Category: general

Where I put something when I’m too lazy to categorize it.

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mincing words


Having TiVo is great, but it’s also an unexpected obligation. When you’ve got 20hrs of programming sitting on a hard drive – you feel somewhat bound to watch it. I liken this desire to “clear” the TiVo to a Scientologist’s yen to “clear” their soul of sticky body thetans. But rather than cash-money, which Scientologists use to rid themselves of thetans implanted into their soul 75 million years ago when the evil intergalactic overlord Xenu exploded an H-bomb in a volcano on the planet Teegeeack, TiVo owners are obliged to waste their time by “clearing” the many hours of CSI, OC, Desperate Housewives, and Daily Shows from their hard drives. Luckily, these shows were not “implanted” into our hard drives by evil space aliens – they were, in fact, chosen by us! TiVo owners, hear me now: Only you can liberate yourselves from the hours and hours of Aqua Teens and Family Guys, only you have the power! Drop that remote, cancel those season passes, free your time from the bonds of PVR. Oh, hang on, I gotta go – I got an episode of Dateline to watch where they talk about BTK… peace out.

You wanna know what really burns me? I’ve had AT&T as my wireless carrier for nigh on five years now. Recently, they were bought out by Cingular. No big deal really… as I didn’t see any changes other than the neon above the local AT&T store. Then today, I decide it’s time for a new phone, as mine’s getting real old-‘n’-busted looking. So, I go down to the AT&T Cingular store to have a peek. I perused the offerings, and decided on a cool little Nokia cameraphone with video and bluetooth capabilities. Talking to the rep, he mentioned that no more phones were being sold under AT&T plans: all new phones are Cingular. No problem, I’ll just switch over to Cingular – I mean they bought AT&T so it was inevitable anyway. That means I have to switch my wife’s phone too, which is under the same account. Again, no biggie… let’s do it. Wait… the only Cingular plan that’s close to my current AT&T plan costs $10 more per month. That sucks. But here’s what really bugged me: there’s an $18 charge per phone to “migrate” the service from AT&T to Cingular.

Let me get this straight: Cingular buys AT&T, makes it so any new/upgraded phone bought by a former AT&T customer has to be bought under a Cingular account, and then charges me $18 for the compulsory switch. Is that legal? To me, it sounds like Cingular is passing off the cost of acquiring AT&T onto their customers. For AT&T customers, every phone in the store costs $18 more than it does for an existing Cingular or new customer. I might expect some kind of migration fee were I really choosing to switch providers… but I have no choice here. I did ask the rep how long I could keep my AT&T phones/plans, and he said indefinitely. While that’s some small comfort, since I like my cheaper AT&T plan better than anything Cingular offers, there will come a day when I want to or have to get a new phone. I tried to rationalize this by equating it to a hypothetical situation in which AT&T just ceased to exist or went out of business, but realized I’d then be the same as any no-wireless-havin’ Joe off the street – and wouldn’t have to pay a fee to “migrate” from anything. Monopolizing punks.

I can remember in college, being quite the little pirate wannabe. I would horde illegal copies of applications, serial number and key generators, program patches, etc. I think going to work for a high tech company made me realize that I didn’t want to steal software anymore. So, I bought what I needed, and went freeware/open-source for everything else. I don’t have a single piece of pirated software on my machines anymore, I even got legit copies of Windows. I’m also a lot less forgiving of other forms of piracy: I pay for my DirecTV and go to the movie theater. For some reason though, I still download music like it was the college heyday of Napster free-music love. I don’t know why my late-blooming morality hasn’t extended to MP3s, there’s really no explanation I have. I mean, I’ve tried in the past to justify the habit by the concert revenue and at-show CD sales I generate for the artists – but my plain-out stealing outpaces the the money I give back at the ticket counter. I dunno, maybe it’s my last bastion of reckless youth.

