It's A Long Story

Moving again

2008-04-21T21:03:00.000-07:00

www.alfonsol.com

updated those readers people...person...mom....

*sigh*

Strewn

2008-04-15T12:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Team Red and Team Black took the court, together, to do battle. A number of trips to the nebulous 'out of town' area and a placid wall of e-silence left Team Red with only 5 players. Officially you are able, perhaps even encouraged, to take the court with only five players. It is not a good idea.

But we few placed toe to the scrimmage to face their many.

We lost. Badly. Worst loss in our history, one player suggested. Black adopted the only strategy they could: run up and down the court as many times as possible and then call in a substitute. His fresh legs run the same plan, over and over and over and over again.

Twice I was mildly injured. By instinct I looked to our bench to inform a team mate that I should be taken out for a moment. No one was there. I could have been in the middle of a heated battle and losing ground, looked up hopefully toward the hill where my ally would have come only to see my last sunset. It was incredibly demoralizing.

On the upside it was my highest scoring game ever.

No Games, Just Sport....or some such

2008-04-13T23:39:00.000-07:00

This post will be a drawn out cliche, it's conceptual entirety having been reduced to a phrase by Nike's advertising firm. Still, I feel compelled to record the thought.

I like biking, both mountain and road. The hobby overflows with entertaining tasks outside of actual riding: Researching stuff, maintaining stuff, /buying/ stuff. For example today's afternoon was spent fixing my brakes. It was a very fulfilling afternoon.

Then there are the numbers. Speed, average speed, heartrate, distance, cadance, air pressure, temperature, gear ratios, the list goes on endlessly. Heck, when you consider it fully, you'll start to realize that a bike is less a means of conveyance than a vehicle for useless statistics to obsess over.

At the end of a ride you'll discover an intoxicating sense of accomplishment. You're bruised and cut (if mountain biking) or nursing a dull aching in inappropriate places (road) but you're finished. Chalk up a few more miles.

Still, with all of that I enjoy the white serenity during a ride most. My mind ponders nothing. If you'll forgive a poor metaphor my mind forks off processes necessary to maintain speed and a path that doesn't involve children and I am left with nothing. Even while surrounded by the complicating artifacts of my admittedly simple life I don't think a thing.

If one were to read my mind the emptiness would drive them to insanity.

Cool, huh?

Ok, every once in a while I break into song.

Yay Gmaps Pedometer.

2008-04-11T10:59:00.000-07:00

I'm sure there have been many versions of this for since the day google decided to make it a webservice, but I just discovered Gmap Pedometer.

It's cool! you can arbitrarily create routes on a map and save them for later. As an example here is the route we'll take to gasworks tommorrow: http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=1782500

The next idea that I am sure exists is a digg-style site where people can bump up or down a user posted route. Then you can find good little routes to spend a day on. Slap on a forum, get some cred in the community and boom! You have a full fledged monetizable site. Though monetizing and cred are at odds with each other.

Dulane

2008-04-10T10:22:00.000-07:00

Most recently I flung a shiny new road bike over the yawning ledge of my aching emptyness. I've wanted a road bike for eons. And, as per usual, I researched them unrelentingly for months, looked at many, decided I did not need one and then immediately bought one.

It was the test ride. I shied from the test ride. I averted my eyes from his penetrating gaze like a blushing bride. For I knew that should I allow myself one ride my fate would be sealed. And I was right.

You don't ride road bikes. No, nothing so vulgar takes place. You and your bike have a conversation of minds. She knows your needs, you cooed them to her as she explored your mind through the door naked lust left open. You and she, in a state of one-mind, have but the single thought: Go over there.

And go you will! My first couple of blocks are lost in a haze of mingled acceleration and exhilaration. The next couple of blocks left me truly afraid of what possibilities had been opened up. The remaining blocks saw a maniacal grin curl underneath tearing eyes.

That was the first ride. I rode 3 in the end. The last being Dulane, the bike I had to have the store build since it wasn't on the floor. While riding I heard a sort of high pitched hum coming from the tires on the road.

Like good lemon meringue pie, an insatiatable thirst for good movies or voracious readership, singing is a feature that, if found in a woman, I am immediately prepared to propose.

My Bike sings to me as we go.

Cinco De Mayo

2008-04-03T10:59:00.000-07:00

I've decided, just moments ago, that I will throw another Cinco De Mayo party. Why?

This is why.

Also, I /really/ want to do a pinata this time.

I'm Not Sure

2008-04-02T14:17:00.000-07:00

Did we ever really need Pastafarianism? It would seem that The Noodley Appendage need not serve as our allegorical beast of burden when we have, in the same world we live in, the CoS.

If you were not shaken to question some of your more base assumptions by the ardent believers of Xenu then could an absurdist artifact possibly have a chance? I maintain no.

Nothing, no matter how universally far-flung in concept it might be, could ever wrest Xenu from his high throne of insanity. Why? Because he was not conceived of to prove a point. No he has followers without irony. He will one day serve as figure head for a crusade.

He is real.

It so belittles the hyper-literate detachment the followers of the FSM carry so proudly as to make me wonder, explicitly, if perhaps I should go in for my free personality test.

Snoogins

2008-03-28T13:00:00.000-07:00

If you've worked with me you know I am a comment whore.

I just put the word "snoogins" after a comment.

I can't stop laughing about that.

I don't know why.

Strange Ceiling

2008-03-24T11:13:00.001-07:00

I don't know how long this has been happening. On occasional mornings, generally when I wake naturally, I have a moment. This occurs as I slowly regain my consciousness, before I have made my first move of the morning.

During this moment I am completely unaware of not only where, but when I am. So before I open my eyes I am given to slowly reconstruct my reality, if you will. It proves difficult to describe.

I begin by realizing I don't know my current location in time-space. Before I can begin to deduce it I must clear a few cobwebs of "Do I need to study? Am I late for work?". Essentially every 'what am I sleeping through?' moment of my entire life.

Generally those questions are put on the back-burner, unsolved, and I ask myself more deductive questions. "Am I next to Alice? Babs? No one? Are my feet on a wall?

Perhaps some aural hinting: Is my mom making breakfast? Do I hear the traffic of china town? Or my sister snoring?

I refuse to open my eyes or move until the wave-form as collapsed. As you might imagine I eventually settle on Seattle, 2008 and wake up.

I thought it would be pretty damn cool, though, if I were able to do away with deductive reasoning and settle on a different time-place. Then when I wake up the shock of reality would be a neat rush. Imagine being a broke ass college student on the brink of a final only to wake with a fat paycheck, nice place and good job. And a Dog.

Taking it further: what if I could get my Kilgore Trout on and spend a day or two in college, or in high school?

Entendre

2008-03-21T14:40:00.000-07:00

I bought Rock Band as a Christmas present for my younger brother, Gabriel. From December 25 to January 1st, when I returned to Seattle, we played Rock Band constantly, only breaking for food and basketball. My Sister, with her power-pipes, on mic, Gabriel on the guitar, and me living out my dead fantasy on drums.

By the end of that week I had taken my first timid foray into the 'hard' level.

Then I bought it for myself last month, on a whim. With a little practice I can now call my self an 'expert' though I do drop into 'hard' when precision is important.

Like DDR before it, Rock Band requires things outside my realm of physical possibility. Sometimes you just need to hit the bass drum too quickly for my 1 foot to do it. I've tried many configurations of seating and 'footing' to no avail.

Then I remembered this jazz show I went to. Halfway through a marathon drum solo the drummer stopped all drumming except for the bass drum, which sounded like a rapid fire gun going of steadily. In a flourish he wiped his face calmly as this impossibly quick beating took place.

Sure...but how? This is how.

Surely this would be trivial to construct in the world of Rock band. 2 pedals, an oscillator and some solder and bada-boom! Double pedal.

I'll be at Fry's.

Edit: Of course the internet already has this as a thing:

Coffee?

2008-03-20T22:02:00.000-07:00

In a mere 30 minutes of reading/watching her web content I fell in love with her.

Perhaps I am enchanted due to her beauty? Her wit? Her chosen vocation being my foregone dream?

No, I believe it was due to her being very, very far away.

See? I'm discovering myself.

Sidebar: She mentions her search referrals several times which leads me to believe if I can get people to click that link she might find her way here. So everyone click the link!

SideSideBar: If you /are/ her. Hi. I'm sorry I blogged about you inappropriately.

I Think The Bard Said it

2008-03-17T12:00:00.000-07:00

"This above all else, to thine own self be true."

A most noble goal. In reality it serves as the parent scruple from which I derive the many child scruples that comprise my entire....scruple....parentage.

Recently, while thinking on this, I boggled at how awesome it would be to share a telepathic link with your significant other.

Some semantics are required here. By telepathic link I do not mean to imply some form of active message passing during a game of win, lose or draw. I mean a passive empathy coupled with the ability to carry out unsolicited probes of the other's mind.

What I mean to create here is a complete destruction of my ability to hide anything about myself. Because the one who knows your purest form and chooses still to remain is an incredibly valuable person.

And lets face it! Every one hides the major part of their selves. In your entire social experience, if you took the sum total of what your friends allowed you to see about themselves you would have maybe 1 or 2 entire people, spread across hundreds.

I expressed this sentiment to a few folks and each one, with no exception, blanched in their response. What a terrible idea, this. I wouldn't be able to hide anything!

I've always considered my inability to be completely honest about myself as a shortcoming. A reason for shame. It would seem, however, that I am alone in this opinion. The small dataset I have indicates that folks view it not as an inability, but a superpower. A shovel, if you will, with which they have created entrenchments that they intend to protect to the end. Not even the girlfriend, or wife allowed in.

I'm sad about that.

Excerpt

2008-03-11T17:26:00.000-07:00

I Love this Guy:

"Ting-Tong," He chuckled, "I've heard many things."
"Yeah? Like what?"
"Ahh, just things, go on in."
Tog turned and hesitantly opened the chamber door. This was a new one to him. If Art-Deco and a Victorian Designer had a love child that child would shit this room. The intricate patterns spewed everywhere were an outright offense to the eyes. He got in and was instantly dizzy.
"Why can't any of these rooms be decorated tastefully?" He muttered to himself.
"Exit To The Right" even though there was only 1 door. Tog opened it and stepped out to the Durazno collection.
"Who the fuck are you? Do you fuckers need to send someone different every god damned time? Ah well, welcome to Durazno." It was said through a cigarette being lit. Ting-Tong was wearing old black jeans an a black tank top. From what Tog could see the man liked his tattoos. He wore a meticulously cultivated five o'clock shadow and no hair otherwise. The man looked like a rebel gone to pasture. Tog was surprised by his lack of sycophany.
"Ting-Tong I presume?"
"Say the name and god-damned if you don't get the man. You smoke fucker? I got these sticks from a guy I know in Eurasia. Fucking delicious. I'd give up mediocre pussy at least once a day for a pack of these." He offered Tog a cigarette, who declined with a wave. "Your loss man, offer stands."
"Thanks" Tog was warming to this guy.
"So you're here about a our shitbrick. Business as usual dude, the eggheads tell me I got fucking 55% to offer this time 'round. Ain't no bad shakes," he paused to remove the bouncing cigarette from his lips and exhale a puff of smoke that actually did smell pretty delicious, "You oughta pay out your fucking nose for that, but whatever keeps us running, y'know what I mean?"
He didn't. "I'll need to scan it.."
"Hell yeah, fuckers like me lie like a cheap rug. Mi casa and all that, fap where you want just clean up after. Follow me to the shitbrick." He left out a door and Tog followed him down a small path to the ruck. "Scan away dude, when you're done I gots some ladies coming in, y'know. They do this thing with a basket and spinning, if it don't make you bust your dick's broke. I could call up a couple more, probably get a discou..."
"Thanks, but no" Tog interrupted with a chuckle, "busy day."
"'nother day 'nother dollar, fuck if I don't know it man. If you get some off time you let me know and I'll get you every disease south america has to offer" He lit another cigarette.
Tog took a moment to scan the ruck. 52 percent, Ting-Tong's eggheads were right. Tog figured he would send some slag Ting-Tong's way, he liked him and this was a very decent load.
"Looks good doesn't it? Goddammnit I love this job," He spread is arms as if to embrace the giant block of ruck, "People send me their shit and I sell it. Fucking, I ain't a reading man, but there's got to be some sort of profound irony there or some shit."
"It looks good, yeah. You want some slag?"
"Fuck yes I want some slag. These cigarettes'll only go so far, am I right? Toss whatever shit you can my way and I'll find some use for it." He grinned and slowly brought his cigarette toward his mouth.
"Great, I'll get you something."
"Fuckin' A, pleasure doing business man, now leave or stay but I plan on getting down to business doing pleasure." He laughed deeply.
"Have your man send it to Kansas, we're full-up in Persia."
"No shit? You weren't fucking kidding busy day. And just so you know my tech is a broad, huge tits and the prudence of a turnstile. Say the word and I'll hook your ass up, she likes power, catch me?"
"One day, Ting-Tong" Tog really liked him.
..end meetting ting-tong. I fucking /love/ ting-tong

From Will's Blog

2008-03-11T16:55:00.001-07:00

Meme: "Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don't blog about. Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it. Ask for anything: latest movie watched, last book read, political leanings, thoughts on yaoi, favorite type of underwear, graphic techniques, etc. Repost in your own journal so that we can all learn more about each other." (Of course, I'm sure they meant to say "repost in your own journal if you like.")

