Again, not that original.
The Programmer
on a cold winter's evenin
on a red eye bound for nowhere
met up with th' programmer
we were both to cramped to sleep
so we took turns a starin
at the fat guy 'cross the ailse
till boredom overtook us
and we began to chat
she said son I've made my life
out of solving peoples problems
knowing how to model
the question in their hands
so if you don't mind me sayin
you're wasting all that hardware
for a taste of your Captain
I'll give you some advice
so i handed her the bottle
and she took it in one swallow
then she closed her notebook
and fumbled for the light
the cabin lights went dim
and her face was lost in shadow
said if your gonna hack the gibson
you gotta learn to hack it right
you gotta know how to dream it
know how to speak it
know how to write it out
and when its wrong, cause every
problem is a nail
when all you got's a hammer
you best spend your time a learnin
when the program's done
now A good coder knows
the secret to the writing
is knowing what to question
and learnin on your feet, cause every
language is a winner, and every
language is a loser
don't give In to The religion
its all turing com-plete
so when she'd finished talkin
she turned on her computer
rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and
forgot I was there
and somewhere in the darkness
the fat man started snoring
but in those final words I found
a method I could keep
you gotta know how to dream it
know how to speak it
know how to write it out
and when its wrong, cause
every problem is a nail
when all you got's a hammer
you best spend your time a learnin
when the program's done
#....then the plane landed in Chicago and we made out in a bar.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
There Is
Do you care if I
don't know what to say
Will you sleep tonight
or will you think of me
Will I shake this off
pretend its all okay
That there someone out there
who feels just like me
There is
don't know what to say
Will you sleep tonight
or will you think of me
Will I shake this off
pretend its all okay
That there someone out there
who feels just like me
There is
There are a lot of movies about heros, and a lot of them involve exciting thing like invading Mordor or fighting fires with John Travolta. In real life, though, I think a lot of us know that heros are just people. Maybe its your older brother. Maybe its the ever evocative single mom trying to raise a kid or two with no help from the absent father. Maybe its an underpaid science or math teacher frustrated with our public school system. Maybe its a red cross volunteer. Maybe its the guy that set fire to the Ride the Duck tour building in Seattle.
That man is my hero.
I don't care if he was high, or that his alibi was lame. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and that man, that courageous, amazing man, is my friend. And my heart is filled with gratitude. Perhaps I will someday meet up with this saint in a bar and buy him a drink. Perhaps he also hates the duckboats and wasn't just AFU. If so, we could trade stories of the duck boats' crimes into the night and drink to the possibility of their demise. Dear tour guides, I drink to your death.
Admittedly, I may be going overboard. After all, the building is clearly still standing, and I imagine the mostly-metal duckboats (which are actually military amphibious vehicles) were unharmed. I doubt this man did any irrepairable harm to their business. Maybe they'll be closed for a week, but eventually they will be open again, playing bumpers cars in the streets and terrorizing people as they barrel down Broad street (a detail to keep in the back of your mind, by the way). If this guy had just stopped and thought about what he was doing, if he had been a more responsible person, he could have done a lot more damage. I mean its not the way I would have done it at all. Still, my heart is filled with gratitude.
I was actually driving by on broad street the same night, and was giddy with excitement when I saw a fire truck in front of the duck boat place. I was so excited I could barely operate my cell phone camera. I apologize for the picture being sideways; maybe I'll edit this post and fix it when I get home. If you twist your head to the left, that red light in the middle is from the fire truck. It was a lot easier to see in person. I guess I'm not much of a photographer.
Its not the way I would have done it. In fact, I used to fantasize about destroying that place, or at least that business, every day as I drove home. I had the same fantasies about the people who run the parking garage under my apartment building, though, so it doesn't mean much.
I think if you really want to put a stop to the business, you have to do at least one of three things.
First, you can destroy the boats. They are (I'm told) from world war II, and I doubt anyone is making new ones. The boats aren't easy to destroy: they are mostly solid metal, which is why they gave Jessica such a raping. The only ideas I've come up with include drilling holes in the hull, damaging the landing gear (the wheel mechanisms--I dont know what call it on a boat), the engine/propeller systems, or the hull itself. Holes can be plugged, the landing gear and engines can be repaired, and destroying the hull would require the kind of explosives that gets your name onto a list in some shady government office like homeland fucking security. I've also thought of stink bombs, and spray painting male genitalia on the sides of the hulls. Both approaches are mostly ineffective, although...if there was some kind of paint that started invisible, but only appeared after a few hours in sunlight, then maybe we could rig it so that giant penisi would appear right while they are driving down the street. Or something more offensive. Maybe write something mean about gay people. Or democrats. The only way to truly get rid of the boats would be to steal them, and then sink them in the middle of the sound: that has the least cost to accomplish, and the most cost to recover from. In fact, the costs of getting them up from the bottom I'm sure would be prohibitive. In fact, maybe we could do it without a drill or dynamic: just get a bilge pump and run it backwards. We could call it operation Fleeing Fowl.
A second approach, is to attack the building. All of their advertising directs people to that spot on broad street. If you burned the building down, they would have to rebuild it or relocate. And if you were able to use nuclear waste or some other kind of chemical agent, then the place would have to be sealed off for a while. This would be highly disruptive to their business.
A third approach: Attack them via public relations and laws. Corporations and political parties have been misusing the laws for decades to get rid of things they don't like. We could do the same thing. I would want to do this as a last resort though: it goes against my intuitive beliefs in freedom to make things illegal that don't need to be; I believe that if you want to drive a tank around on the roads, you should be damn well allowed to, so long as you use your turn signals and don't run people over like the duck boat assholes. Another side of this coin, perhaps a better approach, is negative PR. Make everyone hate them. Get videos of them hitting cars. Maybe make a documentary on how they get into accidents and then say that their passengers who couldn't see the anyway are witnesses that the person getting run over by the tank was at fault. I am also thinking about putting four cameras in my car, facing outward, to film them in case they run me over. Maybe bring a lawsuit and try to prove criminal negligence.
A fourth approach: sabatoge them from the inside. This would take a really long time. I would have to have people. I would have to get them hired. And I'm not really sure what would be next.
There is also the Broad Street contingency: I've heard they regularly drive unsafely there. Using this to one's advantage, without risking persons or property (other than the duck boats) would be tricky. You might need to line the crash zone with sandbags, or stage an empty vehicle somewhere.
For the records, I am against any such act done in bad faith against a business. And I don't condone any of my ideas I wrote here. It is purefly an intellectual exercise that I enjoy. If anyone else hates them, or is just bored on a saturday night and does one of these things, it will be karma. And I hope it happens. I mean, I'm totally against it, and I denounce all such acts in whatever way absolves me of any legal responsibility for it. I just hope someone does something. Again. But better this time. Don't set a fire and call the police. Disable the fire alarm and then set a fire. Preferably using something like thermite. You'll need some kind of device with the word "magnesium" in it to light the thermite on fire. Maybe a thermic lance? Set up a water shield so if the fire company shows up they won't be able to put it out in time? Could a thermic lance cut the duck boats? Give them a big scar in the face....