It’s not like I haven’t ever filled the music industry’s coffers… I own thousands of CDs which I bought with my own hard-earned cash. But nowadays the only CDs I buy are at concerts, where, for some reason, I’ve got the idea that more of the money actually goes into the artists’ pocket (a regular philanthropist, ain’t I?). Beyond that, I continue to download new music and listen without guilt. What is that? I can justify it in some ways, like if I’ve actually purchased the music at some point – perhaps in another form of media. I think that, once I’ve paid for the right to listen to something, I should be able to listen to it whenever and however I want – even if that means downloading a copy of it. As for the stealing of music I’ve never owned… I’m at a loss to describe how I justify it. Perhaps my conscious will eventually catch up with me, and I’ll sign up for iTunes or something.

I get my haircut at a place at a local place in town that only has two Singaporean employees working it’s eight chairs. It’s usually not that busy, which I like because I can get in and out quickly. My regular guy doesn’t speak too much English, and never remembers what number guard to use on my fade. In the past, he’s made the comment, “not much to cut” while trimming up the top. He also tends to mix up his method every once in a while, to keep my on my toes. He’ll clip the top with scissors sometimes, using the traditional knuckle-and-comb method; other times he wont even use scissors, just use a comb and the clippers. Today I realized, if you take these things together, they makes a strong case for my regular dude being a bad barber. Then, while I was sitting in the chair for my clip today, the guy actually burped into my hair. Offering no apology, he just kept on trimming. The guy burped onto my head. As I was leaving, I noticed that the pen they had chained to the counter was actually a stolen from some hotel. I guess when your sole qualifications for a barber are fast and cheap, it should come as no surprise that your $15 gets you a pretty ghetto experience.

Andy Wilderotter sucks balls. Goodnight.

Posted on

kick the can

Ward.
7:30am on Monday morning… I’m sitting here watching the minutes tick by before I have to get up and go to work. Back to the US and the reaction is pretty standard: I see all the things I’ve been putting off as if for the first time. The backyard that I’m not quite done creating, now overrun with winter-rain-fed weeds where sod should be. The front yard planters not weed-blocked yet, also blooming full of winter-weeds. The 2″ high grass waving in the breeze. It’s all calling to me, “do something.” The backyard has been so close to done for so long… I use the rain as an excuse to not get out there and do it. But now is a great time to get sod down, when there’s still some moisture before the ovens of summer.

July is my ten-year high school reunion. Ten years; I’ve been out of high school for ten years. Only thing is, talking to the friends I still talk to from high school – not one of them is planning on going. They just don’t want to go. Up until recently, I was thinking how it might be fun to see everyone again. But, if no one is going… why am I going to fly across the country? I imagine the idea of a high school reunion might be scary to some. Maybe to the the go-nowheres or the do-nothings. Maybe to those who got fat or those who lost hair. Maybe to those who feel old without the children so many others have. Maybe to those who are afraid their success will make others feel bad, or those who have no success at all. Maybe to those who have gone those ten long years without a relationship to speak of. Or those who feel those who’d actually attend are beneath them. Whatever the reason, I’m certainly not making a several-hundred dollar trip home to see no one. And before you say it, yes I realize some may just “not want to go,” rather than being afraid for one of the above reasons.

I’ve been quiet about it too long now, but Pitchfork’s new site layout really blows. It’s cluttered, poorly organized, and requires hated side-scrolling because it hangs off my screen edge even in large resolutions. One of my favorite features, “Best New Music,” has been moved off the mainpage onto some clickthrough link. The news is buried somewhere mid-page which requires scrolling, and there’s way too many flashing/blinking ads to distract from the content – it looks like a freakin’ Christmas tree. I miss the A-Z artist list for easy review access – now you have to search for everything. It just plain out sucks compared to the old layout. On top of it all, they don’t have an RSS feed so I can read it in the uncluttered interface of Feedreader.

Longer than a child's face on the first day of kindergarten.

I rumble and grumble a lot about mowing the lawn, trying to find some excuse to get out of it, but when I’m actually out there watching my late-evening shadow stretch out long in front of me – I really enjoy being a homeowner. I take a certain pride in it, almost smiling like Ward Cleaver would as he tread the lines on any Saturday. And even though it’s barely 70° I still sweat like it’s 95°, it’s just in my blood. This time though, it took forever. I left work at 4:30pm to get a jump on the task, knowing the lawn was extra-long. And forever it took, I finished up just as there was no light left to work by. It looks good though, and it was long overdue. The only thing that coulda made me feel better woulda been if I’d managed to fit a haircut in today as well. Maybe tomorrow.

