Saturday, January 19, 2002
|2:20 PM| Goodness, I forgot to talk about Friday. My first, real boss at that job has left for Kentucky. We dumped out half a toner bottle onto the ground for him. This now leaves my "boss" Videodrome in charge, so he has been upgraded to Boss. What ever happened to using the word boss as a description of something cool, or rad? I am now officially the dispatcher, to the point that I can say "I'm the dispatcher dammit" if someone doesn't want to go do a job.
That's all the news.
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|2:10 PM| I think I'm starting to avoid sleep because of my dreams. I slept for a godawful long time last night, and had a dream that distressed me. Now I'm just wandering around my apartment trying to figure out what useful task to accomplish before I have to go to a play with my family for a couple hours this evening, then translocate and be in two places at once for a party and a poker game. On one hand, the poker game offers the opportunity of taking a great deal of money away from people new at the game, while the party offers excitment, music, and attractive women. Such a dilemma.
I need some breakfast.
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Friday, January 18, 2002
|12:33 PM| So, I've been reading the How Stuff Works website at work today, and they provided me this link to the springwalker home page, the most important part of which is this 2 meg movie. I've seen this thing in the past, and I always wondered how it felt to operate one of them. I've heard the newer versions will increase jumping ability as well, but I'll believe that when I see that poor bastard jump over a house, and LAND. Sure, I could enhance someone's jumping ability with a catapult or a rocket engine, but the landing is what's important.
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|12:32 AM| |Given the Gift of Shoes|
Do you know what they say about guys with big feet? That they wear big shoes. And brother, do I ever have big honkin' shoes. My sister, in an attempt to make me dress less like a dork, has managed to finagle me some of the best pairs of pants I've ever had, a giant stack of shirts, and some socks. And the single biggest pair of Frankensteinian Clodhoppers I have ever seen. Size 14, possibly 14 and a half, and each shoe weighs a metric ton. When I was trying to test the fit, I had to strain to walk around. I clomped from one area to the next, and the moment these babies hit concrete they started squeaking like they were giving birth. I love these shoes. My legs hurt. They grow stronger, thanks to these shoes. I drive 10 miles faster now, and I can't move these monsters back to the brake pedal quite yet.
All in all, the birthday celebration was a success, I didn't pay for anything despite my best efforts, and I hung around with people who seemed to enjoy my company. I should probably go to bed, but I'm still a bit pumped. I'd like to end the night by dancing. If you can, imagine me doing a one man dance musical, with a pair of boats strapped to my feet. Thank you and goodnight.
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Thursday, January 17, 2002
|5:35 PM| I wish I could give you a link, dear reader, to Zusty as today she has used the term "Gaping maw" with no prompting from me. How wonderful.
The 22nd birthday is clearly the most lame. I may need to go inject heroin into my eyeball.
I'm still searching for Love, but I'm not having much luck. I did find this image which caught my eye, mostly because that woman's head is at an odd angle. It's from a palm reading site. All I know about my palm is that the few times I've had it read, the palm reader has always exclaimed "Oh My! Your life line is SO SHORT!". They quickly realize what they have just implied and revise their statements. I don't buy into palm reading, I just find it interesting that my "life line" is short enough that it's the first thing those folks noticed. If I drop before I'm 30, then it would almost be a vote in favor of fortune telling.
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|2:10 AM| Made cookies. Impressed new set of people with cookie making skill. Became officially older. That about does it. I hope everyone is enjoying themselves.
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Wednesday, January 16, 2002
|6:31 PM| If someone told me when I was 15 that someday I would 22, I would not believe him. "22? That'd be, oh gosh, 2002!"
In fact, I'm very suprised at hearing about recent NASA probe missions, since back when they were launched or when I was told about them, 2002 seemed like an impossibly far way off, like the buoys at the beach denoting the end of the safe swimming area. You just could never touch the buoys, nor could I imagine getting into the 'oughts.
Technically, I'm not 22 yet, and since the day isn't over, it's possible I could be vaporized by an asteroid or something. Well, it's not like I can plan for something like that. I'll just carry on as per normal. I still want to call someone "Snookums" and I can't figure out why. I assume it's some sort of alien infestation in my brain.