Monday, April 26, 2010
Song of the Rocket Launcher
This past weekend I managed to find a Unreal Tournament disc while purchasing a new power supply. My linux box is running again, and I spent most of the weekend playing UT classic. Distant memories flooded back, as I found myself in intense competition with the second lowest difficulty setting (my skills atrophied). Still, it filled me with such passion...maybe it was a mistake to leave computer games behind. Anyway, I came up with some lyrics. They are to the tune of 7 Days to the Wolves, by Nightwish. Also, FYI: the rocket launcher is not my favorite weapon, the flak cannon is. However I don't think I could write two versus about the flak cannon.
this weapon, and I, are one
this mid range king, ere I defend
can you hear the rocket launchers song
on the plains of death....
boom! six rockets to the face
do you see them spread like wings
six rockets in a cluster
my little angels of fire
your rampage ends in death
this is my armament of choice
my time and health are the sacrifice
choke them in, a corridor, or
death from above....
boom! six rockets to the face
do you see them spread like wings
six rockets in a cluster
my little angels of fire
your rampage ends in death
(bridge)
load the rockets fast
grab the flag, running
take the path less travelled by
make your way back home
let every rocket loose!
boom! six rockets to the face
do you see them spread like wings
six rockets in a cluster
my little angels of fire
your rampage ends in death
boom! six rockets to the face
I fragged your whole team at once
six rockets in a cluster
my little angels of fire
our victory, your death
Seriously if you haven't played Unreal Tournament Classic, you need to go buy a copy and install it and play with the rocket launcer. It really is beautiful. Especially if you fire six rockets while strafing.
Now I just need to find a hot girl to sing it for me. I wonder if I could acquire the actual tracks for 7 days to the wolves and just record a new vocal track? Or maybe eliminate the vocals from the song? Start with a Karaoke version? Sadly, I don't think many karaoke DJs have Nightwish.
I also learned to play The Gambler, by Kenny Rogers. I'm not great, but good enough. You may not know this, but The Gambler doesn't make for a good lullaby-type song. I found that out last year. ::sigh::
Song of the Rocket Launcher
this weapon, and I, are one
this mid range king, ere I defend
can you hear the rocket launchers song
on the plains of death....
boom! six rockets to the face
do you see them spread like wings
six rockets in a cluster
my little angels of fire
your rampage ends in death
this is my armament of choice
my time and health are the sacrifice
choke them in, a corridor, or
death from above....
boom! six rockets to the face
do you see them spread like wings
six rockets in a cluster
my little angels of fire
your rampage ends in death
(bridge)
load the rockets fast
grab the flag, running
take the path less travelled by
make your way back home
let every rocket loose!
boom! six rockets to the face
do you see them spread like wings
six rockets in a cluster
my little angels of fire
your rampage ends in death
boom! six rockets to the face
I fragged your whole team at once
six rockets in a cluster
my little angels of fire
our victory, your death
Seriously if you haven't played Unreal Tournament Classic, you need to go buy a copy and install it and play with the rocket launcer. It really is beautiful. Especially if you fire six rockets while strafing.
Now I just need to find a hot girl to sing it for me. I wonder if I could acquire the actual tracks for 7 days to the wolves and just record a new vocal track? Or maybe eliminate the vocals from the song? Start with a Karaoke version? Sadly, I don't think many karaoke DJs have Nightwish.
I also learned to play The Gambler, by Kenny Rogers. I'm not great, but good enough. You may not know this, but The Gambler doesn't make for a good lullaby-type song. I found that out last year. ::sigh::
Friday, April 23, 2010
How to read an email from upper management
Translation in [red]:
I would prefer if all of those manager people would state the facts clearly, for example, saying "there is nothing you can do about this" instead of "thank you for your flexibility!" because the first one doesn't give me the urge to punch someone in the face.
I mentioned this at the recent all-hands, but it’s now official. We’re [giving you almost no notice that we are forcing you to move to some building in the middle of nowhere temporarily, which should screw up all your commutes, before the actual move that you've been planning for]. I’m happy that [meaningless statement] ahead of our [there will be cake].
Now that we know where we’ll be, your managers and space administrators will be putting together the specifics for [how to bend over].
Basic details:
• Timing – [we're giving you like no warning]
• [we are too cheap to figure out how to properly fit your team anywhere]
• The Space Administrators will send details on [we're gonna need to move your desk downstairs into Storage B....]
Once we all get moved into PAC, [there will be cake]
I thank you for [resistance is futile]. Ultimately we end up in [there will be cake]. So if you have any extra energy to spend thinking about this stuff, then [it would great if you could get a can of pesticide and take care of the cockroach problem we've been having...]
I would prefer if all of those manager people would state the facts clearly, for example, saying "there is nothing you can do about this" instead of "thank you for your flexibility!" because the first one doesn't give me the urge to punch someone in the face.
Creepytown
I read an article, blog post, or a summary of an article or blog post, claiming that people who get rejected a lot eventually develop a more acute awareness of fake smiles and empty politeness. Ladies and gentleman, I have the dubious honor of possessing this gift. Perhaps I can only use it when someone else is getting rejected, I don't know. How did I come to this realization? I will tell you.
I walked in the bar, and discovered the bar had a cover charge on top of the $5 I had paid to the meetup person that I thought was a girl. As I was paying my cover, I saw a pink flyer with a lot of words on it that happened to be about the very...event I was there to attend. With my elite James Bond skills I scanned the section about the dance contest in mere seconds. The flyer was written in a language that would have been flirty and humorous had it be written by a girl, but lame and in poor taste had it been written by some guys. I quickly surmised that the dance contest was something I wanted no part of--it sounded like they were just going to turn on some crappy club music and have all the contestants just sort of dance like they were in a club.
However, I had come too far, and written too much prose about this event to just leave. So I sat at the bar and ordered a drink. There was like no one there. Struck up a conversation with this guy Marcus that was there to watch the contest. I mentioned that I was there to be in the contest but intended to bail out and something about salsa, and we started talking about salsa, bachatta and various other ballroom dances. The hot bartender girl was occasionally in earshot. Her name was...I Didn't Have a Chance.
Anyway, I'm going to skip an exhausting list of the clues you don't care about anyway and just tell you I was reasonably sure that if anyone showed up for this meetup thing it was going to get real awkward real fast. The little voice inside my head that yells at me to go out and have a good time and screams at me for leaving parties too early gave me the clearance to get the hell out of there. Marcus did not seem to sense anything wrong at all, and proceeded to ask every person in sight about the upcoming competition, as if a whole bunch of people were going to suddenly show up. I guess it could happen, but I wasn't going to wait around to see. I traded numbers with Marcus, who seemed interested in the dating scene, and finished my drink. Then I watched the guy try to chat up the hot bartender girl and thats when I saw it. She knew he was interested in her, or at least trying to chat her up, and she was unexcited about it. I could read it all over her face. And its not like she was frowning; she had that polite I-can't-blow-you-off-cause-I-work-here face. My new superpower allowed me to see through that facade of politeness. How cool is that?
It was actually torturous to watch the scene play out, because it was a little too like the time I asked Kristal to dinner, or like every time I talked to that girl Heather, or half of the baristas at Starbucks. But I was stuck--I hadn't said goodbye to my new friend and I've been told by a number of people that they don't like it when I just suddenly disappear. People seem to think its rude or something. I discovered from a comment she made that this meetup thing was arranged by some guys somewhere, which for some reason added to the creepiness factor. I managed to edge a word in and bug out politely just as he was telling her she should be in the dance contest. Then I was gone, like the dance ninjas of legend.
I walked in the bar, and discovered the bar had a cover charge on top of the $5 I had paid to the meetup person that I thought was a girl. As I was paying my cover, I saw a pink flyer with a lot of words on it that happened to be about the very...event I was there to attend. With my elite James Bond skills I scanned the section about the dance contest in mere seconds. The flyer was written in a language that would have been flirty and humorous had it be written by a girl, but lame and in poor taste had it been written by some guys. I quickly surmised that the dance contest was something I wanted no part of--it sounded like they were just going to turn on some crappy club music and have all the contestants just sort of dance like they were in a club.
However, I had come too far, and written too much prose about this event to just leave. So I sat at the bar and ordered a drink. There was like no one there. Struck up a conversation with this guy Marcus that was there to watch the contest. I mentioned that I was there to be in the contest but intended to bail out and something about salsa, and we started talking about salsa, bachatta and various other ballroom dances. The hot bartender girl was occasionally in earshot. Her name was...I Didn't Have a Chance.
