Enthusiastically Ambiverted Hopepunk
The stuff about me and my life. The “diary” side of blogging.
I’m off to the airport — my brother Kevin and his fiancee Emily are getting married on Sunday in Memphis, Tennessee, and I’m heading down to be best man at the wedding!
I have absolutely no clue if I’ll have any sort of computer access while I’m gone, so posting may be infrequent to nonexistent until sometime late Monday or Tuesday, as will replies to any e-mail.
While I’m gone, have fun, be good, and try not to burn the place down.
And no parties.
I mean it.
Quite a few of these gave me a good laugh.
Kids, this is all the shit I had to learn the hard way. Now that I’m retired it’s time to pass it on, so you won’t have to suffer the same indignities I did.
Don’t use one of those little Handi-Vac things to empty an ashtray. Because the inrush of air could potentially reignite any fading embers. And, uh, a big jet of flame might shoot out of the thing, surprising you and making you scream like a ten-year-old girl. And you might knock over your beer.
If you’re ever fishing, and a poisonous water moccasin swims up to try and eat one of the fish on your stringer, and you think that maybe flipping the snake out of the water and onto, say, me is a good idea, please reconsider.
Just because you can stick toothpicks in your forehead and they’ll stay there and it doesn’t really hurt all that bad doesn’t mean you should go ahead and do it, at Denny’s or any other restaurant.
All those skinheads over there? They’ll beat your ass.
Yes, popping a paper bag in the mall makes a very loud noise. Yes, you can hear that shit echoing all through the place. Yes, rent-a-cops are all dicks.
Don’t try to pee and ride a bicycle at the same time, even if Jim Marburger can do it. Not that you were watching or anything.
The rash won’t go away on its own.
Should you ever decide to use bamboo sticks and stretchy, decorative string that’s designed to wrap presents to make a bow and arrow, and should you decide to wad up a bunch of duct tape on the end of your arrow and soak it with WD-40 so it’ll, you know, burn better, I would recommend not shooting the flaming arrow onto the roof of a house, or into the lap of your friend’s cousin. Even by accident.
There are no secrets when it comes to fucking. Everyone will eventually find out about it, and probably a lot sooner than you want them to.
God created assistant managers when he was in a really shitty mood.
Knife wounds inflicted on bodily extremities, such as hands, should receive firm pressure with a clean, dry towel or cloth. Elevate if possible. Remember, dry is the key. The wet washcloth is a poor choice for staunching blood flow, no matter what you’ve heard.
Be careful of what you headbutt. Some doors are not as sturdy as they might first look, and it can be hard to estimate your own strength immediately after inhaling nitrous oxide.
Wear the condom. No, for the love of Pete, not the mint-flavored one. Jesus, that thing burns.
Here’s a helpful tip for job interviews: try not to stab your future boss in the arm with a freshly sharpened pencil. If you must stab someone with a pencil, have the common sense to dull the point to a state where you can be sure it won’t easily break the skin.
Burt Reynolds? Nope. Tom Selleck? Uh uh. Try Chile D. Molester. Shave that fucking mustache.
If someone passes out on the couch and you want to put them in a figure-four leglock, ensure that the hold is correctly applied before they wake and fuck your goddamn knee all up.
Head wounds do tend to bleed a lot. Don’t panic.
Pajamas are indeed comfy, but society dictates we not wear them to school, work or the bowling alley.
For that matter, be aware that bowling alley employees may have a limited tolerance for other non-pajama-related behaviors, such as getting all loaded and pretending to be Godzilla and stomping on that windmill over there in the indoor miniature golf course.
You better ask before you try and stick your finger up there.
Socks should match your pants, and your belt should match your shoes. After that, if anyone complains, tell ’em they should be happy you’re wearing any clothes at all.
If you suspect someone likes to do a lot of cocaine, don’t let them “borrow” your CDs.
Try not to get too depressed. There’s always something to look forward to. Keep alert, and sooner or later you’ll see someone slip and hurt themselves.
Beat off enough and eventually someone will walk in on you while you’re doing it. When this happens, pause, look them directly in the eye and say, “You done ruined the romance, so go ahead and say whatever it is you want to say.” If they don’t immediately apologize and leave, run over there and put your hands on their face.