‘Nite.

Posted on

rolled newspaper to the snout

Woosh.
T-to-the-eye, W-to-the-on. I’m packin’, I’m launderin’, and I’m checkin’ items off my “stuff to do before I go to Taiwan” list. Makin’ sure my PJ64 Zelda savegame is still there from the last plane ride out, I figure I can pick up where I left off last time. Yesterday was crunch day, the last day to get my junk done before being a world removed for the next week. I’m happy to say I managed to get it all done… even if it was a 6:30pm squeaker. Not bad, really, when your “late” days at work mean getting home in time for the OC.

The other night I had the strangest dream. I was out in the living room, watching TV and typing on the laptop. All of the sudden, I got a terrible urge to use the restroom. All sounds plausible so far, but for some reason, I chose to go right ahead and use the bathroom (#2 mind you) right there on the carpet at the bottom of the couch. Yeah, I know… Anyway, after finishing up, I realized what I’d done. My only thought was, “Oh no, Sharaun is gonna be so mad.” I either woke up or lost the dream right after I set about cleaning up the mess I’d made. It’s dreams like that (well, not really like that, since I’ve never, ever, ever, had a dream quite like that before) that make me wanna own one of those dream-interpretation books. I mean, something like that has to mean something.

Last night I downloaded an album by a group called Ratatat. I’d vaguely remembered seeing them reviewed on PF, but I grabbed it more for the name than anything (I do that a lot). Turns out it’s primarily “electronic” music, an overused generalized genre that can presumably include everything from Depeche Mode to Autechre. If you know me, you know I’m not the world’s #1 “electronica” fan… so much of it is just the same old 4:4 “fairgrounds” techno crap, and much of it is plain boring to me. Anyway, Ratatat is good! Not techno-goes-mainstream Fat of the Land good, or underground-enough-to-be-OK Crystal Method good… genuinely good. Indie-rock sensibilities with a beat good. There are guitars here, varied percussions and timings, actual progressive themes… far from the Cheat’s lightswitch rave stuff. I dunno, sometimes I think timing has a lot to do with how much I dig an album. I could’ve downloaded this two weeks ago and hated it, but I got it last night and am really digging it. If you’re into stealing music, check it out.

Good morning folks, figured I’d log on and finish this thing just before I head out for the airport. Once again it’s raining out, and it doesn’t look like I’ll get much of a change in the land of bird-flu. I think it’s rained at least one day every time I’ve been to there. And now it’s time to shut down and begin the journey.

Looks like my refferrer spam hack is working for other people, which is awesome – glad I can help. Until Taiwan-Tuesday or America-Monday… see ya.

Posted on

i’m sorry

Rain rain, go away.
Midweek. I’ve got today and tomorrow to get done with my work commitments before I take wing to Asia, I hear Vegas put the lines at 2:1, work over me. Work can’t fade me though, y’all. I’m simply too effective to be caught unaware. I’ll take work, hogtie it, push its face in the dirt, and kick it in the ribs. I make work work for me… and lemme just say that my paycheck better always be on time – or work’s gonna have hell to pay. I can hear work quaking in the corner now, trying to hold its breath. You’re right to be afraid, work, I’m a loose canon.

Since evening engagements kept me from riding my bike to work last week, I was anxious to return to my as-yet-fully-established schedule this week. However, it had been a bit overcast Sunday night, and we’d even run into some showers while out and about. So, I woke up with enough time to check wunderground for the daily forecast before making my decision. I typed in my zipcode and was pleased to see only a 5% chance of precipitation. So, despite grey skies above, I strapped on my helmet and peddled off. Around lunch, I had the chance to peek out the window and noticed it was pouring. Then, lamenting to Ben and Anthony about wunderground’s sucky forecast leaving me looking forward to a wet ride home, Ben mentioned that he had heard on the Sunday news that it was supposed to rain all week. Feeling cheated, I settled for throwing my dripping bike in the back of Ben’s truck for a drier trip home. Once at home, I sat down to the PC – only to find the wunderground forecast I’d called up some 8hrs prior. Turns out, I was one digit off on the zipcode… and was looking at a forecast for a party cloudy day in Benson, Arizona. I find my only solace in hoping some sucker in Benson miskeyed his zipcode this morning and didn’t get to enjoy a dry ride to work because there was a 74% of precipitation.

