Driving to work in the morning.
A delight in itself, the morning drive is always accented with the little things that make me hate everyone I see.
The people around me do not seem to realize that my day has started out badly already. I had to wake up unnaturally in the morning, for the sole purpose of going to work. I don't mind externally prompted wake-state to go somewhere fun. But work? C'mon on... And if it's winter, and cold, and raining...? Too much to bare.
I then get in my car. A common white colored sedan, that is exactly the same as any other car on the road, no matter how the car magazines try to rate them. If it was something exciting, it might have been different. Then again excitement in cars usually involves speed, and if Death is the great equalizer for people, traffic jams have the same affect on vehicles.
And so I slip into the southbound lane for my crawling-pace-ride to work. Traveling 12 kilometers in up to 45 minutes. That's 16 kilometers an hour. Good thing the limit is only 90, or I would really feel bad. In a residential zone the limit is 50. On private roads in factories or the like the limit is 30.
And I have to suffer through half that! I might as well be driving a motorized electric scooter!
So I sit there, looking stupid, trying to keep my brain from loosing its contents though the ears. I breath deep to keep myself calm, reminding myself that I'm not in any real or particular hurry to get to where I'm going.
And then the idiot in front of me stops.
I can see the lane in front of him slowly open up to two, three, then four car lengths, before he starts to move.
Why! I literally cry out.
Pack 'em in, man! Pack 'em in. Every pace of highway counts, damn it!
But he is taking his sweet time closing up that gap. If we're lucky, no one cuts in front of him. If not, then that's just so many more cars ahead of me. More stupid people between me and the blessed right turn that will take me off the main road.
Of course, concentrating on the road to make sure that these sort of gaps don't open up might take the attention away from the newspaper that the man in front of me is reading, and we wouldn't want to do that now, would we?
And then there are those that remember they have to turn right somewhere. It may be just ahead, it may be a kilometer down the road, it may be 10. The point is they remember it now, and have to change lanes. Now!
So they do.
The fact that there is an entire car, a big one, in the space where they are heading toward as they turn the wheel doesn't seem to phase them a tinny little bit. They need to be there, and that's all that matters.
I break, and honk the horn, but they don't even turn their heads. It's as if they are thinking "If I don't actually acknowledge him, then he is not really there, and it's not my problem anyhow." It's a common symptom describes by the late Douglas Adams as "Somebody Else's Problem" principle where things can actually become invisible if we make a subconscious effort to ignore them.
And there are more. There are the lane traders which actually lose ground because they always change lanes at the wrong time. And if they would not inhibit traffic by their constant movement and effects on other drivers, they would just make me laugh.
There are the phone talkers, whose eyes are literally glazed over because their mind is somewhere else completely.
There are snoozers, that fall asleep while traveling at idle-speed forward and tap the fender in front of them. Everything has got to stop. Everyone, out of the cars! Let's spend half an hour examining the bumpers for invisible damage. The bumper was barely leaned on, man! It's not a real accident. Pull over! You don't have to stay in place for the cops to see the actual scene!
I look in their eyes. All of them.
And they all look at me.
An I can suddenly tell.
There was a message that went around among all there people.
Today, we are pissing off the man in glasses, with the ginger-brown hair, in the white Ford Focus, as he heads to work.
It's not paranoia if they're really persecuting you!
But it's not just the people around me. Not even the people a long way down the road whose actions and idiocy ripple through traffic like a tidal wave on the ocean, amplified as more an more idiot-power merges with them. It's the people on the radio as well that are in on this conspiracy to start my day with the utmost misery that may be summoned. And it's not the DJs themselves. Oh, no. This goes much higher. The DJs are taught, for reasons I can only attribute to the cohorting against me, that they should speak over the lead of a song until the lyrics start. I can, I admit, see where this may be useful. Some leads are stupid. But the greatest guitar rift ever played? (And if anyone cliches "Stairway to Heaven" on me I'll smother them in their sleep.) I'm talking about "Sultans of Swing" by "Dire Straights". Everything about that song is great.
The lyrics, the solo, the beat, and of course, the lead. It holds so much promise. It's uplifting. It's simply awesome. And for a kid on the radio to talk without end on the rambling trivials of his or her mind just to fill the time between the beginning of the song to the singing part is borderline blasphemous.
But they don't have anything against the song.
It's me.
They know how I feel about all this.
But then I get to work. An I park so far away I might as well have left my car at home and walked to the office.
And there, up there in the cubicles, and open-space, and computer and labs, and meeting rooms...Up there a whole new Hell waits me. And I get there already belligerent. All set to make war.
"Oh, you're trying to get on my nerves? Don't bother. I came all prepared from home."
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Alma, Why am I still Single?
The answer is: I'm ill with a disease called Terminal Shyness.
Shyness, because I am, to unhealthy levels.