BioShock

2008-03-05T10:30:00.001-08:00

I finally found my way to the end of "Bioshock".

I don't feel that my actions during the course of this narrative truly justify the 'evil' ending. I 'harvested' some girls, I did. And while that is, in all practicality, a way of saying I killed them for my personal gain I feel there are mitigating circumstances.

You see, the little girls are protected by a...thing.. called a "Big Daddy". Tennessee Williams never created a character more suited to the name. Early in the game I had to take on one of these metal-clad behemoths with a /wrench/. No, not a magic wrench imbued with runic power by the Druids of the Under Keep. Just a wrench I found on the floor.

While I ineffectually raged against this angered colossus of destruction this 'little girl', who, by the way, I had /just/ seen sucking some essence out of a dying man, this demon with an angel's face was cheering on the Big Daddy. I feel that it was at her behest that her pet monster patted me around the room like a cat's squeak toy.

Given all that you can imagine that the adrenaline was running a bit high when I finally managed to fell this beast. Who wouldn't greedily destroy the helpless demon at that point? I defy you to withstand that temptation.

And I only lost control 1 or 2 times. Out of the 25 or so little girls I saved did the 2 I ripped apart for my own gain really make a huge difference?

I feel that I should have gotten the good ending.

Diabetes Update

2008-02-27T11:41:00.000-08:00

I don't have it. In fact given the acceptable range of glucose levels in blood, 70-99, my level of 82 is almost exactly mid-range. I've never been so satisfied with my mediocrity. *Glee*

I Guess I Own A Car Now

2008-02-19T10:32:00.001-08:00

I paid off the honda yesterday. Woo.

Everything You Do

2008-02-13T10:22:00.001-08:00

Has anyone else seen this 'Profile Watcher' app on Facebook? While it is the first Facebook app whose primary purpose is not stark delineation of its own uselessness I must decry it's conception. I am utterly paralyzed, frozen between adversarial gales. The northernly being my overwhelming desire to internet stalk people and the southernly being my equally overwhelming desire not to be known as a stalker to those whom I stalk.

Its a natural enough paradox. Since I take meticulous notes of your comings and goings to keep reverently in the leather-bound tome under my closet shrine constructed entirely of your left toenail clippings it would be natural to assume I'd like you to think highly of me.

Practically, what has happened here is the wholesale banishment of Facebook profile visiting. I am saddened.

Please, I would consider it a personal favor if you would update your status more so I can still, indirectly, stalk you.

--UPDATE--
I added Profile Watcher. It's a Ruse! There is no profile watcher, only a picture of Ponch from CHiPs looking at you with lust in his eyes.

Awesome Prank! I approve wholeheartedly.

Hearts of the Sons the the Fathers

2008-01-25T17:36:00.000-08:00

The place in my heart where my origins lie increases in size with my age. Despite the endless stream of jokes I make to the contrary I hold in high esteem my "people". I won't bother defining who they are, but suffice to say this article gave me warm fuzzies. My family is from Rio Grande City, and I was born there. It's gotten a lot better, but the area is still remarkably impoverished.

Gender Genie

2008-01-24T14:19:00.000-08:00

...is not just an oddly specialized magical creature. It's a site that can, given some text, determine the gender of the author.

On a whim I gave it the contents of my book. Turns out I am male. I was very pleased with the result.

On another whim I gave it the text to all my spam mails, most of which involve Penis' in some way. Be they entering a permissive young lady or confused young man, or typically flaccid or unrelentingly large, Penis' serve as protagonists in most of my spam.

However, according to the Gender Genie the 1200 words I gave it from my spam are, in no uncertain terms, Feminine!

I'm not sure what that means....

Title.

2008-01-22T15:21:00.000-08:00

I hate cable. I hate cable much in the way one hates the beautiful, emotionally abusive freak-in-the-sack you can't bring yourself to detach from because with her you experience the most intense physical pleasure* of your life.

Last night our power went out. Actually the power in the entire international district chose to provide evidence to Fate's racism.

Mere minutes. Mere minutes without our televisions and the building in it's entirety was walking around and chatting with previously unknown neighbors. It was a most pleasant black out. Out in the courtyard gazebo several of us gathered in the dim sphere of my lantern. When the cold proved too much we wound up under an emergency light in the stairwell with several other neighbors. I even found time to meet, fall in love with, and subsequently grow to loathe an entirely new woman. In the televisioned world that took me nearly 2 years!

The mind boggles at the immediacy of the effect. It's as if the power was a rope from which we hung, nothing but open air between us and the snapping maw of sociability below. When the power went out that rope snapped. And let there be no shred of doubt; television was a major fiber in that rope.

*I feel it is important to underscore the rhetoric nature of the 'pleasure' I draw from watching tv. Merely in the world of poorly constructed metaphors is there any sort of 'intense physical pleasure' to be had.

Next Weekend?

2008-01-07T14:41:00.000-08:00

In the past I have taken great pains and incurred considerable cost to enjoy the privilege of strapping planks to and hurling my body towards the nearest jut of rock that lies downhill. Whether I was originally drawn toward the sport as a means of maximizing the odds I achieve the 'splits' in an unsolicited manner or some other facet was more appealing I do not know. What I do know is that maintaining my balance on those damn skis proved more difficult than nailing jello to a wall.

It would seem that immediately after developing a comfort on skis that deeply held part of my psyche that screams for death arrested control of my consciousness just long enough to strap both my feet into a single plank.

It would be dishonest to complain. I can't help but love any activity that punishes failure with a thorough and unrelenting pain. The aches and bruises and chipped teeth function as badges of honor, as penance happily paid for the thrill of achievement.

But I am dishonest: Snowboarding did things to my body. Horrible things. Things I wouldn't enjoy even in a sexual context. In this sport's creator you'll find a viscous dark so pure it would sear your retinas blind.

This morning I could have liked nothing more than to stand neck-deep in a tub of Bengay.

So now I am hopped up on Aleve and smothered in a 2 inch layer of icy hot. And coding =-D.

Close To Home

2008-01-07T10:52:00.000-08:00

xkcd cuts a little close to the bone sometimes.... example

Ok..all the time.

Go Daddy

2007-12-30T15:25:00.000-08:00

Has anyone else noticed that when you type Go Daddy's address into your favorite browser, you are also typing "God Addy"?

I'll bet I could numerology this into a conspiracy theory.

*Fun*

-Alfonso

Por Primera Vez

2007-12-29T11:51:00.001-08:00

Many many seasons ago, when my grandmother was not more than perhaps a fond figment of imagination my great grandmother, Consuelo De La Garza*, wrote a song. Perhaps she was in the throes of first love or honoring her already steady marriage; perhaps she wrote it for another man. Either way I've seen pictures, she was slammin'.

This was somewhere around 1910.

When she wrote the song she didn't write it down, she just played it, at the same time impressive and terribly annoying to her progeny. She taught it to my Grandmother, who taught it to my father and his brothers and sisters, and even taught it to my mother. A cherished moment of acceptance to the, very large, family.

I only heard the author of the song play it once, and I was very busy filling my diaper and didn't take the time to appreciate it. Still I heard it played many times including weddings, funerals, and sometimes just in the morning when my mom decided to play it. I think Crystal actually heard it at a family reunion.

At one point Tia Linda, who has been mentioned here several times, sat down to transcribe the damnable song. The result was a noble effort but the sheet music we got our hands on bore only a passing resemblance to the song.

Cut to today, perhaps 15 years later and you'll find my sister, Monica, standing in her pink pajama's in front of my father's printer watching the newly transcribed 'Por Primera Vez'. We even piped the music she generated through a Midi reader, and I can say, without fear of correction, that 'Por Primera Vez' is now very closely approximated on paper, well into it's fifth generation. YAY!

Now I'm working on getting together an mp3 of it that I'll use as the theme to my upcoming hit movie.

*Funny Note: Consuelo De La Garza, my great grandmother, married someone else named De La Garza, who passed away before she married Gregorio Garza, the great grandfather I knew very well. So technically you could refer to my great grandmother as "Consuelo De La Garza De La Garza Garza"

Agony of Defeat

2007-12-11T16:41:00.000-08:00

One might say that I did accomplish something, that discovering a path leads to failure is a valuable thing. But I'm not inventing lightbulbs or frying chicken here.

3 Days. That is probably 15-20 hours of solid work-arounds, hacks, code reading, emails and lackluster status reports only to discover, provably, that it cannot be done. I am shamed and ask permission to end my own life.

Problem solving is like climbing a mountain. While you suffer and bleed during the ascent you find a simple solace in the anticipation of the thrill of victory. Lips chapped and clothing in tatters I finally threw an exhausted arm over the final ledge and laboriously heaved my body up. Collapsing on my back I open the one eye that wasn't swelled shut from that fight with a mountain goat and prepare to survey my prize.

Only this time there was no breathtaking vista. No, I was met with an eye-to-eye view of the base camp I left three days earlier. The support guy was making chili on his Coleman stove.

Sisyphus eat your heart out.

(heh...thats actually a really funny double whammy allusion, did you catch it?)

I Stopped Using Myspace When It Was Called Geocities

2007-12-10T14:03:00.001-08:00

At some point I had a myspace account, i did. It was a bright and hot summer in Austin and I ducked into the student union to escape the Tennessee Williams heat. Up until that point I had bounced from orkut to friendster ad infinitum until I finally set up a homestead in facebook.

I didn't want a myspace account because, well lets face it, myspace is uglier than the morning after. One of my classes, a literature class, required that I make a myspace page for one of the characters in the book we were reading and so I rolled up my sleeve in the Union that day and opened a fake account.

Afterward I looked up from my laptop, scanned the room, found the freshmen talent lacking and so needed further distraction. I opened my own myspace account.

Later that day I closed both accounts. While I was flattered beyond reason that so many women wanted me to 'friend' them I just wasn't interested in going to that many vip rooms at fancy club openings. Far be it for me to lead these poor young women on.

So I stuck with Facebook, it's pure interface like drinking from a cool spring of clean water. Refreshing.