Man, I've been typing toooo much stuff recently.
Oh, and I'm happy to report that it looks like I'm going to be hired by Lexmark. However, it also appears that it won't happen for 2 months. At this juncture, I'm pretty much screwed. So, if my father can't point me towards a health insurance provider that he doesn't think is crap, then I may just ditch insurance and risk it. Yeah, that's dangerous, but so is going absolutely broke.
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|11:34 AM| Great. Just Great. Someone has been stealing armor piercing rounds from the main armory station on deck 3. I have to go change the door code. Like I have nothing better to do. I'll change it to 31337, that should be hard to guess. Oh, reminder, get Higgins to ditch that pet singing worm of his. That thing is creepy.
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|10:52 AM| Ah, Christ. my "boss" is helpless. And timid as hell. In order to signal her need for help on a computer she simply stopped typing and turned her laptop to face my co-worker. He was busy, and I'm sure he realized what she was up to, but was deliberately avoiding asking "Do you need help?" and was about to leave when boss-lady finally pipes up with a quiet "[Vid's name]...I need your help...". The woman actually speaks with ellipses. She should just start saying dot dot dot to fill up her conversational voids.
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|10:20 AM| Thanks to the sort of changes at my job, there is a new person to whom this project reports. I met her for the first time, having only been told "she's a geek". This is not correct, so far as I can tell. She's more of a nerd in full-on social retreat. Whether or not she has computer skills is not something I could determine, as she said 3 words the whole time she was in the office, and I'm pretty sure one of those "words" was a grunt of assent towards some question. She is apparently covered in some kind of perfume, and the thick, cloying stench filled this room the moment she arrived. It has a sickly, dairyish paste stink, as if a glue company put out a "hot and spicey" variety. The nature of this fragrance makes me believe that even in small amounts it would fail to be "alluring". As it settles and thickens in this room of stagnant air, the smell continues a journey towards smelling exactly like elmer's glue.
Now that she has left, the perfumed air level is no longer being replenished, so I am left with merely the dull stink of the decaying fragrance components. I am moderately worried about a boss with no social interaction skills, and a definite lack of appreciation for the human sense of smell.
On the subject of the new imac: They are trying to make it look cool, but still friendly. Vid and I have come up with some very good improvements for the machine. The Imac doesn't hug yet, and Vid believes the addition of a pair of heated, soft arms that hug you when you hug the computer would be very popular. I think the iMac should be made ticklish, and have a cutesy, Elmo-esque laugh and vibrate function. I have heard the iPod may or may not have problems bursting into flame. Which is about as informative as me saying "I may or may not be capable of supersonic running".
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|12:50 AM| My second proudest moment in writing, and certainly my proudest moment in chemistry was when we were told (we being my high school chem class) to write a story with a particular element as the main character. She(the teacher) wanted as many facts about the element stuffed into the story as possible. My submission, a comic book style story featuring "Sulfer Man" was the only thing for which I received a 100% grade in that class. I was made to read it in front of the class, it is now used as an example of what the teacher is looking for in a paper...I really shouldn't be this proud of it, but I just remembered it now and it was something I didn't appreciate at the time. I was too worried about passing chemistry, and that grade was just another step farther towards "Not failing". My cat is sneezing. On my new pants. I just cleaned them. Stupid cat. I should go to bed. I wish I could sleep.
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|12:17 AM| Dammit. A couple books I read a long time ago have been swimming out of my memory to bother me recently. I can't remember their titles, their authors, or any of the main character's names, thus making finding what they were called impossible. The first book (these are all sci fi, by the way, aimed at young adults) was about a young girl who was illegally taught how to read by her grandmother. In her soceity, almost no one can read. In fact, the doors leading to the outside world are unlocked, but kept secure by the use of traps that are easily deactivated if you can read. The instructions are posted right on the door. "To disable death lasers, press button, twist knob to left. Thank you" The girl meets up with another kid who can read, who has seen the outside world, and together they escape. At some point they reach a different group of humans and are discovered by outsiders when they don't know to look away from the ruling class. Yeah, that's all the hints I have. I have a prize for the person taht gets this one. I have a pile of Polaroid cameras that I didn't realize I had until yesterday, when I started collecting all my AV equipment. I don't need 'em, and someone else might want one, but that leaves at least one spare. Name this damned book and I'll send the thing to you.