I am now going to tell a story, one that I’ve held off on telling because I was observing a self-imposed moratorium. I felt this silence was necessary because this particular story is about a practical joke that went a little too far, resulting in some embarrassment on the part of the victim. The story involves Pat, myself, and our mark, Ben. It all started innocently enough, and ended with that sinking feeling you get when you know you’ve done wrong. Let’s begin.

Of late, Ben has been looking to become a homeowner. This means going through the emotional rollercoaster that all prospective homeowners go through. The financial assessment, the learning curve, defining and redefining your standards, the ups and downs of bidding and losing, etc. I know, because I went through it. I bit the nails waiting for an offer to be accepted, did the balance-sheets to see what I could afford, etc. The day our story takes place, Ben has just put an offer on a house that he really likes. It’s the first offer he’s ever made. Pat and I decide the day’s lunch will consist of trying out the new Indian buffet. During lunch, we trade jabs at Ben about his nervousness. We say things like, “Dude, did your phone just ring?” just to watch him jump from the ready-position and grab for his phone. This activity is highly entertaining to us, being that we’ve both been through it before and know how on-edge the whole business can make a body.

Ben endured an hour of good-spirited ribbing, at which point Pat and I dropped him off at a post-lunch meeting in a different building. Even without Ben, Pat and I continued to joke about the whole house-buying process as we drove to our building and parked. As we walked up the stairs, I made a crack about how funny it would be to fabricate a phony fax from Ben’s agent – and leave it on his desk. More of a fleeting suggestion on my part, Pat immediately bit on the idea – urging me by chanting, “Dude, we have to do it. We have to. Come on, it will be so easy. We have to do it.” Eventually, talk turned to just how easy the prank would be to pull off: Word comes with fax templates; I knew the street the property was on; we could look up the rest of the details online; we could print the Word document and then fax it from one machine in the building to another, giving it the official header and footer data of a real fax. Before we knew it, we were holding the faux-fax in our hands, still warm off the machine…

The gist of the prank involved a faux-fax purportedly coming from the selling agent, telling Ben that the seller had accepted his offer but had a few minor additional conditions before the deal would be final. We made sure these details were trivial, but we also made sure that the faux-fax included a deadline – a deadline chosen purposely for its un-meetability. If Ben didn’t call the selling agent before a certain time (a time we knew he’d still be tied up in the meeting we’d just dropped him off at), the seller would accept the next-highest offer. We left the fax on his chair (not an uncommon thing for someone at work to do when they see a fax for someone they know). Pat and I went our separate ways, pleased with ourselves for our creativity. The deadline came and went, and I got absorbed with work… all but forgetting about the prank. Until…

Ben showed up at my desk in a huff, our faux-fax clutched in his right hand. “Did you leave this for me?,” he asked. “Did I leave it for you?,” I said, rhetorically. “Yeah, I left it for you,” I said, answering my own question while holding up the yellow transmittal report that proved I in fact sent the fax in question. I think I noticed the confusion first, then the realization, then the fear. “Is this fake?,” he asked. “Uh-ha, yeah,” I chuckled nervously. “Dude, I called my agent. She’s calling the selling agent now. Is this fake?” “Shut up,” I say, worried. “I’m serious. Dave, do I need to go call my agent right now?” I hang my head, “Go call your agent.” As the horror I saw on his face begins to settle over me, I watch him rush off to try and remedy the situation. My heart immediately sinks, and I turn to my co-conspirator. What follows is the log of our chat as the situation unfolds, saved for this very purpose (long, but good):

