It is difficult to imagine how many things pilots of even the smallest planes have to do and keep track of. It is hard to describe to people who don't fly, but I'll try. Imagine if, before going anywhere with your car, you had to walk around it twice--actually three times total--which includes opening the fuel tank and verifying that the amount of gas in it matches the fuel gauges. You also look the body all over because if its not smooth, the car won't be able to move...right. Then you start the engine, which is a complex procedure involving 10 steps. Oh and by the way you normally push the car out of your garage manually, because starting it up too close to other cars could cause thousands of dollars of damage. Then you start it, and then you have to radio someone before you drive from the top of your driveway to the road. Then you have to race the engine and screw with it, just to make sure its working right. Then you have to radio someone else to get permission to pull onto the road, and you have to go as soon as you have the clearance, or else your instructor gets all cranky. And when you're radioing these people, you have to use this special clipped format, and their reply, which contains specific, vital information that you need, sounds like the final round of a speed-talking competition. Then, if you can imagine flying without seeing the road or knowing precisely where you are, but needing to stay within precise bounds to avoid death or losing your license, well thats what its like to take off from Boeing Field. Oh and all of that was the easy part; getting home again is another story....
They call it falling behind the aircraft: then the pilot isn't prepared with everything he is supposed to do, and becomes saturated with critical tasks, etc. I'm behind the aircraft--far, far behind the aircraft--for the entire flight. My mind tends to go blank every time my instructor asks me a question. My favorite was when I was trying to cruise without accidentally climbing or descending, and my instructor started grilling me on our ceiling (out high we can be without flying into SeaTac's airspace uninvited and getting in a ton of trouble). My new instructor has a different teaching style than my old one. My old one, Don, basically took care of everything and let me concentrate on one or two tasks that I was trying to learn. My new one just makes me responsible for everything, and then scolds me for whatever he has to pick up. Carrot versus the stick, I guess.
There were a couple times during my last lesson when I decided, for a split second, that I was done with this flying stuff. I didn't have much time to think about it though. I thought about it later, though, and decided to continue. I have a friend who flies F16s off aircraft carriers, and I've heard he had to deal with instructors literally screaming at him, all the while not dying in an airplane so powerful it can fly straight up. Literally. Maybe you haven't noticed, Cessnas can't do that. We can point up, mostly up, sure. But the Cessna actually starts to go down when you do that. So I think I just need to man up and get used to it. I'm considering this chance to get thick skin and be less shy of criticism. Plus, I've already spend hundreds of dollars on a membership at this flying place, etc.
I'm basically going to have to just take more initiative in my training. My instructor doesn't think talking to the control tower is difficult at all. I do. You can judge for yourself here. It's this awesome website I found that lets you listen to air traffic control. I'll be listening to it all week, trying to get a better handle on the radio. If you type in kbfi you will get the airport I fly out of. If you listen long enough, you'll hear a shaky voice stumble through the call slow enough to actually hear what they're saying. Thats a student pilot. If you happen to be listening on a Sunday night, you might even hear me. Listening to this stuff is already helping; I'm feeling more comfortable about the radio already. I'm still going to have to do more research though. I'm also planning to print out a wall sized mural of the airport, and label all of the intersections so I don't get lost. I'm having trouble telling the difference between a runway and a taxi way, which...well thats really bad. Planes in the wrong spot is probably the leading cause of deaths on runways.
Is all this going to be worth it? I hope so. My original motivation was the simple fact that I like flying. There were also plans to take girls up--that kind of date beats even rock climbing. Then there was the awesomeness of looking out the window at the tiny buildings three thousand feet below. I also had dreams of being a sky diving pilot, partly as a way to meet crazy girls and partly as a way to fly for free. Unfortunately that requires a commercial license, which means I have to fly planes with retractable landing gear (guess what happens when you forget to put the tires down again?) and planes with fixed pitch propellers. For the uninformed, "fixed pitch" means f------ complicated. So it will be a few years until I can get paid to fly. Since moving out here I've had this crazy notion of just flying myself back to Philly, whenever I want. Unfortunately, in a Cessna, thats really just the air version of a road trip. Cessna's, I believe, go a bit slower than a Subaru WRX STI. More on that later. So I don't have any motivation for this, except for some wild dreams, which are all turning out to be slightly more difficult than in my imagination.
Katie's Last Ride
I found out last week that my sportbike isn't worth fixing. The news made me sad. I still remember the day I first road the bike. It belonged to Cassandra, who named her Katie the Kawisaki. I went over to Cassandra with a vague idea of buying something on two wheels and as soon as I saw Katie's slim, sport-like fairing I knew she was exactly what I wanted. I spend the next few weeks surreptitiously draining every monetary resource I had, trying to amass enough wealth. An unexpected tax refund filled the final gap, except for the taxes on the bike, which was another fun problem.
Cassandra taught me to ride in a nearly-empty parking lot, where I nearly dropped the bike, and then I rode it home. My first ride home was one of the most exciting, and scary, things I've done in my life. It didn't have to be that way, as I'll get to later. Anyway, Cassandra told me to avoid the highways, because they were scary, so I took route 30. This is important because I wasn't good at shifting yet. Not with my hands. And not with Katie's ridiculously sensitive sport clutch. Sport clutch probably isn't a real word, the real one was something about a double disk in hydraulic fluid. Anyway.
Casandra told me Katie had "four or five" gears, she couldn't remember which, as she just shifted all the way up and all the way down. This being my first ride, I was considerably nervous, so I counted the gears to know which one I was in. And I always seemed to miscount. And I had an absolutely terrible time shifting. And I was super nervous, and at one point accidentally cut off a car. I finally make it to Kevin's house, and, well, long story short my parents found out about the bike and I found out that Ninja 250s have six gears. This little story would later earn me the nickname "sixspeed" when I signed up to be a rider coach for the motorcycle safety program.