Second book was actually a series of books. A lot of kids have an android double made, the only physical difference that is easily noticable is that the androids' knees blow ass and they walk very stiffly. The main character has a variety of wacky adventures with his android pal.
The third one has an alien creature called a dragon, with a special tooth. Being bitten by the tooth gives humans telepathic powers. The main character has been bitten, and also has a cutesy robot that follows him around. The dragon is taken prisoner by some kind of space water weasel. Wackiness of a rescue mission with no fatalities ensues, along with some time travel for no good reason.
And finally, a series of books where lizards from space show up, can turn invisible using a device that looks like a stick of cheese, and generally make one moron student's life hell.
If you can guess the first book, or all three of the others, send me a goddamn email and I'll send you a goddamn camera. Or a box of ashtrays from Vorpal's house. Use the email link on the side.
Penny arcade's news post on monday is absolute brilliance. Almost equalling the line describing the taste of the food in the article, is the response to the comment "I was kind of annoyed when I saw a story idea I came up with had already been written by none other than Harlan Ellison. That Wacky guy" Response: "Yeah man, my muse is a slut, too"
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Tuesday, January 15, 2002
|4:23 PM| What's the goddamn deal with Gargamel (of smurf fame) anyway? He hangs around in a crappy cave, with an obnoxious cat, wearing a black potato sack. He has bad teeth, no female compansionship, and no evident job. He spends his time chasing small blue creatures around and claiming that he is evil. He's evil like Cobra is "evil". It's the sort of evil where you run around yelling "Oh, I'm so evil! I don't feed puppies! I break sticks off of young trees! Evil! Evil! Evil!"
Great new movie concept, brought to us by Videodrome and, to some extent, myself. The movie is a sequel to "The Gift of the Magi". Tentatively titled "The Gift of the Magi 2: The Reckoning" is set 15 minutes after the first Gift of the Magi story. Finding out that a powerful magical weapon can be constructed from a comb and a watch chain, the characters become the first European masters of the Flying Guillotine. They must stalk the land, hunting for their lost treasures of hair and watch.
Perhaps not.
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|3:15 PM| I was thinking, if my office was suddenly buried under thousands of pounds of soot and ash, trapping and preserving
both myself and everything in this room What would a future archeologists think of finding my corpse?
"Subject's head has been ritualistically shaved. Body shows no unusual scars, tattoos, or markings. Body size indicates
a comfortable upbringing with a less nutritious diet later in life. Stomach contents consist of "Donuts". Possibly a
lack of real food indicates prolonged fasting, followed by delicacys before being entombed in front of his shrine. The shrine is a common one in the complex we have unearthed, containing many baubles and Bic brand pens...."
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|1:51 PM|
Great. We finally get an answer on the contract. Unfortunately, it has a really big BUT. The only way that my company could make money is if we were the ones supplying toner. That has become a point of contention. Previously, once we got an answer, I would no longer be a contractor, and I'd have real health benefits and everything is swell. But now, we have an answer, and I could be made a full employee, but then I could immediately be laid off as my company decides to walk from this deal. Things that have changed...0. I'm told this is the closest we've ever been to finalizing it all, but that doesn't change my status as "Technician Whore".
We took a country, blew it up, chased off the government, installed a new one, freed an entire repressed gender, and spent craploads of money, all without pissing anyone off who wasn't actively being blown to hell. Yet a group of people who negotiate for a living can't come to an agreement after a year of foot licking, present giving, and a bunch of old white guys slow dancing. This is utterly superfluous. If our civilization were to fall, right now, and be buried, it would take future archeologists decades and decades to determine this office's impact, if any, on anything that matters to the rest of humanity.