But now things aren't so rosey on the Facebook plains. Facebook has taken spam, mated it with pop culture and high-pitched emergency broadcasts and freed the progeny on the facebook interface. The result? I no longer have large breasted co-eds sending me PM's. No, I have vampires and zombies requesting that I create a top friend list and indicate where I've been in case a werewolf were to want to superpoke me in response to my recent movie quiz compatability results.

Which of those two imaginary worlds is more pleasant?

Babs

2007-11-28T13:23:00.000-08:00

Bab started spotting today. I Just though I'd record the date here.

She was born on April 4 so her first spotting is at about 8 months.

I think "John Cubicle" was pretty clever

2007-11-23T15:16:00.000-08:00

No one is in the office but me and one other guy. When I'm not being lambasted with question question from coworkers, it turns out, I get my work for the day done withing 2 or 3 hours. For the rest of today I've listened to Spanish music and thought.

Here's what I came up with: I hate cubicles.

I hate cubicles mostly because I can't imagine the purpose they serve. It certainly is not privacy; I consider a space private when I am free to be as might be construed 'inappropriate' without fear of consequences. An even weaker definition of privacy might hold that no one can see what you are doing, or that the sounds you make aren't heard by others. A valedictorian might mention the dictionary's definition of privacy: "the quality of being secluded from the presence or view of others".

Cubicles do none of these things.

So what are cubicles for?

One theory I came up with is to provide the illusion of privacy. "When she is sitting she can't see anything but the top of my head." Like inexperienced post-pubescent children struggling to understand love, john cubicle hopes, the constituents of corporate culture will satisfy themselves with a "cubicle-of-cards", if you will. Happy in their cocoons of privacy the worker will buzz along the path of productivity.

This theory doesn't hold water. It's a waste of money to have cubes to provide the illusion of privacy if no one is falling for it.

The next, more sinister theory is sadly the more plausible. I think cubicles were invented as a means of cutting the chit-chat between employees. They serve as barriers between colleagues so you'll focus on your work rather than the cute blonde across the way.

I'll bet there are studies that state cubicles do indeed increase productivity.

What I don't understand is why cubicles exist in the remarkably cooperative world of software development. The chitchat between employees is a base necessity of the software dev process. People working on a project together /need/ to have the ability to look up and ask their colleague something, or to us them as a furby*, etc, etc. I'll grant that cubicles, in their lackluster performance as privacy borders negligibly affect your ability to call out to someone. But since they aren't actually serving any purpose why are they here?

I've decided to slowly dismantle my cubicle. All I need is an allen wrench and I have one of those at home. First to go is the wall to me left.

*I dunno if anyone outside my team uses this term. Y'know when you are stuck on a problem and you grab someone to help, but in the process of explaining your problem you realize the solution? That person is your furby, because they only listened and never actually offered advice. If you don't code for a living you cannot imagine how often this is the case.

What I want for Christmas

2007-11-23T13:33:00.001-08:00

Hey, it worked last time:

http://www.culinarycommunion.com/classes/series-master.html

Time for Leftover planning

2007-11-23T12:25:00.000-08:00

I experienced an odd acceptance of my orphaned Thanksgiving. In the days leading up to T-day I guessed I would feel a sort of loss at not being surrounded by my family, I felt no such loss.

In fact I don't believe I had any attention to spare for navel-gazing as the entire day was spent preparing dinner. My much-lamented proclivity toward preparing everything I cook from scratch proved most costly when compounded by several dishes I was unfamiliar with.

Everything right down to the chicken stock was made from point zero and so, technically, I began cooking dinner on Monday (And if you count the stock I already had the beginning point would be sometime last week).

On the flipside my guests each brought a dish so the logistical onus wasn't so great as my Mother's back home.

The Menu:
Turkey (A little under done...sad)
stuffing (Came out very well, had to use eggless bread)
Green Bean Cassorole (decent, though it got the most positive feedback, after cranberry fluff)
Cranberry Fluff (folks liked it)
Corn Bread (Burned to a crisp)
Rolls (big hit! I'm keeping the recipe)
Gravy (I Loved it...I think I might have been the only one though)
Cranberry gravy (I made this up on the spot, I loved it...no one else tried it)
Mashed Potatos (Jonathon brought these. He made them hella spicy)
Pecan Pie (Compliments of blake. Fucking delicious, I had it for breakfast this morning)
Pumpkin Pie ( Nick: He made the whipped cream too. Very impressive)

I learned a lot of things throughout the day:

1. 22 lbs is too much turkey
2. I don't have any serving plates, leastwise one big enough for a turkey
3. I don't have any serving bowls....I don't have any serving anything. My kitchen is well able to prepare most anything, but delivering the product to consumers is outside its charter apparently.
4. Preparing 8 things to be served hot simultaneously is difficult.
5. Wear shoes if you're going to be standing all day
6. I suck at Halo 3....geneva convention.

The whole day was awesome. I love cooking.

Nick Sagan

2007-11-21T12:43:00.001-08:00

I'm wrapping up Idlewild right now. The first few chapters, while important setup for the rest of the book, were sort of a chore. The rest of the book acts as the "dinner that was worth it". I highly suggest this guy to anyone who has had even a passing enjoyment of anything cyberpunk.

Also, it's the first in a trilogy, so thats always fun.

-Alfonso

2007-11-08T10:43:00.001-08:00

I'm currently still thinking about it. Right now. While my tastes are honed and sophisticated they have never been discriminating. I'll eat anything, but when I imagine that brick of fowl flesh landing on a counter with a gelatinous slap it is all I can do to not swear off chicken forever.

How did this blaspheme, this abomination occur in the first place? Did someone swallow a bit stuffing only to look up at his wife and express the thought he'd been harboring in shame for so long: "Y'know, Stuffing is good, honey, but is there a way to make it more meat instead?"

Wives are often made to succor a man's unseemly appetites, and so she shuddered as she stuffed the next turkey with a chicken, silently wishing her husband were cheating on her. It would be a sight easier to look away from that sin. At least she wouldn't be wrist deep in it.

It is her permissive attitude, not his sickness, that is truly to blame. For when another madman crawled forth from their unholy union gastronomy's fate was sealed. The offspring, having been raised in a home where it was all to common to debone two carcasses and stuff on in the other, was well equipped to take it further.

"Mom, how about we add a third bird?"

I weep for her. Truly that moment must have been the end of all joy in her life. Any flicker of hope that she had managed to save her son from his father's abberation would have been snuffed right then.

I like to think she wanted to stop the spread of this dementia, just lacked the strength to do so. I hope she found some peace in the fistful of pills she stuffed her last abomination with.

cont'd

2007-11-07T23:00:00.000-08:00

I mean...the concept of stuffing things in that sort of Russian Doll way is actually called a 'farce'. With all the time I spend trying to express myself well through the English language I couldn't hope to so exactly describe this culinary concept.

I'm going to lose sleep over this.

Turducken

2007-11-07T22:52:00.000-08:00

I finally looked up turducken. It looks disgusting. I won't be making one.

The fact that you debone each of the constituent birds....

It's essentially several meats combined into a cake sort of....thing...

It's like a poultry hot-dog...

I dunno, I guess the bones are important...

Also, and this is a whole new thing, I don't think I like portmanteaus....

I think I'll just make ham instead. It has a big bone.

Sesquipedalophobia

2007-11-01T15:43:00.000-07:00

Being unable to name your debilitating fear would only make it more powerful. It calls forth thoughts of Voldemort.

Respite

2007-10-19T14:21:00.000-07:00

Jim convinced me and Tatiana to do National Write a Novel Month.

The idea is madness itself: 50,000 pages in 30 days are required. By whom? I really couldn't tell you as these faceless literary viceroys do not reveal themselves to the 'help'.

The reason for the emphasis on volume can be easily summed up: If you do not worry about quality you can get your first book done quickly. I presume that 2000 words a day leaves very little time for planning or developing or spelling.

What does this mean for you, dear reader? It means my creative energy will no longer be in ample excess. No longer will I spend hours constructing elaborate sexual scenarios to share in my "Eroticism in Modern America" class or in my "Aberrant Psyches in Functional Society" class or in the bus. Not for a month will I be able to frantically scratch subversive poetry on public buildings by the infamous pseudonym "Martin von Locke". In those 30 days not once will I work on my fantasy rock opera "Tu'lith's Wandering Saga: A Fantasy Rock Opera".

I guess I won't blog either.

I'm going to tell my friends about you

2007-10-16T19:59:00.000-07:00

I'm inappropriately fond of visiting the dentist. I'll bet dollars to donuts it has to do with my need to be the center of attention.

Today I got a filling for the miraculously lone cavity they found after my 6 years without visiting the dentist. Three shots of novicane and 1 hour later I can drink cold drinks without pain =-D.

I thought I had more to say about this....

I don't.

Ten points to whoever calls the quote in the title

*scene*

Both Sides

2007-10-15T11:35:00.000-07:00

10 minutes ago I sat down in front of this blog entry form and began to ponder how best to tell this story. I found coming up with an interesting angle difficult and chose telling it from my point of view instead.

So we were biking. Mountain biking that is. To some the purest form of molten joy, to others a leaden gauntlet of pain, blistered with aggravated obstacles. Depending on the trail I fall in either category.

The three of us were Austin and myself who are, if you'll forgive me a little indulgence, at a solid intermediate skill level, and Blake who was on his second trail ever.

Next comes what happens when stoic resolve is seen to it's logical end point:

First there is 'itsabitch'. A 1 mile technical climb for a total altitude change of 600ft. The climb would be hard fought without the random tree root, fallen limb, or loose gravel peppered throughout. I harbored misgivings about bringing an investigator on this hill as it falls cleanly on the isle of convert doctrine*. Still those misgivings went out the window when Blake huffed it up with nary a problem. Fewer problems, in fact, than I had.

With itsabitch under his belt I trusted any of the uphill the sprawling trail had to offer would be handily conquered by our journeyman.

After itsabitch there exists a sort of mountain biking nexus known as five-way; divining its configuration will be left as an exercise for the reader. We stopped for a much needed breather.

And then we were off! After itstabitch the trails are rollercoaster in altitude and so no long-term huffing is involved. Early on I would look back after a particularly gnarly drop or root to see how Blake was doing. I was meet with a countenance of fierce determination. He flew over a handful of non-trivial obstacles. Several times he yelled "I got over that!", which, though he intimated otherwise later, I took as the sound of a man discovering the wonders of mountain biking. I stopped worrying and began to just enjoy my hobby.

After a while I found myself at point. After a couple of logs there was leafy trail that would not be out of place in Lord of the Rings. The strange oldsmobile that was half buried in leaves would seem out of place, but you could merely fully bury it in leaves and have the appearance of pristine elvish wood again.

I went left. It was the non-uphill fork and I wasn't ready for a climb yet. By that point I had left Blake and Austin behind. After about 100yds I realized there was a fork behind me and so I stopped and whistled to indicate which way I had gone. No response. No rattle of changing gears. No Nothing.

So I turned around and pedaled back to the fork. I stopped again whistled and listened. After a few moments I heard the telltale signs of a biker coming down the right fork. While he was quite friendly he was neither Austin nor Blake and so a disappointment. He told me that he had not passed anyone up the right fork.

We both realized the implication and simultaneously looked down the trail. Like two meerkats sniffing trouble. I felt an odd camaraderie with random biker #1. I sent him on his way and set off down the trail.

There I found Blake on the ground, sitting up, face twisted into a grimace and holding under his thigh. I'm going to say that again so you can take the journey with me: He was /holding under his thigh/. So first thought I had was he opened up some big-ass artery and time was precious little. Though some dissonance floated through my thoughts of turnicates and first aid and ambulance routes. Like a speck on milk, I ignored it at first.

Turned out that dissonance was the question: why is everyone so calm? So before I could leap clumsily to action I paused to ask what was wrong. He could not move his shoulder forward without sharp pain. He was not bleeding to death before my eyes. I relaxed.

