Category: blogging

Where write about writing, and my website sounds familiar.

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compliance

Tracks of testosterone.
Evenin’ folks. Not much going down, not much at all.

This week work is picking up again, and I’m actually liking it. I mentioned that the aimlessness I’ve been experiencing there has contributed to my recent slump, so having some stuff to track down and deadlines to meet is actually making things more enjoyable. I get to a certain point were I’m a well-oiled machine, going through motions I’ve memorized, executing at 100%-plus and not missing a beat – I like that feeling. I guess I can’t really slump forever anyway, it’s not good for a body. A body needs to feel useful, wants to feel needed, enjoys some recognition. It’s time I get back in the game.

They’re building a mall over by my house, and the construction site is right on my way to and from work. Every day I pass that place, and let me tell you this is a major operation. Trenches wide enough and deep enough that dump trucks drive down into them and disappear below the ground; massive earthmoving machinery pushing tons of dirt and rock around with ease, hydraulics in full effect. Let me tell you, I am absolutely fascinated with large machinery and the process of “creating” something where there was nothing before. I nearly crash the truck every day craning my neck to watch the multi-yard buckets scoop up dirt and move it around… I don’t know why I like it so much. I swear I could sit across the street and just watch them do their massive dance all day. I remember when I was a kid watching a show on TV about the biggest earth-moving machine ever (at the time), just the treads were several stories tall. I guess that’s why little boys get yellow dumptrucks with knobby plastic tires and little girls get pink convertibles their Barbies can drive around in. Male vs. female, who knows.

Turns out the motor I got to replace the flying crank ghost’s burned-out one is just too RPMey for the application. I knew when I bought it that it was designed to operate at 160RPM at 12V, but early tests at 3.3V showed a promising reduction in RPM – something that would work for the ghost. I did my best to see if the torque at 3.3V was significantly less, but the “pinch the turny thing and see how hard it is to stop” method isn’t terribly accurate. Turns out that the thing just doesn’t have enough oomph at 3.3V to pull the ghost’s head (her heaviest part) up once it gets down. For kicks, I gave it 5V and it could operate the ghost no problem – although she was now a flying crack ghost, as in crackhead, because she shook and jittered and about pulled herself apart as she was jerked around at breakneck speed. If there’s anything good about redoing the whole thing, it’s that I was able to make significant improvements to the ceiling-mounting system I’ve been using for the past two years… but it’s small consolation since she’s still just hanging there being boring and static.

Did some work adding some links to the header at the top (one currently not implemented), bulked up the “links” thing on the sidebar, and did some general stylesheet cleanup. Stylesheet’s still a mess, but at least it’s better than before. All that work and nothing to show for it but three little color-changing links – not much reward I tell ya.

Gotta take the trash out. Goodnight faithful, see you tomorrow.

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what’s another twenty dollars?

Meaningless to rich folk like me.
Hey y’all, how’s it going? Sharaun said I was mumbling about Halloween props in my sleep last night, which kinda freaks me out…

What? The crank ghost’s motor burned out. I’ll just buy this wiper-motor. What’s another twenty dollars? Oh, I don’t have any leftover foam from last year to fill out the corpse’s body? I’ll swing by and pick up a couple at the Wal Marts. What’s another twenty dollars? Oh man, I forgot I’ll need a yellow light for the witch and a pack of eyehooks and screws. Big deal; another twenty dollars. I’m tired of another twenty dollars. I have a feeling I could’ve purchased a pre-built pneumatic coffin-popper and had it shipped to me in time for Halloween for about the same as I’ve spent so far on this year’s setup. Really, it’s shameful. I read online about all these folks doing their super-impressive projects on the cheap – but mine are always incrementally cost-insane. $20 here, $20 there… it adds up. Stupid Halloween – there’s no way I should be wasting money on this crap. But dang, do I love it or what?