Anyway, I'm going to skip an exhausting list of the clues you don't care about anyway and just tell you I was reasonably sure that if anyone showed up for this meetup thing it was going to get real awkward real fast. The little voice inside my head that yells at me to go out and have a good time and screams at me for leaving parties too early gave me the clearance to get the hell out of there. Marcus did not seem to sense anything wrong at all, and proceeded to ask every person in sight about the upcoming competition, as if a whole bunch of people were going to suddenly show up. I guess it could happen, but I wasn't going to wait around to see. I traded numbers with Marcus, who seemed interested in the dating scene, and finished my drink. Then I watched the guy try to chat up the hot bartender girl and thats when I saw it. She knew he was interested in her, or at least trying to chat her up, and she was unexcited about it. I could read it all over her face. And its not like she was frowning; she had that polite I-can't-blow-you-off-cause-I-work-here face. My new superpower allowed me to see through that facade of politeness. How cool is that?
It was actually torturous to watch the scene play out, because it was a little too like the time I asked Kristal to dinner, or like every time I talked to that girl Heather, or half of the baristas at Starbucks. But I was stuck--I hadn't said goodbye to my new friend and I've been told by a number of people that they don't like it when I just suddenly disappear. People seem to think its rude or something. I discovered from a comment she made that this meetup thing was arranged by some guys somewhere, which for some reason added to the creepiness factor. I managed to edge a word in and bug out politely just as he was telling her she should be in the dance contest. Then I was gone, like the dance ninjas of legend.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Uncharted Territory
Some of my friends take off of aircraft carriers in fighter jets (not exaggerating!) while I'm happy if I can land a cessna on the center line (harder than it looks!). Some of my friends are dating, married, or engaged to amazing and/or hot girls, while I occasionally try to talk to a barista at starbucks. Well, not after today...but thats a different story. Why am I telling you this? To establish the context for baby steps.
I signed up for meetup.com because one of my friends told me I should try it. And because I've been rejected by a dating site. Seriously, who ever gets rejected by the site itself? If I believed in karma I would think this is payback for all the times I wrote "On Error Resume Next" as a visual basic programmer (if you can't guess why that makes me a terrible person, don't ever become a computer programmer--the world will thank you). Anyway, I had a brief fling with meeup.com-like sites when I lived in Philly, which resulted in me driving like 40 minutes to some random gym in Jersey to play volleyball with slightly melodramatic people that spent more time talking about what went wrong with the last hit than actually playing (seriously I'm not exaggerating about this one either). I also tried to join a book club that was reading through Crime and Punishment, but failed somewhere around page 70 when I decided that all of the great and famous literary novels of human history can kiss my ass. Who needs to spend that much prose to talk about going to a bar?
Saturday I was stuck at home; I don't remember why, but the tv was on and I found myself combing through all of the various meetup groups in seattle looking for ones that didn't suck. I found plenty that did. There was one group for people who want to be activists for separating church and state. That's retarded. We've had a separate church and state since like 1776-ish. According to the history classes I took as a kid, we invented separate churches and states. So I'm a little annoyed people think they need to fix something that isn't broken. Please stop going around removing random religious-looking monuments I haven't seen yet. And who cares about fire halls with christmas trees? Anyone who is bothered by that enough to do anything more than whine about it to their friends should go visit a country where the church and state are still married. Like maybe go make out on a beach in Dubai (seriously please do research before ever following any of my suggestions) and let me know how that works out for you.
Oh, and there was another group for Single Choice Mothers. I had a little trouble figuring it out. Based on simple word association, I estimated that the group was for unmarried women who were interested in some kind of post-natal abortion. I was pretty sure everything out of the womb was off limits for that kind of thing, so I dug around on the meetup site to get more information about it. It turns out, that group means the opposite: its for unmarried women who want to become mothers. Like in that 80's movie with the talking baby. And in the tv show House. So I wasn't eligible. Oh, and there was another group for people looking to explore their sexuality in the most creepy-sounding way possible. Seriously, if--I'm not going to finish this paragraph.
So that was all the clubs I didn't join. I joined a bunch that I thought wouldn't suck and immediately started receiving emails for events I didn't want to go to. Like, there is this climbing gym out here--ok we have to back up for a second.
People who climb rock faces, or walls with fake rocks on them, often attach themselves to a rope, and a person stays on the ground to "belay" them, constantly pulling out the slack and acting as a safety net and guide. Or, in Kyle's case, telling me over and over again that I can't come down yet. But I digress. There is an awesome little tool called an ATC that the person belaying uses to lock the rope when the climber falls. The ATC has no moving parts and works completely on the principles of friction and tension. It is probably the coolest device I have ever seen or heard of in my life, surpassing my previous favorite, the torque converter. Every rock gym on the planet that doesn't suck lets their climbers use ATCs.
A long time ago, when the universe was young, the Devil, a.k.a. Loki, a.k.a. Satan, a.k.a. Bill Gates, invented another climbing device, the greargory, which I deliberately mispelled because I hate it, and I was recently shocked 20 seconds ago when I googled belay devices to get this link and found out how it is actually spellled. The purpose of the grigri is to annoy the person belaying, sucking all of the joy out of climbing until the belayer can think of nothing else but how much they hate grigris. Anyway, long story short: when God (a.k.a. Gordon Freeman, a.k.a. Hugh Jackman) created hell, he made a lake of burning sulfur surrounded by rock walls that can only be climbed with a grigri, so that people like Hitler and all the morons in Seattle that don't use turn signals would be banished there to be tormented forever by these infernal climbing devices. It is a little known fact that grigri's were used to torture prisoners in rural siberia between 1928 and 1931, when they were replaced by milder forms of torture like water boarding and tapes of Fox News.
Ok back to the present. Well, almost. There are two gyms in Seattle. One is called Vertical...something, and the other is called Stone Gardens. Vertical whatever uses grigris, because they hate climbers, and Stone Gardens uses ATCs. I <3 ATCs. And google obliterated the rest of the paragraph because I typed "I <3 ATCs" and google thought I was trying to write html. Seriously I can't be the first person who tried to type a "<3" into blogger. Am I?!? Imagine what havoc might ensue if I tried something on purpose.
Which brings me to the point of this post: I think I signed up for a singles group. It didn't look like a singles group, or maybe I was too distracted by the tv. I don't know. But I'm a part of it now, and I got an invitation for an event that involved a dance contest with models that are allegedly hot. And I signed up. I spent a lot of time analyzing the invitation, trying to figure out exactly what kind of dance contest it is, but they don't say. I don't know if its like a swing dance contents, or like a craphop ugly rap dancing contest, or what. And I definitely don't know if going at all is a good idea. Its a "singles" event, and its at the kind of bridge-and-tunnel bar I hate going to. And I never, ever want to be at anything remotely like a singles event--I was actually planning to go to my grave a lonely, bitter man before attending any kind of part or event with the plural form of "single" in the title. Unless it was going to be "the party for sexy female singles that want to meet me now that I'm a rock star."
But it could actually be cool: if I have the option of doing salsa I have a good shot at winning the contest, because dancing for a performance, or to show off, is a lot easier than dancing for real. Also this stupid party thing is like a block away from where I work.
So, basically, the only way to find out if this is a good opportunity is to take it. If I let it pass by, I won't know if I made the right decision, even if the right decision was to stay the hell away from this B&T on singles night. I'm starting to think most opportunities are like that--the only way gain information about them is to take them. I really hope I'm wrong, because taking opportunities and trying new things is exhausting. If I didn't have this tragic need to interact with other people I could just sit at home every night watching movies, playing video games, eating doritos and drinking mountain dew. The hourly rate of a movie rental is approximately 3.37% of the cost of renting a Cessna 172. Curious...I dont know why I loved doritos so much when I played video games regularly; they are like the worst snack food ever for someone trying to use a keyboard.