Whenever I get in this kind of mood I am tempted to run off to South America and build toilets for imporverished people. I had a crush on a girl, and during one summer she went to some terribly poor area and built toilets, she then gave a presentation at our school about her experiences. I paid close attention because I thought she was cute. After the presentation, I decided that building stuff that let people have a bit of comfort was a really incredibly cool thing to do. I'm proud of my All American Porcelain Relief Palace, (To quote P.J. O'Rourke). I think if I was a dirt poor cattle farmer, I would hope he would be comforted by the thought "I may be starving, dirt poor, and have no control over my destiny, but thanks to that smug asshole I can go to the bathroom without worrying that snakes will bite my ass. Thank God for that."
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|12:17 AM| It would appear that my digital camera doesn't like the media I have for it. Since I accidently gave zusty all of my digital camera media way back when she dropped by for a visit, I'm kind of S.O.L.
Big deal. Work is growing busier, but not any more exciting. How can stagnation have leapt down my throat all of a sudden? At work, one of my priorities has nitpicking little details, something I've never really been fond of, to please our contact. Our contact is desperately trying to proove his worth to the company by watching every move we make in our trouble ticket system, and pointing out our procedural shortcomings. These annoying little "reminders" are thrown at us despite our exemplary performance. From a conversation we had with a higher up, the end users love us, the execs love us, this babysitter is unhappy with a few details, which he has to magnify as much as possible in order to save his job. I can see where he's coming from, but I still want him to get hit by a truck filled with heavy objects. "Who would have thought he'd choose this moment to walk across the street? The only bowling ball delivery truck for miles around just happens through this area, and blammo! Guck all over the place!" Okay, that's a wee bit childish.
Whoa. I'm going to be old in a couple days. 22 years, I've been breathing on this planet for 22 years. Things are always speeding up, it's a pain in the butt.
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Monday, January 14, 2002
|5:39 PM| I haven't had a lot to say recently. I accidently typed it all in this email to Zusty, and she never wrote back. I guess it gave her hives. She did update her page, however, so I guess she's not dead. Speaking of updates, my name appeared on not one, but two web logs today. It gives me that warm feeling just like when I get a piece of physical mail that's addressed to me. That is, besides the bills and collection notices. You know what I mean. Zusty also mentions this Fan Fare of which I am most fond. It's small, and already low fidelity. This means I can transfer it various places quite quickly, and play it on the crappiest of speakers without a big loss of quality. Whoa, deja vu, did I already talk about this at some point? So this fan fare thing, I can use tiny speakers and keep a victory song with me at all times. You know, just in case I happen to defeat something.
Saw "City of Lost Children" finally. It seems that some people try to make things spooky, twisted or ZANY on purpose. They start with some concept and try to head in the direction of Weird. While "City of Lost Children" is quite peculiar, I don't think the creators had to travel any distance from their original concept and vision to give us a pretty bizzare world. There was nothing deliberately abnormal, it's just what they came up with at the time. I really respect that. I also enjoyed the film, so I do reccomend it.
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|12:30 AM| I updated Artfag.net with some helpful injury related hints.
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Sunday, January 13, 2002
|7:21 PM| Whoops. Looks like I told the barber type woman the wrong shaver number. Well, the fact that she hesitated after zapping part of the top of my head and then continued a few moments later make me believe that she may have used the wrong clippers. Especially since she didn't seem to use the other clipper setting she "switched" to a little bit later. I still tipped, I mean, my hair is cut, and the hair on the side of my head is the proper length. The top, however, is so short that it is now spiking without help. Dammit. I look like a big thumb. I need to recharge my digital camera batteries. then I can inflict this sort of thing on you folks.
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|1:42 PM| Boom. Boom.
Clickity Clickity Click. I am a rocket crab. Ohh yeah I'm a rocket crab.
Boom. Boom....Boooom.
Some jerk taped a rocket to my shell, now I can't get back to the ground.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
If I could get home, there'd be water to put out my fiery back.
Booooooom.
Wish I could land and click my claws in peace.
Click. Click Clickity Click.