You should never put a string of lit Black Cat firecrackers in someone’s back pocket while they’re on stage playing bass guitar with their band. Even if they fucked your knee up by reversing the figure-four on you that one time. And even if you crack up at just the idea of someone with their pants are on fire jumping up and down and spinning around and around like a dog chasing its tail while trying to figure out what’s going on. Yup, someone could get their ass burned, so it’s wrong. Despite the fact that shit is really, really funny.
You can whoop those two guys easy enough. But what if they come back with a friend who’s big enough to lift you off the ground and pin you to the wall with one hand? What then, slugger? (You’re going to feel like a fucking idiot, that’s what.)
If, while chugging a beer, the phrase, “I bet this is going to be the last coherent thought I have tonight,” runs through your head, get someone to take you home. Now.
The cops never think it’s as funny as you do.
Be advised: the “Minnesota wristwatch” maneuver is correctly performed by using only the penis. The scrotum and testicles should neither be substituted nor included in any way.
Yeah, I know Sid Vicious wore a lock on a chain around his neck just like that. But the first time you try and pogo with that thing on it’s gonna chip a tooth, Road Warrior.
Sure, she’s good-lookin’. She’s also crazy. Crazy as a shithouse rat. Run for your life.
Just because one of those made you feel nice and two of ’em made you feel even better, taking the whole bottle will not exponentially increase your good time. In fact, you may get dizzy, or throw up, or end up spending half of the next day wondering where the hell your pants are. Or die.
The bouncer at Mons Venus always knows best. If he says you should stop, then you should stop.
Strictly speaking, ranch dressing is not an ingredient.
Yes, you got grounded for having the very same porn stash that turned up in Dad’s closet six months later. You still can’t bring it up. The cosmic scales of justice will never tip in your favor on this one, trust me. Bide your time patiently, and one day you might get the chance for revenge. Like, by unplugging his dialysis machine. Or something.
Now that you’ve climbed up there, it’s a lot higher than it looks, isn’t it? Dumbass.
You can use Krazy Glue in lieu of surgical stitches. For when you’re, you know, too poor to go to the emergency room. Or trying to avoid explaining things to the police.
The Renaissance Faire may not be the source of all your problems, but it sure as shit isn’t helping any.
You’re probably doing something that bugs the next guy twice as much. Clam up and get on with your life.
Powdered cocoa won’t put out the fire.
If you accidentally rear-end another car while driving, Florida law dictates that you must stop and confer with the affected party. Turns out just waving to let folks know you’re alright while driving away is a little something the state troopers like to call “leaving the scene of an accident.”
When it comes time to pick out that first tattoo, remember: it doesn’t matter how much you like that one comic book. There’s always a chance that eight years later someone will make a movie of it that stars Sylvester Stallone. And you’ll be fucked.
You might not be able to remember it, but if you wake up the next day with a bloody nose, no money, barf all over your jeans and a finger or two smelling like poontang then you had a good night.
Always look behind you before you make that first cast. That boat may be smaller than you think. And Jim Marburger’s dad might be taking up more space than you think, too.
Dungeons and Dragons never goes away. Girls will still sense that shit 20 years later.
Last but certainly not least: if you don’t want Sweet Dick Willy to give you a lapdance, don’t sit so damn close to the stage.
(via Something Positive)
iTunes: “Faith to Believe” by Liquid Jesus from the album Pour In the Sky (1991, 4:55).
“Hey…could you help me?”
I turned around, halfway out the front door of the apartment building. Dan, one of the new tenants, was standing at the bottom of the half-flight of stairs leading from the landing down to the ground floor. He looked up at me with a slightly frantic look on his face. “What’s up?” I asked.
“There’s this crazy guy wandering the halls.”
“Here?”
“Yeah. He keeps banging on the doors…I don’t know what to do.”
I let the door close behind me and went down the stairs. “Is he down here?”
“Yeah, down at the end of the hall.”
Going around the corner, I walked down the hall to meet our unexpected and uninvited guest. He was standing at the end of the hall by the door leading down to the basement, leaning up against the corner.
“Sir?” I said. “Can I help you?” He grumbled something at me, I’m honestly not sure what. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t understand you. Are you supposed to be in here?” Another unintelligible grumble.
Great, this was going to be a fun one. “Sir, could you please leave?” More grumbling, though not grumbling of a cooperative nature. “I’m going to have to call the police if you don’t leave now.”
This got more of a response. “Yeah. Call the police. Take this outside. C’mon!”