This ridiculous charade takes place tomorrow night. Maybe I'll chicken out. Maybe I'll go and have the worst time of my life. Maybe I will make a fool of myself and be outed and embarrassed--or worse--be forced to dance to hip hop. I don't know. What I do know, though, is that I'm planning to go and double fist the captain and make the best run of it that I can (thats what she said).
I signed up for meetup.com because one of my friends told me I should try it. And because I've been rejected by a dating site. Seriously, who ever gets rejected by the site itself? If I believed in karma I would think this is payback for all the times I wrote "On Error Resume Next" as a visual basic programmer (if you can't guess why that makes me a terrible person, don't ever become a computer programmer--the world will thank you). Anyway, I had a brief fling with meeup.com-like sites when I lived in Philly, which resulted in me driving like 40 minutes to some random gym in Jersey to play volleyball with slightly melodramatic people that spent more time talking about what went wrong with the last hit than actually playing (seriously I'm not exaggerating about this one either). I also tried to join a book club that was reading through Crime and Punishment, but failed somewhere around page 70 when I decided that all of the great and famous literary novels of human history can kiss my ass. Who needs to spend that much prose to talk about going to a bar?
Saturday I was stuck at home; I don't remember why, but the tv was on and I found myself combing through all of the various meetup groups in seattle looking for ones that didn't suck. I found plenty that did. There was one group for people who want to be activists for separating church and state. That's retarded. We've had a separate church and state since like 1776-ish. According to the history classes I took as a kid, we invented separate churches and states. So I'm a little annoyed people think they need to fix something that isn't broken. Please stop going around removing random religious-looking monuments I haven't seen yet. And who cares about fire halls with christmas trees? Anyone who is bothered by that enough to do anything more than whine about it to their friends should go visit a country where the church and state are still married. Like maybe go make out on a beach in Dubai (seriously please do research before ever following any of my suggestions) and let me know how that works out for you.
Oh, and there was another group for Single Choice Mothers. I had a little trouble figuring it out. Based on simple word association, I estimated that the group was for unmarried women who were interested in some kind of post-natal abortion. I was pretty sure everything out of the womb was off limits for that kind of thing, so I dug around on the meetup site to get more information about it. It turns out, that group means the opposite: its for unmarried women who want to become mothers. Like in that 80's movie with the talking baby. And in the tv show House. So I wasn't eligible. Oh, and there was another group for people looking to explore their sexuality in the most creepy-sounding way possible. Seriously, if--I'm not going to finish this paragraph.
So that was all the clubs I didn't join. I joined a bunch that I thought wouldn't suck and immediately started receiving emails for events I didn't want to go to. Like, there is this climbing gym out here--ok we have to back up for a second.
People who climb rock faces, or walls with fake rocks on them, often attach themselves to a rope, and a person stays on the ground to "belay" them, constantly pulling out the slack and acting as a safety net and guide. Or, in Kyle's case, telling me over and over again that I can't come down yet. But I digress. There is an awesome little tool called an ATC that the person belaying uses to lock the rope when the climber falls. The ATC has no moving parts and works completely on the principles of friction and tension. It is probably the coolest device I have ever seen or heard of in my life, surpassing my previous favorite, the torque converter. Every rock gym on the planet that doesn't suck lets their climbers use ATCs.
A long time ago, when the universe was young, the Devil, a.k.a. Loki, a.k.a. Satan, a.k.a. Bill Gates, invented another climbing device, the greargory, which I deliberately mispelled because I hate it, and I was recently shocked 20 seconds ago when I googled belay devices to get this link and found out how it is actually spellled. The purpose of the grigri is to annoy the person belaying, sucking all of the joy out of climbing until the belayer can think of nothing else but how much they hate grigris. Anyway, long story short: when God (a.k.a. Gordon Freeman, a.k.a. Hugh Jackman) created hell, he made a lake of burning sulfur surrounded by rock walls that can only be climbed with a grigri, so that people like Hitler and all the morons in Seattle that don't use turn signals would be banished there to be tormented forever by these infernal climbing devices. It is a little known fact that grigri's were used to torture prisoners in rural siberia between 1928 and 1931, when they were replaced by milder forms of torture like water boarding and tapes of Fox News.
Ok back to the present. Well, almost. There are two gyms in Seattle. One is called Vertical...something, and the other is called Stone Gardens. Vertical whatever uses grigris, because they hate climbers, and Stone Gardens uses ATCs. I <3 ATCs. And google obliterated the rest of the paragraph because I typed "I <3 ATCs" and google thought I was trying to write html. Seriously I can't be the first person who tried to type a "<3" into blogger. Am I?!? Imagine what havoc might ensue if I tried something on purpose.
Which brings me to the point of this post: I think I signed up for a singles group. It didn't look like a singles group, or maybe I was too distracted by the tv. I don't know. But I'm a part of it now, and I got an invitation for an event that involved a dance contest with models that are allegedly hot. And I signed up. I spent a lot of time analyzing the invitation, trying to figure out exactly what kind of dance contest it is, but they don't say. I don't know if its like a swing dance contents, or like a craphop ugly rap dancing contest, or what. And I definitely don't know if going at all is a good idea. Its a "singles" event, and its at the kind of bridge-and-tunnel bar I hate going to. And I never, ever want to be at anything remotely like a singles event--I was actually planning to go to my grave a lonely, bitter man before attending any kind of part or event with the plural form of "single" in the title. Unless it was going to be "the party for sexy female singles that want to meet me now that I'm a rock star."
But it could actually be cool: if I have the option of doing salsa I have a good shot at winning the contest, because dancing for a performance, or to show off, is a lot easier than dancing for real. Also this stupid party thing is like a block away from where I work.
So, basically, the only way to find out if this is a good opportunity is to take it. If I let it pass by, I won't know if I made the right decision, even if the right decision was to stay the hell away from this B&T on singles night. I'm starting to think most opportunities are like that--the only way gain information about them is to take them. I really hope I'm wrong, because taking opportunities and trying new things is exhausting. If I didn't have this tragic need to interact with other people I could just sit at home every night watching movies, playing video games, eating doritos and drinking mountain dew. The hourly rate of a movie rental is approximately 3.37% of the cost of renting a Cessna 172. Curious...I dont know why I loved doritos so much when I played video games regularly; they are like the worst snack food ever for someone trying to use a keyboard.
This ridiculous charade takes place tomorrow night. Maybe I'll chicken out. Maybe I'll go and have the worst time of my life. Maybe I will make a fool of myself and be outed and embarrassed--or worse--be forced to dance to hip hop. I don't know. What I do know, though, is that I'm planning to go and double fist the captain and make the best run of it that I can (thats what she said).
Tarja rhymes with....
I have decided I should try writing for the kind of songs where the lyrics don't matter.
That wasn't it. Those were the lyrics for Bye Bye Beautiful, an awesome song by a band called Nightwish. Well...the song might not be so awesome, because i just realized it could be about the bands former (and awesome) lead singer Tarja. But I digress. Some of you may not have heard of nightwish. What you need to know is that this band is so awesome, the fact that I listen to them excuses me for liking nickelback and from any obligation to care about the beatles. Yeah, they're that awesome (nightwish, not necessarily the beatles). The only thing better than making out while listening to Nightwish would be having sex while listening to Nightwish, on a bed covered with rose petals, in the moonlight, on a mostly abandoned beach that still has one bar that serves only captain, with dangerous velociraptors lurking in the bush. Unfortunately I haven't had the pleasure of doing either, but I hope to before I die or turn 30. Oh, and Nightwish has awesome lyrics. And I don't know if they are metal or not. If you really needed to know I'm sure you could get a bunch of respectful, well-reasoned opinions on the subject from the nice people that comment on youtube videos.
Anyway, I usually get writers block when I try to write lyrics because I can't think of anything good. But that doesn't matter when you write for a genre where most people are screaming unitelligibly. So I deliberately wrote something I wouldn't be proud of. The melody for the verse doesnt matter because its meant to be shouted. The melody for the chorus is some random tune in my head that reminds me of but is different from the phantom of the opera. And then you add distortion, and you have a metal song. I love distortion.