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|2:20 PM| Goodness, I forgot to talk about Friday. My first, real boss at that job has left for Kentucky. We dumped out half a toner bottle onto the ground for him. This now leaves my "boss" Videodrome in charge, so he has been upgraded to Boss. What ever happened to using the word boss as a description of something cool, or rad? I am now officially the dispatcher, to the point that I can say "I'm the dispatcher dammit" if someone doesn't want to go do a job.
That's all the news.
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|2:10 PM| I think I'm starting to avoid sleep because of my dreams. I slept for a godawful long time last night, and had a dream that distressed me. Now I'm just wandering around my apartment trying to figure out what useful task to accomplish before I have to go to a play with my family for a couple hours this evening, then translocate and be in two places at once for a party and a poker game. On one hand, the poker game offers the opportunity of taking a great deal of money away from people new at the game, while the party offers excitment, music, and attractive women. Such a dilemma.
I need some breakfast.
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Friday, January 18, 2002
|12:33 PM| So, I've been reading the How Stuff Works website at work today, and they provided me this link to the springwalker home page, the most important part of which is this 2 meg movie. I've seen this thing in the past, and I always wondered how it felt to operate one of them. I've heard the newer versions will increase jumping ability as well, but I'll believe that when I see that poor bastard jump over a house, and LAND. Sure, I could enhance someone's jumping ability with a catapult or a rocket engine, but the landing is what's important.
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|12:32 AM| |Given the Gift of Shoes|
Do you know what they say about guys with big feet? That they wear big shoes. And brother, do I ever have big honkin' shoes. My sister, in an attempt to make me dress less like a dork, has managed to finagle me some of the best pairs of pants I've ever had, a giant stack of shirts, and some socks. And the single biggest pair of Frankensteinian Clodhoppers I have ever seen. Size 14, possibly 14 and a half, and each shoe weighs a metric ton. When I was trying to test the fit, I had to strain to walk around. I clomped from one area to the next, and the moment these babies hit concrete they started squeaking like they were giving birth. I love these shoes. My legs hurt. They grow stronger, thanks to these shoes. I drive 10 miles faster now, and I can't move these monsters back to the brake pedal quite yet.
All in all, the birthday celebration was a success, I didn't pay for anything despite my best efforts, and I hung around with people who seemed to enjoy my company. I should probably go to bed, but I'm still a bit pumped. I'd like to end the night by dancing. If you can, imagine me doing a one man dance musical, with a pair of boats strapped to my feet. Thank you and goodnight.
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Thursday, January 17, 2002
|5:35 PM| I wish I could give you a link, dear reader, to Zusty as today she has used the term "Gaping maw" with no prompting from me. How wonderful.
The 22nd birthday is clearly the most lame. I may need to go inject heroin into my eyeball.
I'm still searching for Love, but I'm not having much luck. I did find this image which caught my eye, mostly because that woman's head is at an odd angle. It's from a palm reading site. All I know about my palm is that the few times I've had it read, the palm reader has always exclaimed "Oh My! Your life line is SO SHORT!". They quickly realize what they have just implied and revise their statements. I don't buy into palm reading, I just find it interesting that my "life line" is short enough that it's the first thing those folks noticed. If I drop before I'm 30, then it would almost be a vote in favor of fortune telling.
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|2:10 AM| Made cookies. Impressed new set of people with cookie making skill. Became officially older. That about does it. I hope everyone is enjoying themselves.
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Wednesday, January 16, 2002
|6:31 PM| If someone told me when I was 15 that someday I would 22, I would not believe him. "22? That'd be, oh gosh, 2002!"
In fact, I'm very suprised at hearing about recent NASA probe missions, since back when they were launched or when I was told about them, 2002 seemed like an impossibly far way off, like the buoys at the beach denoting the end of the safe swimming area. You just could never touch the buoys, nor could I imagine getting into the 'oughts.
Technically, I'm not 22 yet, and since the day isn't over, it's possible I could be vaporized by an asteroid or something. Well, it's not like I can plan for something like that. I'll just carry on as per normal. I still want to call someone "Snookums" and I can't figure out why. I assume it's some sort of alien infestation in my brain.
Man, I've been typing toooo much stuff recently.