Terminal, because everybody has got to die of something, and I decided that this is the death for me.
Why am I bringing this up? I just had dinner with this woman I know. And I just can't tell where it's going, and I have no idea how to find out. I never did. Every girlfriend I ever had made the first move. I'm thirty two years old, and I still don't have a good pickup line (People tell me that's key for picking woman up).
What's going to happed is that I'm going to become very good friend with this woman. And that's it. In a few months she'll suddenly tell me of the wonderful new boyfriend she has, and that I really should meet him because he's really great and funny. I would be left to wonder if I ever did have a chance if I would have gathered up the nerve to go for it.
This is the story of Alma. Alma, who was always almost but never actually my girlfriend.
Now, right of the bat, it should be known that I was twenty, and completely smitten with this girl who is completely wrong for me. Alma would have broken my heart, no doubt about it.
This is an old army story, so I'm looking at with a ten-years perspective, and now it's actually kinda funny. I skipped a lot in the middle, but it's unimportant.
I was a brigadier-general's communication sergeant and was always off base somewhere. Alma worked in the encrypted traffic office of our communication company, and spend all her time on base. It took me more than a month to realize she has joined the company, and that she was the the greatest thing I've ever seen. She was pretty, she was funny, and even in her regulation B-class uniform, she was very sexy. She had red hair that drove me crazy.
Anyway, by the time I worked up the nerve to actually go talk to her, I missed the boat and she started dating somebody from another company. I spent the next six month moping about it (in the army you have plenty of bored-time to think too much).
She then broke up with the guy and we started getting a little closer. It was one night that I finally worked up the nerve to make my move, as they say. Our weekend on-base duty coincided every month and a half, and that coincidence happened again. It was Saturday night, and we were both in the Company common, watching TV. Alone. Some stupid movie was on, and we were sitting close. My moment had come. I would turn to her, look her in the eyes, and say nothing. Hold it for five seconds, and bend to kiss her. I'll either get slapped or kissed back. At that point, I was willing to take the chance.
But then someone shot Yitzhak Rabin, our Prime Minister, and a second after I made up my mind the TV broke in with the news that "something happened" (We did not know what for a while).
As a side note I will mention this, for the benefit of whomever did not have that experience: an assassination of a national leader (especially when you are in uniform) is a terrible killer of romance. Just wanted to explain.
We stayed watching until three in the morning. She held my hand the entire time, wiping her eyes on my sleeves occasionally. I didn't mind, and I don't even know why I noticed. About then we realized that there is nothing to be done, and nothing more was going to be told. Out week was about to begin in a few hours, mine with a trip to the south for a three days surprise training exercise for one of our battalions. We ran the exercise, so it was going to be three days of no sleep for me. She had a shift at six in the morning, so we left the common and headed back to the barracks. Her to the women barracks and me back to the company barracks. I got a small kiss, on my cheek, and that's it. With what had just happened not yet sunk in, everything seemed too stupid and unimportant.
After that, we hardly saw each other. I was in the field most of the time, and out weekend on-base duty just failed to coincide for a long time. One night I heard her on her cellular phone - she was talking to her new boyfriend.
Shit.
Now, it's the military, and you don't get to meet a lot of new and exciting people all the time. I just wanted to say that because I don't want to seem obsessive. There were only eight women in our company of thirty five. The whole base was no more than a hundred or so people, with a low percentage of females, so the points of attraction, if you will, were slim. Since there was nothing to take my mind off Alma, it stayed fixed.
As these things go, it was another six months before Alma broke up with her boyfriend again. I meanwhile, found myself together with another woman on base, but she transferred after a couple of months and we lost touch.
It was Passover, and we both had long leaves from the Army. Alma has invited me to spend a couple of days at her house. I thought YES! This is my chance. She's interested, obviously, and she's invited me in.
I spent the Seder with my parent and a few other people, and had a great time. Through the entire thing I thought of tomorrow afternoon when I will make the trip to her house. Unfortunately, the universe conspired against me, again, and at eleven o'clock the phone rang and I was recalled to base. Operation "Grapes of Wrath" has begun in the north. It was the time to bomb the hell out of southern Lebanon for no particularly good affect again. I spent 35 days on the front line, and she spent 35 days on base.
With very few people; everybody else went to war.
She was bored and alone.
By the time I came back she was dating one of the operations sergeant that remained behind (he had his arm burnt pretty badly as consequence of Stupid, so he couldn't go).
I'm making her sound pretty bad. She wasn't.
Anyway, I gave up, and we just remained really good friend for a while.
We both finished our service and continued to be friend in civilian life, hanging out in the same circle of friends, going to parties together and the such.
It was a healthy time, because the more I got to know Alma the more I realized that she's completely bad for me. She has the kind of personality that I could not be with for long, and it was then I realized she was destined to break my heart if I ever let her. I'm glad she never got the chance, although there is always the shadow of doubt that keeps a small unfulfilled crush alive at the back of the head (or is it the heart? I'm not sure where those things I kept).