#
# mirror of my rage
#
#
# 2010-04-20
#
#
lead me
with your eyes
in the vine
twist my life
#hide my lines
muffled cries
scar my hide
feed my lies
to suite your wishes
can you restore my wrath
can you redeem my wasted wages
when you see beyond the time
you are the mirror of my rage
boom
let me out
salt my scars
face the risk
show your eyes
endless tears
guide my fears
to suite your hunger
can you restore my wrath
can you redeem my wasted wages
when you see beyond the time
you are the mirror of my rage
take what
you want
i hide
no thing
from you
i ask
only
will you restore my wrath
will you redeem my wasted wages
when you look to the end of time will
you be the mirror of my rage
did you ever hear what I told you?
did you ever read what I wrote you?
did you ever listen to the words we played?
did you ever let in what the words said?
did we get this far just to feel your hate
did we play to become only pawns in the game
did you ever read what I wrote you?
did you ever listen to the words we played?
did you ever let in what the words said?
did we get this far just to feel your hate
did we play to become only pawns in the game
That wasn't it. Those were the lyrics for Bye Bye Beautiful, an awesome song by a band called Nightwish. Well...the song might not be so awesome, because i just realized it could be about the bands former (and awesome) lead singer Tarja. But I digress. Some of you may not have heard of nightwish. What you need to know is that this band is so awesome, the fact that I listen to them excuses me for liking nickelback and from any obligation to care about the beatles. Yeah, they're that awesome (nightwish, not necessarily the beatles). The only thing better than making out while listening to Nightwish would be having sex while listening to Nightwish, on a bed covered with rose petals, in the moonlight, on a mostly abandoned beach that still has one bar that serves only captain, with dangerous velociraptors lurking in the bush. Unfortunately I haven't had the pleasure of doing either, but I hope to before I die or turn 30. Oh, and Nightwish has awesome lyrics. And I don't know if they are metal or not. If you really needed to know I'm sure you could get a bunch of respectful, well-reasoned opinions on the subject from the nice people that comment on youtube videos.
Anyway, I usually get writers block when I try to write lyrics because I can't think of anything good. But that doesn't matter when you write for a genre where most people are screaming unitelligibly. So I deliberately wrote something I wouldn't be proud of. The melody for the verse doesnt matter because its meant to be shouted. The melody for the chorus is some random tune in my head that reminds me of but is different from the phantom of the opera. And then you add distortion, and you have a metal song. I love distortion.
#
# mirror of my rage
#
#
# 2010-04-20
#
#
lead me
with your eyes
in the vine
twist my life
#hide my lines
muffled cries
scar my hide
feed my lies
to suite your wishes
can you restore my wrath
can you redeem my wasted wages
when you see beyond the time
you are the mirror of my rage
boom
let me out
salt my scars
face the risk
show your eyes
endless tears
guide my fears
to suite your hunger
can you restore my wrath
can you redeem my wasted wages
when you see beyond the time
you are the mirror of my rage
take what
you want
i hide
no thing
from you
i ask
only
will you restore my wrath
will you redeem my wasted wages
when you look to the end of time will
you be the mirror of my rage
Monday, April 19, 2010
will I shake this off
Sunday I flew to Bremerton again and this time finally managed to meet up with Bridget. I feel pretty comfortable flying there now. I think if I continue flying more than once a month I will be able to keep my skills sharp. I still come in too high for all my landings, but you know I'm just not as stressed about it now that I don't have someone in the right seat harassing me about it.
Sunday night I had plans, but like almost every other night last week, the people bailed on me. Then I made more plans. Then those people bailed out. Then I tried to go salsa dancing at the See Sound Lounge, which I was excited about because it is nearby in Belltown, until I got there and saw the DJ and the empty dance floor through the glass. I had nowhere to go but was sick of hanging out in my apartment by myself (especially since my linux computer broke) so I just walked around. Then I got the bright idea to go to Game Works (Davenbusters with a different name). That, at least, is someplace I can go alone.
Some guys who were my age but still dressed like high school rap punks were arguing with the hot cashier girl about why they couldn't trade their game card for cash, so I bought the card off of them. I wanted to explain exactly why it is not legal for corporation like davenbusters (and their clones) to give you back real money in exchange for their fake currency, but the fake kids left. I added ten dollars on my new card, then walked away before the girl could actually add the balance to the card. Then I used up the tiny amount on the card playing ghost squad with an unstable controller and had to go back and buy another ten dollars worth of fake arcade money. This time I tried to strike up a conversation with the hot cashier girl whose nametag said "Natascha." I asked how to pronounce her name and that I'd never seen it spelled that way. She told me everybody says that and to have a nice day. I would have said something like "hi, you're hot" to her but that approach did not work well with Krystal.
I've been told once you shouldn't hit on waitresses/cashiers/bartenders. I might start following that advice; you can never tell if they are interested, or if being friendly is just part of their job, or if they just want good tips or what. Plus, being an attractive girl in an arcade...she probably gets hit on more than Krystal did. I sulked around the place, playing some racing games and one poorly designed fighter pilot game that made me want to yell at the people who made it. All the girls I saw were with their boyfriends.
I guess now I have two possibilities on my list of things to do when all my friends are busy:
1) salsa dancing and
2) going to a bar-arcade.
I'm hoping to find more.
Sunday night I had plans, but like almost every other night last week, the people bailed on me. Then I made more plans. Then those people bailed out. Then I tried to go salsa dancing at the See Sound Lounge, which I was excited about because it is nearby in Belltown, until I got there and saw the DJ and the empty dance floor through the glass. I had nowhere to go but was sick of hanging out in my apartment by myself (especially since my linux computer broke) so I just walked around. Then I got the bright idea to go to Game Works (Davenbusters with a different name). That, at least, is someplace I can go alone.
Some guys who were my age but still dressed like high school rap punks were arguing with the hot cashier girl about why they couldn't trade their game card for cash, so I bought the card off of them. I wanted to explain exactly why it is not legal for corporation like davenbusters (and their clones) to give you back real money in exchange for their fake currency, but the fake kids left. I added ten dollars on my new card, then walked away before the girl could actually add the balance to the card. Then I used up the tiny amount on the card playing ghost squad with an unstable controller and had to go back and buy another ten dollars worth of fake arcade money. This time I tried to strike up a conversation with the hot cashier girl whose nametag said "Natascha." I asked how to pronounce her name and that I'd never seen it spelled that way. She told me everybody says that and to have a nice day. I would have said something like "hi, you're hot" to her but that approach did not work well with Krystal.
I've been told once you shouldn't hit on waitresses/cashiers/bartenders. I might start following that advice; you can never tell if they are interested, or if being friendly is just part of their job, or if they just want good tips or what. Plus, being an attractive girl in an arcade...she probably gets hit on more than Krystal did. I sulked around the place, playing some racing games and one poorly designed fighter pilot game that made me want to yell at the people who made it. All the girls I saw were with their boyfriends.
I guess now I have two possibilities on my list of things to do when all my friends are busy:
1) salsa dancing and
2) going to a bar-arcade.
I'm hoping to find more.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
I did it again.
The facts:
My friend was in this play thing. I went to see it in a tiny little theatre thing near pike place. I've never been to a tiny little live theatre before; it was exciting. One of the lead characters was some kind of sorceress princess character and she was totally hot. I was kind of into her. My friend invited me out to a karaoke bar with her and the rest of the cast. Hot princess warrior girl sat next to me for like 20 minutes. She introduced herself as margareta. Or something. I had 7 captain and cokes tonight. Anyway, I barely talked to her. And then she was gone. I am so mad at myself. This wasn't a case where I was totally into some girl and she blew me off again. This girl seemed interested.