I saw this list the other day: top 10 blog design mistakes; and was happy because sounds familiar actually passed on most of them. Sure, it’s some dude’s arbitrary list – but it’s a neat thing to talk about, right? I’ve got: an author bio (#1) (although it’s somewhat buried under a possibly misleading heading on the sidebar) and it’s got pictures of me (#2). I think my posting titles are pretty descriptive (#3), and creative to boot. And, while I do often use a hyperlinked “here” to point readers to more info, it’s usually prefaced by what and where the “here” is (#4). I completely violate #5, and I actually really like the idea. I think I’ll add a “Best Of” link to the sidebar with 5-10 of my favorite posts. I have category and calendar navigation (#6), post what I consider to be more often than most (#7), and write about all sorts of crap (#8). Now, #9 is tricky… because, for the most part, I completely pretend no one will ever judge me by what I’ve written here. Stupid, naive, whatever… I guess I break #9. And finally, I’ve had my domain for years now (#10). So, eight out of ten ain’t that bad, and after I get a “Best Of” implemented I’ll be at 90%. W00t.

Mike over at The View from Taiwan has an interesting, and super-long, post about the Formosa-bent blog-collective’s speculation about a pre-2008-Olympics invasion of Taiwan by China. If you enjoy military conjecture or the intricate dynamic that is China-Taiwan relations, it’s a good read. These kind of “what if” scenarios are really interesting to me, since, in my line of work, I work closely with folks in both China and Taiwan. It gets me thinking, the tech industry alone relies so much on the economies and employees in each of those countries – that a China-Taiwan conflict would be a catastrophic disruption to businesses all over the world. Yes, I’m putting aside the of-course-more-important humanitarian impacts of war right now, we all know human life is the #1 concern; it’s just that the economic implications are interesting to speculate on as well. Say for instance that Taipei fell to China, and the whole workforce I deal with there was suddenly displaced – the size of the wrench that would throw into the works is almost incomprehensible. Not to mention the whole grey area of US involvement in such a conflict – and the implications of business during/after.

I’m done, bored with writing. Goodnight.

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baby talk

Go pharb.
Sometimes, when you’re anticipating something so much – it’s hard to write about anything else. You end up skipping a day because you can’t really think of something to put down, you’re too focused on planning what you’ll eventually write when your anticipated event happens. If you know anything about how I write, you know that I’m sitting here writing this on Tuesday night even though I’ll pawn it off tomorrow as a Wednesday entry. That means, stuff that may have already happened when you read this tomorrow hasn’t yet happened as I write it today (but you probably already figured that out). Meaning, unfortunately, I can’t write now about what I’m waiting on so patiently to happen tomorrow: Lil’ Chino’s sexy test. So yeah, you won’t know when you read this – but if you check back after lunchtime on the west coast – I think you’ll be able to figure it out.

Leaving Friday morning for a week in Shanghai. After my last laptop crash, I realized that I’d lost all my NES and N64 emulator files and savegames. This really disappointed me, as one of the things I look forward to on my overseas flights is picking up where I left off in Zelda64 on my last overseas flight. Now, all my overseas flight Zelda gameplay data was gone… I’d have to start from scratch. Luckily, I managed to scrounge up an archived copy on an old backup hard drive. That, and making sure Tyson’s Punch Out! and Super Mario work are essential pre-flight chores. OK, OK, I’m also pretty pumped about going to Shanghai for the 1st time. I’ll be traveling with quite a few friends, and know more than a few folks there as well – so the trip should be pretty fun from a non-work perspective. Work-wise, I do have quite a bit to get done… so it won’t be a complete boondoggle. Wow, this paragraph is about completely nothing… sorry about that.

The Halloween projects are coming along nicely. I got my pneumatic cylinder today, right about when I expected it. I’d also been expecting my solenoid, since I ordered it before I did the cylinder. Well, a week and a half later I get home to an e-mail today saying I’ve got a refund from PayPal. Apparently, the seller didn’t have the item “in stock.” Whatever that means. I was a little peeved it took them a week and a half of having my money to decide to inform me that they didn’t actually the item they were selling. So… it’s back to the drawing board on the solenoid, which means I won’t get to test the working setup before I leave for Shanghai – which is a real bummer to me. And, since I got such a killer deal on the solenoid from Ebay… I’ll likely end up paying more now that time is more of a factor. Bummer. I wonder if the seller just canned the transaction because they effed up and sold a $90 solenoid for $35…

Until noonish, peace out.