Oh, and I'm happy to report that it looks like I'm going to be hired by Lexmark. However, it also appears that it won't happen for 2 months. At this juncture, I'm pretty much screwed. So, if my father can't point me towards a health insurance provider that he doesn't think is crap, then I may just ditch insurance and risk it. Yeah, that's dangerous, but so is going absolutely broke.
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|11:34 AM| Great. Just Great. Someone has been stealing armor piercing rounds from the main armory station on deck 3. I have to go change the door code. Like I have nothing better to do. I'll change it to 31337, that should be hard to guess. Oh, reminder, get Higgins to ditch that pet singing worm of his. That thing is creepy.
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|10:52 AM| Ah, Christ. my "boss" is helpless. And timid as hell. In order to signal her need for help on a computer she simply stopped typing and turned her laptop to face my co-worker. He was busy, and I'm sure he realized what she was up to, but was deliberately avoiding asking "Do you need help?" and was about to leave when boss-lady finally pipes up with a quiet "[Vid's name]...I need your help...". The woman actually speaks with ellipses. She should just start saying dot dot dot to fill up her conversational voids.
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|10:20 AM| Thanks to the sort of changes at my job, there is a new person to whom this project reports. I met her for the first time, having only been told "she's a geek". This is not correct, so far as I can tell. She's more of a nerd in full-on social retreat. Whether or not she has computer skills is not something I could determine, as she said 3 words the whole time she was in the office, and I'm pretty sure one of those "words" was a grunt of assent towards some question. She is apparently covered in some kind of perfume, and the thick, cloying stench filled this room the moment she arrived. It has a sickly, dairyish paste stink, as if a glue company put out a "hot and spicey" variety. The nature of this fragrance makes me believe that even in small amounts it would fail to be "alluring". As it settles and thickens in this room of stagnant air, the smell continues a journey towards smelling exactly like elmer's glue.
Now that she has left, the perfumed air level is no longer being replenished, so I am left with merely the dull stink of the decaying fragrance components. I am moderately worried about a boss with no social interaction skills, and a definite lack of appreciation for the human sense of smell.
On the subject of the new imac: They are trying to make it look cool, but still friendly. Vid and I have come up with some very good improvements for the machine. The Imac doesn't hug yet, and Vid believes the addition of a pair of heated, soft arms that hug you when you hug the computer would be very popular. I think the iMac should be made ticklish, and have a cutesy, Elmo-esque laugh and vibrate function. I have heard the iPod may or may not have problems bursting into flame. Which is about as informative as me saying "I may or may not be capable of supersonic running".
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|12:50 AM| My second proudest moment in writing, and certainly my proudest moment in chemistry was when we were told (we being my high school chem class) to write a story with a particular element as the main character. She(the teacher) wanted as many facts about the element stuffed into the story as possible. My submission, a comic book style story featuring "Sulfer Man" was the only thing for which I received a 100% grade in that class. I was made to read it in front of the class, it is now used as an example of what the teacher is looking for in a paper...I really shouldn't be this proud of it, but I just remembered it now and it was something I didn't appreciate at the time. I was too worried about passing chemistry, and that grade was just another step farther towards "Not failing". My cat is sneezing. On my new pants. I just cleaned them. Stupid cat. I should go to bed. I wish I could sleep.
Edit, Goddammit, my birthday is in like 23 hours.
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|12:17 AM| Dammit. A couple books I read a long time ago have been swimming out of my memory to bother me recently. I can't remember their titles, their authors, or any of the main character's names, thus making finding what they were called impossible. The first book (these are all sci fi, by the way, aimed at young adults) was about a young girl who was illegally taught how to read by her grandmother. In her soceity, almost no one can read. In fact, the doors leading to the outside world are unlocked, but kept secure by the use of traps that are easily deactivated if you can read. The instructions are posted right on the door. "To disable death lasers, press button, twist knob to left. Thank you" The girl meets up with another kid who can read, who has seen the outside world, and together they escape. At some point they reach a different group of humans and are discovered by outsiders when they don't know to look away from the ruling class. Yeah, that's all the hints I have. I have a prize for the person taht gets this one. I have a pile of Polaroid cameras that I didn't realize I had until yesterday, when I started collecting all my AV equipment. I don't need 'em, and someone else might want one, but that leaves at least one spare. Name this damned book and I'll send the thing to you.