Two year went by, and one night I found myself a block from where she lived. I called her and told her that I have an early evening and I'll be done about ten o'clock so I'll drop by. Great, she said.
So I did.
By the time I showed up she was a little drunk and crying. Her boyfriend said or did or thought something bad, and she was hurt. We sat on the floor of her bedroom (well, almost the whole small apartment was dedicated to her bedroom) and she cried on my arm again.
She then looked up and said: "Why didn't we ever get together? You're the guy I should be with. A nice guy. Not like those bastards".
That's when I knew she was crazy. I realized it all of the sudden. Now it's too late, I knew. Three years ago would have been great. We would have gone out. I would have loved her, she would have loved me. I would do something stupid accidentally, and she would break my heart. Normal relationship for young people. Back then I would have taken it with both hands.
Now I knew I had to bolt from there! But I didn't because I was, am still I'm told, a nice guy, and I would not leave her sobbing on the floor of her bedroom. A couple of more friend appeared after that, and half an hour later her boyfriend came back, ready to do whatever it takes to make it all better, and I made a quite, dignified exit.
We kinda drew further apart after that, and within a couple of years we didn't speak anymore at all. I saw her last five year ago in a wedding of a mutual friend.
And so we're left with the story of Alma. The story of almost every girl I knew in my life.
I just know that now I have a new really good friend...
I don't need a new really good friend.
What I need now is a really good GIRL-friend.
At this point I'll settle even for a mediocre girl-friend.
(Please let me know if I sound like whining idiot; I feel like one.)
Shyness, because I am, to unhealthy levels.
Terminal, because everybody has got to die of something, and I decided that this is the death for me.
Why am I bringing this up? I just had dinner with this woman I know. And I just can't tell where it's going, and I have no idea how to find out. I never did. Every girlfriend I ever had made the first move. I'm thirty two years old, and I still don't have a good pickup line (People tell me that's key for picking woman up).
What's going to happed is that I'm going to become very good friend with this woman. And that's it. In a few months she'll suddenly tell me of the wonderful new boyfriend she has, and that I really should meet him because he's really great and funny. I would be left to wonder if I ever did have a chance if I would have gathered up the nerve to go for it.
This is the story of Alma. Alma, who was always almost but never actually my girlfriend.
Now, right of the bat, it should be known that I was twenty, and completely smitten with this girl who is completely wrong for me. Alma would have broken my heart, no doubt about it.
This is an old army story, so I'm looking at with a ten-years perspective, and now it's actually kinda funny. I skipped a lot in the middle, but it's unimportant.
I was a brigadier-general's communication sergeant and was always off base somewhere. Alma worked in the encrypted traffic office of our communication company, and spend all her time on base. It took me more than a month to realize she has joined the company, and that she was the the greatest thing I've ever seen. She was pretty, she was funny, and even in her regulation B-class uniform, she was very sexy. She had red hair that drove me crazy.
Anyway, by the time I worked up the nerve to actually go talk to her, I missed the boat and she started dating somebody from another company. I spent the next six month moping about it (in the army you have plenty of bored-time to think too much).
She then broke up with the guy and we started getting a little closer. It was one night that I finally worked up the nerve to make my move, as they say. Our weekend on-base duty coincided every month and a half, and that coincidence happened again. It was Saturday night, and we were both in the Company common, watching TV. Alone. Some stupid movie was on, and we were sitting close. My moment had come. I would turn to her, look her in the eyes, and say nothing. Hold it for five seconds, and bend to kiss her. I'll either get slapped or kissed back. At that point, I was willing to take the chance.
But then someone shot Yitzhak Rabin, our Prime Minister, and a second after I made up my mind the TV broke in with the news that "something happened" (We did not know what for a while).
As a side note I will mention this, for the benefit of whomever did not have that experience: an assassination of a national leader (especially when you are in uniform) is a terrible killer of romance. Just wanted to explain.
We stayed watching until three in the morning. She held my hand the entire time, wiping her eyes on my sleeves occasionally. I didn't mind, and I don't even know why I noticed. About then we realized that there is nothing to be done, and nothing more was going to be told. Out week was about to begin in a few hours, mine with a trip to the south for a three days surprise training exercise for one of our battalions. We ran the exercise, so it was going to be three days of no sleep for me. She had a shift at six in the morning, so we left the common and headed back to the barracks. Her to the women barracks and me back to the company barracks. I got a small kiss, on my cheek, and that's it. With what had just happened not yet sunk in, everything seemed too stupid and unimportant.
After that, we hardly saw each other. I was in the field most of the time, and out weekend on-base duty just failed to coincide for a long time. One night I heard her on her cellular phone - she was talking to her new boyfriend.
Shit.