So, I guess I know next time a girl sits down next to me i should try to talk to her more. Or something. Yeah, there really isn't a bright side to this story. The only good thing about it is at least I didn't stay home and play video games all night. Then I wouldn't have had an opportunity to blow.
I was partly not talking to her becuase the karaoke was so loud you couldn't really hear people talk. But then I realized that just makes you have to lean in close. I think I've gotten so used to pretending i'm not interested in girls (cause if they find out they stop talking to you) that its become a habit. Or something.
So.......I'm not dead. I guess all I can do is keep trying to meet new people and hope that one of these times I won't screw it up.
My friend was in this play thing. I went to see it in a tiny little theatre thing near pike place. I've never been to a tiny little live theatre before; it was exciting. One of the lead characters was some kind of sorceress princess character and she was totally hot. I was kind of into her. My friend invited me out to a karaoke bar with her and the rest of the cast. Hot princess warrior girl sat next to me for like 20 minutes. She introduced herself as margareta. Or something. I had 7 captain and cokes tonight. Anyway, I barely talked to her. And then she was gone. I am so mad at myself. This wasn't a case where I was totally into some girl and she blew me off again. This girl seemed interested.
So, I guess I know next time a girl sits down next to me i should try to talk to her more. Or something. Yeah, there really isn't a bright side to this story. The only good thing about it is at least I didn't stay home and play video games all night. Then I wouldn't have had an opportunity to blow.
I was partly not talking to her becuase the karaoke was so loud you couldn't really hear people talk. But then I realized that just makes you have to lean in close. I think I've gotten so used to pretending i'm not interested in girls (cause if they find out they stop talking to you) that its become a habit. Or something.
So.......I'm not dead. I guess all I can do is keep trying to meet new people and hope that one of these times I won't screw it up.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Double Fisting
[Dancing]
Last night I went to Century Ballroom on a saturday night and it didn't suck. Partly because I told myself I was going to have a good time and not dwell on anything negative, and partly because I went straight from the coat check to the bar (where some bitch cut me off, but I made myself forget it) and got two captain and cokes. I think that's the key. Once barely gets me buzzed, but double fisting them makes me friendly. I was so friendly it didn't even bother me when I asked girls to dance and they said no. I even danced with frowny face girl, despite knowing she probably wouldn't enjoy it for some reason I still can't fathom.
I also danced with this cute girl who looked like the chick in that Harry Potter movie. A lot like her. In fact...she said her name was Kate, lets look up IMDB....oh, no the actors name is Emma. Well, she looked like her. And she was a sexy dancer. And when I left, planning to ask if she wanted to go get a drink, I couldn't find her. Ce la vie.
The girl assistant/teacher person from the dance studio has a serious case of pretending I don't exist. I know this because she ignored me at the water fountain, and unless your facial recognition is broken there is no way to pretend you didnt' notice someone when they are in front of you looking right at you. That reminds me, I might have to go to a new studio. My teacher seems convinced that because I am capable of learning the moves without flailing around awkwardly the whole class that this means I'm "advanced" and I should be in the advanced class. Maybe its just his teaching style. I prefer the classes where you are pretty much dancing the whole time, except for the few minutes they spend showing a new move, or what can go wrong with it. Either way, I'm not advanced, so maybe this is the impetus I need to actually find another dance studio. I am seriously going to miss walking across the street though. Maybe I'll still go there for practice. My attempts to find good salsa partners have so far failed. I have like 3 or 4 beginners that told me they want to come but are always busy.
I feel pretty good, though, now that I've come up with this double fisting trick. Rum has some serious capability for taking a sucky situation and making it pleasant. I think I'm going to keep going and trying to dance with new people until enough people recognize me that I won't be standing on the edge of the dance floor most of the time. And until that happens, I'll have the captain to keep me company.
[Flying]
Flew to Bremerton again today, this time with Sabrina. My first attempt at landing sucked so bad I actually had to go around, which was depressing. The next one wasn't so bad, but all of my landings start with sloppy approaches. I'm going to have to work on them. Coming home to boeing, they told me to do a ...something I can't even remember. Long story short, I had to shorten up the pattern and flew right over the aviation museum, then I had to turn real sharp and set her down in time to get off the runway but intersection A9 like they told me. I think they were hurrying me up so someone else could land. My landing didn't suck, at least. Over the whole day, though, I landed directly on the nose wheel (very bad idea) and oversped the flaps (just a tiny bit).
I think the next destination will be Hoqium, on the actual coast. This will require a bit more planning, but it should be pretty cool. They have a diner there too.
Also, I am considering joining the Civil Air Patrol. They aren't one of the armed forces, and get negative respect from everyone, but they allegedly do search and rescue, which would be awesome. It is probably the closest I can get to being in an air force without worrying about some jackass president getting us in another war. Unfortunately they require 200 hours of pilot-in-command time. That's a lot.
[Alaska]
Also, I want to go to Alaska. During whenever the sun never sets. I think that will be awesome.
[TODO]
If I'm going to shamelessly link to amazon anyway, maybe I should be a total sell out: http://buzz.blogger.com/2009/12/blogger-integrates-with-amazon.html
Last night I went to Century Ballroom on a saturday night and it didn't suck. Partly because I told myself I was going to have a good time and not dwell on anything negative, and partly because I went straight from the coat check to the bar (where some bitch cut me off, but I made myself forget it) and got two captain and cokes. I think that's the key. Once barely gets me buzzed, but double fisting them makes me friendly. I was so friendly it didn't even bother me when I asked girls to dance and they said no. I even danced with frowny face girl, despite knowing she probably wouldn't enjoy it for some reason I still can't fathom.
I also danced with this cute girl who looked like the chick in that Harry Potter movie. A lot like her. In fact...she said her name was Kate, lets look up IMDB....oh, no the actors name is Emma. Well, she looked like her. And she was a sexy dancer. And when I left, planning to ask if she wanted to go get a drink, I couldn't find her. Ce la vie.
The girl assistant/teacher person from the dance studio has a serious case of pretending I don't exist. I know this because she ignored me at the water fountain, and unless your facial recognition is broken there is no way to pretend you didnt' notice someone when they are in front of you looking right at you. That reminds me, I might have to go to a new studio. My teacher seems convinced that because I am capable of learning the moves without flailing around awkwardly the whole class that this means I'm "advanced" and I should be in the advanced class. Maybe its just his teaching style. I prefer the classes where you are pretty much dancing the whole time, except for the few minutes they spend showing a new move, or what can go wrong with it. Either way, I'm not advanced, so maybe this is the impetus I need to actually find another dance studio. I am seriously going to miss walking across the street though. Maybe I'll still go there for practice. My attempts to find good salsa partners have so far failed. I have like 3 or 4 beginners that told me they want to come but are always busy.
I feel pretty good, though, now that I've come up with this double fisting trick. Rum has some serious capability for taking a sucky situation and making it pleasant. I think I'm going to keep going and trying to dance with new people until enough people recognize me that I won't be standing on the edge of the dance floor most of the time. And until that happens, I'll have the captain to keep me company.
[Flying]
Flew to Bremerton again today, this time with Sabrina. My first attempt at landing sucked so bad I actually had to go around, which was depressing. The next one wasn't so bad, but all of my landings start with sloppy approaches. I'm going to have to work on them. Coming home to boeing, they told me to do a ...something I can't even remember. Long story short, I had to shorten up the pattern and flew right over the aviation museum, then I had to turn real sharp and set her down in time to get off the runway but intersection A9 like they told me. I think they were hurrying me up so someone else could land. My landing didn't suck, at least. Over the whole day, though, I landed directly on the nose wheel (very bad idea) and oversped the flaps (just a tiny bit).
I think the next destination will be Hoqium, on the actual coast. This will require a bit more planning, but it should be pretty cool. They have a diner there too.
