Every material object you own and/or cherish is in 1 room and that room is going to be destroyed. If someone is able to go into that room and rescue a subset of those items for you what would you have them get?

I asked a few friends this after my sister called me and told me they were evacuating their houston home because they were at a high risk of flooding and tornado damage. It's a vaguely interesting problem. I wound up having her take these items:

A carry-on filing cabinet with my personal records since 1998.

A cigar box full of pictures, newspaper clippings and a variety of other items of nostalgic value. All three of my major girlfriends make an appearance in that cigar box along with many high school trips, family events and personal successes. It's over-flowing and hasn't been fully closed in a good decade.

Thomas. Transitively important to me.

A yellow whistle. I've had this little yellow whistle since I was in the 7th grade. I aquired it during a Jazz Band trip to San Antonio. I originally kept it around because it represented a girl. Not much later it just offered a reminder of a really fun part of my life. I've had it only hours longer than the cigar box. The cigar box was called into service when I got the pictures from that very Jazz Band trip. I guess I started to care about life around middle school.

My journal. It contains scarce entries chronicling my life starting on February 1st, 1990. The damn thing is close to 16 years old and is still only about half full. I very rarely add entries to it anymore. When I do they are long and incredibly introspective.

So if that house gets flooded I lose all of my computer gear, speakers, bed, furniture, TV, books, and most of my clothing. Good Times. =-D

It takes very little to blow my mind. Once I walked in on a girl eating cheeto's with chopsticks and had to sit down for a few minutes. Sublimity at it's finest. I'm sad to say the grace of my endowed rhetoric cannot hope to fully describe that magnitude of brilliance.

A lesser example:
"Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The egg. It's not important to know the core genetics which must be present in order for a feathered, clucking arrangement of DNA to be called chicken, it's only necessary we know some criteria exists. Evolution says at some point in this lineage a mutation occurred in the offspring of a pre-chicken that resulted in the final, core piece of chicken genetics to be satisfied. The egg would be chicken."

What kills me is that it is so fucking obvious. Of course the egg came first! We are all idiots.

Nice Guys Kiss My Ass

Let me tell you something. I hate this guy. Every man out there hates that guy. His weakness and willingness to allow himself to by manipulated by a woman sickens me. It sickens me more, even, than the women who are all to willing to fuck with his head for years on end. Platonic relationships are great, but don't subjugate yourself to the simple agony of offering a tweaked bitch's your self-esteem as her own when she doesn't have the slightest bit of respect for you. That smile, that wayward glance, that slight touch; they are all tools to drag you along and have you serve as an ego siphon. You need to completely ignore her flirtatious abuses and use her only as a friend. You'll find that a once you begin doing that, many of your female "friends" will dissappear. The ones that stay are the ones you should value. If you can't view her in that light then cowboy the fuck up and ask her out. When she says no you can move on, when she says yes, well, then you have a whole other set of issues.

If you stay in that decrepid state of affairs then I thank the God's on high that you've socially castrated yourself. Societal Darwinism.

We've all played this role a few times in our lives. Look back, as I did, and you will realize how much happier you are when you aren't listening to the meaningless problems of someone who probably can't even tell you your favorite TV show.

You gotta respect yourself first. Only a sacred few of the women you meet are worth that trouble. Find one and ignore the rest.

Wow, the above sounds really bitter. Every man hates that guy because every man has that guy inside. We're so desperate for female attention that we hardly even notice how manipulative they are being. Sometimes I hate myself for who I've been in the past.

Cats are funny

http://www.pvponline.com/archive.php3?archive=20050326

I've just started reading PVP. Let me tell ya, it's a hoot.

Katrina Post

As I am sure most of you are aware, some sort of meteorological circumstances caused a bit of damage in The Big Easy. I fancy myself fairly independent from sensationalism in American media. I shy from reality shows, I only read news online from non-mainstream sources, and convulse in viceral reaction to the canned laughter of sitcoms. But when something horrible happens I, virtually, gooseneck with the worst of them.

So when NOLA got hit by Katrina I spent hours a day hungrily looking for fresh news, novel views, and interesting commentary. I also donated money since my geographic position castrates my ability to put my shoulder to the wheel legitimately. During my rabid scour of the web I became aware of the controversy involving the 3 levels of governments slow response and I had to ask myself this: What the hell is the controversy?

If a government allows thousands of needless deaths because of days of inaction there is no call for "controversy". The call, indeed, is for all out public outrage. If the media gets there 4 days before the government then you have an issue. By the time the media gets there there should be a federally funded wall with men with guns holding back the media so the American people, including currently dead citizens of New Orleans, can have a "c0ntroversy" about freedom of press. What the heck happened?

Sidebar: If I hadn't have stayed in Seattle I would be living with my sister, in Houston. This is interesting because she, as a nutrionist, works at the largest food back in Travis county. As you can imagine, they are very busy. We all know Americans are quick to pitch in when tragedy strikes so it's no surprise that the food bank had to turn away a large number of volunteers because they had to many. If I were down there I could have been there day-of helping out, and it bums me out that I am not

10 Points if You Can Find Them All

I thought I would put on record that I signed up for this blogger acccount when I was writing a python tool that would extract posts from a variety of blog sources and convert them so that they would fit nicely in my own blog database schema. I actually have an account on every major blog service for testing reasons. With the exception of blogger, I used unfamiliar and non-related names for each account. So when I was deciding which blog publisher to use last night my choices were cut down by the fact that I had no idea how to log into any of my other accounts. =-D

I'm a Blog Whore

I've bounced from blog to blog like your sister bounces from man to man in a vain attempt to find some satisfaction. I can't rule out fear of commitment either, I am a man afterall. I eventually had to write my own blog software, but alas poor jacobo is lost to the great void we at command central call "off the grid".

My newest suiter is blogger. The main reason I moved from Xanga was the fact that Xanga had absolutely no webservices available. Now, if they felt so inclined, anyone can subscribe to an RSS or ATOM feed of my emotionally stunted drivel. Xanga required that you be a member to suscribe. Also, I realized I am not a teenage asian girl. In fact I am a grown mexican man.

Late interracial identity-crises aside, everyone I've spoken to in the last couple of days has asked me why I am so blue. I am indeed not blue, merely a tad introspective, and a lot tired. One can't always entertain.