Now, it's the military, and you don't get to meet a lot of new and exciting people all the time. I just wanted to say that because I don't want to seem obsessive. There were only eight women in our company of thirty five. The whole base was no more than a hundred or so people, with a low percentage of females, so the points of attraction, if you will, were slim. Since there was nothing to take my mind off Alma, it stayed fixed.
As these things go, it was another six months before Alma broke up with her boyfriend again. I meanwhile, found myself together with another woman on base, but she transferred after a couple of months and we lost touch.
It was Passover, and we both had long leaves from the Army. Alma has invited me to spend a couple of days at her house. I thought YES! This is my chance. She's interested, obviously, and she's invited me in.
I spent the Seder with my parent and a few other people, and had a great time. Through the entire thing I thought of tomorrow afternoon when I will make the trip to her house. Unfortunately, the universe conspired against me, again, and at eleven o'clock the phone rang and I was recalled to base. Operation "Grapes of Wrath" has begun in the north. It was the time to bomb the hell out of southern Lebanon for no particularly good affect again. I spent 35 days on the front line, and she spent 35 days on base.
With very few people; everybody else went to war.
She was bored and alone.
By the time I came back she was dating one of the operations sergeant that remained behind (he had his arm burnt pretty badly as consequence of Stupid, so he couldn't go).
I'm making her sound pretty bad. She wasn't.
Anyway, I gave up, and we just remained really good friend for a while.
We both finished our service and continued to be friend in civilian life, hanging out in the same circle of friends, going to parties together and the such.
It was a healthy time, because the more I got to know Alma the more I realized that she's completely bad for me. She has the kind of personality that I could not be with for long, and it was then I realized she was destined to break my heart if I ever let her. I'm glad she never got the chance, although there is always the shadow of doubt that keeps a small unfulfilled crush alive at the back of the head (or is it the heart? I'm not sure where those things I kept).
Two year went by, and one night I found myself a block from where she lived. I called her and told her that I have an early evening and I'll be done about ten o'clock so I'll drop by. Great, she said.
So I did.
By the time I showed up she was a little drunk and crying. Her boyfriend said or did or thought something bad, and she was hurt. We sat on the floor of her bedroom (well, almost the whole small apartment was dedicated to her bedroom) and she cried on my arm again.
She then looked up and said: "Why didn't we ever get together? You're the guy I should be with. A nice guy. Not like those bastards".
That's when I knew she was crazy. I realized it all of the sudden. Now it's too late, I knew. Three years ago would have been great. We would have gone out. I would have loved her, she would have loved me. I would do something stupid accidentally, and she would break my heart. Normal relationship for young people. Back then I would have taken it with both hands.
Now I knew I had to bolt from there! But I didn't because I was, am still I'm told, a nice guy, and I would not leave her sobbing on the floor of her bedroom. A couple of more friend appeared after that, and half an hour later her boyfriend came back, ready to do whatever it takes to make it all better, and I made a quite, dignified exit.
We kinda drew further apart after that, and within a couple of years we didn't speak anymore at all. I saw her last five year ago in a wedding of a mutual friend.
And so we're left with the story of Alma. The story of almost every girl I knew in my life.
I just know that now I have a new really good friend...
I don't need a new really good friend.
What I need now is a really good GIRL-friend.
At this point I'll settle even for a mediocre girl-friend.
(Please let me know if I sound like whining idiot; I feel like one.)
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Clocks and Chickens
I'm not a computer gamer (I think I said it before). I do like the little games that you can download and play which don't require any strategy, or thinking for that mater, and not much skill accept quickness of the hand. There is a long list of these games I like, but one of my favorites is "Chickens Invaders" (google it for more information). It's based on the old "Space Invaders" game, but this time the Solar system is invaded by waves after waves of evil, erratic, egg-shelling chickens, led and controlled by the mighty Mother Hen-ship. I love the game, and it's not quite as explicable as you might think. Or at least as I might think. I thought of it long and hard, and came out with a critical conclusion: Everything Is Funnier With Chicken!
It's a lesson that should be learned and understood.
We take it for grated, and years of slapstick comedy relied on it, without actually formalizing it.
I have proof:
A couple of years ago a co-worker has told me of a friend called Yaron Hayut (sorry, no link) who is a mechanical engineer by trade, a clocks enthusiast by passion, and a general mad-designer by choice. He creates non-traditional time keeping devices that could be referred to as non-clocks. He is a horrible business man and terrible at promoting himself, so there is not even a web-site where the clocks may be viewed. You might have to take yourself to MoMA in New York to see some of his work on display (if it's still there, it's been years).