Turns out he endo'd** off a root and landed on his head and shoulder. His helmet took a good bit of damage. It was a pretty vicious wipeout.

After a sling was improvised from a shirt Blake had in his pack we had a long walk back to feel terrible and silently fear what Crystal might look like angry. We also spent a good amount of time hypothesizing as to the nature of his injury. All we knew at the time was it was a dull/numbing pain made sharp by movement of his shoulder.

We made it to the car and then to the hospital in Renton with no incident. The admitting nurse was stereotypically jaded and mirthless, the lobby was vomit soaked and uncomfortable. Eventually Austin and I left Blake to Crystal's tender mercies and picked up his car.

His clavicle was cleanly broken. Send him cookies. He is *extreme*.

---

*This sentence is a clever allusion to an aspect of Mormon culture. Do not think I just started adding odd words in my sentence. I probably should remove it as I think I have maybe 1 LDS reader but I actually really like how that sentence came out. Also I think most folks can eek out it's meaning from context.

**short for end-over-end. Meaning he flipped his back wheel over his front and flew over his handle bars. It is an unpleasant experience that rarely ends on your feet.

Perversion

2007-10-11T23:32:00.000-07:00

I've said it many times before and I'll commit it to printed word: I am truly fearful of what my mind is capable of imagining were I to give it the opportunity. It is for this reason I fear hallucinogenics. Even with all frontal facilities at my beck and call my imagination has flirted with the boundaries of acceptable aberration. Truly, if I were to express every thought I have you would lose sleep, only to find it at last at the end of the dark dementia you've suffered.

At the same time, however, I can't help but wonder what abnormalities lie with the minds of others. Is there perhaps a world of expression we are denying ourselves for some common denominator? Worse yet could the common denominator be poorly defined and while we walk with our forced, cold, smiling facades we are missing a great many people with whom we have things in common?

Who knows? Is my black your red? These are untestable ideas. Still, it's interesting.

Not That Shitty Prequel

2007-10-11T21:39:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I've drunk heavily of Paul's kool aid, but damned if his message isn't compelling.d

I wanted to use the word 'lecherous' but couldn't find a good spot

2007-10-01T13:48:00.001-07:00

5.50$ convenience charge for a 20 dollar concert ticket!?!?

After I settled myself and lowered my monitor carefully from where it sat, above my head, in my hands poised to be flung at whom would be known as the "Plaintiff" had I not awoken from my rage I had a moment to rationalize.

Surely, I began, what seems like an unreasonably high fee will dwarf relativistically and perhaps geometrically with every additional ticket. "That's the ticket" I told myself, pausing only briefly to chuckle at my delightful pun. I would just purchase more than 1 ticket and have anyone who joins me pay for the spares. Simple.

But no, when ticketmaster leaves your online financial avatar's cornhole in ruins it has not finished with you, its unsavory appetites will not be so easily sated. No, ticketmaster is thorough and unfeeling, like an experienced interrogator that has long since made peace with his repugnant methods. You will bleed while he admires the gleam of his tools. He is a master craftsman. He feels the empathy toward you that a carpenter feels toward a particular fine cut of Ash.

Ticketmaster, it would seem, charges you this "convenience" fee as many times as tickets you would like.

Without anymore gilding the lily that is absurd. I will never pay that. I'll take a bus to the showbox and buy the tickets there.

Concerts

2007-09-27T13:32:00.000-07:00

Why the charade? We know you are going to 'encore', why else would the curtain sill be up and houselights still down?. You know you are going to 'encore' too. You have to know since half of your set list is in the 'encore'. Still you insist on walking off-stage and waiting until your hidden applause-0-meter redlines.

Look, buddy, we bought the damn ticket and probably a t-shirt or 2. You shouldn't require anything more from us to hear your entire set, leastwise thunderous applause when you've only played new songs so far and I came to hear the songs I can sing along to.

Because at the end of the day, good troubadour, we aren't cheering because you rocked the house, or changed our lives, we are cheering because if we don't you might not play Istanbul. We aren't begging for more, we're begging for what came for in the first place.

2 Things

2007-09-26T15:50:00.000-07:00

1. The spandex bunny at my gym told me I look like I've lost some weight. I've chosen to believe she wants me rather than accept that she is paid to say things of that sort. It was a good choice.

2. I gave blood today and the lady told me I am as healthy as a horse as far as blood pressure and heart-rate are concerned (128/85 and 56 bpm respectively). Being compared to a horse is neat. Also, there is no lack of iron in my blood apparently.

Good day, body image wise.

You Know What I Hate?

2007-09-25T13:12:00.000-07:00

When people put "thanks" in their automatic email signature. Emails only occasionally end in gratitude. One day that person will send an email that ends:

"..sister so many times I got treated for dehydration and exhaustion. So fuck you; it is my fondest wish that when you die, hopefully painfully at the hands of an enemy, you will burn in hell for all eternity and that my rapture will consist of a front row seat to your agony. I cannot imagine a worse person existing in the whole of human history.

Thx!
-Alfonso Lopez"

So don't do that. It bugs me.

You'll Never See a Dissatisfied SCV

2007-09-24T09:57:00.001-07:00

Yesterday Austin and I volunteered with the BBTC to do some trail building out at Tiger Mountain. Out of an impressive group of 60 a smaller group of 10 or so, including us, went to the highest, and gnarliest, trail to build a "water stop". When finished this construct of ours would push flowing water off the trail and toward the tributaries nearby, thereby eliminating sitting water on the trail. With our hands and wits alone, we command mighty rivers.

If you have never built a water stop (and why would you?) the process consists of the movement of ponderous rock from diaspora to one point in the middle of an active mountain bike trail. Several of the rocks required 4 men to life and move. It was exhausting. After collecting 25-30 of these rocks you shovel out a 6'x4' pit to put them in. After spending hours carefully placing these constituent rocks in their proper place, you fill gaps with smaller and smaller rocks, eventually burying all but the largest rock completely in dirt. The end result looks like nothing more than a 6 inch drop in the trail that is fun to jump off of, a passing biker would give it perhaps a fleeting half-second of thought.

Still, the trail will survive that biker and thousands more because of the 'armoring' we provided. The movement of a few tons of rock over 7 hours by a crew of 10 was important if not noticeable.

We make extensive use of those trials and it gave me the warm fuzzies to give a little back. Also now I have this sense of part ownership of the Preston RR Trail. I don't know what effect it will have but it is there and feels as though it might prove profound one day. If you ever join us on Preston rest assured that we will stop so that I might show you the rock, where we got the rock, and why the rock is awesome.

Along with my warm fuzzies comes a sandwich, two oatmeal cookies, a muffin, a 16oz can of Coke and a really nice tech shirt from the fine folks are REI. This shirt is /really/ nice! It's one of those fancy "I-work-out-and-have-money-so-my-shirt-is-not-cotton" shirts. I've always wanted one. It says "Get Dirty" on the back and the front has some other stuff including the REI insignia. Also it is green and lets face it people, I pop in green.

Those warm fuzzies came at a high, sinister cost. I hurt all over. I pulled something in my knee, stretched my fingers to exhaustion, made sore my back, and in an event that is very hard to put into words I threw a tree at myself, bruising my right quad severely. These ingredient aches are mounted with a buerre of general muscle pain, simmered, and brought to an exquisite finish that kept me out of the gym today. At this point my body is merely a vehicle to punish me for poor decision making. It is a pain that only a day of hard labor can bring and it is wonderful.

It was also nice to finally get a toe into the 'Community'. I gotta tell you, MTBers are a solid set of folk. Not only did 60 folks come to give a Sunday to trail work, but with almost no exception every biker that passed while we were working thanked us for the work, some even volunteered to be guinea pigs.

I'll definitely be doing more of these.

I lack a film crew

2007-09-19T15:09:00.000-07:00

I lack a film crew. So I'll just jot down my idea for a fun little short:

**Black screen with the words "What actually happened".

**This video is shown

**Another black screen with the words "What the media would appreciate you believing"

**Begin our re-enactment

**Camera is on John Kerry finishing an answer

Kerry: And so while media depictions might have leaned otherwise, I have never actually said that Greedo shot first. *points to his left* Yes sir, go ahead

**Cut to Andrew Meyer at the mic. He is wearing a tweed jacket and opening a pair of reading glasses to place on his nose. He has a dog eared copy of some book. The audience is on the verge of a swoon at the sight of their hero.

Meyer: Thank you, Mr. Senator. I all appreciate your taking time to visit us. As we are a little short on time I'll be brief. I am holding a book that discusses in detail the many instances of likely fraud during the 2004 election. Fraud that, if properly fought, held possibilities to retake the election you rightfully won, in a popular sense. How do you respond to accusations of collusion between you and your opponent *Kerry clears his throat with a conspiratorial look at security, who acknowledge with a nod and move off camera, cut back to meyer*, accusations based on your possibly belonging to the same secret *Ding, the timer goes off* society?

**Just as the audience over eyer begins to applause the well thought-out and not in any way crazy question two wired darts hit meyer in his face. Wait a beat so meyer can look confused at first. Then his face is suddenly warped in a grimace of pain as the sounds of millions of volts hit the air. He screams and drops, falling off camera. Cut to a view as seen from Meyer's position, looking up at a huge security guard holding his tazer gun with both hands and laughing maniacally. The strobing light of the shocks splashing across his face a la Frankenstein. You can hear the almost inhuman howls of pain coming from Meyer.

**Eventually the tazer battery runs out or something and after a few erratic spurts of voltage, it is dead. After shaking the gun near his ear the guard is satisfied that it is dead. He gets a look of fear on his face as he looks at meyer writhing on the ground, maybe he takes a step or two back.

Meyer: Please stop, I'll go peacefully.

Security Guard (To his radio, in a fearful timber): I need back up!

**Back up arrives in the form of 10 more burly men. All security guards look to Kerry for instructions. Kerry tacitly instructs the guards with a sinister nod. The guards all pull out their billy clubs and march toward Meyer

Meyer: You don't need t.....

Some Guard: SHUT THE FUCK UP JEW FAG!

Some Other Guard: Yeah! Stand up and take your Justice!

**They beat him savagely for a bit then leave him and walk out slapping each other on the ass and commenting on how 'extreme' that was.

-------
It could use some work. I think it's funny.

Wow, thats close to 15%

2007-09-13T15:56:00.000-07:00

A while back I set myself a milestone. At 250lbs, I said to myself, I will finally break down and buy a road bike. It was easy to say when I weighed 290+ lbs because, like graduation or adulthood, it seemed like a milestone that would merely loom in a noncommittal way.

So today I weighed in at 254 after lunch. Whats more, today is a basketball day so with dehydration I will surely dip below 250 (Yeah, when you're my size these number are huge. 2 hours of basektball costs me 4+lbs in sweat and roughly 2,600 calories...jesus I don't even want to discuss the damage to my knees). Like a canary basketball day warns me of things to come. The 'official' weight won't be below 250 for a bit now but still I must study up on road bikes, all my experience coming from the MTB...milieu.

Realization 1: Road bikes are fucking expensive!

Realization 2: No they're not! Because I can get a used one. Since I enjoy working on bikes anything I would need to do to it would be a treat.

Realization 3: Actually, even used they are pretty damn pricey.

Realization 4: I don't think I particularly like road bikers. I went out with the others to do the burke-gilman trail and when I had to stop to pull a link out of my chain only 1 person in 15 minutes asked if I was ok or offered help. Mountain bikers are much more prone to fits of charity I guess. I reckon it has to do with the high likelihood that they will soon be fixing a broken bike as well.

Realization 5: I do like road biking. It fits my slow-burning metabolism and wandering mind.