Dave says:
dude
Dave says:
it was bad
Pat says:
This is how you know we did an awesome practical joke
Pat says:
These are the kinds of risks we’re taking
Pat says:
to go big
Pat says:
maybe too big
Dave says:
his agent faxed it to the other agent
Dave says:
his agent is PISSED
Dave says:
are you guys effing w/me?
Dave says:
i feel like absolute shit.
Dave says:
he said his agent said "i really hope this doesn’t hurt you"
Dave says:
i am mortified.
Pat says:
yeah… went to far… should have been sillier… have sinking feeling
Dave says:
my belly… hurting.
Pat says:
ben just talked to me
Dave says:
oh gawd…
Dave says:
we did bad.
Pat says:
yeah
Pat says:
shit
Dave says:
shit shit shit.
Pat says:
shit
Dave says:
not good… we are dumb.
Dave says:
we are so dumb.
Pat says:
what do we do now?
Dave says:
feel sick
Pat says:
yup, ditto
Pat says:
It’s my fault
Pat says:
I made us do it
Dave says:
oh lord. i can’t do anything until after this call.
Dave says:
i feel absolutely terrible.
Dave says:
don’t even want to face him.
Pat says:
yup… have to
Pat says:
it’s not that big a deal
Dave says:
dude, it’s his 1st offer on a house… it’s a big deal.
Dave says:
we’re dicks.
Pat says:
yes, we are dicks.
Dave says:
i swear… if something comes of this.
Dave says:
we are hated forever.
Pat says:
I can’t see them rejecting the offer because of this…
Pat says:
by itself, but if they reject it anyway, we’re going to get blamed forever
Dave says:
me neither… but makes him look dumb and for that i feel awful.
Dave says:
i would be seething were i him
Pat says:
yes. I meant to stop by constantly to make sure he didn’t really freak out
Pat says:
I think he’s pissed
Dave says:
he should be
Pat says:
yup
Dave says:
i have to run away
Dave says:
i’ll go kneel in remorse after this call.
Pat says:
shit
Pat says:
find me when you run… we should figure out what we can do
Dave says:
i could see the nervousness and this-is-so-not-funny in his face. he was shaking.
Pat says:
when did he talk to you?
Dave says:
10min ago?
Dave says:
i dunno.
Pat says:
He wasn’t at his desk at 1:50 or so, so it couldn’t have gone too far
Dave says:
it’s a blur… i’m a dick.
Pat says:
That’s our saving grace
Pat says:
hopefully
Pat says:
It wouldn’t have propagated to the owners in 10 minutes… impossible.
Dave says:
no, but… gawd.
Pat says:
This obviously isn’t his fault, they shouldn’t fault him. Now I really hope he gets it, so that we can laugh about it in 2007
Dave says:
dude… i’m so upset. you know that feeling when you’re ultimate guilty..
Pat says:
yes.
Pat says:
I have it right now
Pat says:
No excuses… we did that to f with him, it achieved it’s goal, just ended up being more f. than we intended
Pat says:
no more making fun of Ben ever
Dave says:
i can’t even concentrate
Dave says:
please tell me this is you two messing w/me.
Pat says:
no
Pat says:
I wish
Dave says:
i don’t know what to do
Pat says:
stop by when you get off the call. Nothing we can do, but we can try to think of something
Pat says:
I still argue this isn’t that big a deal in the end, but it still went waaaaay to far
Pat says:
and I feel like complete and total shit
Dave says:
oh man… we will be famous… and not in a good way
Dave says:
people will hate us.
Pat says:
Benz and I are breaking up
Pat says:
I fear
Dave says:
worst practical joke ever
Pat says:
yup. Damz
Dave says:
maybe the seller will end up having a really good sense of humour and give him the house
Dave says:
i feel like he should be allowed to deck me if he loses this.
Pat says:
maybe. Good outcomes = 1) he gets it 2) It sells for >$XXX
Dave says:
we are SO dumb.
Pat says:
Bad outcomes 1) He doesn’t get it cuz his friends suck
Dave says:
i’m so afraid he’s going to come by… i dunno what to say.
Dave says:
i feel doubly bad b/c i couldn’t even acknowledge him when he came by… was on the phone
Pat says:
easy… what you just told me 1) Sorry 2) I made a mistake 3) I did not intend this 4) I will do anything I can to make it up to you, realizing there probably isn’t anything that can
Dave says:
it was like i didn’t care.
Pat says:
all of which is true for both of us
Pat says:
yup

Eventually, I made my way over to Ben’s cube to express my apologies. Expectedly, he was not in the best of moods. I honestly thought we may have lost the deal for him, and wanted nothing more than to run away and hide. So, that’s what I did. Sent out a “Dave feeling ill, going home” e-mail around 3pm and headed for the hills. I didn’t talk to Ben at all the next day… wanted to give him some cooling-off time. In the end, everything worked out OK. Ben lost the house for legitimate reasons, and Pat and I soon regained his friendship. Now, if this retelling would just reopen old wounds, it would all be worth it.