Second book was actually a series of books. A lot of kids have an android double made, the only physical difference that is easily noticable is that the androids' knees blow ass and they walk very stiffly. The main character has a variety of wacky adventures with his android pal.
The third one has an alien creature called a dragon, with a special tooth. Being bitten by the tooth gives humans telepathic powers. The main character has been bitten, and also has a cutesy robot that follows him around. The dragon is taken prisoner by some kind of space water weasel. Wackiness of a rescue mission with no fatalities ensues, along with some time travel for no good reason.
And finally, a series of books where lizards from space show up, can turn invisible using a device that looks like a stick of cheese, and generally make one moron student's life hell.
If you can guess the first book, or all three of the others, send me a goddamn email and I'll send you a goddamn camera. Or a box of ashtrays from Vorpal's house. Use the email link on the side.
Penny arcade's news post on monday is absolute brilliance. Almost equalling the line describing the taste of the food in the article, is the response to the comment "I was kind of annoyed when I saw a story idea I came up with had already been written by none other than Harlan Ellison. That Wacky guy" Response: "Yeah man, my muse is a slut, too"
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Tuesday, January 15, 2002
|4:23 PM| What's the goddamn deal with Gargamel (of smurf fame) anyway? He hangs around in a crappy cave, with an obnoxious cat, wearing a black potato sack. He has bad teeth, no female compansionship, and no evident job. He spends his time chasing small blue creatures around and claiming that he is evil. He's evil like Cobra is "evil". It's the sort of evil where you run around yelling "Oh, I'm so evil! I don't feed puppies! I break sticks off of young trees! Evil! Evil! Evil!"
Great new movie concept, brought to us by Videodrome and, to some extent, myself. The movie is a sequel to "The Gift of the Magi". Tentatively titled "The Gift of the Magi 2: The Reckoning" is set 15 minutes after the first Gift of the Magi story. Finding out that a powerful magical weapon can be constructed from a comb and a watch chain, the characters become the first European masters of the Flying Guillotine. They must stalk the land, hunting for their lost treasures of hair and watch.
Perhaps not.
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|3:15 PM| I was thinking, if my office was suddenly buried under thousands of pounds of soot and ash, trapping and preserving
both myself and everything in this room What would a future archeologists think of finding my corpse?
"Subject's head has been ritualistically shaved. Body shows no unusual scars, tattoos, or markings. Body size indicates
a comfortable upbringing with a less nutritious diet later in life. Stomach contents consist of "Donuts". Possibly a
lack of real food indicates prolonged fasting, followed by delicacys before being entombed in front of his shrine. The shrine is a common one in the complex we have unearthed, containing many baubles and Bic brand pens...."
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|1:51 PM|
Great. We finally get an answer on the contract. Unfortunately, it has a really big BUT. The only way that my company could make money is if we were the ones supplying toner. That has become a point of contention. Previously, once we got an answer, I would no longer be a contractor, and I'd have real health benefits and everything is swell. But now, we have an answer, and I could be made a full employee, but then I could immediately be laid off as my company decides to walk from this deal. Things that have changed...0. I'm told this is the closest we've ever been to finalizing it all, but that doesn't change my status as "Technician Whore".
We took a country, blew it up, chased off the government, installed a new one, freed an entire repressed gender, and spent craploads of money, all without pissing anyone off who wasn't actively being blown to hell. Yet a group of people who negotiate for a living can't come to an agreement after a year of foot licking, present giving, and a bunch of old white guys slow dancing. This is utterly superfluous. If our civilization were to fall, right now, and be buried, it would take future archeologists decades and decades to determine this office's impact, if any, on anything that matters to the rest of humanity.