“Sure, let’s take this outside,” I said, figuring that it would at least get the guy out the door. He started down the hall towards me, and I backed away, leading him towards the door. Eventually, I made my way back up to the landing where Dan was waiting at the door. Dan opened the door and stepped outside, and I stood at the landing, looking down the staircase at our new friend. “Sir? Did you want to head outside now?”
“Call the fuckin’ police. Outside. Both of you!” He still wasn’t very cooperative, but apparently he’d only go outside if both Dan and I went out first — assuming he’d even go outside then. I wasn’t terribly convinced.
“Dan, could I borrow your phone?” Dan handed me his cell, and I called 911 as the guy retreated around the stairs to stand by the building’s mailboxes.
“Emergency dispatch.”
“Yes — we’ve got a vagrant roaming through our building, banging on doors.”
“Where are you located, sir?”
“8th and Seneca.”
“Could you describe the person in case he leaves?”
“Sure — about six foot, black, with a greying beard. He’s wearing a grey jacket with blue trim, no shirt underneath, and maroon sweatpants. He’s got safety glasses on upside down,” (here the dispatcher started to laugh) “and one white shoe. No socks.”
“Alright, we’ll have someone there in just a few minutes.”
I thanked her, and hung up. Dan and I chatted for a few moments on the landing as we waited, occasionally ducking some small piece of debris that the guy had found lying by the mailboxes and sent sailing in our general direction. Eventually, he got tired of taking clumsy pot-shots (or just ran out of ammunition) and wandered back down the hall, at which point Dan headed down to keep an eye on him, and I stood at the door and waited for the officers.
A few minutes later, two patrol cars pulled up in front of the building, I let the officers in and pointed them down the stairs to our guest. They headed down and found him seated at the end of the hallway.
“Okay, come on,” the first officer said. “I talked to you yesterday about this. Matter of fact, this guy talked to you too,” he said, gesturing towards his partner. The guy mumbled something I couldn’t understand, but it didn’t seem to make the police officer any happier. “Look we’re tired of seeing you in here, okay? It’s time to go! What did you do with your shoes?” Another mumble, and a vague gesture down the hall.
“He had one shoe on a bit ago,” I called down the hall, realizing that the man was now entirely barefoot. The first officer started guiding the man towards the door, and his partner went down the hall, coming back a moment later with both shoes.
As the officers worked their way towards the front door of the building, some of the other tenants came downstairs, heading out. One of them saw the flashing lights outside the entrance, and turned to took a look at what was going on. “Oh, shit!” he said. “That’s the same guy that was in here yesterday!”
“Who keeps letting him in?” I asked. They just shrugged, and went on out. I stood out of the way while the officers ushered the man outside, then stood outside while they put him up against one of the patrol cars and started going through his pockets.
After watching for a few minutes, I asked if they needed either Dan or I for anything else. “No, we’re fine here,” said one of the officers. We thanked them for coming out, and started up the hill, Dan to a friend’s apartment a few blocks away, and I continued on up to the Vogue.
Ahh, the joys of downtown Seattle.
After fourteen trips down and up six stories to get three loads of laundry done, I really wish that they’d just go ahead and get the damn elevator in this place fixed.
iTunes: \”Alright*\” by Lizette & from the album & So… (2001, 4:25).
It was bound to happen eventually. It actually probably started happening a few years ago, but now it’s actually getting news stories — ‘geeks’ are tired of fixing people’s problems.
As MyDoom, the fastest-spreading virus ever, continues to clog e-mail in-boxes and disrupt business, the computer-savvy are becoming openly hostile toward the not-so-savvy who unwittingly play into the hands of virus writers.
The tension over the MyDoom virus underscores a growing friction between technophiles and what they see as a breed of technophobes who want to enjoy the benefits of digital technology without making the effort to use it responsibly.
The virus spreads when Internet users ignore a basic rule of Internet life: never click on an unknown e-mail attachment. Once someone does, MyDoom begins to send itself to the names in that person’s e-mail address book. If no one opened the attachment, the virus’s destructive power would never be unleashed.
“It takes affirmative action on the part of the clueless user to become infected,” wrote Scott Bowling, president of the World Wide Web Artists Consortium, expressing frustration on the group’s discussion forum. “How to beat this into these people’s heads?”