I would love to recount all of the adventures I've had, like when I almost died on Lincoln Drive and impressed myself with an amazing race-like turn that I've never done since, or the time I almost crashed into my Dad on Bethel Church Road in Bucktown. Oh, and the girl in walmart...whatever. Maybe I'll write about all that on a note on facebook, and hope lots of girls that I'm facebook friends with read it. Anyway, Katie was basically awesome. I wasn't good at taking care of her; my first oil change lasted 4-5 hours and consumed about 5 or 6 pints of oil (Katie needs 2), and the guys at Philly Cycle Center probably thought I was an idiot the fourth time they saw Katie come in on a truck (I've blown 3 tires for reasons they warn you about in the manual), but I did love that bike. I went through a rough patch in like my junior year and took the bike out every night for two weeks. The fastest I've ever gone was about 105, which is probably not true because I've heard motorcycle spedos read to high, a problem caused indirectly by the American Government.
Suffice to say I don't want to get rid of Katie. I considered telling the shop to fix her, even though the labor would cost more than the bike was worth. However, I have been long overdue for an upgrade to a bigger bike. According to wikipedia, Katie isn't exactly a sportbike, and I was a bit cramped. I need a bike that I can lean forward on, and I need to be able to get a burst of speed when I'm already going 90. So Katie made it three thousand miles across the country with me, and now I have to sell her for parts, or give her to someone that likes taking motorcycles apart.
"...a quarter mile at a time."
The same day I was strapping Katie into a uhaul trailer, again, Luke took me to some Subaru dealers to buy a car. I have given up on my quest to live on public transportation out here. It sucks. And it doesnt go to the airfield. I mean, it does, sometimes. I only have to walk a mile from the bus stop. After owning boring hatchbacks for far too long in my life, I wanted to drive a sports car for a while. I don't know much about cars, and I hate looking at them, so for random reasons, including a family affinity for Subarus, my choice came down to getting a 1980's style Trans Am and getting a WRX. I wanted a trans am because I think they are awesome: I sat in one at a dealership once at the guy told me to turn it on. When I heard that engine roar to life I was in love. My Dad didn't let me get it. I didn't get it this time, either. Those trans ams are rear wheel drive, and thats not going to get me to the mountains to go skiing.
So I had it narrowed down to a WRX. Luke has a WRX STI, and was quite encouraging regarding this decision. Specifically, a 2006/2007 model, because I wanted the kind with an air scoop and a park bench spoiler, not the new models which, ironically, are hatchbacks. We finally found, and test drove, three, at this dealership. One was a ugly-silver colored WRX with a stage 2 engine (meaning it was modded) and a spoiler that was too small. Another was a blue WRX whose previous owner had quickly jammed stock parts back into the engine before selling it to the dealer. The last was a black WRX STI, with an air scoop and big spoiler just like I wanted. Driving it was akin to being inside a rocket, a similar feeling to riding Katie. It looked perfect, and was everything I wanted, except that it had way more power than I required, and it was about $10 MORE than than I wanted to spend on a car. I bought it. Actually it was $12 more than I wanted, but I got $2k knocked off the price in a painful ten second negotiation.
I figured it was a good choice because we didn't know any other dealerships with 2006/07 WRX's, and this one looked like it wasn't modded, and it already looked perfect, so I didn't have to get it painted or have a spoiler added. It was also driven less than average for a car its age. Luke later found out via a Subaru forum that its previous owner was a female who couldn't make the payments.
I can't really describe how ridiculously fast this car goes. I don't think I've ever driven a car that fast. Maybe Evan's WRX, but I was afraid to really use the turbo because it was someone elses car. If you've ever watched Star Trek, pressing the gas pedal in mine feels like the Enterprise jumping into warp/faster than light during the opening credits. A problem of its own, actually. Driving a car this powerful on a road with a "speed limit" of 60mph, that you have to actually obey because cops here are ridiculous, well, its painful. Driving on the highway feels like I'm coasting down the driveway. I'm not driving. The wheels are moving, sure, but we're going so slow I'm really just kind of hanging out in the driver's seat, watching the world crawl by.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Definitely Not Bored
My first salsa class that I took ended last Thursday. The instructor has been bugging everyone to do this competition thing he came up with: basically everyone in the class goes to a party at the studio and performs and wins some coupons. I was uninterested, on account of how well my last performance went. At the end of class this one girl asked if I would be her partner for the competition...something about her partner bailing on her. I immediately said yes, because I will probably always say yes to a girl for that, no matter how dumb an idea.
So me and salsa girl went to Century Ballroom that night to practice. Actually first I hitched a ride with her to her place to get her phone and get some pizza with her and her roomate, which was exciting because, having no idea where I was, I was basically lost with two strangers. Then we went to Century Ballroom. That night I was actually supposed to meet up with some girl from cragslist; she had written some post about having a crazy life and needing someone to talk to over drinks or whatever. It was probably in the platonic I-just-want-to-use-you-section of the personals. Whatever the case, she was totally unresponsive and I was surprised when she actually called me about our tentative plans that night. Her phone was apparently dying. Through the static I told her that something came up and I couldn't make it, and she said she wasn't interested in hanging out at all. Penitent, I hung up my awesome brick phone and tried to focus on practicing with salsa girl. Later that night, I wrote an email to standoffish-craigslist-girl, apologizing and explaining my last minute contest entry and suggesting that she try salsa dancing if she wanted to meet people.
The next day, standoffish-craigslist-girl sent me a bitchy, flippant, response requesting that I never email her again. Crestfallen, I agonized for hours over my terrible habit of double booking myself and standing people up. After all, I did stand her up and however innocent I thought it was at the time, I was at fault. I tried to think about something else, literally, for like two or three hours, but that was difficult because the only other thing I had to concentrate on was my work, with was agonizing in its own way. Finally, I told myself that standoffish-craigslist-girl didn't need to be such a bitch about the whole thing, and felt a little anger. And now it doesn't bother me.