Dang, a long, complicated entry; full of deprecated tags and dreaded inline styles. If I’m the king of anything, it’s non-compliant HTML/CSS coding. I don’t care what I have to use as long as it looks right in the end. And, this is the end. Before I go, check out Anthony’s new tattoo:

After all the work I put in on this thing, reading it back makes me feel self-absorbed or something. I guess that’s what happens sometimes when you write about stuff you do instead of stuff you feel. Owell, it’s done now and there’s no way I’m trashing it and writing another entry to take its place. Goodnight.

Posted on

i could so live there

Otherworldly.
It’s going to be a strained week for blogging. I already missed yesterday, but not to fear, it was a planned non-writing day. Friday’s entry may or may not materialize, as I’m leaving early for the nightmarish 24hrs of travel that is the flight to Taipei. Between then, I’ve got only three days of my normal five-day workweek to get a normal five-day workload done. Then, next week’s entries will cease to follow any schedule, being posted when I can, and on Taiwan time to boot. So look for ’em any time. I’m hoping I can keep up the writing, I’ve done it on past trips. And with that, we’re off.

What an awesome extended weekend. Three days in Big Sur, neither of us had ever been. Nevermind that I spent ~30min on the phone Sunday, just down from a short hike to a waterfall, talking to a customer in Texas with an urgent issue… luckily though, Sharaun was understanding and it all played to make the weekend unique. The northern California coast is a real meeting of worlds; salty waves crashing right up against rugged mountains. Kelp washed up into freshwater streams emptying themselves into the sea. We walked barefoot on beaches, trudged up streams, ate too-expensive food and slept in too-expensive rooms. And, since the only bad part about getting away from it all is having to come back to it all – I’m gonna sit here with this laptop on my knees and flex my fingers through another entry.

One of my travel-habits is to constantly scan my surroundings for “places I would live” should I become a bum or fugitive from the law. Ben has oft made fun of me for this habit, sometimes calling out “Hey Dave, you could totally live there,” in regards to some ramshackle shelter passed along the way. I don’t know what it is, but I’m always seeing places in terms of their inhabitability. I swear, ever since seeing My Side of the Mountain in 5th grade, I’ve imagined running away from the world and living in a tree. Foraging for my own food, building my own fireplace, perhaps even befriending the local librarian, taking up falconing, having a pet raccoon, and falling in with a bearded minstrel named “Bando.”

Back to what I was talking about, I’m always pointing out prospective hovels: broken-down utility shacks along the river, weathered metal switching stations along the rail lines, hollow spots on mountain ledges, if you can give me a semi-enclosed spot I can dream up a shelter that I’d transform into a comfy living space. This vacation to the coast was no different, I saw “places I would live” all over the place. Only this time, I decided to snap some pictures of my imagined digs. Check it:




The first of many hollow-tree houses, kinda cramped.


Tall but roomy, and had another opening for fireplace exhaust.



How freakin’ perfect is this? Secluded, even looks like a door.


This tree was begging me: “Live in me, live in me!”



The most perfect hollow-tree house, I almost ditched Sharaun and started nesting.


A big one, possibly a good upgrade if I decide to start a hollow-tree family.



Breaking the tree pattern, a seaside cave… I can’t even begin to describe the attraction.

Aside from spotting potential hideouts, we had a lot of time to relax. Sit on the sand, read books in bed, talk over coffee, and sing along to songs in the car. Unfortunately, I did succumb to my one free-time hangup. That for-no-reason sensation of being unnecessarily harried, frustrated; wanting to “get somewhere” when I have nowhere to be, wanting to “finish” something when I never started anything. I think I inherit this from my dad, who, when we’re out and about, always seems to get a random itch to leave for no reason. It’s a terrible thing, really… all of the sudden I’ll feel like we have to leave and “get back.” Since I’m pretty anal to begin with, the feeling pokes at the back of my brain like the pea in the princess’ bed – making me feel “uncomfortable” until we’ve got to wherever I’ve imagined as the “finish line.” I admit, it’s an odd thing – but thankfully Sharaun has learned to recognize it, and can say to me, “There’s no hurry, let’s just take it easy and relax.” It’s a good thing I have her to counteract my faulty genetics. Thanks dad.

