The Starving Buffet

All you can eat? Where do I sign up!

Every content junky

I’m an audiophile. I collect bands that I like, I collect their music, throw them in playlists, and use them as background noise and inspiration while I write, while I code, hell, while I walk. Music is something I’ve always loved and always stokes my spirit. Unless it’s Country and Western or Polka. In those cases, I’ll stick with the tinnitus constantly ringing in my ears.

At one time, I probably had over a thousand CDs, hundreds of audio cassettes, had nearly 500GB of music back when the best mp3s you could get and efficiently store were 128kb. Friends and I traded cds, we burned them, we exchanged music, introduced one another to new bands, and, in turn, we’d go purchase the CD of the band if we enjoyed the music enough.

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Writing with Wavemaker

Writers are like developers–we get attached to certain tools and it’s difficult to convince us to try anything new. The more you write, the more you get comfortable with whatever application you use and it furthers the difficulty in moving to something new. Sometimes even considering something new.

I started writing when I was 12 (way back in 1982, folks) and like many writers my age, I’ve gone through a long number of different input devices and software to compose everything from short stories, novels, essays, term papers, research papers, and etc. You name it, I’ve probably written it. Input devices you ask? Let’s consider that for a moment.

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RIP Keiko Fiend

The Keiko Kitty, also known as the Keiko Fiend, came into my life several months after I’d buried my first cat. Our surviving cat, Johnny, seemed rather lost without his older sister. Like any childless couple that anthropomorphizes our pets, we made the decision that he needed a sibling. I didn’t know that meant my wife would begin that search in earnest. Immediately.
I came home from work to find a smiling wife telling me we needed to go meet someone after dinner.
Turns out, a family had found a kitten, jet black with yellow eyes, and had tried to keep her, but their daughter was deathly allergic. The kitty needed a new home.
After knocking on the door, meeting and greeting the denizens including the cute little girl who looked crestfallen, something black began moving toward me.
Keiko was a pretty little lump of fur with curiosity in her eyes and a look that could melt any heart. I reached down for her, scooped her up in my arms, and she immediately crawled up to snuggle against my neck with a roaring purr. That was that.
Keiko, playful, curious, and sometimes persecuted by her elder sibling, became this independent but snuggly cat that had patience the likes of which humanity has never encountered.
The three animals we’ve had since all bonded with her immediately. She became more like a mother to the other pets, someone they’d lay next to or cuddle with. She loved our dog Indie and we often found her snuggled up against him, the pair of them sleeping away the day.
The Shadow Fiend treated Keiko like she was his mother and will no doubt be devastated by the loss of his sister. I know I am.
For all the things Keiko was, every one of them wonderful and joyful, she was most importantly my friend and companion. She was here at the beginning of my writing career and often listened to me wail about plot points, commenting with the occasional chirp or random snuggle attack. When I was stuck for ideas, she jumped up in my lap and crawled up onto my shoulders until she felt my fingers struggling to get to the keys. Then it was back to the lap. And ultimately, when I started rolling on the keys, she’d leave for her favorite spot in the sun.
These last many months, she’s been losing weight. At her heaviest, Keiko was 16 lbs. BMan used to joke that Keiko, and her fur, was the actual inspiration for the M2 creature of The Black. Today, as we said goodbye, she was 6.9. It was past time, but like the patient saint she was, she didn’t complain or tell the vet or anyone she was even sick. Not that it would have mattered.
Keiko succumbed to metastatic cancer on April 13th, 2021.
My heart is broken.

Essay–Memories and Lessons

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PrintI was born in 1970. Some of my earliest memories are of Cronkite presiding over the death-knell of the Vietnam Conflict. Strange how those images, both black and white and of a sepia-toned “color” nightmare, mix with the bright, welcoming colors of Sesame Street and The Electric Company. At some point, it all melds together without rhyme or reason. When I think about Canada, those images always flash in the back of my mind.
In 1976, my family moved to Calgary, Alberta, Canada for my father’s job. And that is when for the first time, I knew “hate.”
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The Street–Farewell

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Street-WallpaperDoes anyone understand the difference between fan-fiction, parody, satire, and outright theft? I thought I did, but it’s obvious to me now that I had no clue.
When I wrote “Stuffing” for an online con organized by the late great PG Holyfield (RIP, we miss you), it was supposed to be a ridiculously unapologetic parody driven by my anger over certain comments from Mitt Romney regarding PBS and Sesame Street. The asshole didn’t even have his facts straight about funding. But I digress.
While writing it, I realized I was touching on something regarding economics and the state of America’s ghettos. I know, I shouldn’t get all political, but it’s the truth. What happens when a business that employs nearly everyone in the community goes out of business? No one has a job. And after their funds run out because there are no new jobs to have in the community, crime runs rampant. People do what they have to do to survive. And I guess Oscar’s world was a mirror of that.
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