That night (Friday night), I practiced with salsa girl one more time at my apartment, and then we went out for a quick bite to eat before she had to go work the door for the salsa party at which we'd be performing. I found what I thought was a quick, cheap italian place online, and then we walked to it and discovered it was one of those fancy places with wine glasses on the table and amazing food that you would take someone on a first date.
Then we danced that night, and we won the competition. Our routine was short and easy, but I still had trouble because I was so nervous. In fact, the closer we got to the end of it the more nervous I got, and some part of my mind began screaming "haven't screwed up yet! almost at the end and haven't screwed up yet! its gonna happen...." Fortunately it didn't happen. Then I spent the rest of the party dancing. Salsa-girl had brought her friend to tape us, and I taught her a little salsa and bachatta. Then I missed my chance to dance with this one cute girl because I was on my way to the bar. Then I danced with a bunch of beginners. Then I was chilling on the couch, because I was super exhausted, and some guy came in right before the party was over and talked about Magic the card game with me. A lot. I've played the game about once in my life. Then me, magic guy, salsa girl, her friend with the camera, and the dance instructor all when out to some wine tasting bar.
I've spent the past two months drinking wine alone in my apartment to acquire a taste for drink, so I had no problem with the choice of venue. I ordered a pinot noir rose, which to my surprise tasted really good. Not just tasted good for wine, but actually tasted good. Like, I enjoyed drinking it. I am concered that, with my luck, pink wine is probably a girly drink, but I'll tackle that problem later. Then we ordered some kind of fancy shrimp dish, which I realized much too late that I was allergic too. I spent the next...well pretty much the rest of the night aggressively sipping water, trying to will my lungs to not shut down completely, while I debated whether I could make it just sitting there, or would have to make it two blocks back to the mildly effective 0ver-the-counter inhaler in my medicine cabinet, or just go to the emergency room. I managed to sit there and tough it out, and by "last glass" I was actually feeling ok.
Then salsa girl invited me out the next night, Saturday, to celebrate her birthday, which was not actually Saturday. I danced a lot with her and this other girl from class, and accidentally looked clingy because I couldn't find any other girls to dance with. Then she made fun of me and asked if I was going to dance with anyone else, so I went looking for someone else to dance with and ended up on the other side of the room for a few songs, accidentally making her think she hurt my feelings. I really have a way with girls. Then we went to a bar next door and I told her stories about the girls I went dancing with in Philly. Nicole and Cassie...not Kristal. Then I told her how my last ex girlfriend bought me an ipod and then dumped me because I didn't like her dog enough. Then I told her about the night I learned the hard way that Captain and Pineapple was a girly drink. And then I told her about the flying. Which is odd...I try not to mention the flying. With the sportbike, and the climbing, and the dancing, and the flying, and all the other stuff on my list I think it would be a little too easy to give off the impression that I'm trying to hard. Which I probably did. But, whatever. Quarter life crisis.
Then we danced some more, and she drove me home, and I invited her up. We did a shot and hung out for hours talking and watching classic videos before she elected to go home. I always thought it was like a social...thing that if a girl comes back to your place after a night of drinking that she wants to hook up. I'm starting to think that I'm the only one who really pays any attention to these. I mean, does anyone other than me actually follow the divide-by-two-add-seven rule? I'm starting to think no. And even I sort of bent it for the one girl I chased after. Welllll she was ninteen and a half. Technically I was safe by a fraction. But I digress.
I woke up sunday morning without a hangover, gladly, and immediately started preparing for my flight lesson that day. Then I showed up at my flight lesson, late, because I didn't realize that my instructor works on the airfield and that him saying "I get off work at 4:30" meant we're starting at 4:30. I got there around 5pm. Then I told him I didn't get all 11 checklists memorized like he asked me to, because there are like hundred things on those checklists and it took me all week to get through one and a half of them, which annoyed him even more.
Then we flew, which was terrifying because he had me do all of the initial radio calls to ground control and the tower. His teaching method involves being incredibly fast paced, so for just over and hour I was overcome with airspeeds and headings and bank angles and pitch attitudes and not gripping the stick so tightly and trimming often by not too often but still often enough for him to stop yelling at me and looking outside instead of chasing the instruments and stalling without losing too much attitude and then all of a sudden it was night and we were landing and I was barely capable of making a radio call. I was so fried that "Boeing tower, cessna blah blah blah over somewhere for full stop have information romeo" was some kind of mind teaser. Shortly before, or after, touching down my instructor mentioned that I would be doing the landing next time--just in case I felt any relief from being on the ground again, which I wouldn't have anyway, because our airport has more than a single runway and taxiway and I get completely lost on the ground, and I have enough trouble moving the plane on the ground when I do know where I'm going. Imagine if the steering wheel of your car was connected to the wheels via a rubber band (literally) and you'll have an idea what I go through.
I fumbled through some more checklists and we were done. According to the plane's clock, the engine was running for slightly under and hour, yet the flight felt like it took all day. Which it did, somehow, because I got home around ten. By the time I was back in my apartment I was completely drained, but set to work memorizing another checklist. As of right now I have 3 out of 11 memorized.
Then today I went to work and took an extra long lunch break to become a member of a credit union, so I can get pre approved for a loan for a car. Public transit to the flight school sucks (actually it kind of sucks in general) and renting a zip car to get down there runs me about $60 a lesson (and makes everyone ask why I don't own a car, to which I reply with my dumb story about trying to live off of public transportation, and something about having a motorcycle). Of course, signing up for a bank account nowadays involves forking over all kinds of sensitive information, a process that can be excrutiatingly painful to a guy so paranoid he uses a questionably legal false alias for routine purchases online. I suffered through it, though, and they pre-approved me for over twice what I needed: enough to buy about half an Aston Martin. I think my flight instructor is out of town this weekend, so I'm hoping I will have time to go buy a car.
My next hobby is going to be figuring out how to reduce stress.