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nothrything

Cha-chung.
I got my 30-nights-stay “thank you” letter from the hotel last night; one entire month of my 2005 was spent at this hotel. They gave me three-thousand Taiwan dollars worth of free food or beer or whatever. Yeah, just what I need: “free” beer. For the first time on this trip, I’m simply sitting in my room doing nothing. So I decided I’d try and at least get one proper entry done before my regulars bail on me.

I did write this week, despite what the calendar shows. I started and never finished an entry a day, on average. As proof (for some reason), here’s a potpourri of unfinished stuff from this past week, at least it’s better than nothing:

3000 miles into the trip and I’ve exhausted the visual media I borrowed from the internet for the flight. That internet, he’s a great guy, loaned me the Family Guy movie and Fox screener of the O.C.’s season-opener for the flight. With both consumed and enjoyed, I’m at the point where I type for a bit and listen to music, at least, until I get tired of typing and decide to nap. On a plus note, I’m listening to this extremely 60s-tinged Field Music album, which is quite enjoyable. Reminding me a bit of the Shins, and strangely like a less-prog Yes at times, I think; damn fine, whoever they sound like.

I already miss my wife, now-lonely as I fly and future-lonely over the prospect of two other long-distance trips before the year’s out: Shanghai in October and Bangalore in December. In some way, I hope both trips materialize, as I’ve never been to either place – and am particularly interested in seeing India. I suppose it’s better to get the traveling out of the way before Lil’ Chino comes, since I doubt I’ll want to be away for very long afterward. Meaning this year is my boon year for travel, as well as my travel swansong of sorts.

A shorter one:

Been no time to write y’all, no time.

Throat is scratchy from beer and cigarettes and belting out exaggerated versions of such karaoke standards as “House of the Rising Sun,” “Hotel California,” “Friends in Low Places,” and “The Final Countdown.”

An ambitious one with no hope of being completed:

Taiwan, the text-based adventure game version.

You are standing in the lobby of an opulent hotel. All around you, people in tuxedos are waiting to serve you, and all flat surfaces are made of marble. A man is happily polishing anything brass. To your left is the concierge desk. To your right, a staircase. In front of you, a set of large glass doors, and two immaculately dressed doorman who are eagerly awaiting the opportunity open them for you.

>left

You are standing at the foot of a staircase which is, of course, made entirely of marble. The staircase winds around and around upward and out of sight. Above you, hear can hear the faint strains of piano and laughter.

>climb staircase

You begin up the winding stair. As you crest the top, ahead of you is a dimly lit open room. It’s hard to see from here, but it appears to be a bar, and you can now better make out the sound of clinking glass and conversation.

>shit

You can’t shit here.

>damn

There is no one here to damn.

>go to bar

You walk toward the BAR. The floor opens up to your right, looking down on the lobby where you stood moments below, a large crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling. As you come to the entrance of the bar, you can now make out couples hunched over drinks and shelves of bottles on the wall. There is a sign at the entrance to the bar.

>read sign

“Henry’s Bar, Sherwood Hotel, Taipei.”

>eat sign

You cannot eat the sign.

>make knuckle-babies.

Does not compute.

>enter bar

You walk inside. The friendly staff immediately recognizes you for the VIP pimp you are, and ushers you to a seat at the large marble bar.

>check pockets

You rifle through your POCKETS. You find a wallet with several thousand dollars of local currency, a room key, and a cellphone.

And, I have no earthly idea what this one is or when this week I wrote it – but it was in my drafts folder and made me laugh so hard when reading it, I had to post it:

World population growth rate in light of human and technological development making life much safer than living in caves and dealing with your food not wanting to die so you can eat.

Bought a fake watch this time in Taipei. Lots of people do it, and I guess I caved to the pressure. Somehow, I either lost or forgot to bring my watch on this trip. I never realized how much I looked at the thing until it wasn’t on my wrist all the time. It’s a fake TAG, which the fake-watch man told me retails for like $2500 if it’s real; I paid $70. At least I got a new watch, even if it does scream “pompus brand-whore” quietly from my undeserving wrist.

What an ugly entry. Goodnight.