So the goal for now is to do the Seattle to Portland ride next year. Hopefully in 2 years I'll be ready for the Texas 4000. Wee

Rigidity

2007-09-05T10:21:00.001-07:00

The toll Eco demands to see his denouement is high indeed. I've only read "Name of the Rose" and half of "Focaults Pendulum" so far but I believe I've unlocked his dirty tactic.

He begins by establishing some mystery, a murder, a disappearance, a carrot to lure you whichever way he desires. You're fascinated in fewer that 2 short chapters and so decide to see the book through.

Then you're made to sit through a volume of intellectual masturbation. If you were to persevere you would be rewarded not only by a good ending, but by a sense of victory. A victory that might seem Pyhrric when you consider the ruins of your psyche and whole belief system.

Now, like regular masturbation I have nothing against intellectual masturbation. However also like the former I do not enjoy it when the latter is performed by old Italian men for hours on end in my bedroom.

Sidebar: I like his accusations of the publishing industry.

SideSideBar: If "yes, but is it infinite enough?" or "I'm a mathematician, I can't be bothered with numbers" are funny to you, watch this.

They're not even /THAT/ cute

2007-08-29T13:09:00.000-07:00

Did you know that Eucalyptus leaves aren't very nutritious? I didn't know that until I recently watched this documentary on the endangered Panda. It would seem that the endangered Pandas eat only this languid leaf.

Before I was able to lament mankind's crime against the once rich world of Eucalyptus trees that sustained a vast populace of ever fatter Panda's the documentary mentioned that Eucalyptus is not going extinct.

No, in fact Eucalyptus is fine, unfortunately the Panda is only able/willing to eat the leaves from a certain strain of eucalyptus that only grows in certain elevation on certain hills in a certain part of the Orient.

So while these Pandas consume almost worthless leaves all day long to sustain the energy needed to sit and eat all day long they have very little time to breed. If you were constantly hungry and never moved you'd have a hard time getting laid too. They breed every few years or so and only have 1 cub.

When they finally do managed to get knocked up the offspring are born completely helpless and the mother, who only eats what amounts to fibrous dust, has trouble coming up with very nutritious milk and so a lot of the cubs die. The ones that don't need so much care that the mother is unable to eat enough.

Fuck the Panda! I guess I can get on board when the bald eagle or bison need our help but these dumb, lazy ass evolutionary mistakes aren't even trying to meet us halfway. The fact that you're 'cute' doesn't give justification for some poorly placed sense of entitlement. The world doesn't owe you shit and I think we need to stop giving. They need to go extinct already.

Fuck the Panda

‫‬‭‮‪‫‬‭‮҉Alfonso Lopez

2007-08-27T15:07:00.000-07:00

‬‭‮‪‫‬‭‮

‫‬‭‮‪‫‬‭‮҉If you type in this character for some reason what you subsequently type in will be put in right to left. Crazy Huh?

iPhone

2007-08-23T13:19:00.000-07:00

*sigh*

I look at it this way: With my technolust pushing me inexorably toward Apple I chose the cheaper of 2 evils. So really, if you would allow me, I saved 1800$ yesterday buy purchasing an iPhone rather than a Macbook. When seen from this angle, through this prism, am not I a model of self-restraint? The fact that I didn't buy any accessories for the phone serves as further evidence of my stoic resolve to save save save. So in reality, while the world will decry my weakness I am, in a subtle yet profound irony, a pillar of strength. A paragon of will. A pity of fate, hoist by my own misunderstood yet noble pitard.

It is neat though! I've heard back and forth about the keyboard, but it works beautifully. The proper method of using it requires a blind faith that the phone will understand magically what your mis-spelled peckings were intended to be. Generally it works!

To further rationalize what is probably a completely unnecessary purchase I will mention that I did not have a smart phone previously. As a result the web access stuff remains novel to me. the phones google maps interface is remarkably well put together. I also enjoy having the weather and stocks, two things I /constantly/ check on, in the palm of my hand.

Oh! and the new ipod interface is getting better. I do like the album cover jukebox thing. It isn't all that useful but still fun.

Alas, I am a tester by trade and I have found many a design decisions I question and even a few bugs. Still, I'm ok with this purchase.

http://seattle.craigslist.org/est/rfs/402026294.html

2007-08-21T14:09:00.000-07:00

400k for a 1 bedroom and it's not even in Seattle! Did this person not read a news article in the last 4 months? Sure it's not exactly a sub-prime area but this is so absurdly high that I wonder if maybe some incipient mania is slowly overcoming this idiot. I can get a good sized 2 bedroom for 300k /in the city/ and while that too is absurdly high it at the very least shows that the seller has a passing familiarity with the current market and, unlike this marble-gargler, reality.

Of course I should mention that this suburban postage stamp is "better than new". I don't know what that means. Perhaps when new the place /didn't/ imbue the owner with the ability to rub his dick on his wallet to produce cash and now that it is better than new it does. Or maybe before an upgrade the place didn't cure MS. Maybe, after some work put in by the current owner, the place is a powerful aphrodisiac to the very rare Peruvian water alpacas whose coat acts as a powerful, and valuable, insulator used by NASA and Toyota.

I swear, if I catch wind of this place selling at that price.....[End Rant]

I just decided to actually look up the prices in the area... He's right on the money. That's some bullshit, 'cause I gotta tell you, Bellevue is not. that. nice. Unless you like baja fresh, neiman marcus and self-entitled white folks. I guess a lot of folks do. I'll stick to the stinky-ass and, evidently, cheaper city.

It's good though, maybe that means demand on the west-side is going down and when I do get my condo it'll be for just under the amount of absolutely astronomical ream you in the ass with the last of your dignity expensive.

Satire

2007-08-20T16:31:00.000-07:00

Is any one else enjoying following the whole elemenstor saga thing?

http://elothtes.pbwiki.com/

It requires years of having your nose in a fantasy book and a deck of magic cards that hails from, at most, 5th grade to even remotely appreciate this...thing. It is not something to be proud of.

We've created the world's first recursive subculture. Like a fork bomb we will incessantly re-fracture until we are out of resources and then just blow the fuck up.

BioWail

2007-08-20T11:04:00.000-07:00

On a lark I played the BioShock demo at Jim's yesterday afternoon. I figured I could put off lunch a few minutes and give it a whirl.

I haven't been this excited about a games since I played the gears of war demo; the level of excitement more than the timespan being the intended impression. To be fair the games smacks of steam punk, if missing entirely any steam, and I like that weird dystopic, art deco thing. Still, it's getting the requisite rave reviews of any game I eventually play and so I feel comfortable investing the 50 bucks and my afternoon/evenings/weekends for the next two weeks. Wee.

On an entirely separate lark, perhaps a cousin of the previous lark, or a thinner, more graceful acquaintance, I decided I wanted to go dancing. Not the mere palpitating seizures of club dancing, but the more adroit, and enjoyable, prancings of ballroom dancing.

Fortunately we used to go to this place in capitol hill when were but young interns and so we knew a place.

Unfortunately the century ballroom website failed to mention that Sunday's are pedophile night. Usually the place is 21 and up but on the day we go it is apparently 'all high school girls all the time'.

The wind in our sails died and was replaced by a powerful sense of being creepy. Still we bounced back and found the reasonably aged women and danced with them instead. By the end I was just grabbing who was nearest me at the beginning of a song. I'm pretty sure some jailbait made it in during the frenzy.

This one lady I danced with, an older dame, was an incredible dancer. I'd never danced with someone so good, it was like driving a sports car. Slammin.

Fun stuff, everyone had a good time. *glee*

Wiffenpoofs

2007-08-09T13:47:00.000-07:00

Babs and I shared an elevator with this old man on the way to a walk. After a few seconds of silence this man turns to me and says, "I wish I had got a dog rather than a wife" then sort of clams up.

The scary part was the look he wore. His eyes pleaded with me to understand. It was as if a veteran grandfather was attempting to coax his grandson not to enlist: "Sure there's easy access to sex, but then you get sick and injured and when you finally get out you're too lame to enjoy life."

Anyway...damn.

I think she was german

2007-08-03T16:05:00.000-07:00

The last class I had last summer (over a year go, goodness) was economics. I don't know about everyone else, but the strangely attractive professor might as well have been giving this lecture to me:

If I Ever Pitch a Movie

2007-07-31T16:51:00.001-07:00

It will be this...verbatim.

http://askaninja.com/moviepitch

No Spoilers, in case you care.

2007-07-24T12:07:00.001-07:00

Ideally this will be the last thing I write about Harry Potter, the humiliation in posterity complete already. Even now, though, I know that should some grandchild get his greasy hands on this...journal of mine and choose to judge me I will defend myself aggressively and with no dearth of expletives involving twinkles in my daughter's eye, stains on my sons bed, and bumps on my ass. The child will cry.

At the bookstore, with 30 minutes until release but 2 hours until the much benighted 'purple section' of that 'line' made it to the cash register we waited, our purple wristbands some how entirely failing to gleam. Perhaps they knew that until all the 'pinks' and 'yellows' and even 'reds' had their fill they would be made to stand outside looking in at scenes of bourgois excess while raindrops almost manage to camouflage the tears. Perhaps a lone violin sobs a tragic tune.

Still the wait was over at some point and I, along with a handful of fellows in arms, had my copy of the only book I've waited 7 years for. Let me rephrase that so you might take the journey with me. I had, in my hand, the only /thing/ that I've ever waited 7 years for. In my entire life. At one point I actually stared longingly at it, fingers that refused to believe it was real grazing delicately over it's face.

To say I read it would be a gross misinterpretation of what happened. What I did was much more vulgar, even lustful, absolutely some form of sin. The pages of that book were victimized, robbed of some purity as my hungry eyes rent the story from them. They shuddered with each unwelcome turn.

It was Excellent. The story dragged me into every emotional realm it could. Many times I said aloud "I can't wait to see Rickman play this scene" or something similar. While my tastes are much darker than she was willing to take the book the ending was perfect in it's own way. I closed the back cover with a satisfaction that almost fills the hole excited expectation left. Bravo.

Now I return to reading 'real' books. Most ironically, I am in an 'Umberto Eco Phase'.

People Suck

2007-07-17T08:29:00.000-07:00

I love Harry Potter. The depth and consistency I am willing to discuss the books would bore you. With the release of the final tome so eminent you could imagine my excitement.

With great obsession comes great burden, though, because between now and Friday various places on the internet are going to have spoilers posted by some jackass that thinks it's funny. So I am embargoing all user-posted news sites. Particularly Digg, Reddit, and Fark.

My days have become very boring.

OH, also I am carrying around a can of spray paint. So if someone thinks it's cute to wear a t-shirt with a spoiler like during book 6 I'll be ready to peta their ass.

I hate people.

[sic]

2007-07-08T08:17:00.001-07:00

It is 8:16am right now and since waking up I have had a shot of rum. Budding alchoholism? Sure, but more than that I had a throat infection and completely lost my voice this morning. So at the suggestion of Micah I sipped a shot of hot rum (see: dylan) with a splash of butter. It sounds gross but it made my throat feel a thousand times better and I even got a little vocal range back.

So I highly suggest the hot shot of buttered rum.

Caveat: I did have a cup of tea before the rum.

I Just Forget Sometimes

2007-07-05T21:59:00.001-07:00

Shopping at Amazon has completely spoiled me to the exclusion of other shopping experiences. So much so that a major reason for my wanting a smart phone is so I can order items on amazon while I am in a retail store, holding those items.

Thats right.

Also, I can't stand waiting more than 2 days for shipping. There is this item, a pot and pan cleaner, that Amazon only offers from a merchant who has the audacity to charge 9$ for 5-7 day shipping! I decided to just not get it rather than wait.

Yay Amazon =-D.