Anyway, that whole concept of "It doesn't matter what time it is, but rather how it is displayed" struck as me ingenious, and kept lingering in the back of my mind. I kept looking at clocks, trying to find the uniqueness of them. The art. It just stayed there, like a little post-it note on the brain, until about a year ago when I visited London, England, and walked around the shops in Covent Gardens. There I saw a little wall clock that had a very unique way of identifying the hour. A spiral arm stretches out and back into the oval face of the watch. Across the face are the numbered the hours. The arm crosses across the correct hour. It is simple, brilliant, and just makes me happy (cheap happiness at 5 pounds). I bought the clock and brought it back home. A few weeks ago I struck a conversation with my co-worker about the clocks and I mentioned that I have bought this clock in London. Consulting his friend, Yaron has asked for a photograph of the clock, being unfamiliar with it. Not knowing of the origin of the clock he has asked in return whether it was bought, by any change, in London, possibly in Covent Gardens.
Apparently, fifteen years ago Mr. Hayut walked through Covent Gardens and saw strangely engineered clocks and thought "Hey, I can do that!". He's been designing clocks ever since. And if I never would have heard of it, I would never have notice that clock that now hangs on my wall. I dare anyone to contest Karma!
Anyway, I promised you chickens.
Rubber chickens. It would not have been the same with a rubber bat (baseball or sonar-guided fliers of the night). A rubber chicken smacked over someone's head holds a special kind of comedic charm that would be otherwise impossible.
The Muppets. It's not a coincidence that Gonzo's is a chicken (or is he? He's actually an alien. They said so in a movie!). At least he is a rooster-chicken by association with his band of singing hens. Gonzo has got to be the funniest (or is it ridiculousiest?) character there. It would not be the same if he was goat now, would it?
Yaron Hayut has also invented an alarm clock that, upon going off, releases a bunch of eggs into a basket. The awoken person must return the eggs back into the clock to stop the alarm. It's a brilliant waking mechanism, but more than that, it is hilariously funny. Why? It's just an alarm clock!
Because everything and anything can be made funnier with Chickens.
Whenever there is a little sadness in your life, think of chickens.
It'll make it all just a little bit better.
Everything is Funnier with Chickens!
Pak-Pak....Pak-waaaack!!!!
It's a lesson that should be learned and understood.
We take it for grated, and years of slapstick comedy relied on it, without actually formalizing it.
I have proof:
A couple of years ago a co-worker has told me of a friend called Yaron Hayut (sorry, no link) who is a mechanical engineer by trade, a clocks enthusiast by passion, and a general mad-designer by choice. He creates non-traditional time keeping devices that could be referred to as non-clocks. He is a horrible business man and terrible at promoting himself, so there is not even a web-site where the clocks may be viewed. You might have to take yourself to MoMA in New York to see some of his work on display (if it's still there, it's been years).
Anyway, that whole concept of "It doesn't matter what time it is, but rather how it is displayed" struck as me ingenious, and kept lingering in the back of my mind. I kept looking at clocks, trying to find the uniqueness of them. The art. It just stayed there, like a little post-it note on the brain, until about a year ago when I visited London, England, and walked around the shops in Covent Gardens. There I saw a little wall clock that had a very unique way of identifying the hour. A spiral arm stretches out and back into the oval face of the watch. Across the face are the numbered the hours. The arm crosses across the correct hour. It is simple, brilliant, and just makes me happy (cheap happiness at 5 pounds). I bought the clock and brought it back home. A few weeks ago I struck a conversation with my co-worker about the clocks and I mentioned that I have bought this clock in London. Consulting his friend, Yaron has asked for a photograph of the clock, being unfamiliar with it. Not knowing of the origin of the clock he has asked in return whether it was bought, by any change, in London, possibly in Covent Gardens.
Apparently, fifteen years ago Mr. Hayut walked through Covent Gardens and saw strangely engineered clocks and thought "Hey, I can do that!". He's been designing clocks ever since. And if I never would have heard of it, I would never have notice that clock that now hangs on my wall. I dare anyone to contest Karma!
Anyway, I promised you chickens.
Rubber chickens. It would not have been the same with a rubber bat (baseball or sonar-guided fliers of the night). A rubber chicken smacked over someone's head holds a special kind of comedic charm that would be otherwise impossible.
The Muppets. It's not a coincidence that Gonzo's is a chicken (or is he? He's actually an alien. They said so in a movie!). At least he is a rooster-chicken by association with his band of singing hens. Gonzo has got to be the funniest (or is it ridiculousiest?) character there. It would not be the same if he was goat now, would it?
Yaron Hayut has also invented an alarm clock that, upon going off, releases a bunch of eggs into a basket. The awoken person must return the eggs back into the clock to stop the alarm. It's a brilliant waking mechanism, but more than that, it is hilariously funny. Why? It's just an alarm clock!
Because everything and anything can be made funnier with Chickens.
Whenever there is a little sadness in your life, think of chickens.
It'll make it all just a little bit better.
Everything is Funnier with Chickens!
Pak-Pak....Pak-waaaack!!!!