So me and salsa girl went to Century Ballroom that night to practice. Actually first I hitched a ride with her to her place to get her phone and get some pizza with her and her roomate, which was exciting because, having no idea where I was, I was basically lost with two strangers. Then we went to Century Ballroom. That night I was actually supposed to meet up with some girl from cragslist; she had written some post about having a crazy life and needing someone to talk to over drinks or whatever. It was probably in the platonic I-just-want-to-use-you-section of the personals. Whatever the case, she was totally unresponsive and I was surprised when she actually called me about our tentative plans that night. Her phone was apparently dying. Through the static I told her that something came up and I couldn't make it, and she said she wasn't interested in hanging out at all. Penitent, I hung up my awesome brick phone and tried to focus on practicing with salsa girl. Later that night, I wrote an email to standoffish-craigslist-girl, apologizing and explaining my last minute contest entry and suggesting that she try salsa dancing if she wanted to meet people.
The next day, standoffish-craigslist-girl sent me a bitchy, flippant, response requesting that I never email her again. Crestfallen, I agonized for hours over my terrible habit of double booking myself and standing people up. After all, I did stand her up and however innocent I thought it was at the time, I was at fault. I tried to think about something else, literally, for like two or three hours, but that was difficult because the only other thing I had to concentrate on was my work, with was agonizing in its own way. Finally, I told myself that standoffish-craigslist-girl didn't need to be such a bitch about the whole thing, and felt a little anger. And now it doesn't bother me.
That night (Friday night), I practiced with salsa girl one more time at my apartment, and then we went out for a quick bite to eat before she had to go work the door for the salsa party at which we'd be performing. I found what I thought was a quick, cheap italian place online, and then we walked to it and discovered it was one of those fancy places with wine glasses on the table and amazing food that you would take someone on a first date.
Then we danced that night, and we won the competition. Our routine was short and easy, but I still had trouble because I was so nervous. In fact, the closer we got to the end of it the more nervous I got, and some part of my mind began screaming "haven't screwed up yet! almost at the end and haven't screwed up yet! its gonna happen...." Fortunately it didn't happen. Then I spent the rest of the party dancing. Salsa-girl had brought her friend to tape us, and I taught her a little salsa and bachatta. Then I missed my chance to dance with this one cute girl because I was on my way to the bar. Then I danced with a bunch of beginners. Then I was chilling on the couch, because I was super exhausted, and some guy came in right before the party was over and talked about Magic the card game with me. A lot. I've played the game about once in my life. Then me, magic guy, salsa girl, her friend with the camera, and the dance instructor all when out to some wine tasting bar.
I've spent the past two months drinking wine alone in my apartment to acquire a taste for drink, so I had no problem with the choice of venue. I ordered a pinot noir rose, which to my surprise tasted really good. Not just tasted good for wine, but actually tasted good. Like, I enjoyed drinking it. I am concered that, with my luck, pink wine is probably a girly drink, but I'll tackle that problem later. Then we ordered some kind of fancy shrimp dish, which I realized much too late that I was allergic too. I spent the next...well pretty much the rest of the night aggressively sipping water, trying to will my lungs to not shut down completely, while I debated whether I could make it just sitting there, or would have to make it two blocks back to the mildly effective 0ver-the-counter inhaler in my medicine cabinet, or just go to the emergency room. I managed to sit there and tough it out, and by "last glass" I was actually feeling ok.
Then salsa girl invited me out the next night, Saturday, to celebrate her birthday, which was not actually Saturday. I danced a lot with her and this other girl from class, and accidentally looked clingy because I couldn't find any other girls to dance with. Then she made fun of me and asked if I was going to dance with anyone else, so I went looking for someone else to dance with and ended up on the other side of the room for a few songs, accidentally making her think she hurt my feelings. I really have a way with girls. Then we went to a bar next door and I told her stories about the girls I went dancing with in Philly. Nicole and Cassie...not Kristal. Then I told her how my last ex girlfriend bought me an ipod and then dumped me because I didn't like her dog enough. Then I told her about the night I learned the hard way that Captain and Pineapple was a girly drink. And then I told her about the flying. Which is odd...I try not to mention the flying. With the sportbike, and the climbing, and the dancing, and the flying, and all the other stuff on my list I think it would be a little too easy to give off the impression that I'm trying to hard. Which I probably did. But, whatever. Quarter life crisis.
Then we danced some more, and she drove me home, and I invited her up. We did a shot and hung out for hours talking and watching classic videos before she elected to go home. I always thought it was like a social...thing that if a girl comes back to your place after a night of drinking that she wants to hook up. I'm starting to think that I'm the only one who really pays any attention to these. I mean, does anyone other than me actually follow the divide-by-two-add-seven rule? I'm starting to think no. And even I sort of bent it for the one girl I chased after. Welllll she was ninteen and a half. Technically I was safe by a fraction. But I digress.
I woke up sunday morning without a hangover, gladly, and immediately started preparing for my flight lesson that day. Then I showed up at my flight lesson, late, because I didn't realize that my instructor works on the airfield and that him saying "I get off work at 4:30" meant we're starting at 4:30. I got there around 5pm. Then I told him I didn't get all 11 checklists memorized like he asked me to, because there are like hundred things on those checklists and it took me all week to get through one and a half of them, which annoyed him even more.
Then we flew, which was terrifying because he had me do all of the initial radio calls to ground control and the tower. His teaching method involves being incredibly fast paced, so for just over and hour I was overcome with airspeeds and headings and bank angles and pitch attitudes and not gripping the stick so tightly and trimming often by not too often but still often enough for him to stop yelling at me and looking outside instead of chasing the instruments and stalling without losing too much attitude and then all of a sudden it was night and we were landing and I was barely capable of making a radio call. I was so fried that "Boeing tower, cessna blah blah blah over somewhere for full stop have information romeo" was some kind of mind teaser. Shortly before, or after, touching down my instructor mentioned that I would be doing the landing next time--just in case I felt any relief from being on the ground again, which I wouldn't have anyway, because our airport has more than a single runway and taxiway and I get completely lost on the ground, and I have enough trouble moving the plane on the ground when I do know where I'm going. Imagine if the steering wheel of your car was connected to the wheels via a rubber band (literally) and you'll have an idea what I go through.