Speaking of my dad, his dad is currently my only living grandparent. I don’t know what about this weekend got me thinking about my grandfather, but something did. I had the thought that I just don’t talk to him much, and don’t even really know him that well. The sad part is, the only time I really ever think about my grandfather is to wonder how he’s doing… and how long he’ll be around. It just struck me that the majority of my thoughts about my grandfather revolve around whether or not he’s going to be alive next week. I talked to Sharaun about it over pancakes, and we both agreed to try and renew regular communications with our only surviving grandparents. It’s just too easy to take for granted the further-removed generations of your lineage… when in reality they are some of the utmost crucial links to your past and discovering why you are who you are.

And, as midnight draws close… I’ll end this entry. But before that, we weren’t the only ones to have a busy weekend. Congrats to Ben and Suze on the house. Congrats to Kristi and Erik on the engagement. Congrats to Anthony on the ink. Goodnight.

Posted on

top 500

Friday; the week's sunset.
As the sun slips out of sight on my Thursday night, I’m sitting at the computer listening to tunes with a full belly. When I got home, the fridge beckoned – Sharaun’s famous cornbread – leftover from the days of cornbread past. And even though I’m supposed to be at Pat’s in less than an hour for a BBQ – I’m full-up. Owell, such is the life of a shameless glutton. Today went fine, once again not terribly taxing – which I rather like. It was another mild sunny day in Northern CA, and my drive home was particularly liberating to my work-shackled mind. I put on the Black Keys’ “When the Lights Go Out,” which is about as good a driving song as there ever was, cracked the window and slipped on my shades – y’know, start the end of my day in style.

Remember my paragraph yesterday about my writing process? I mentioned something about how I wish people could actually see me type an entry in real time, so they could get some idea what a labor of love sounds familiar really is to me. Well, the more I thought about it, the more I thought it might actually be a cool idea. So, I did it. Click here to watch me “type” (more like bang out) the preceding paragraph – technology is so cool, right? (Oh, and if you can figure it out, just hit the somewhat camouflaged “play” button near the top of your screen.)

But, enough with the novelty… to the cream filling.

I’m not much of a doomsayer. I’ve never proclaimed the nighness of the end or paraded on the street wearing a sandwich board and handing out “repent now” pamphlets; but you’d have to be blind and deaf to not have noticed the foreboding undertones in recent world media. Rice, Cheney, Ashcroft, all currently beating around the war chest with Iran, who may or may not have nukes; Korea’s got nukes and doesn’t want to play in the global non-proliferation sandbox with everyone else. While it’s not a full-on proclamation of impending calamity – it is disconcerting to me.

Over the small time I’ve labored in my chosen career, I’ve gained more confidence with each passing year. An interesting side-effect, however, of me becoming more confident at work – is the fact that I’ve also become more confident about what I don’t know, and letting people know it. I mean, when I was starting, I always wanted to tell someone that I thought I could do whatever they were asking – regardless of whether or not I really thought I could, I could always learn later. I felt I should always tell people I “got it,” when a lot of times I was nowhere near “getting it.” As I’ve grown more confident about what I do know, and and what I do get – I’ve lost a lot of that fear of looking stupid, and replaced it with honesty about not knowing. I knew all along that admitting ignorance is the easiest way to fix ignorance, but I was too eager to impress.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, but way back when, Rolling Stone magazine released an issue that summed up their idea of the “Top 500 Albums of All Time.” I remember when it came out, because Kyle told me about. I can remember him talking about flipping out over the fact that no matter which album he got from the list – he liked it. Specifically, I remember him getting into some Roxy Music and Talking Heads albums (and, if I’m remembering right, a Big Star album too). I had always admired his tastes in music, they were much more flexible than mine (my mind would often get “closed” onto a certain sound/genre, blinding me to new stuff). I thought his idea to use the list as a diving board into new music was brilliant. Since then, Rolling Stone has made the list available online – and I stop by from time to time to see where I stand. Y’know, how many of the albums I’ve given a proper listen, how many I agree or disagree about, that kinda thing.