Friday, November 17, 2006
Maintain the Balance (or go MAD)
Tom Lehrer wrote in the song "Who's Next"
But that's not what I want to say.
Something that happened at work got me thinking of the "Balance" line of the song. Lehrer speaks of the balance of power. I'm thinking of the The Balance of Stupid. It is my conclusion that if there is a balance for everything in the universe, then there is also a Balance of Stupid that must be maintained.
In a previous ranting I spoke of a programmer that I referred to as the Old Man. Nothing against old (older) people, I swear. I know of Old thirty-some years old and Young of sixty-some years. This man simply programmed like it was 1986. I program likes is 1996, and in our line of work even that is soon-to-be-old. But nevermind the aging tangent.
This man was fired ("and there was much rejoicing") a couple of months ago. We were dancing among the cubicles and chanting Yey-chants to all the small gods we could think of. I got responsibility for all the items he was in charge of, and the imagination soared. I felt uplifted (I'm not kidding). My head literally dizzy with all the neat things I will finally do the software. The software module in question is our infrastructure and there were about 6 years of neglect. People, including me, had to come up with their own solutions to problems that could be solved in a central (infrastructural) manner.
I'm going on and on to try and explain my excitement (albeit a professional excitement, I am, indeed, a geek). I thought that all my frustration was over. No more blank stares from someone who could not follow simple logic (he actually said once "I can't do that for you, it requires logic"!). No more idiotic solutions to the wrong problems. No more waiting two years for a month's worth of work. Utter bliss.
And in that euphoric state of mind, I was blindsided.
My other major project right now is a Linux migration. I'm supervising an outsourcing of the work by another company.
And there, waiting, was another old man.
Another man who doesn't believe in order, or neatness.
Another man who doesn't listen.
Another man who could call me with the same question three times because he doesn't like my answers, and then goes ahead and does what he wants anyway.
Hence the Balance of Stupid is maintained. My original conclusion was that we need to find a way to shift the Balance of Stupid in the right way, so the weight falls on unimportant things. Then I realized that whenever you have to cover for somebody's stupidity, that specific task turns to supreme importance, so a shifting attempt is futile.
Suffer stupidity in quite (it's impossible, I tried).
Nothing left but to suck it up!
So I am left with only this small wish: I hope that I'm not someone else's Balance of Stupid.
Although I probably am. If so, I apologize.
First we've got the bomb and that was good,Mr. Lehrer spoke, of course, of the Atomic Bomb, the fear of Nuclear Weapons proliferation, and invention of that absurd theory, which is probably what kept the world alive until now, of Mutually Assured Destruction, with the aptly acronym MAD. "The balance of power" Lehrer called it. The idea that fear of my own (assured) destruction would deter me from taking an action that would assure my enemy's destruction (modern Nuclear Weapons do come with an "Assured Destruction Certification", apparently). It's a good theory, and like I said, as long as sane people were at the button it worked. I use "Sane" as in "understand the implication of starting a nuclear war"-sane not "Sane" as "Hi, I'm Stalin, I feel like killing a couple of million of my own people today because it's possible they will look at me funny someday in a parade"-sane. This theory fails today because nuclear weapons have new kind of owners. Their Sanity is limited to "let's fire this thing and God (-Allah, Jesus, or the minor Goddess of "things lost in drawers" * ) will handle the rest and assure my Heavenly eternity" brand of sane.
'Cause we love peace and motherhood.
Then, Russia got the bomb, but that's O.K.,
'Cause the balance of power's maintained that way.
Who's Next?
But that's not what I want to say.
Something that happened at work got me thinking of the "Balance" line of the song. Lehrer speaks of the balance of power. I'm thinking of the The Balance of Stupid. It is my conclusion that if there is a balance for everything in the universe, then there is also a Balance of Stupid that must be maintained.
In a previous ranting I spoke of a programmer that I referred to as the Old Man. Nothing against old (older) people, I swear. I know of Old thirty-some years old and Young of sixty-some years. This man simply programmed like it was 1986. I program likes is 1996, and in our line of work even that is soon-to-be-old. But nevermind the aging tangent.
This man was fired ("and there was much rejoicing") a couple of months ago. We were dancing among the cubicles and chanting Yey-chants to all the small gods we could think of. I got responsibility for all the items he was in charge of, and the imagination soared. I felt uplifted (I'm not kidding). My head literally dizzy with all the neat things I will finally do the software. The software module in question is our infrastructure and there were about 6 years of neglect. People, including me, had to come up with their own solutions to problems that could be solved in a central (infrastructural) manner.
I'm going on and on to try and explain my excitement (albeit a professional excitement, I am, indeed, a geek). I thought that all my frustration was over. No more blank stares from someone who could not follow simple logic (he actually said once "I can't do that for you, it requires logic"!). No more idiotic solutions to the wrong problems. No more waiting two years for a month's worth of work. Utter bliss.