I fumbled through some more checklists and we were done. According to the plane's clock, the engine was running for slightly under and hour, yet the flight felt like it took all day. Which it did, somehow, because I got home around ten. By the time I was back in my apartment I was completely drained, but set to work memorizing another checklist. As of right now I have 3 out of 11 memorized.
Then today I went to work and took an extra long lunch break to become a member of a credit union, so I can get pre approved for a loan for a car. Public transit to the flight school sucks (actually it kind of sucks in general) and renting a zip car to get down there runs me about $60 a lesson (and makes everyone ask why I don't own a car, to which I reply with my dumb story about trying to live off of public transportation, and something about having a motorcycle). Of course, signing up for a bank account nowadays involves forking over all kinds of sensitive information, a process that can be excrutiatingly painful to a guy so paranoid he uses a questionably legal false alias for routine purchases online. I suffered through it, though, and they pre-approved me for over twice what I needed: enough to buy about half an Aston Martin. I think my flight instructor is out of town this weekend, so I'm hoping I will have time to go buy a car.
My next hobby is going to be figuring out how to reduce stress.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Negative Game in a Room Full of Gamers
Today we had a meeting at Jillian's, the arcade-with-a-bar venue that is almost exactly like Davenbusters. Even though I had work to do, I went anyway because it sounded like an important meeting, and, more importantly, it sounded like a big section of the company would be there: big enough to include some girls.
Sadly, the talk was just business stuff, and there were almost no girls, except for the one hot girl I stared at too much a few weeks ago before I saw the ring on her left hand. I believe our internal phone directory should show a person's relationship status. On the bright side, though, was the fact that they had Area 51. Not that crappy "Site B" sequel but the original one. I hadn't seen a working one in years. For those who don't know, Area 51 is basically the coolest of those arcade games where you point a plastic gun at a screen and click the trigger a million times a second. When I wasn't losing at air hockey to my office-mate, I was at the Area 51 machine. Well, there was an unusually difficult flight sim and some racing games and...etc.
Everyone else had left, and I had just finished experimenting with using both guns to play Area 51 instead of just one, when I noticed a bunch of girls playing air hockey off to my right. They were...unusually attractive for an arcade. Except I couldn't think of anything to say, and I hadn't showered that morning. Sure, I'd meant to, but I stayed up too late the night before (ironically, lonely people are rumored to not sleep as well), and got up with less than the necessary amount of time to get to work for our daily meeting. So I skipped the shower. You would think that if a guy didn't make out with anyone for months and knew he was going out, that basic things like a shower and some cologne would be a high priority. Instead I just told myself I would push the shower to right after lunch. But then I got caught up in actually getting some work done after lunch, which actually made me late to the meeting at Jillian's. I'm beginning to sense a pattern here....
Anyway, so there I am, alone now in the arcade because everyone else had left a half hour ago, playing a game that is roughly 20 years old, trying to think of something to say to these girls, and hoping my liberal coating of deodorant had not been decimated by the long walk from the bus stop. As I shot a few more aliens I noticed that not all of the girls were playing at once, so I could ask one if she wanted to join me on the other air hockey table. It took me like two minutes to think of that.
So then I finish my game, which was a bit challenging, because at the end you only have so long to kill the alien space ship before it flies away and you lose the game, all while aliens are shooting at you all over the place. But I beat it, and then turn to go talk to the girls, and they were gone.
At first I was relieved, because I was nervous about talking to them anyway. Then I was depressed, because I had just missed another chance to meet girls. Now, though, I'm kind of happy about it. The air hockey is near the stairway to where you eat dinner. Maybe they were waiting for a table? I have a feeling I will be spending a lot of time with that Area 51 game, and from there I can pretty much case the room. My...aspiring pickup artist friend in Philly does that kind of thing--always switching seats so he can see the whole bar. So it must help somehow. Maybe that will happen again. Maybe I'll play some air hockey with a lovely lady. Maybe some girl will be impressed by just how quickly I die in Area 51 when I try to use both guns like a cowboy. I mean, who knows what could happen?
Sadly, the talk was just business stuff, and there were almost no girls, except for the one hot girl I stared at too much a few weeks ago before I saw the ring on her left hand. I believe our internal phone directory should show a person's relationship status. On the bright side, though, was the fact that they had Area 51. Not that crappy "Site B" sequel but the original one. I hadn't seen a working one in years. For those who don't know, Area 51 is basically the coolest of those arcade games where you point a plastic gun at a screen and click the trigger a million times a second. When I wasn't losing at air hockey to my office-mate, I was at the Area 51 machine. Well, there was an unusually difficult flight sim and some racing games and...etc.
Everyone else had left, and I had just finished experimenting with using both guns to play Area 51 instead of just one, when I noticed a bunch of girls playing air hockey off to my right. They were...unusually attractive for an arcade. Except I couldn't think of anything to say, and I hadn't showered that morning. Sure, I'd meant to, but I stayed up too late the night before (ironically, lonely people are rumored to not sleep as well), and got up with less than the necessary amount of time to get to work for our daily meeting. So I skipped the shower. You would think that if a guy didn't make out with anyone for months and knew he was going out, that basic things like a shower and some cologne would be a high priority. Instead I just told myself I would push the shower to right after lunch. But then I got caught up in actually getting some work done after lunch, which actually made me late to the meeting at Jillian's. I'm beginning to sense a pattern here....
Anyway, so there I am, alone now in the arcade because everyone else had left a half hour ago, playing a game that is roughly 20 years old, trying to think of something to say to these girls, and hoping my liberal coating of deodorant had not been decimated by the long walk from the bus stop. As I shot a few more aliens I noticed that not all of the girls were playing at once, so I could ask one if she wanted to join me on the other air hockey table. It took me like two minutes to think of that.