I’ve always counted myself somewhat lucky in this regard. I owe a lot of my geek leanings towards my parents (specifically, my mom, in a somewhat unusual reversal of sterotype), and while I’ve surpassed them in my knowledge base, I can generally rest assured that they’re quite competent enough to avoid many of the more obvious “duh” issues on their own. If they run into something that they can’t solve on their own, while they’re not above tossing a quick question my way to see if it’s something I can solve quickly, they also don’t mind if it’s something that they need to seek “official” assistance with.
The majority of my friends tend to either be at least as computer-literate as I am (if not more so), or at the other extreme, avoiding those infernal machines at all costs. Those few that are in the middle ground — well, if they’re friends with me, they’re likely friends with a lot of other ‘puter geeks at the same time, and will rapidly discover that they have no excuse for incompetence. ;)
That said, though, I’ve certainly seen the backlash coming. One of the big benefits I’ve found to being a Mac user is ducking tech support issues. While I know that I know my way around Windows, when I do get the occasional “why won’t this work?” question from acquaintances or co-workers, it’s very easy to just assume a befuddled expression, mumble something about being a smug virus-free mac-using bastard, toss in a few pointed comments about Windows stability, and go on my merry little way.
(via Jacqueline)
iTunes: “Blue Nun, The” by Beastie Boys, The from the album Check Your Head (1992, 0:32).
Woke up this morning and went across the street to today’s Democratic Caucus for my precinct at the Town Hall. At first Town Hall looked oddly quiet, but after Prairie (coming along as an observer) and I saw the signs on the front door telling us to go downstairs, we walked into a room packed practically wall-to-wall with caucusgoers, and figured we were in in the right place after all.
Overall, it was in interesting, if somewhat confusing experience. There were probably around fifteen different precincts all gathering in the same room, and from what the moderator of the whole thing was saying, apparently there was a far greater turnout than had been expected — I’d estimate that there were around 300-400 people there. While this is a great thing to see (in some ways, I’m actually more interested in the final turnout numbers from all the various caucuses and primaries than I am in who actually gets the nomination), it did make for a fairly crowded and noisy process.
My particular precinct had twenty-four people show up, split roughly 2/3 for Kerry and 1/3 for Dean, which ended up being the final delegate split (two delegates for Kerry and one for Dean). I’m expecting that that was probably the rough result for the rest of the precincts in the room — as Prairie and I were looking around, we guessed that the average age was somewhere in the mid-40’s or so, with most of the younger people and senior citizens supporting Dean, and the majority of the 35-50 year old attendees supporting Kerry. There were, of course, assorted Edwards and Kucinich supporters visible, but I didn’t see much evidence of support for any of the other candidates.
I was somewhat amused by the moderator, though. During his “here’s what’s going on and how we’re going to do it” speech and Q-and-A session, he occasionally had to cite examples of what would be done if one candidate didn’t have enough support to gain any delegates. When he’d give an example, he’d semi-randomly choose candidate’s names for the situation, and I noticed that Dean was used as an example most often. Kerry, Kucinich, and Lieberman were also used, but neither Clark nor Edwards made an appearance at all. Some (un?)intentional editorializing, perhaps? I doubt it really made that much of a difference, if any, but it was enough to catch my ear.
We didn’t stick around enough to see if any final numbers from all the gathered precincts were announced. While we’d originally planned to do just that, our precinct was one of the first to finish the process and select delegates, and then they moved on to proposing resolutions to be supported. Nothing wrong with that in and of itself, of course, and it’s part of the process, but when we noticed that the conversation at the table had suddenly moved to debating the wall between Palestine and Israel, we decided we’d go ahead and duck out and just get the final results off the web later in the day. I don’t know much about that particular issue, but I know enough to know that it tends to get very heated very quickly, and it seemed to us to be a good time to leave.
And that was that. I cast my vote for Dean, and helped him get one more delegate for the next round in May. I’ll keep an eye on the results as they come in to see where things ended up statewide over the course of the day.
iTunes: “Skinthieves” by Moodswings from the album Moodfood (1992, 6:08).
My brother has very kindly offered to get me a suit for his wedding next weekend (and he just asked me to be best man!). This should be pretty cool, as I haven’t had a suit in years…but now I need to get myself measured.