Whenever I get in this kind of mood I am tempted to run off to South America and build toilets for imporverished people. I had a crush on a girl, and during one summer she went to some terribly poor area and built toilets, she then gave a presentation at our school about her experiences. I paid close attention because I thought she was cute. After the presentation, I decided that building stuff that let people have a bit of comfort was a really incredibly cool thing to do. I'm proud of my All American Porcelain Relief Palace, (To quote P.J. O'Rourke). I think if I was a dirt poor cattle farmer, I would hope he would be comforted by the thought "I may be starving, dirt poor, and have no control over my destiny, but thanks to that smug asshole I can go to the bathroom without worrying that snakes will bite my ass. Thank God for that."
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|12:17 AM| It would appear that my digital camera doesn't like the media I have for it. Since I accidently gave zusty all of my digital camera media way back when she dropped by for a visit, I'm kind of S.O.L.
Big deal. Work is growing busier, but not any more exciting. How can stagnation have leapt down my throat all of a sudden? At work, one of my priorities has nitpicking little details, something I've never really been fond of, to please our contact. Our contact is desperately trying to proove his worth to the company by watching every move we make in our trouble ticket system, and pointing out our procedural shortcomings. These annoying little "reminders" are thrown at us despite our exemplary performance. From a conversation we had with a higher up, the end users love us, the execs love us, this babysitter is unhappy with a few details, which he has to magnify as much as possible in order to save his job. I can see where he's coming from, but I still want him to get hit by a truck filled with heavy objects. "Who would have thought he'd choose this moment to walk across the street? The only bowling ball delivery truck for miles around just happens through this area, and blammo! Guck all over the place!" Okay, that's a wee bit childish.
Whoa. I'm going to be old in a couple days. 22 years, I've been breathing on this planet for 22 years. Things are always speeding up, it's a pain in the butt.
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Monday, January 14, 2002
|5:39 PM| I haven't had a lot to say recently. I accidently typed it all in this email to Zusty, and she never wrote back. I guess it gave her hives. She did update her page, however, so I guess she's not dead. Speaking of updates, my name appeared on not one, but two web logs today. It gives me that warm feeling just like when I get a piece of physical mail that's addressed to me. That is, besides the bills and collection notices. You know what I mean. Zusty also mentions this Fan Fare of which I am most fond. It's small, and already low fidelity. This means I can transfer it various places quite quickly, and play it on the crappiest of speakers without a big loss of quality. Whoa, deja vu, did I already talk about this at some point? So this fan fare thing, I can use tiny speakers and keep a victory song with me at all times. You know, just in case I happen to defeat something.
Saw "City of Lost Children" finally. It seems that some people try to make things spooky, twisted or ZANY on purpose. They start with some concept and try to head in the direction of Weird. While "City of Lost Children" is quite peculiar, I don't think the creators had to travel any distance from their original concept and vision to give us a pretty bizzare world. There was nothing deliberately abnormal, it's just what they came up with at the time. I really respect that. I also enjoyed the film, so I do reccomend it.
Oh good. This update did NOT boil down to just "I miss some of my hair and my stomach hurts". Have a good evening.
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|12:30 AM| I updated Artfag.net with some helpful injury related hints.
This Sport is a fabulous way to get horribly maimed.
Man, I miss part of my hair.
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Sunday, January 13, 2002
|7:21 PM| Whoops. Looks like I told the barber type woman the wrong shaver number. Well, the fact that she hesitated after zapping part of the top of my head and then continued a few moments later make me believe that she may have used the wrong clippers. Especially since she didn't seem to use the other clipper setting she "switched" to a little bit later. I still tipped, I mean, my hair is cut, and the hair on the side of my head is the proper length. The top, however, is so short that it is now spiking without help. Dammit. I look like a big thumb. I need to recharge my digital camera batteries. then I can inflict this sort of thing on you folks.
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|1:42 PM| Boom. Boom.
Clickity Clickity Click. I am a rocket crab. Ohh yeah I'm a rocket crab.
Boom. Boom....Boooom.
Some jerk taped a rocket to my shell, now I can't get back to the ground.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
If I could get home, there'd be water to put out my fiery back.
Booooooom.
Wish I could land and click my claws in peace.
Click. Click Clickity Click.
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