So then I finish my game, which was a bit challenging, because at the end you only have so long to kill the alien space ship before it flies away and you lose the game, all while aliens are shooting at you all over the place. But I beat it, and then turn to go talk to the girls, and they were gone.
At first I was relieved, because I was nervous about talking to them anyway. Then I was depressed, because I had just missed another chance to meet girls. Now, though, I'm kind of happy about it. The air hockey is near the stairway to where you eat dinner. Maybe they were waiting for a table? I have a feeling I will be spending a lot of time with that Area 51 game, and from there I can pretty much case the room. My...aspiring pickup artist friend in Philly does that kind of thing--always switching seats so he can see the whole bar. So it must help somehow. Maybe that will happen again. Maybe I'll play some air hockey with a lovely lady. Maybe some girl will be impressed by just how quickly I die in Area 51 when I try to use both guns like a cowboy. I mean, who knows what could happen?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Everyone on the Internet is an Idiot
Today, or over the weekend, or something, a bunch of stuff accidentally got listed as "adult." The error may or may not have come from a third party merchant. More importantly, I didn't even know we had an adult section. Although a few weeks ago I did discover these costumes. Now all I need is a girlfriend and a box of thin mints. But I digress.
Back to the story: Some of the books that were accidentally listed as adult were gay, so a bunch of gay authors wrote angry blog posts. Apparently it is inconceivable and offensive that "Full Frontal Feminism" was mistaken for erotica. I'll keep my first impressions of the book's content to myself, but I will tell you that there's is a picture of a naked woman on the front.
As the day progressed I received more and more emails about how angry people on the internet were...getting all angry. And writing about it. Kind of like I'm doing right here. Then something strange happened: First I felt offended, and then my faith in the human race dropped even lower. I don't know when I actually started to care about Amazon. I mean, I love saying "I'm a programmer at Amazon" because people have heard of it and its a lot simpler than trying to explain what a "research programmer" does. I don't think its particularly special though. I've never really cared whether people shop there or not. I don't care about the Kindle, or...whatever else is going on at the company. Oh crap I have to be somewhere Wednesday. Anyway, I didn't think it was possible for someone to offend me by saying something negative about the company. But when people started saying Amazon did it on purpose, when people started conspiracy theories based on wild assumptions made by idiots on blogs, then I started to get offended. I mean, seriously: a dark policy conspiracy to delist gay stuff? Thats too retarded even for an old James Bond movie.
If someone thought we had entered a secret deal with AT&T to slow down people's browsing if they didn't pay for some "premium" internet access, or maybe if we were secretly using machine learning on people's search queries to identify "terrorists" for the FBI to terrorize, that would be cool. Purposely unlisting some books, but not really unlisting them, just mislabeling them as adult, for about a day, on a day when most of the employees want to be home not answering their pager, for no other reason than to piss off our customers? Retarded.
So then I started reading the actual blogs, and even the people on slashdot were basically assuming there was malicious intent. I thought they were smarter than the rest of the internet. Now I'm beginning to wonder what else I read there wasn't true. Maybe The Pirate Bay isn't really on trial. I don't know. I actually hadn't been reading slashdot and digg, on account of an overabundance of real work to do, and after this I don't think I can go back.
But then...then I went on youtube, and searched for one of my favorite Nightwish songs to listen to, and, by chance, started reading the youtube comments. For a song. And there it was that I found plenty more ignorant bullshit. That is when I realized that everyone on the internet is an idiot.
And now I don't care anymore. If, someday, some ostensibly straight girl doesn't want to make out with me because I work at Amazon, maybe I will care about this. Or I'll just tell her I work for Microsoft.
Back to the story: Some of the books that were accidentally listed as adult were gay, so a bunch of gay authors wrote angry blog posts. Apparently it is inconceivable and offensive that "Full Frontal Feminism" was mistaken for erotica. I'll keep my first impressions of the book's content to myself, but I will tell you that there's is a picture of a naked woman on the front.
As the day progressed I received more and more emails about how angry people on the internet were...getting all angry. And writing about it. Kind of like I'm doing right here. Then something strange happened: First I felt offended, and then my faith in the human race dropped even lower. I don't know when I actually started to care about Amazon. I mean, I love saying "I'm a programmer at Amazon" because people have heard of it and its a lot simpler than trying to explain what a "research programmer" does. I don't think its particularly special though. I've never really cared whether people shop there or not. I don't care about the Kindle, or...whatever else is going on at the company. Oh crap I have to be somewhere Wednesday. Anyway, I didn't think it was possible for someone to offend me by saying something negative about the company. But when people started saying Amazon did it on purpose, when people started conspiracy theories based on wild assumptions made by idiots on blogs, then I started to get offended. I mean, seriously: a dark policy conspiracy to delist gay stuff? Thats too retarded even for an old James Bond movie.
If someone thought we had entered a secret deal with AT&T to slow down people's browsing if they didn't pay for some "premium" internet access, or maybe if we were secretly using machine learning on people's search queries to identify "terrorists" for the FBI to terrorize, that would be cool. Purposely unlisting some books, but not really unlisting them, just mislabeling them as adult, for about a day, on a day when most of the employees want to be home not answering their pager, for no other reason than to piss off our customers? Retarded.
So then I started reading the actual blogs, and even the people on slashdot were basically assuming there was malicious intent. I thought they were smarter than the rest of the internet. Now I'm beginning to wonder what else I read there wasn't true. Maybe The Pirate Bay isn't really on trial. I don't know. I actually hadn't been reading slashdot and digg, on account of an overabundance of real work to do, and after this I don't think I can go back.
But then...then I went on youtube, and searched for one of my favorite Nightwish songs to listen to, and, by chance, started reading the youtube comments. For a song. And there it was that I found plenty more ignorant bullshit. That is when I realized that everyone on the internet is an idiot.
And now I don't care anymore. If, someday, some ostensibly straight girl doesn't want to make out with me because I work at Amazon, maybe I will care about this. Or I'll just tell her I work for Microsoft.