Anyone in Seattle know of a place in the downtown/First Hill/Capitol Hill area that I could go get measured for a suit without having to buy one? Or, failing that, what measurements are generally needed so I could do it myself? I’m quite clueless in these matters.
iTunes: “Ultimo Imperio” by Atahualpa from the album Techno-Trax Vol. 1 (1991, 6:32).
Last Friday, the Seattle P-I ran a nice story on the Macintosh Business Unit at Microsoft, which included a photo of some of the Mac BU staffers seated in front of racks of Mac computers. I read it and appreciated it, but at the time, I didn’t give it much more thought.
Today, Todd Bishop points out that a few other readers drew some amusingly suspicious conclusions based on the fact that the computers in the photo were older model G3’s, and not new G5’s…
One person who e-mailed raised the issue of the Microsoft contract worker who was fired after posting a photo of new PowerMac G5s arriving on campus. The e-mailer put that situation together with the newspaper photo and theorized that Microsoft was trying to hide the fact that it had bought new G5s. He asked if the company prevented the P-I from taking the photo in front of any G5s.
Amusing as this is…sorry, folks, nothing so dastardly!
I hate to dispel a good conspiracy theory, but in fact, we were given a full tour of the test lab — which includes PowerMac G5s and basically every other Mac ever made, as I described in this post last week. P-I photographer Phil Webber could have taken the photo wherever he wanted, but the G3s provided a more colorful background than the metallic G5s would have.
I was always a little bummed that I never did find a way to wander my way through the Mac BU during my time on the MS campus. Microsoft or no Microsoft, just being around that much Mac history (both computers and software — remember, much as we love to hate them, Microsoft has been a major Mac supporter and software supplier since the Mac’s introduction) and Mac fans could have been a lot of fun, even if it were just for a tour or walkthrough.
It may be a bit late for me to peek in their doors now, though. ;)
Todd also mentioned something else that gave me a laugh — when Slashdot posted a link to the Seattle P-I’s article, a couple commenters decided to exercise their funny…
Microsoft’s Mac Business Unit: An anonymous reader writes “Today’s Seattle Post-Intelligencer has an interesting piece on the folks who work at the Mac Business Unit for Microsoft.”
andih8u: They make software for macs and have a mac business unit. I hope someone can get some shots of macs being unloaded from a truck.
wed128: Nah…that might reveal the location of one of microsoft’s unloading platforms…any employee would be fired for an offense so great…
Congrats to Kirsten on her one-year “blogaversary”, complete with spiffy new site design!
iTunes: “Toyz 1988” by Sausage from the album Riddles are Abound Tonight (1994, 5:50).
Every so often, a topic pops up in the TypePad User Group forums that I feel I can add my own particular little brand of insight into, and I’ll spend some time doing my best to explain (often in excruciating detail) what’s going on. I recently got a very nice comment from Doc in response to one such post.
…another excellent description. Are you sure there’s not a bit of teacher in you someplace?
The funny thing is that over the years, I’ve gotten quite a few comments along those lines from many friends of mine, and I’ve started considering the possibility of pursuing getting a teaching degree ~~if~~ [when]{.underline} I manage to get back into school. It’s always flattering to get comments like Doc’s that indicate that this might not be an entirely unrealistic goal.
Another direction I sometimes toss around in my head is technical writing. I’ve come up with quite a few different ‘how-to’ or explanatory posts (quite a few of which are archived here) over time, and I’ve always enjoyed writing them out. There’s a definite satisfaction to being able to take a somewhat obscure concept (such as printer stylesheets, title attributes, or [dealing with blockquote tags]) and finding a way to present it clearly (if not always concisely) so that it can be more easily understood.
As long as I enjoy writing and have an apparent knack for things like this, I sometimes think that getting into technical writing — how-to’s, manuals, documentation, and the like — could be a very interesting way to make a living. Programmers and technicians can often come up with some wonderful applications and devices, but often can’t explain how or why they work as successfully as could be done. I can’t program to save my life, but if I have an ability to come up with decently-crafted explanations, why not explore that a bit?
Of course, I haven’t got the foggiest idea of how to get started, or even how to go about investigating the possibility. Still, it keeps kicking around in my head, so maybe one of these days I’ll stumble upon a direction to go in.
iTunes: “Eastern Promise (Dub Pistols vs. Bow Wow Wow)” by Bow Wow Wow from the album Groove Radio Presents Alternative Mix (1999, 4:08).