchers to prove once and for all if cold fusion belongs with the television camera and meteorites, or if it should forever be relegated to history's scientific trash bin.

Technorati tags: Cold Fusion, Oil, Politics, Peak Oil