I think that carrot thing is true

2007-07-05T15:42:00.000-07:00

I enjoy the interwebcom. Often I'll read various news sites and blogs. I also discuss various news points with friends, coworkers, people on the bus. There's something I need to get off my chest:

Correlation /DOES/ imply causation damnit! It might be a bit of semantic nit-picking but implication is a suggestion of arguable strength and moreover that suggestion is clearly being made by whatever correlation you have noticed. To say correlation implies causation is in no way attempting to establish some syllogistic necessity of the B from the A.

If you can accept that, and if you can't do not tell me because I will think much less of you, then it's very clear that correlation implies causation, if only weakly.

"Everyone who eats carrots dies." The implication here is very weak, but, even as an exercise in degenerate cases, exists.

The more salient correlations are salient precisely because of that implication and criticizing a citation merely on the grounds that it is correlation is a very foolish thing to do.

So foolish, in fact, that I just realized I don't believe anyone actually places any faith in that strategy. They employ it to cast away some damning evidence against their stance.

Anyway...people are dumb.

95%

2007-07-03T16:08:00.000-07:00

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19552808/

I'm worthy of citizenship! The only question I missed was the one asking about a specific immigration form, so I am counting my score as a 100%.

Bring it fuckers!

Gold Teef

2007-06-29T10:37:00.000-07:00

I went to the dentist. Dr. Linda Johnson DDS and her Hygienist Kathy were very good. Kenji, from work, suggested them to me and now we both get a free Sonicair toothbrush.

I hadn't been to the dentist since high school and so I was ready for the worst. I figured, a handful of cavities, a dead tooth or two, and receeding gums with rot so bad she would want to photograph them.

Turns out, my teeth are in great shape! I did have 1 'small' cavity and they wanted to do a 'thorough cleaning' that apparently will take 2 hours but thats really the sum total of it.

Later down the line she wants to take care of those baby teeth I still have, so maybe I'll do that.

Anyway, I am happy about my teeth.

Nope, not as cute as a teacup...

2007-06-27T10:06:00.000-07:00

I chipped a tooth yesterday! Stupid Australian Von Mad Posting Skills came up under my chin with his shoulder. Thats probably the hardest I've ever bitten down. Thanks to The Almighty for my tongue being tucked away and not between my teeth...

It didn't hurt but at all really. It just rattled my teeth the way a weak upper cut might, and of course took a piece off.

Anyway, now I need to go find a Dentist in the area. At least I have coverage, eh?

-Alfonso

Some History

2007-06-21T12:06:00.001-07:00

Julian De La Garza. He's one of my ancestors. He was killed by Comanches just before Mexican troops marched through his Nueces adjacent land on the way to Slaughter Fanin and his boys at Goliad. Back in 1836.

I just learned this today. While that land was technically Mexico back then it makes me feel a little more connected with good 'ol Texas.

This is what the Interweb is for

2007-06-19T15:16:00.001-07:00

Guy #1: I'd totally hit that.
Guy #2: Dude, I'd hit that so hard whoever could pull me out would become the King of England.

I Got a Dog

2007-06-11T16:07:00.000-07:00

And I named her Babs. I don't have any pictures to post; thats good because your computer doesn't have enough megarams and is laughably short on pixel-defs to put forth even a sputtering candle to Babs' brilliant sun of cuteness. Your monitor, along with any wires used to bring the information to your monitor would melt before your eyes.

Bab's is a Boston Terrier. I first considered a Boston Terrier when I chatted with a delightful older woman whose name escapes me and her Boston whose name also escapes me. This little meeting took place a couple of months into what I'll call my 'researching phase'. I am the most cautious impulse buyer you will ever meet. My process is this: 1) Decide I want something 2) Obsessively research the desired object for weeks and months until I fully convince myself I can't afford it and shouldn't get it 3) Wait 4 Days 4) Buy it.

The process, while failing to save me any money, works and throws funny results in life. A good example is the day I went to buy a futon and came home with a laptop.

I had finally settled on not getting a dog when someone just happened to post a new litter of Bostons for sale. I decided, just to fill my afternoon, to go down and take a look, fully expecting to walk away with no puppy. I never stood a chance.

I walked into the breeders place and we had some nice idle chat while walking to see the pups. Babs ran directly to me and starting chewing my sandle. The wellspring of affection buried deep down in me began to burble. But I am a man! I can fully experience my emotion while stoicly refusing to let it affect me.

I did really well until I met the mom. See, I wanted to meet the mother to get a feel for the pup's future personality. Y'know, like when you meet your girlfriend's mother. The owner threw a frisbee and Mazzy (the mom) ran out and caught it mid-air.

"I'll take two, wrap them up"

It gets better too. Mazzy rolls up on me and drops the frisbee at my feet and, taking two steps back, gave me a look as if to say "whatcha got, bitch?"

So I signed the papers and walked out with little brindle Babs, the first born pup.

In 1 day she learned to sit. Thats exciting because everyone wants a smart dog.

Oh, and she's already gotten me a girl's digits. More impressively the girl was /DRIVING BY/ as I walked Babs and stopped, threw it in reverse and came to chat. Turns out the girl is unattractive and seems a little crazy, but still the power of Babs is made evident in that she has /literally/ stopped traffic.

Anyway, come by and visit.

sidebar: the 'breeder' was a lovely lass named Sandy who decided to have her family pet have a litter. Mazzy's first and last litter. So no puppy farm for me.

Progress!

2007-06-04T23:45:00.000-07:00

We played our first game of the summer season today, against the black team. They are a pretty good team; the first time we played them they clobbered us. The second time, I missed this game, they held their own.

This time we held our own again. Still, we didn't win, but it was within 1 point the entire game until they rallied in the end and finished the game 28-32. I scored 6 =-D.

The important thing, to me, is that I played the whole game. Before I was exhausted and needed a break 10-12 minutes into the game but this time I walked off the court after a full 40 minutes and wasn't even fully winded!

So all that stupid daily working out has finally produced some neat results. Yay!

Motif

2007-05-31T16:38:00.000-07:00

It's almost comical how many people emailed me about the Harry Potter theme park. The problem I have is this: It won't be open until 2010 and by then I'll be 27 and 3 years removed from when the last book was released. I don't think my excitement will last that long, nay, in a few short months, with the story resolved, I will be done with Harry Potter. It's sad, but true.

Stop Saying Blood to Strangers

2007-05-30T20:42:00.000-07:00

As a youngster I was, much to my fathers chagrin, a pussy. I was afraid of roller coasters, blood, spiders and a slew of less common things. For instance I had a soul-chilling fear that the bathtub would overflow to such and extent that the house would fill up and we would all drown. The phobia was so paralyzing that I would shake with sobs of fear when my the my bath would rise to a depth beyond 2 inches. Why 2 inches? I don't know, but there it is. My parents were worried about me for a very long time. I would never try new things.

I know the exact day that it all changed. It was in the 2nd grade after my first schoolyard fist-fight. See I was, as I previously mentioned, a pussy and so a perfect target for the bullies of the area. I had come home a couple of times, perhaps in tears perhaps not, and told my mother about my problems. She was loving and caring and made me feel better. At some point Papi caught wind of the problem. He was also loving and caring but did not make me feel better. Instead he taught me to fight and told me that the next time they come to harass me to just swing hard and they would leave me alone forever.

He neglected to mention that they would savagely beat me first. Still, I did it, and after that day I was never harassed by bullies again (actually, i was, twice. Both times I won the fight, puberty hit me like a ton of bricks) and more importantly I realized I wasn't made of glass.

Thing is, most of those weird fears still exist somewhere in my psyche but a healthy male ego has deemed them unworthy pursuits. Much love to dear Father for that.

Still whenever I go for my bi-annual (thats 2 per year) blood donation I have to face two of those fears: Blood and Needles. Blood is easy by this point because many of my hobbies involve bleeding because of my incompetence. My mountain biking partners can attest. Nonetheless watching two pints of blood flow from your body is jarring.

"Needle" mightn't be grandiose enough a term. Because rather than take out a needle to draw blood the lab tech unsheaths and wields a noble blade she has lovingly named "Dawn's Sorrow" or some such nonsense. Cheerfully she gores me with her cavernous harpoon and leaves me to bleed until she believes I have bled enough to repay whatever debt she construes I owe her. It's all very Merchant of Venice.

In the end, though, I feel great. I like being light-headed and I love cookies and apple juice. Also, even though by this age they are very small battles with very old phobias I enjoy winning them. Also, who knows, maybe I saved a life by now.

Sidebar: The Puget Sound Blood Bank does not give T-shirts to donors, and their cookies are sub-par. I miss MD Anderson. Great Cookies. And one time I got a peanut butter cracker pack. Which was great even though I didn't get to enjoy it fully.

10 points to whoever can guess the quote in the title.

Yes, you are too

2007-05-29T23:03:00.000-07:00

I'm suiting up to get back into the game. After a catastrophe that left my life in the worst shambles I've experienced so far (much thanks to the family for picking me up, dusting me off and chocking me on my chin) "suiting up" involves hardening my heart, dying inside and wallowing in a misogynistic pool whose calm surface belies a turbid downward current.

I got that part done. I hate women so much by this point that I'm almost guaranteed they'll fall for me left and right, remember, women are stupid and self-destructive. I still love my mom though, and my sister.

The other part of suiting up involves getting into some facsimile of 'shape'. Because even their stupidity and self-destructiveness can't overcome their shallowness. Thats not really a commentary on women, everyone is shallow, even the fugly.

Also, now that I shave my head I have an even more vested interest in being thin.

So I endeavor to drop a lot of weight. It's actually really easy because as it turns out my life is plenty active and to maintain my ideal weight I should be eating over 3000 calories a day, 2000 of which merely keeps me alive and warm. So really all I had to do was start the calorie counting (which is math, and thats fun). I already play a lot of basketball and bike fairly often, but just for kicks I threw in a daily lunchtime run.

Two weeks and a bit of willpower later I dropped 10lbs. I always read that 1-2 lbs a week was how much you could healthfully lose and so I decided I must have been doing something wrong. I went to talk to one of those trainers at my gym and ask him about it. He said that, and George said this too, healthy weight loss is really defined as a percentage of your size and that maybe that was a little fast but I should be ok.

So I'm sticking to my plan. I'm feeling pretty good right now because i have an old pair of pants back in rotation. The crux of my 'plan' is this bathroom scale I got. It gives my weight to the nearest tenth of a pound. That way I can always see what progress (generally after bball) or regress (Sasqatch music festival...fried /everything/) I am making on a daily basis, even if it's minute. So at any point you can ask me how much I weigh and I'll be able to tell you to a tenth of a pound. I usually check when I wake up and before I go to bed and whenever I stub my toe on the damn thing.

Sidebar: Diet Coke is a miracle of modern science. I refuse to drink it because it must be a carcinogen or radioactive or laced with mind control drugs, but still, making a calorieless beverage is amazing. Really it's an abomination upon the Lord our God. Whatever made scientist figured this one out is surely going to hell. When I discovered that it had exactly 0 calories I almost shit a brick.

For The Record

2007-05-23T13:38:00.000-07:00

I'm liking this Ron Paul. EOM

It means mustache in German

2007-05-22T16:08:00.001-07:00

I made the mistake of going to a bona fide pet store. Up to that point I had visited humane societies and city adoption centers. In those places you'll find many a good dog, and I did though none of had that je ne sais qua I hold so paramount. Those dogs range from angsty tween to salty curmudgeon in age so they are still precious but lack that newborn puppy spark. I managed to maintain self control.

Then I go to this retail pet store where the pups are young. Generally around 2-3 months old. Pups who could bring a nation to ruins with the sheer magnitude of their cuteness. I don't mean a nation would ruin itself in some internecine race to 'acquire' their cuteness. I mean that if their cuteness were released in full the nation would merely be razed and it's citizens wiped out by some unseen cuteness force.

I played with a schauzer puppy.