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chapter two


They say bad things happen in threes. Not sure if that’s true for good things too, or maybe just “things” in general. I guess if you lose the bad/good qualification, the statement doesn’t make much sense: “things happen in threes.” Sure they do, and fours and eights too. Good things, to me, though, have indeed seemingly been happening together. I may even talk about one or two in today’s entry.

Let’s get right down to it then: we’re having a baby.

We created life. I wrote this the day I found out:

Your birthday will be in February or March. Which means you’ll likely be an Aquarius or maybe Pisces or, in China, a Dog – not that I hold with that kinda stuff. I will be 29 when you arrive, a good age for a father, right?

I thought about you when I called my pops on father’s day and it hit me that it would be my last non-qualifying one. I thought about you when I remembered our non-refundable tickets to World Cup in Germany next year. I thought about you and how much I’ve been away from home for work this year. I thought about you a lot when I was drunk in a seedy club at 3am in Manhattan; and how I feel like I’m ready to be done with that scene and wished you were already here so I wouldn’t have been there.

I kinda think I want you to be a boy, but I won’t be mad should you choose a vagina.

I’ve already started thinking about converting the spare bedroom into your nursery, about whether those little outlet covers are just 1st-time parent paranoia, about diapers, and high chairs, and carseats. Your coming arrival has got me thinking about all sorts of things I’ve never considered before… Money; you make me think about money.

I guess I wonder the same things as most people… and I guess, in reality, I know the answers to most. I mean, things like how our relationships with our friends will change. I know the answer already, it’s just kind of sad to realize that a whole way of life that we’ve become accustomed to over the past few years is coming to and end. Then again, it’s the most exciting prospect I’ve ever dealt with… not the changing relationships part, the creating another human part.

Like billions and billions of humans before us, we’ve managed to do our part in sustaining the species. It’s an amazing prospect, really, and completely mindblowing. To think that there is a completely “new” human, growing up from what I’d consider essentially “nothing” somewhere inside my wife’s own body. This thing is busy transforming from nothing into something completely amazing. It will come out as a working thing, and I’m sure one day when it’s a teenager it’ll love that I referred to it as such. “Thanks dad, I’m a ‘working thing’ huh?” But really, I’ve long been staggered by the thought of babies. What an amazing process, how incomprehensibly complex and precise, how perfect that it just “works.” Oh, we’ve been reading books and doing our research and whatnot, and, man, I can see how you could potentially get really freaked out that it might not “just work.” I mean, it’s amazing how precious this little developing thing immediately becomes to you, even if it looks more like a tadpole than a human right now; you want to protect it and the vessel carrying it like they were the Crown Jewels.

I remember reading somewhere that, in the old days, expectant Chinese women would work tending the rice fields right up until they went into labor, and, after popping out their new child, would return to the paddies as soon as they could walk. That’s interesting to me, because it tells me that, at some fundamental level, pregnancy is supposed to work. I often find myself falling back to the “caveman argument.” It’s something of my own invention, really, but, I always catch myself thinking things like, “Cavemen didn’t have toothpaste,” or, “Cavemen didn’t know about cholesterol.” Likewise, cavemen probably didn’t do much in the way of prenatal care… yet here we are, living proof that their lineage survived. Makes me think that the process has been designed to just work, designed not to go wrong. Not that I’d use that as some Christian Scientist cult-think and forgo the benefits of modern medicine… it’s just a point of comfort for me with all the potential fear-mongering out there.

In other news, I continue to work myself ragged. I’m not kidding. I’m working till midnight most evenings, trying to do my best to suppress the list of “to do tonight” things that I pile up during the day. Semi-related, work promoted me to a management position. It’s not the reason I’ve been working so hard, but it sure isn’t helping. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not going to start talking about work in depth here, I firmly decided against that on blog day one, but I figured the promotion is having a big enough impact on my life now that it’s worthy of documentation. Anyway, it’s exciting, and a bit daunting, to think that I now have people who “report to” me, whatever that means. I’ve never been a control freak… and I still maintain that I’ve managed to coast to success with the help of luck more than skill or knowledge. Call it humility or whatever, but I know my deep-down slacker core, and it is alive and well. Underlining it all, though, is a intense feeling of accomplishment. I feeling of vindication, like I’ve been formally recognized for doing well, officially acknowledged in front of my peers as someone who’s worthy of leadership. Maybe that’s a bit big-headed, but it’s honest.