And in that euphoric state of mind, I was blindsided.
My other major project right now is a Linux migration. I'm supervising an outsourcing of the work by another company.
And there, waiting, was another old man.
Another man who doesn't believe in order, or neatness.
Another man who doesn't listen.
Another man who could call me with the same question three times because he doesn't like my answers, and then goes ahead and does what he wants anyway.
Hence the Balance of Stupid is maintained. My original conclusion was that we need to find a way to shift the Balance of Stupid in the right way, so the weight falls on unimportant things. Then I realized that whenever you have to cover for somebody's stupidity, that specific task turns to supreme importance, so a shifting attempt is futile.
Suffer stupidity in quite (it's impossible, I tried).
Nothing left but to suck it up!
So I am left with only this small wish: I hope that I'm not someone else's Balance of Stupid.
Although I probably am. If so, I apologize.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
I need a better map
So I fell of the face of the Earth again. Got lost. But I'm back.
Where have I been? Well, I've been busy. I've had to fly to Canada. I was there for a couple of weeks, and, except for the work I had to do, enjoyed almost every minute of it. The Canadians, at least in Hamilton, Ontario, are the nicest people you can find. Work sucked, but I got through it. The only problem with Canada is that I had to go through the US customs and Passport Control in Newark which is an experience all on it own. You know how American always laugh and complain about how rude, crude, and simply unpleasant people are at other countries (especially a certain European country?). Well, you can get the entire experience, but in your own language! Just go through Newark Airport as a foreign national.
But, never mind.
Then I had to spend a while catching up with the work I had to do here. Work has a funny way of piling up in an exponential manner rather than a linear one. When you miss a couple of weeks' worth of work, it appears like a month's worth of work when you try and make it up.
What else?
I had my house stuff that I had to do. Still finishing up things. Dealing with the contractor for things that needed fixing. Dealing with the alarm people. Looking into a garden. This is turning out to be a lot of work.
Also, I got put in charge of a giant project which I was lost in a little bit and spent my nights trying to unravel some of the mess that was done by my predecessor. I've had to prepare all our code - code that has had about 50 man-years invested in it - for transporting to Linux. Sounds like fun? It isn't. It left me drained of everything.
And, um....emm....hmmm...
Oh, yeah.
I had to go fight to stupid war!
Some people to the north of us decided that going into a reckless military action against us would go over quietly, as it did for the past six years. They turned out to be wrong, so we had ourselves the Second Lenanese War. I'm not sure what was dumber. The war or the people who ran it. It was ill conceived and ill executed by the highest levels of our military command. Too much politics went into operational decisions. Too much considerations to the lives of the enemy at the expense of the lives of our own soldiers. Too much arrogance and ignorance. I know it doesn't look like it on the News, but there was too much kindness toward a country that enjoyed prosperity over the last six years at our expense. Our will to swallow everything that Hezbollah shoved down our throat ever since we withdrew from South Lebanon allows the country to attract investors from all over the world. Rebuild Beirut, the beach and ski resorts, and sea ports to their former glory. All the while, we were under periodic fire of about three months intervals from Hezbollah. Lebanon has allowed this military force to grow strong in its midst, effectively creating a separate country within its borders. A country with different allegiance and different alliances than the official central government. A country that has objectives that are in direct collision and contradiction with the best interest of the host country and its people.
We've dropped thousand of tones of bombs on Lebanon. We've temporarily created half a million refugees. We've reduces a few villages and a Beirut neighborhood to rubble. And yet, we've been more gentle and careful than anyone can expect from a country at war. We didn't target civilian, although civilian got in the line of fire at time. We didn't carpet-bomb anything. We held our fire at the tiniest uncertainty that non-combatants might be in the area. Only about 1000 Lebanese lost their lives in this war. Over a month of what surely appear to be Hell's Fire, and only a thousand dead. Look at some of the other armed conflicts in the world to get some sense of proportion for this number. A death of any kind is bad, but this is the result of War. I am sorry, and I feel for each and every one of them. Especially the children that have not even the capacity to understand what's going on.
But that's the difference, isn't it? I feel sorry for the children of my enemies, while they specifically target mine with their rockets.
And the world looks on, singles us out, and shakes its head with disappointment. For how much longer will you be the aggressor? it asks. And we will continue to be bewildered by this question, while our northern border is attacked and invaded. While our soldiers are attacked and kidnapped from within our own borders. While our security, safety, and very existence is threatened by neighbors near and far. In Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
The president of Iran has a two part solution for the Middle East. First understand that Israel is to blame for it all. Then destroy it.
They used to speak of a Moral Compass. Well, the world needs a new one. Its moral is now money and power and short-term quietness that will get the leaders and politicians elected just one more term to office. The world needs a better compass than that.
Hell, it needs an entirely new and better map.