Friday, April 10, 2009
I can haz pager?
My pager came today. I am important enough, in theory, to be paged when something breaks. That's actually not true yet: it will be another month at least before I get a real page. However, I did figure out how to send myself pages, which should keep me amused until then.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Living Dangerously is not Turing Complete
Yesterday I learned that it is NOT a good idea to run a command that you are pretty sure is wrong. Yeah, I know. Seems obvious now. But I was getting tired of being all paranoid and obsessive-compulsive with everything, all the time. I'm always pouring over every little detail, checking things like three times before I do anything risky. Yesterday I thought I'd be a little more aggressive. I mean, how would Wolverine program? He wouldn't examine every detail, fretting about what could go wrong. He'd just be like "lets see what happens."
Which is exactly what I said, out loud, when I entered something on the command line that my office-mate insisted would work. I had asked him how to do something, and he showed me a command that looked wrong. I just kind of went with it, wondering what could possibly happen. The answer to that question, my friend, is that I completely screwed up my toolchain. I barely know how to use this stuff, let alone fix it. I was quite the unhappy camper. I finally fixed it today, after hours of pouring over troubleshooting documentation, deleting random things, and re...something a lot of things. I still don't know what went wrong, or how I fixed it. What's important is this stupid system is working again. For now. Also I'm not going to be entering any more random commands without thinking first. Also, I learned that having a confident, "whatever happens, happens" attitude towards programming basically invites disaster.
Speaking of disaster, code that I wrote is off, squirreling its way through a testing/qa process that will eventually land it in production. I tested it myself (as best it could) but I'm not entirely sure it will work right. I've been joking with everyone saying stuff like "yeah, so if your order doesn't go through its my fault," but I just realized that could actually happen.
Which is exactly what I said, out loud, when I entered something on the command line that my office-mate insisted would work. I had asked him how to do something, and he showed me a command that looked wrong. I just kind of went with it, wondering what could possibly happen. The answer to that question, my friend, is that I completely screwed up my toolchain. I barely know how to use this stuff, let alone fix it. I was quite the unhappy camper. I finally fixed it today, after hours of pouring over troubleshooting documentation, deleting random things, and re...something a lot of things. I still don't know what went wrong, or how I fixed it. What's important is this stupid system is working again. For now. Also I'm not going to be entering any more random commands without thinking first. Also, I learned that having a confident, "whatever happens, happens" attitude towards programming basically invites disaster.
Speaking of disaster, code that I wrote is off, squirreling its way through a testing/qa process that will eventually land it in production. I tested it myself (as best it could) but I'm not entirely sure it will work right. I've been joking with everyone saying stuff like "yeah, so if your order doesn't go through its my fault," but I just realized that could actually happen.
Monday, April 6, 2009
"Most guys do."
I was looking at a pilot's map of the northwestern united states when I realized how ridiculously close (for an airplane) all the other states were. I thought I was all isolated up here, but the map I have for Washington state has Salt Lake City on it. I didn't realize Utah was that close. In fact, I didn't really know anything about the western part of the country. I mean, I knew California was out here. And Washington. I've heard of Nevada. However, today I found this map on wikipedia and realized I never actually understood where Texas was. I knew it bordered Mexico somehow, but it my mind it used to be transposed next to, or on top of, Florida. Turns out its actually in the middle of the country--at least left to right wise. There's actually whole column of states whose existence I've almost completely missed: North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma. Ok I've heard about Oklahoma. Something about a land rush.
Anyway, the western half of the U.S. seems a little better organized and slightly easier to keep track of, perhaps just because the states are bigger and slightly more squarelike. Washington only touches two states, three if you count Canada. It kind of makes me want to go exploring and check out all of these places.
In other news, I solved the problem that broke our testing system. The testing system was ridiculously complicated to install, so I actually just snuck my change out again, and messed with the files live. I was quick about it, so fewer alarms went off. This job is annoying when I'm alone banging my head against the wall, but when I'm with someone who knows the systems, it is exciting to zoom around on the command line messing with stuff.
I still have the personal problem of losing interest immediately after solving a problem. For some reason, if troubleshooting something takes more than an hour or two, I have to literally walk away as soon as I know the answer. Even if the solution is a five line code change, or to go to some website and do something, I don't bother. The only thing I can to is explain what we found, or think about something totally unrelated. Can you imagine anyone in another field doing that? Like a surgeon going, "oh there's a bullet next to his heart. I knew it! Let's get that out tomorrow I'm getting a soda." Yeah. I'm not sure I even wrote everything down...I just left all of my programs running and went home hoping there wouldn't be a power outage.
Had some people over tonight to play Settlers. It was awesome. I made the poor choice of starting with two harbors--ok actually it wasn't a terribly strategy. It sucked in the beginning, but I started with a sheep tile with a 6 on it, and a sheep harbor, and a rock tile with an 8 on it, and a rock harbor. So I was actually set up pretty good. Except that 6 hardly ever got rolled--probably five times in the whole game, and for most of those times the robber dude was sitting on my sheep tile with the 6. But I digress. It turned out to be a long, exciting, and close game, and I was close to winning when someone else one. Oh and none of that was important, actually. What was important was two girls came. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that Carter is a girl's name. It kind of made up for a few weeks ago when I discovered that Fio, who talks too much on a mailing list at work, was actually a guy.
Ah, and my family visited this past weekend. Took them to dinner in the Space Needle, which was a great choice. The food was good and the view was great. I will probably take every girl(s) that visits me there. We also did an hour-long harbor tour, which was good because I got some skyline shots for facebook and the boat had a bar AND I found out that crane operators make 100k a year and work about 4 hours a day. I'm going to save that little gem of knowledge and bring it up every time one of my friends does some math and realizes they work more hours than I do. Ugh, and they get to play with a giant crane! I want to be rich just so I can build a crane to operate. I'll make it exactly one city block, and the crane snapper thingy will precisely fit most automobiles, and I will spend all day moving cars from one street to another so everyone forgets where they're parked.