So, those are my two big things. I’ve been keeping these couple things to myself for over a month… trying to write around them and come up with other things to talk about, even though they’re really the only two things that’ve been on my mind at all. Work has been all-consuming from a non-emotional standpoint, and Lil’ Chino (what we call the growing child in my wife’s belly) all-consuming from the emotional side. I’m not sure to what extent either happening will or won’t change the blog, but it’s kinda silly to think there’ll be no impact at all. Blogging with-child will at least give me plenty to write about, and blogging as-manager will likely reduce my already slim “grindstone” category… as I’ll likely be more guarded where I may have previously been somewhat candid.

I wanted to mention that, at my ten year high school reunion this past weekend, someone I literally hadn’t seen in ten years told me that they’d been to this very page. Now, I don’t know if said person is a recurring visitor, but it was an interesting statement to hear. It of course made me happy, being the attention-feeder I am at heart, I always love to hear about unknown readership. I shouldn’t try to pawn it off as some amazing thing, after all, I did link our classmates.com profile directly to sounds familiar… so it’s not all that far-fetched that someone I went to school with might happen here. Continuing on the reunion theme, I wanted to give it a proper writeup.

I thought it was excellent, although I wish we’d had more time to socialize. There was a dinner even the first night, which Sharaun and I were able to attend in full, as well as an after-party that night. But we had only ten short minutes at Sunday’s “kids invited” BBQ, which is where I really wish I could’ve spent more time catching up with those whom I didn’t already know what was going with. The first evening’s after-party made me a bit sad… to see some folks seemingly still stuck in that endless cycle of booze and dope, despite the fact that they are nearing their 30s and now responsible for children as well as themselves. The drugs in my hometown are plentiful, to say the least, and it’s all to easy to get trapped in that scene. I didn’t like seeing mothers whose children were asleep in beds far away puffing on joints or coming out of the bathroom in threes. I dunno, I guess that’s the real world, or something… I still don’t have to like it. Not that I’m knocking you, dope-smoking mothers, should you be reading this… you can do what you want and may be a stellar parent – you’re bag just ain’t my bag, that’s all. We’re still cool.

I shoulda split this one up over two days, to at least guarantee some posting consistency… but I didn’t. Before I go, someone at work turned me on to this homemade thing the other day and I thought it was pretty funny. Maybe that means I’m a huge nerd…

‘Night.

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baking

Hawt.
When I got in the car today after work, the digital thermometer read 110° F. That’s just too hot. The air conditioning doesn’t even really work when it’s that hot. I don’t exactly trust the Ford’s thermometer to be nuts-on accurate, but I think anything in the greater-than 100° range is hot enough to ignore the tolerance.

I didn’t write yesterday because I need a break. For a long time now, I’ve felt like I don’t have much to write. If nothing happens during the day, I have nothing in the way of material. Sometimes it’s like that, you get stuck in this “report out” mode of writing as opposed to a more “topical” approach. Being that my days at work are so busy of late, I often find myself sitting at home in the evenings thinking, yet again, about work. With so much focus on one thing, I don’t really have it in me to write about something that isn’t as fresh as the day’s happenings. That… and the fact that I’m keeping secrets from sounds familiar. It’s hard to write around things. But I think to myself, even when the kimono is open – what will I write? What will I write about today? You know, it’s actually a slightly guilty feeling. I look at the clock and it’s nearly 9pm and I’ve got nothing to say, nothing to write. I actually feel a little bad. Mostly because I love it, I love writing… and I can’t bring myself to put down something interesting, and I feel like I’ve said it all before. What a shame.

When I was in the 7th grade, I had my own little cocoon event. I wrapped myself up in the music and culture of three generations past. I cast off the idea of contemporary cool (mostly, I think, because I wasn’t doing so hot attempting to emulate it). I withdrew from the middle school culture of Gucci fannypacks and homemade MC Hammer puffpaint tees into a world of Ginger Baker drum solos at the Fillmore and bright Peter Max concert flats. A year later, and my transformation was complete. I had emerged a new creature, a butterfly clad not in bright colors but dreary occultist Led Zeppelin shirts and jeans. I loved it. I let my hair grow, stopped trying to keep up with the Top 40, and decided I needed to try marijuana. After meeting Kyle in 8th grade, and finding him a sympathizer to my anti-popularity cause – things only got better. Weekends spent watching rented copies of Woodstock, The Song Remains the Same, Vanishing Point, Blues Brothers, etc. There was so much to learn, and for a good portion of it he was my mentor. Together, the desire to try the weed grew. Until ninth grade, when we finally scored some.