I wanted to take him home so I ask the lady how much. She tells me "830$". At first I just stared at her waiting for the absurdity of her 'little joke' to crack through in the form of laughter and "just kidding"'s. When that proved fruitless I looked to her cronies behind her, figuring that perhaps one of them might prove less able to master the internal giddy that surely rocked their cores when they heard their friends jest. I got squat. They were serious, and whats worse, they were completely unapologetic. Apparently they often ask for close to a grand for a puppy and thought nothing of it. To wit, I think I saw a flash of condescension when she realized I was shocked, SHOCKED at her outlandish asking price.

It was like watching the Sopranos, when Tony 'offs' someone. I walked away wondering where their moral compass was set, how they slept at night, who they thought they were.

Anyway, I called back today and the schauzer is down to 780. I'll keep checking. If he makes it to a reasonable price I'll snag him up, though I doubt he will.

Trends

2007-05-15T21:16:00.000-07:00

Google saves all your queries. We've always known that, but now you can sift through your history dating back as far as your google account. They do interesting little stats for you:

Top queries For All Time

1.	521 S Weller St, Seattle, WA 98104
2.	stl
3.	harmonica basic
4.	1ZX580110309902134
5.	tobacco
6.	weather 98104
7.	subversion
8.	seattle bus
9.
10.	pirates bay

9 was omitted because of it's personal nature. It's not porn, just so you know.

All the Seattle related queries are there because in the few months immediately before I moved up here I really couldn't think of anything that didn't involve no longer being in school. So when it was stupid hot in Austin I checked Seattle weather or I would longingly look at my current apartment on google maps etc etc.

STL makes a lot of sense. Whenever I need to look something up in the STL I search for it. It happens a lot.

Harmonica basic is funny. When I was teaching myself harmonica I found a nice tablature site that popped up when I searched for Harmonica basic. Who needs bookmarks?

I have no idea what package that is. It arrived in Austin on May 03 2006 and was signed for by Dylan. Best guess I can come up with is a textbook for that oh so epic summer session.

Also, for some reason I search more during january and february. Fun stuff, give it a go.

Amazing!

2007-05-11T13:30:00.000-07:00

The caliber of the Starbucks marketing think tank boggles the mind!

If you don't care to rtfa I'll sum up: Starbucks put quotes on their cups that they gathered from various sources like news media or typical customers. A couple quotes were slipped in that are clearly meant to enrage Christians. Nothing too blasphemous, just humorous quips or different takes on things.

The Christian right obligingly becomes outraged and some mid-westerners are calling for a boycott.

Here is the brilliant part. First and foremost the 'boycott' will put no dent into Starbucks' bottom line. Any self-respecting right-wing will not go to one of your tree-hugging, patchouli-wearing, poetry-reading, hookah-smelling local cafe. No, they will go to some other corporate entity, the largest of which will be Tully's and Seattle's best. Both owned by Starbucks.

More importantly, suddenly the popular escape from Starbuck's evil corporateness will put you in rank with right-wing Christians. Suddenly Starbucks is right in the trenches in the war on Republicans and rich people. They, who so recently were evil and rich themselves, are making a stand against the Christian Right! They, are now good.

It won't push anyone into a Starbucks explicitly, but the change in image they just bought is invaluable!

FUCKING BRILLIANT!

And I'm ok with it, because they were a good company long before this little trick of theirs. If only I drank coffee.

I learned the word "Maw" from News Radio =-D

2007-05-10T14:10:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a meeting. It was a quick meeting. A meeting to discuss a recent re-org, or really an initial-org, of our wiki pages. There was a powerpoint presentation, as often there will be.

Before this meeting I went to lunch alone. Not because I am a loser with out friends but because sometimes I really dislike people and would rather knock off a few chapters in lieu of their company. The book du jour was "Freeware" by Rudy Rucker. The last in a series I suggest you try. (if you're addled enough to enjoy cyber-punk)

Whoever prepared my sandwich felt it was unnecessary to remove the wax lining from my deli meat. I probably downed two-thirds of the sandwich before I realized something was different. I didn't ask for my money back or even complain, I did what any red-blooded man would do, I pulled at the wax like a errant sweater thread, threw it on the plate and moved on with my life. Still, I felt more nauseated than usual when I walked into the conference room and I figure that has something to do with it.

The conference room had that unmistakable clinical smell that comes so close to ruining so many dalliances. It smelled like a condom. More subtle was that general smell of sex, so hot when you're horny and sooooo disgusting when you are not.

I didn't have time to point this out to my colleagues before one of them walked in with some very pungent indian food. Throughout the meeting she, next to me, quietly ate her lunch. Still, I was full and nauseated twice over so her polite mastication sounded, to me, like a cow with nasal congestion chewing her cud slowly and loudly.

So bad wax in my belly and knowledge of recent rendezvous on the very desk I was staring at to drown out the grinning, smacking maw next to me, I started to feel really sick.

No climax. I didn't vomit or anything, but I still feel awful and felt I should somehow record all that.

Poochie

2007-05-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

Part of me really wants to get a dog. And what with having kept my plant alive for over 3 weeks that part is feeling more bold. There exists another part of me, what can only imagine is a new part, that is playing the role of the chiding parent: "Dogs are a /lot/ of responsibility. And you are not responsible, clean your damn room and get me a beer." I'm not sure whose parent it is, but there he/she is.

There is a wholly other part of me that reels from the thought of such a commitment. I can barely sign a year long lease with an apartment with out breaking in flop-sweat, who knows what will happen when I consider having the same dog for 7 years or so. Whatever it is, it won't be pretty.

But, the part that wants the dog ripostes, you have money and will never again have so much free time to care for a dog, and you need some exercise donut boy. And it's true. Also, I have no one to go biking with. A dog can't bike (yet) but can run along side.

Also, there is my penchant for naming things, luke my banjo, sh'naynay my bike, joyce my car, Lord Thomas Pheferton III my roomba, and, of course, big confucious and far and away. I could probably have fun naming a dog.

And hell, maybe taking the plunge will help me with the fear of commitment thing and i can finally sign that 2 year cell phone contract.

Anyway, I'm working from home today so I figure I'll go checkout the animal shelter, maybe some dog will strike my fancy.

WikipediaFS

2007-05-08T11:00:00.000-07:00

If you're anything like me, you aren't even reading this anymore. ^_^

The 90 Is Absolute Piss.

2007-04-27T11:20:00.000-07:00

I had a dream last night that for whatever reason I remember more vividly than most. So I am going to take a stab at recording it before I leave for lunch to cap off a horrendously unproductive morning.

The things I remember are as follows: It began in the home of one of my Tias. I can be more specific, it started at the home of one of my redheaded Tias, so Linda or Teresa. I think we were playing a video game or something when my dad said he was going to meet some old friends (so I reckon we were in Rio Grande). I tagged along, but before we left 2 things happened.

1 we looked at this thing on her wall that had little fake fish in this thin clock-like thing filled with water. There were 2 colors of fish and each fish was connected to the others of it's color by a transparent net of strings the apex of which you could manipulate by squishing the clock thing and all the fish would come to your hand. It was kind of neat.

Secondly, I found a bathroom scale in the kitchen. Oh, and the kitchen had nice island. Anyway, I wanted to check how much I weighed but it was to complex so I opted to use the simpler scale next to it. I weighed 253 pounds.

So we leave and stop by a liquor store. Papi wants to get something nice and asks my advice. I, of course, suggest the 1987 Kopke. I described it and he thought it sounded nice so we went in and they had a bottle, but it was 80 clams and Papi went with some regular wine instead. We had a sample of some wine while there and before I got into the car again I realized I still had the glass. So I was gonna return it but then I dropped it on the pavement and it broke, so we left.

Thats it.

The weird thing about it is the numbers I remember. 253, 80, 1987. Thats weird right? Though 1987 would be easy for me to remember since it's by far my favorite Port.

110%

2007-04-25T14:46:00.000-07:00

Amazon released their quarterly earnings yesterday and it turns out that this quarter we doubled our earnings. The stock today rocketed up 26%.

Now, sure it is true that I started at amazon at the beginning of this quarter. But I assure you that everyone played a good game and teamwork was paramount.

=-D!

A Case for Harry Potter

2007-04-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

I'm more well read than you. With some confidence I can say that I've made it further and more skillfully through the canon of our cultures than you might hope to claim. I'm no student of the art but I am comfortably established in the upper echelon of the lay and with few exceptions can hold my own in basic literary conversation.

That being said I feel the need to tell any gainsayers that Harry Potter is not "A children's book". In fact the plot is more subtle and complex and dark than most things I have read. Rowling has worked on this immense cast of characters for 15 years and it shows in their development. Themes of betrayal, war, familial hatred, loss, murder, loyalty, racism, sacrifice and emotional abuse cannot be cast off as child's play merely because they are mixed with the themes associated with coming of age.

Well, clearly they can since they are, if only by the unfortunate ignorant.

I'll grant that at least now it seems like a classic Hero device. Harry will win and we will all be happy, but that device has been proven for thousands of years and is absolutely not without value. Though the series is not without it's tragic deaths and many more are to come if the author is to be believed. My point is that the books is only "formula" in a very broad way.

I only mention all this because if you are ignoring this important series because of those kind of prejudices, because you are in your "Umberto Eco" phase, you are depriving yourself of an extraordinarily compelling story. You don't have to be stoically detached all the time to be and adult.

So...who wants to go to Edinburg with me?

Latusia

2007-04-23T22:28:00.000-07:00

Here a second ago I was laying n my floor for reasons I won't go into. My eyes found my bookshelf and I discovered that my copy of Microsoft Office is in between a copy f the Holy Bible and a Copy of Diablo from Blizzard.

I'll bet there is something profound here.

Random

2007-04-20T16:02:00.000-07:00

The 1992 US Men's Basketball Team. The original (and only in my eyes) Dream Team.

Christian Laettner
David Robinson
Patrick Ewing
Larry Bird
Scottie Pippen
Michael Jordan
Clyde Drexler
Karl Malone
John Stockton
Chris Mullin
Charles Barkley
Earvin Johnson

It's almost emotional to read that roster.

It's on May 5th.

2007-04-16T10:39:00.000-07:00

I'm having a small get together for Cinco De Mayo. In my efforts to inform people I like about it I have stumbled across an extraordinary piece of information. Evidently, not everyone in Seattle speaks Spanish. Whats more, the majority of people in Seattle don't even speak enough to figure when Cinco De Mayo takes place. So exactly each time I've invited someone I've been asked "When is it?"

The first few fell victim to my reproachful wrath, but eventually I just lost the will to condescend. In Texas it didn't matter that everyone was either Asian, Indian, or White because it was Texas and so reasonable to expect you to know "Cinco" and "Mayo". Now I am lost in a sea of people who find themselves perfectly comfortable in their inability to speak Spanish.

To be fair, Australia is pretty well removed from Spanish speaking cultures (though I believe Spanish exists in the Phillipines).

You Down With G.O.D.

2007-04-13T12:53:00.000-07:00

Generally when things are labeled as "Playing God" it is taken as an argument against that thing. Stem Cell research or Designer Babies come to mind. You'll find alot of "Playing God" arguments in discussions involving creating life through unorthodox means.

I'll forgo discussion whether it's our place to "play God" because I realized today that we are so far beyond that line that it's not a relevant conversation anymore. More specifically I realized that all the things we do to prevent death are "playing God". How on earth would some woman's bone marrow being used to make a sperm be more abhorrent in God's eyes than a man who didn't die when God intended because of a pacemaker? Really Death is God's power while giving life is well within man's jurisdiction.

Even more salient is the fact that God told Adam to go forth and multiply. So really these strange procreation methods are quite inline with Christian doctrine.

It's an interesting thought.

Soporific

2007-04-06T13:10:00.000-07:00

http://www.apple.com/trailers/weinstein/misspotter/

I just now realized there is no one who will understand my allusion...