Also, I am considering joining the Civil Air Patrol. They aren't one of the armed forces, and get negative respect from everyone, but they allegedly do search and rescue, which would be awesome. It is probably the closest I can get to being in an air force without worrying about some jackass president getting us in another war. Unfortunately they require 200 hours of pilot-in-command time. That's a lot.
[Alaska]
Also, I want to go to Alaska. During whenever the sun never sets. I think that will be awesome.
[TODO]
If I'm going to shamelessly link to amazon anyway, maybe I should be a total sell out: http://buzz.blogger.com/2009/12/blogger-integrates-with-amazon.html
Friday, April 9, 2010
I didn't really want to share this with you
...but I'm leaving work and I don't want to stick it anywhere else. It is probably the first set of lyrics in ten years that wasn't written about some girl.
Also, my flying club purchased a new place, a Diamond DA-40XL. The important details are that it is a low wing, somewhat funny looking, uses a constant speed prop (which means I can't fly it) and is only marginally faster than a Cessna anyway (135 kt cruise, according to the email).
I think my flying club should purchase a prop jet capable of 330 kt. Then I could fly myself to Philly in like 5 hours.
we were young
easy to mesmerize with flashing lights
but the world moved on, those lights dimmed
and I saw the sun behind me
there's more to this than we were told
more to truth than we can hold
I have no time left
to get off on the details
I'm giving chase to what I missed
and you're still tracing the same lines
the old ways are dead, the world bought out
by classless machines
there is nothing left for you and me
there is nothing in between
easy to mesmerize with flashing lights
but the world moved on, those lights dimmed
and I saw the sun behind me
there's more to this than we were told
more to truth than we can hold
I have no time left
to get off on the details
I'm giving chase to what I missed
and you're still tracing the same lines
the old ways are dead, the world bought out
by classless machines
there is nothing left for you and me
there is nothing in between
Also, my flying club purchased a new place, a Diamond DA-40XL. The important details are that it is a low wing, somewhat funny looking, uses a constant speed prop (which means I can't fly it) and is only marginally faster than a Cessna anyway (135 kt cruise, according to the email).
I think my flying club should purchase a prop jet capable of 330 kt. Then I could fly myself to Philly in like 5 hours.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
"Is it ever gonna be enough?"
I apologize for using yet another analogy, but its the best way to talk about this.
Lets say you need to transport a newspaper 50 feet, or perhaps half a block, whichever makes this more ridiculous. The periodical in question is made of special paper that sometimes catches fire when exposed to sunlight, rain, or the sweet tears of an exasperated programmer. For this reason you must encase the newspaper in a container. There is one and only one container available. It was designed five years ago by someone who did not read newspapers and but loved steel and thought the case needed to be steel five inches thick with a nuclear power source to open and close it. Obviously this steel container is rather heavy, but it is not compatible with any wheelbarrows, handcarts, pack animals, forklifts, pickup trucks, specially evolved pokemon, or any other sane (comparatively) method of transportation for this device. The ridiculously burdensome newspaper container can only be transported by affixing it to the back of a white 2009 Honda Prius with no less than 17 ratcheting cables, the configuration of which can only be set after the driver is inside because those cables block all of the doors and windows. Coaxing the driver inside is no trivial matter (0:49).
Unfortunately for you and the sanity of this story, Prius itself doesn't work on the road which has about a million potholes in it. For this reason we need a heavily modified Soviet T-34 Tank, which nobody updates anymore so you're out of luck if it breaks down. The prius can only be hooked up to the tank by lifting the prius onto the back of the tank (so it looks like the two vehicles are doing something obscene) with a CH-54A helicopter. Hooking up and unhooking the chains so the Prius can be lifted by the CH-54A is non-trivial but we will skip that process for brevity.
Once the Prius is properly mounting the T-34, the tank no longer has the torque necessary to pull the Prius' weight in addition to its own (suprising, I know--I told you it was heavily modified), so we have to hook up a Jeep Wrangler to pull it. The Jeep Wrangler has been modified so that it the engine starts up only if a really gay looking pink statue of a unicorn is precariously balanced across the hood, one hoof pressing down seductively on a battery contact.
Once we have all this in place, transporting the newspaper is a simple matter of waving to the driver of the Wrangler, and the rest of the trasportation operation is actually done completely automatically without any further direction from us. In fact, the gay unicorn setup is often touted as a boon to newspaper transportation. Also in fact, we reuse use the same method to transport nuclear missiles and small pandas.
Why did I tell you about this? I am that programmer--that programmer that just wants to transport a newspaper 50 feet. From the beginning of my last project (or the last one I cared about, anyway) I tried to involve as few of those ridiculous contraptions as I could. I failed (like an outnumbered squad of Space Marines tactically giving ground--not what they are meant for--to wave after wave of ugly alien soldiers) in all aspects, I thought, except for one: I had gotten rid of the damn unicorn on the jeep. Until today, when we were wondering why my program isn't running. Apparently, its necessary. That is what its like programming here. This is not to say that I'm unhappy. I just hold everything and everyone [else] to a bar of near-perfection and I'm a little frustrated that no one can live up to it.
In fact, if you'd like to hear about this project I worked on at another job, just try to imagine a Meerkat that only eats Pepper Jack cheese covered by mold on approximately 42-55% of its surface, and one of the other programmers keeps sniffing the cheese and disturbing the mold content which means you have to....
[Edit]
Well it runs now. I know you were wondering. Also I have "Gold Guns Girls" stuck in my head again.
Lets say you need to transport a newspaper 50 feet, or perhaps half a block, whichever makes this more ridiculous. The periodical in question is made of special paper that sometimes catches fire when exposed to sunlight, rain, or the sweet tears of an exasperated programmer. For this reason you must encase the newspaper in a container. There is one and only one container available. It was designed five years ago by someone who did not read newspapers and but loved steel and thought the case needed to be steel five inches thick with a nuclear power source to open and close it. Obviously this steel container is rather heavy, but it is not compatible with any wheelbarrows, handcarts, pack animals, forklifts, pickup trucks, specially evolved pokemon, or any other sane (comparatively) method of transportation for this device. The ridiculously burdensome newspaper container can only be transported by affixing it to the back of a white 2009 Honda Prius with no less than 17 ratcheting cables, the configuration of which can only be set after the driver is inside because those cables block all of the doors and windows. Coaxing the driver inside is no trivial matter (0:49).
Unfortunately for you and the sanity of this story, Prius itself doesn't work on the road which has about a million potholes in it. For this reason we need a heavily modified Soviet T-34 Tank, which nobody updates anymore so you're out of luck if it breaks down. The prius can only be hooked up to the tank by lifting the prius onto the back of the tank (so it looks like the two vehicles are doing something obscene) with a CH-54A helicopter. Hooking up and unhooking the chains so the Prius can be lifted by the CH-54A is non-trivial but we will skip that process for brevity.
Once the Prius is properly mounting the T-34, the tank no longer has the torque necessary to pull the Prius' weight in addition to its own (suprising, I know--I told you it was heavily modified), so we have to hook up a Jeep Wrangler to pull it. The Jeep Wrangler has been modified so that it the engine starts up only if a really gay looking pink statue of a unicorn is precariously balanced across the hood, one hoof pressing down seductively on a battery contact.
Once we have all this in place, transporting the newspaper is a simple matter of waving to the driver of the Wrangler, and the rest of the trasportation operation is actually done completely automatically without any further direction from us. In fact, the gay unicorn setup is often touted as a boon to newspaper transportation. Also in fact, we reuse use the same method to transport nuclear missiles and small pandas.
Why did I tell you about this? I am that programmer--that programmer that just wants to transport a newspaper 50 feet. From the beginning of my last project (or the last one I cared about, anyway) I tried to involve as few of those ridiculous contraptions as I could. I failed (like an outnumbered squad of Space Marines tactically giving ground--not what they are meant for--to wave after wave of ugly alien soldiers) in all aspects, I thought, except for one: I had gotten rid of the damn unicorn on the jeep. Until today, when we were wondering why my program isn't running. Apparently, its necessary. That is what its like programming here. This is not to say that I'm unhappy. I just hold everything and everyone [else] to a bar of near-perfection and I'm a little frustrated that no one can live up to it.