It came from a buddy, just a little baggie… we’d seen nothing like it before, so we had no idea how to judge how much it was. We took it into our favorite place in the woods, a small clearing well behind Kyle’s uncle’s house where we’d often camp overnight. Secluded, perfect, the kinda place you felt safe hiding pellet guns under rocks in black plastic attaché cases, the kinda place you were supposed to smoke weed in. With no rolling papers, we resorted to the hard-up method of crunching a soda can in on one side. You kinda work it into a depression, with raised sides, then you stab it a few times with a pocketknife. Drop a bud or two on top and apply flame while inhaling through the drink-hole, and you’ve got a crude – but functional – pipe. I held the lighter to the can, feeling like a crack addict, and took a deep breath. That taste… unmistakable. A dry sweetness, tastes almost as scratchy as it does smooth, unmistakable. I passed the can, careful not to spill the glowing nugs. There were three of us, and I don’t remember when Kyle got the can… but on his first inhale he coughed hard – right into the can. The wonderful functionality of the pipe immediately performed perfectly – in reverse; blowing smoke out the pocketknife holes, and scattering our entire stash to the wind. I didn’t “get high” that day, and started thinking maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

I don’t know how much time, or how many other attempts, passed between then and the first time the drug actually worked. But I remember that time. I tried again, with no results. I inhaled deeper, held it in longer, smoked more, I tried it all. Nothing. After we were all pros, we used to tell unsuccessful newbies that their mind just hadn’t allowed them to “open that door” yet. I remember the night my “door” opened. I was driving, so it was the later half of my freshman year. I don’t remember where we got the stuff. I drove the little Nissan Sentra into the woods, over some sandy access roads to a clearing in the middle of nowhere. A place where the only reason you could get there was because there was a retention pond or firebreak that need truck access for maintenance. There were four of us that night, four of us who had tried before with no luck but were willing to give it another go. This time we rolled joints. This time it worked. At first, I was ready to write the night off as another loss. Then it happened. At the time, I remember describing it to those who had not yet arrived as “like hitting a brick wall.” One minute I was fine, the next minute I was stoned beyond all belief. That awesome kind of stoned where your face feels detached and your sense of time is all screwed.

That night we all got stoned, destroyed. We laughed at things we imagined seeing in the woods, remarked at the smoothness of our teeth, and had one of the grandest time four teenagers finding weed can have. I drove us back, weed not fully out of my system. Down the sandy roads, onto the street, to wherever we were going. At first, I was deathly afraid. After that first time, I didn’t want to smoke again until I got my next report card. We’d all heard the facts: weed makes you dumb, burns up your brain cells. We’d all seen burnouts on Cops, even at school – and I just knew that weed was gonna lead me down that path – make me a drooling fool. Maybe twice more before grades I indulged, but that was it. Then it happened… I got straight As. For the first time in my life I received nary a B. And it was like God showing Moses the burning bush to convince him things would be OK, it was my “permission.” From then on, the marijuana and I were close friends. For the better part of two years, we’d meet up for weekend rendezvous, with the rare-but-not-never weeknight encounter if the stars aligned. Oh, and the As, they stuck around too – just my ongoing reassurance that not only was I not getting dumber – apparently the dope was actually turning me into a genius.

The story ends with me giving up the smoke for a girl. How endearing. I did, however, get said girl. Still with her to this day, so I think it was worth the weed.

Unrelated short bits: Again, the bleat makes me embarrassed to call this a blog. I wish I could dredge that kind of realism up now and again. And Dave, here’s that link I was talking about. I swear they once had more explicit instructions on actually getting into the old lines, but either I’m remembering wrong or they changed it to less inviting text like “Doors from it, if opened, would give a good view of the platform.” Hmmmm…

Goodnight.