One album that always bugged me, mostly because of the incredible praise it always seemed to garner, was the Kinks’ The Village Green Preservation Society. As I studied my rock music history, I read countless fawning reviews of the LP, and noticed it had the received re-release treatment (“deluxe,” “extended,” and “remastered”) several times – the canonical release clocking in at 3 CDs worth of material. Despite its acclaim, I’d never really been able to “get” the album. Recently though, I managed to score the 3 disc set I mentioned above. And, after several listens, I’m ready to agree that this is a great effort. If you’re period-piece-phobic, this is not for you – it absolutely bleeds 60s. You may get a kick out of recognizing the track “Picture Book” from a recent HP commercial (the cool one with all the frame/photo effects). I won’t heap any praise on top of the precariously large mound already bestowed on the album – but I will say that I can finally see what everyone’s on about. And, if you’re interested in hearing the 255th best album of all time, and getting a healthy dose of late-60s musicana at the same time – check it out.

Enough cream filling, back to the novelty.

A narcissistic look back over some sounds familiar hard data and personal favorites.

One of my all-time favorites, the “you can’t fake your way” entry.
The satanic flier.
Like the commentary on Papa’s passing, and the McRib.
The last paragraph makes this one.
Hammertime.
Rock in the ear.

The most visited post (by far) is my account of the Pac Man underlay artwork (linked from my Pac Man pages). The second most visited is the poop story (which makes sense according to some search analysis I’ve mentioned before). And the bronze (surprisingly) goes to my religion-statistics rant. There are 329 posts total. 181 posts contain the word “anyway.” 157 posts contain the word “Sharaun.” 141 posts contain the word “hate.” 140 posts contain the word “love.” 60 posts contain the word “god.” 19 posts contain the word “sex.”

Well, that should about do it for the week. It’s 11pm, I just pulled the garbage to the curb, and I’m about ready to settle in for a good night’s rest. Sharaun and I decided that when we wake up Saturday morning, we’ll just fill the truck with gas and strike out into the Sierras looking for a nice place to Valentine (used here as a verb). The element of the unknown makes it sound kinda fun, I’m sure we’ll be around Tahoe… but where we end up I have no idea.

And with that ask your leave and wish you a good weekend. ‘Night.

Posted on

a quick one

One of the spammer's specials.
I debated on even writing tonight. I had a tense day… and the prospect of having to meet another “commitment,” writing the blog, seemed like something I’d be better off skipping. Then, I figured maybe I’d write about feeling stretched, and before I knew it I had enough for a decent entry. Here we go.

Ever had a day where you feel like perpetually racing the clock, trying to come in under some non-existent deadline? That was my day yesterday. I sat at my desk, transfixed on my work, nearly sweating with determination. Laboring under some imagined race condition, I finally stopped to take a breath around 3pm and realized I’d been clenching my teeth the entire time. I did get a lot done though, even if it was at the expense of my frazzled mind. It just felt like I had to dedicate so much of my mind to my task, every little interruption threatened to bump the table where I was absorbed building my mental house-of-cards. The whole day just felt frantic… although I wasn’t really up against the wall on anything in particular. I’m glad it’s over, and I’m hoping for a less stressful day today.

After making the final changes to my stattraq referrer-spam blocking, I wanted to e-mail my hack to the author in case he might be able to use it in future releases. Turns out, he’d posted that same day about working on the next release, and had even called for any hacks that people had done. Since he mentioned referrer spam directly, I went ahead and posted a description of my mods as a comment to his announcement, with a link back here. To be honest, I didn’t think my hack through completely; I very well may have missed instances where a “good” referrer may not get logged based on my rules – but my quick spot-testing seemed to show it was doing OK. While I’m not sure using WP’s own discussion moderation keys is the best implementation, it’s working fine for me as a stopgap for the time being.

It’s all I’ve got folks, really. See ya.