Oh, and the underground tour. Interesting, definitely. Piqued my interest in the history of Seattle. Could be a good date, but only with the right kind of girl.
Anyway, the western half of the U.S. seems a little better organized and slightly easier to keep track of, perhaps just because the states are bigger and slightly more squarelike. Washington only touches two states, three if you count Canada. It kind of makes me want to go exploring and check out all of these places.
In other news, I solved the problem that broke our testing system. The testing system was ridiculously complicated to install, so I actually just snuck my change out again, and messed with the files live. I was quick about it, so fewer alarms went off. This job is annoying when I'm alone banging my head against the wall, but when I'm with someone who knows the systems, it is exciting to zoom around on the command line messing with stuff.
I still have the personal problem of losing interest immediately after solving a problem. For some reason, if troubleshooting something takes more than an hour or two, I have to literally walk away as soon as I know the answer. Even if the solution is a five line code change, or to go to some website and do something, I don't bother. The only thing I can to is explain what we found, or think about something totally unrelated. Can you imagine anyone in another field doing that? Like a surgeon going, "oh there's a bullet next to his heart. I knew it! Let's get that out tomorrow I'm getting a soda." Yeah. I'm not sure I even wrote everything down...I just left all of my programs running and went home hoping there wouldn't be a power outage.
Had some people over tonight to play Settlers. It was awesome. I made the poor choice of starting with two harbors--ok actually it wasn't a terribly strategy. It sucked in the beginning, but I started with a sheep tile with a 6 on it, and a sheep harbor, and a rock tile with an 8 on it, and a rock harbor. So I was actually set up pretty good. Except that 6 hardly ever got rolled--probably five times in the whole game, and for most of those times the robber dude was sitting on my sheep tile with the 6. But I digress. It turned out to be a long, exciting, and close game, and I was close to winning when someone else one. Oh and none of that was important, actually. What was important was two girls came. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that Carter is a girl's name. It kind of made up for a few weeks ago when I discovered that Fio, who talks too much on a mailing list at work, was actually a guy.
Ah, and my family visited this past weekend. Took them to dinner in the Space Needle, which was a great choice. The food was good and the view was great. I will probably take every girl(s) that visits me there. We also did an hour-long harbor tour, which was good because I got some skyline shots for facebook and the boat had a bar AND I found out that crane operators make 100k a year and work about 4 hours a day. I'm going to save that little gem of knowledge and bring it up every time one of my friends does some math and realizes they work more hours than I do. Ugh, and they get to play with a giant crane! I want to be rich just so I can build a crane to operate. I'll make it exactly one city block, and the crane snapper thingy will precisely fit most automobiles, and I will spend all day moving cars from one street to another so everyone forgets where they're parked.
Oh, and the underground tour. Interesting, definitely. Piqued my interest in the history of Seattle. Could be a good date, but only with the right kind of girl.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Oops
For the first time, yesterday, some code I wrote went live, and immediately broke our testing system. My officemate was actually in the middle of using the system, and started joking that I broke it. Then I heard a beeper go off, and, well long story short we rolled my code back off and now I have to figure out what went wrong. Actually, that is why I am writing here now. I have no idea what is wrong. I have an unhelpful error message that I can't trace, which might just be me not running the thing right and have nothing to do with what broke.
In other news, multiple girls at Starbucks know my name now. I bought myself a $50 gift card at the beginning of March, telling myself that would be my budget. Then the card ran out in two or three weeks and I just switched to my credit card again. My current goal is to not go there every day.
Salsa class is going ok. The teacher emphasizes a lot of showy moves that I'm not interested in, plus one or two that I've never seen before and suspect he made up. Despite that I'm learning some good stuff, though, so thats useful. I think dancing may be the best way to meet people. I could just go out drinking, but none of my friends live close enough to grab a drink on a weeknight. Actually one does, but all he ever does is text me at 2 am and ask if I want to go to the one cheesteak place in Seattle.
I even found some people on craigslist, I think, to play Settlers. Which reminds me, I need more chairs. After the $900 ikea incident, I decided to suspend furniture acquisition for a while, but then I needed a coffee table, so made one out of leftover moving boxes. I don't think they'll make good chairs, though, so I guess I'll have to buy some. Maybe I'll get a stool for playing the guitar or something.
It happens to be sunny today. I mean, I think this counts as sunny. Today is the first time I remembered to actually wear sunglasses when I neede them: the sunny days are so infrequent here that I never think to wear sunglasses and then I walk outside get blinded. Ok I really have nothing to say here; I just don't want to deal with this problem.
In other news, multiple girls at Starbucks know my name now. I bought myself a $50 gift card at the beginning of March, telling myself that would be my budget. Then the card ran out in two or three weeks and I just switched to my credit card again. My current goal is to not go there every day.
Salsa class is going ok. The teacher emphasizes a lot of showy moves that I'm not interested in, plus one or two that I've never seen before and suspect he made up. Despite that I'm learning some good stuff, though, so thats useful. I think dancing may be the best way to meet people. I could just go out drinking, but none of my friends live close enough to grab a drink on a weeknight. Actually one does, but all he ever does is text me at 2 am and ask if I want to go to the one cheesteak place in Seattle.
I even found some people on craigslist, I think, to play Settlers. Which reminds me, I need more chairs. After the $900 ikea incident, I decided to suspend furniture acquisition for a while, but then I needed a coffee table, so made one out of leftover moving boxes. I don't think they'll make good chairs, though, so I guess I'll have to buy some. Maybe I'll get a stool for playing the guitar or something.
It happens to be sunny today. I mean, I think this counts as sunny. Today is the first time I remembered to actually wear sunglasses when I neede them: the sunny days are so infrequent here that I never think to wear sunglasses and then I walk outside get blinded. Ok I really have nothing to say here; I just don't want to deal with this problem.
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