If you do...tell me.... =-D

Oh, and John Cusack Too.

2007-04-03T14:32:00.000-07:00

Arguably it's merely a contrivance, an artifact, an outcome if you like, of my ongoing effort to learn to and subsequently play the banjo, but I have a bit of a taste for the bluegrass now. I could argue back, then, and put forth that I wouldn't have picked up the banjo if I had not some latent bluegrass-ness already in the wings waiting for it's discovery. You would then retort with a statement of your complete lack of interest in bluegrass and anyone who wishes to discuss bluegrass, even people who were so recently interesting to you.

Yes, in my attempts to find folks to attend bluegrass concerts and jam nights I have been meet with regular disappointment. Notably excepted is Blake, who expressed interest in the latter; unfortunately the jam night I found in Fremont occurs on Mondays, when both Blake and I have a league b-ball game. For the most part, however, when I ask how someone feels about bluegrass I am generally answered with a very cautious "why?" and a sense that the question was only a stall so the asker could determine the most diplomatic way to call me a hayseed with bad taste.

Fear not! For I discovered a coincidence the likes of which boggle the mind. See, I was at this concert where a friend of a friend's Latin Jazz band was playing. After they were done we were discussing music and whatnot (I generally relish a chance to inform someone I played in a jazz band). I asked him, as a man in the music scene in Seattle, if there even existed a bluegrass community in the area. His response was emphatic! He said there was not only a thriving bluegrass scene, but a revival occurring. I was excited but wary. That seemed odd to me.

But then I woke up last week to a NPR piece about a most recent Bluegrass revival in Western Washington State (which I take to mean Seattle). Since, much like the internet and the papacy, anything NPR says is absolutely true you ccould imagine my excitement.

All I need to do is gain enough confidence to play with others. A mass whose criticality is steadily being approached.

p.s. I am listening to a blugrass version of Tenacious D right now.

p.p.s I still hate modest mouse. Where is your god now?

Heartbroken

2007-04-03T10:20:00.000-07:00

It was a hard fought victory, to be sure, and I would never fault them their moment. But damn it we fought hard as well and were ahead the entire game save for the last half second.

We gained a good 10 point lead in the first half by playing aggressively and taking most rebounds and stopping them on offense. At one point they almost caught up but we regained our commanding lead.

Somewhere in the last quarter these Overlake Christians slaughtered a pig or prayed to some Norse God or accepted Jesus and were connected to some large vein of luck and energy and managed to score within 1 point. They had the ball on the sideline with 2 seconds or so and managed to sink on before the clock ran out.

That's heartbreak. It's a very unique pain when you fight so hard and lose. =-(

I think I need a hug....

Though on the other hand, it was probably one of the best games we've played so far. When teams are fairly evenly matched, thats when things are fun. =-)

glee

2007-03-28T09:26:00.000-07:00

Well, it looks like my prediction didn't materialize. Harry is not in a smoky battleground littered with the bodies of wizard both good and evil. He is also not covered in grisly battle scars or wielding two wands. Hermione is not floating behind him like Storm.

He is, however, in some sort of arena with Voldemort. If I were to allow myself some assumptions I would reckon that he and Voldemort are doing battle. The seats of the arena are filled. I figure they are death eaters in those seats since anyone else would be helping. Though it wouldn't be difficult to imagine a scenario where regular wizards also look on with out offering aid.

The interesting thing is that both Voldemort and Harry are reaching out for something to the right. What is it? Neither one has a wand in their hands....

I'm excited http://www.the-leaky-cauldron.org/gallery/dhus

Edit: Two more things. Harry has something around his neck. I can't remember if it could be anything from the previous books (I guess I have to read them now). Also, their are curtains! Could these be the curtain in the ministry of mysteries? Are those, then, not the death eaters? Could one of them even be....?

HOLE-EEEEE-SHIT I'm getting that bug....WHY AM I AT WORK? I need to be sitting at a table with people who are discussing this.

EDIT2: It actually looks like harry is reaching for something and Voldemort is pushing it away. OK, ok, I swear I'm going to do some work now.

When Gmail Stops Working

2007-03-27T14:21:00.001-07:00

I die a little inside.

Hush Puppies

2007-03-26T14:54:00.000-07:00

A coworker and I had this conversation with the dude selling us scones:

Us: "Do you know what a hush puppie is?"
Him: "A shoe?"
Us: "Well...technically, but no, it's a food"
Him: "Oh, like a slurpee?"
Us: "Well, ok yeah, but no, this is a little fried ball thingy"
Him: "..."

Anyway, we learned that the term "Hush Puppie" might be a southern thing.

I might even try Monopoly again

2007-03-26T12:27:00.000-07:00

If you were to combine a handful of computer scientists, a copy of the board game clue, and an evening of free time what do you imagine would be the result? I've seen the result, and brother, it isn't pretty.

When I was a kid I remember my sister really loved to play clue and generally I was involved. We found it enjoyable but not particularly intricate. A CS Degree and an ego built entirely on my intellect later Clue is by far the most interwoven game of deduction ever conceived.

You can't picture it until you've seen it with your own eyes. By the second turn, thats two turns, as a card is slid across the table intense eyes hidden behind furrowed brows stare unblinkingly at tiny pieces of paper upon which you'll find notes so meticulously fashioned you'd think we were proving p=np. As the game wears on the scratching of pencil on paper becomes increasingly mad. Near the end we speak a language only we know, a language completely without sound.

At one point my poor neighbor came down to see whats up. As she looked on Jim said something to the effect of "I suggest it was Mrs. Peacock in the Lounge with the Candlestick". See but I knew, from my notes, that Jim /must/ have the Candlestick card. He was lying, without remorse, to us all and it disgusted me. A common enough thing to do, but in the fury of the moment I shouted "BULLSHIT". Imagine what my neighbor saw: "I suggest it was Mrs. Peacock in the Lounge with the Candlestick"
....
"BULLSHIT"!

What do you mean? She asked. He didn't even say anything that could be bullshit. But I knew.

Even now the design for a clue note taking tool brews in the back of my mind.

I Actually Like Corn

2007-03-23T13:36:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago Tan showed me this interesting article on how many publications with delusions of legitimacy are merely shills for the highest bidder, that in fact many articles are not written by columnists but rather given to columnists by pr firms. So if you were to, say, stumble across an article discussing the nations incipient movement back to being "well dressed" you would have probably just read something written by or for 'The Men's Wearhouse". It was written by one who claimed to be part of that world.

The article mentioned some known offenders and some known publications you could trust, mentioning the New York Times specifically.

Pushing through irony so thick it could close and airport, I took the lesson to heart. It fit well with my recently adapted cynicism and I've taken pleasure during the time since in trying to figure which article is trying to sell me something.

Today though I was reading this article and missed it. The article was actually interesting and I didn't realize my mistake until I found out, on Amazon.com, that the book mentioned wasn't even out yet.

I feel to be sporting I should buy the book anyway, I was simply outclassed. Shameless as the advertising was, I was taken in.

So yeah...I'm stupid.

Heroine

2007-03-20T16:01:00.000-07:00

I'm pushing old school. In short order you'll find me commenting on what I was doing while you were a twinkle in your mother's eye, etc. In slightly longer order I'll become crochety and comment on what I was doing while you sucked on your momma's titty.

Sure I am only 24, but thus is the life of a tech.

Still, I will always, even in the face of "I was there when" elitism, loath creating MySQL accounts without phpmyadmin.

EOM

"Clipless" Are The Ones You Clip Into. "Clips" are the ones with no clips....

2007-03-16T10:41:00.000-07:00

While I am not so bold as, say, Dylan who regularly plays with the border of human sanity, I do "ride hard" and "take it to the edge" on occasion. I am also not a slight man and so I have damaged by bike in many ways. I've broken spokes and chains, had to replace a derailleur and a brand new set of shocks; I've bent a lot of things that were meant to remain straight.

All of these things have happened while on the trail. Damage is to be expected and prepared for.

When I ride on the road, smooth and easy, I don't expect any such damage. Imagine my consternation, then, when my left pedal fell off mid-ride last night when I joined Blake and Crystal on their training. Not just the pedal, but the pedal and arm fell off. Right off.

Upon closer inspection I found that the bolt meant to keep that arm on the axle had somehow come loose then fell off. A mile or two later the arm itself fell off. I didn't find the bolt and so now get to do that thing I love to do so much: Spend money and time on my bike.

For almost 3 years now I have been considering the purchase of some fancy clipless pedals. As I rode and tried, for the zillionth time, to find some justification for spending that money my current pedal was good enough to fall right off.

Clipless!

Sidebar: I learned a lesson yesterday that I have learned many times before: My Texas biking garb is /not/ suitable for the canonical pacific northwest weather.

Saad

2007-03-15T13:34:00.000-07:00

I took a very long lunch today. 2 hours, all told. It was that long because I was eating with a group of new grads and we wound up at this place that took for damn ever (good food though). This post isn't about that lunch though. It's about Saad, the driver of the shuttle from TCC to US1/2.

Generally when I take that shuttle I chat a little with Saad. Usually small talk. Today, for whatever reason, I decided to dig a little deeper and engaged him in a nice long talk. I want to record what I know about him because I was struck by his story.

First and foremost I found out today that Saad has no benefits as a driver for Standard Parking. Thats ok though because he recently put in his two weeks and will be opening a body shop in Des Moines, Washington. Amongst his first customers you'll find me and my Honda with it's missing undercarriage and various dents.

The more interesting tale is Saad's past. Which is almost cliche in it's tragedy, excuse me if I fore go the pun that is thundering in my mind as I type.

You see, Saad is Iraqi. He came to this country in 1991, and if you've been blessed with more acuity that I was you'll find the timing interesting. It seems Saad fought with Bush 42's forces against Saddam and made it all the way to Baghdad's borders when Bush pulled back out to Kuwait. There aren't words do describe the saturated frustration in his voice when we described this. "We were right there". Saad got a chunk of RPG shrapnel in his skull thrown in for good measure. So the American troops patched him up in Kuwait and he began his life as a refugee in the States. In the ensuing years his wife divorced and remarried (see, they are Shia, from about 30 minutes south of Baghdad). His Daughter got married and his Son Engaged.

It's not all bad though. I guess in Shia Islam the women doesn't automatically get the kids, it would seem the opposite is true. So his kids are with his mother and father and it looks like they talk often. Also, Saad's been sending money back since way before Saddam fell. This is huge, because the 6 houses he bought at an average price of 2000$ have since SKYROCKETED and this shuttle driver is worth roughly 1.2 million dollars. He would never sell the houses though, apparently a couple of them are on the river, and all are inhabited by family.

After a while I couldn't help ask about his feelings toward the current events out there. He said that the war was a good idea (at least for the Iraqis) and that the current problems are mostly seeping through the atrociously open borders.

Oh, and since whatshisbucket fell Saad's been home twice =-D. I asked if he'd ever go back for good and he said he will soon, when we can finally make a good enough living there to support his family.

I like Saad. I hope he doesn't rip me off for my body work.

In Honor of Pi Day

2007-03-14T16:33:00.000-07:00

If you don't know, they won't tell you. I, however, reject the insularity of geekdom and invite you in with welcome arms. It is akin, somewhat, to April 20th, but with a mathematical bent.

My birthday (02011983) appears 24,192,532 digits into pi. Where does yours?

Dirty

2007-03-14T10:38:00.000-07:00

Speedbird 206: "Frankfurt, Speedbird 206 clear of active runway."
Ground: "Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One-Seven." The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.
Ground: "Speedbird, do you not know where you are going?"
Speedbird 206: "Stand by, Ground, I'm looking up our gate location now."
Ground (with quite arrogant impatience): "Speedbird 206, have you not been to Frankfurt before?"
Speedbird 206 (coolly): "Yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark,... and I didn't land."