In fact, if you'd like to hear about this project I worked on at another job, just try to imagine a Meerkat that only eats Pepper Jack cheese covered by mold on approximately 42-55% of its surface, and one of the other programmers keeps sniffing the cheese and disturbing the mold content which means you have to....
[Edit]
Well it runs now. I know you were wondering. Also I have "Gold Guns Girls" stuck in my head again.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Colossal Boredom
I've been complaining even more frequently about how I'm a programmer that does little programming. This is partly because people have been bitching about my poor interviewing skills, and partly because I don't do much programming. Today I got a programming task. Now I kind of wish I didn't: my job is to wade into this mountain of disgusting perl and ruby code and make a change to all of the many places that involve this one database. This isn't the kind of programming I've been dreaming about. No one bothered standardizing this stuff, and, to my dismay, someone who programmed this dungheap liked reflection (or mixins, or whatever you want to call it). For those of you who don't know what reflection is, or do but know it by another name, reflection is how a programmer flashes the middle finger to someone reading their code later. Its like ripping the labels off soup cans, only far worse.
The next time you use any reflection-like features in your programming language, ask yourself if anyone is ever going to come along and read that code without the benefit of the documentation we both know you're not going to write. Now ask yourself if you hate that person. If the answer is yes, use reflection.
Anyway, that is why I am procrastinating. I've already wasted time on webcomics and stalking people on facebook; now I'm just resorting to whining about my job that actually isn't that bad. Its like 4:40pm. I've managed to open a file in vim.
I'm not even sure if this is perl or ruby code. Wait, it says perl at the top. Ok. I think I'm going to calculate how much work I could save if I could get away with deleting one of these scripts every time I get a task like this. The information would have little practical use, but summations are way for fun than other people's ruby code. This is like watching other people's home videos.
The next time you use any reflection-like features in your programming language, ask yourself if anyone is ever going to come along and read that code without the benefit of the documentation we both know you're not going to write. Now ask yourself if you hate that person. If the answer is yes, use reflection.
Anyway, that is why I am procrastinating. I've already wasted time on webcomics and stalking people on facebook; now I'm just resorting to whining about my job that actually isn't that bad. Its like 4:40pm. I've managed to open a file in vim.
I'm not even sure if this is perl or ruby code. Wait, it says perl at the top. Ok. I think I'm going to calculate how much work I could save if I could get away with deleting one of these scripts every time I get a task like this. The information would have little practical use, but summations are way for fun than other people's ruby code. This is like watching other people's home videos.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Sakuracon
I had a lot to say about Sakuracon, but I've forgotten most of it. Adam said there were more girls than guys and he didn't lie. Although I didn't keep a specific count. The problem with the girls is most of them are too young to drink, or...even talk to. A lot of them are probably in high school, including this obnoxious one that kept shouting stuff during this one thing I went to. I couldn't stand her, perhaps because she reminded me of myself when I was ten. I do want to go to another one of these, and next time I should totally dress up as Ryo of Wildfire.
Oh, and something about anime.
I took some time out of Sakuracon to do some sort of scavenger hunt with some friends I made out here. The scavenger hunt started out cool and then started sucking halfway through. Also I met this girl named Jessica. I will admit that half the reason I was interested in her was that she has the same name as my [totally awesome] car, but the other half is that she is hot. Or, personality or something. I wasn't sure if the guy following her around was her boyfriend, or if she was interested in me at all, but I tried going to a bar with that crew tonight. It all happened really fast, but I left thinking it sucked, and I'm pretty sure there is no point in me going after this Jessica chick anymore. I mentally patted myself on the back for trying as I paced up and down the street sobering up for the drive home. I feel like that's pretty good: I've taken a process (rejection) that used to take four years and shrunken it down to about a day. I call that progress.
Oh, and something about anime.
I took some time out of Sakuracon to do some sort of scavenger hunt with some friends I made out here. The scavenger hunt started out cool and then started sucking halfway through. Also I met this girl named Jessica. I will admit that half the reason I was interested in her was that she has the same name as my [totally awesome] car, but the other half is that she is hot. Or, personality or something. I wasn't sure if the guy following her around was her boyfriend, or if she was interested in me at all, but I tried going to a bar with that crew tonight. It all happened really fast, but I left thinking it sucked, and I'm pretty sure there is no point in me going after this Jessica chick anymore. I mentally patted myself on the back for trying as I paced up and down the street sobering up for the drive home. I feel like that's pretty good: I've taken a process (rejection) that used to take four years and shrunken it down to about a day. I call that progress.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Rock Bottom
Something like eHarmony, a paid dating website, was going to be my last resort. After seeing how many hot girls are "matches" for Adam I relented and signed up. Or tried:
Punk ass bitch system apparently can't handle my personality. I'm not hard to figure out. I like sex. A lot. Physical attraction isn't important; it is mandatory. There's no real rhyme or reason to which girls I'm attracted to. I do dislike girls that laugh at their own (bad) jokes before they are done telling them in a high pitched whine that makes me cringe. I dislike girls that lie about why they don't want to date you. I do like confidence. Boobs. A sense of adventure. Tension. The retrograde wheelbarrow. Corsets. Intelligence. Sweatshirts with thumb holes. Silliness. Hair tied half back. Laughs. You can't model that with a damn computer? Why should I care which beliefs a girl hates, or which political positions she looks down on, or how much she values me valuing her shyness with respect to being extroverted vis a vis how confident she feels about her emotional stability? Am I the only person on the internet with an open mind?
Those freakish pay sites were like my last resort, or whatever. After seeing the matches Adam got I feel like a little kid looking in with his hands and nose plastered against the glass.
[This is unrelated]
Todo:
-write about sakuracon
-yoga
-download tf2
-get UT classic running
-4 hour work week
| We're very sorry, but our matching system cannot predict good matches for you. |
| eHarmony's patented matching system was developed after extensive research into marital satisfaction. We use each person's responses to our Relationship Questionnaire to predict the pairings of individuals that are highly likely to result in satisfying long-term relationships, based on what we learned through our research. Unfortunately, based on responses to our questionnaire, we occasionally find situations where our matching system cannot identify high quality compatible matches, and this has happened in your case. Please understand that it is a result of our matching process and in no way reflects on you as a person or your ability to be in a happy relationship. We apologize and regret our inability to find good matches for you. The time you spent completing our questionnaire, however, has enabled us to provide you with a free Personality Profile.. This Personality Profile lets you learn more about yourself and should provide you with valuable insights. We wish you all the best in your search for that special someone. |
Punk ass bitch system apparently can't handle my personality. I'm not hard to figure out. I like sex. A lot. Physical attraction isn't important; it is mandatory. There's no real rhyme or reason to which girls I'm attracted to. I do dislike girls that laugh at their own (bad) jokes before they are done telling them in a high pitched whine that makes me cringe. I dislike girls that lie about why they don't want to date you. I do like confidence. Boobs. A sense of adventure. Tension. The retrograde wheelbarrow. Corsets. Intelligence. Sweatshirts with thumb holes. Silliness. Hair tied half back. Laughs. You can't model that with a damn computer? Why should I care which beliefs a girl hates, or which political positions she looks down on, or how much she values me valuing her shyness with respect to being extroverted vis a vis how confident she feels about her emotional stability? Am I the only person on the internet with an open mind?
Those freakish pay sites were like my last resort, or whatever. After seeing the matches Adam got I feel like a little kid looking in with his hands and nose plastered against the glass.
[This is unrelated]
Todo:
-write about sakuracon
-yoga
-download tf2
-get UT classic running
-4 hour work week
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