Where have I been? Well, I've been busy. I've had to fly to Canada. I was there for a couple of weeks, and, except for the work I had to do, enjoyed almost every minute of it. The Canadians, at least in Hamilton, Ontario, are the nicest people you can find. Work sucked, but I got through it. The only problem with Canada is that I had to go through the US customs and Passport Control in Newark which is an experience all on it own. You know how American always laugh and complain about how rude, crude, and simply unpleasant people are at other countries (especially a certain European country?). Well, you can get the entire experience, but in your own language! Just go through Newark Airport as a foreign national.
But, never mind.
Then I had to spend a while catching up with the work I had to do here. Work has a funny way of piling up in an exponential manner rather than a linear one. When you miss a couple of weeks' worth of work, it appears like a month's worth of work when you try and make it up.
What else?
I had my house stuff that I had to do. Still finishing up things. Dealing with the contractor for things that needed fixing. Dealing with the alarm people. Looking into a garden. This is turning out to be a lot of work.
Also, I got put in charge of a giant project which I was lost in a little bit and spent my nights trying to unravel some of the mess that was done by my predecessor. I've had to prepare all our code - code that has had about 50 man-years invested in it - for transporting to Linux. Sounds like fun? It isn't. It left me drained of everything.
And, um....emm....hmmm...
Oh, yeah.
I had to go fight to stupid war!
Some people to the north of us decided that going into a reckless military action against us would go over quietly, as it did for the past six years. They turned out to be wrong, so we had ourselves the Second Lenanese War. I'm not sure what was dumber. The war or the people who ran it. It was ill conceived and ill executed by the highest levels of our military command. Too much politics went into operational decisions. Too much considerations to the lives of the enemy at the expense of the lives of our own soldiers. Too much arrogance and ignorance. I know it doesn't look like it on the News, but there was too much kindness toward a country that enjoyed prosperity over the last six years at our expense. Our will to swallow everything that Hezbollah shoved down our throat ever since we withdrew from South Lebanon allows the country to attract investors from all over the world. Rebuild Beirut, the beach and ski resorts, and sea ports to their former glory. All the while, we were under periodic fire of about three months intervals from Hezbollah. Lebanon has allowed this military force to grow strong in its midst, effectively creating a separate country within its borders. A country with different allegiance and different alliances than the official central government. A country that has objectives that are in direct collision and contradiction with the best interest of the host country and its people.
We've dropped thousand of tones of bombs on Lebanon. We've temporarily created half a million refugees. We've reduces a few villages and a Beirut neighborhood to rubble. And yet, we've been more gentle and careful than anyone can expect from a country at war. We didn't target civilian, although civilian got in the line of fire at time. We didn't carpet-bomb anything. We held our fire at the tiniest uncertainty that non-combatants might be in the area. Only about 1000 Lebanese lost their lives in this war. Over a month of what surely appear to be Hell's Fire, and only a thousand dead. Look at some of the other armed conflicts in the world to get some sense of proportion for this number. A death of any kind is bad, but this is the result of War. I am sorry, and I feel for each and every one of them. Especially the children that have not even the capacity to understand what's going on.
But that's the difference, isn't it? I feel sorry for the children of my enemies, while they specifically target mine with their rockets.
And the world looks on, singles us out, and shakes its head with disappointment. For how much longer will you be the aggressor? it asks. And we will continue to be bewildered by this question, while our northern border is attacked and invaded. While our soldiers are attacked and kidnapped from within our own borders. While our security, safety, and very existence is threatened by neighbors near and far. In Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
The president of Iran has a two part solution for the Middle East. First understand that Israel is to blame for it all. Then destroy it.
They used to speak of a Moral Compass. Well, the world needs a new one. Its moral is now money and power and short-term quietness that will get the leaders and politicians elected just one more term to office. The world needs a better compass than that.
Hell, it needs an entirely new and better map.
I need a better map
So I fell of the face of the Earth again. Got lost. But I'm back.
Where have I been? Well, I've been busy. I've had to fly to Canada. I was there for a couple of weeks, and, except for the work I had to do, enjoyed almost every minute of it. The Canadians, at least in Hamilton, Ontario, are the nicest people you can find. Work sucked, but I got through it. The only problem with Canada is that I had to go through the US customs and Passport Control in Newark which is an experience all on it own. You know how American always laugh and complain about how rude, crude, and simply unpleasant people are at other countries (especially a certain European country?). Well, you can get the entire experience, but in your own language! Just go through Newark Airport as a foreign national.
But, never mind.
Then I had to spend a while catching up with the work I had to do here. Work has a funny way of piling up in an exponential manner rather than a linear one. When you miss a couple of weeks' worth of work, it appears like a month's worth of work when you try and make it up.
What else?
I had my house stuff that I had to do. Still finishing up things. Dealing with the contractor for things that needed fixing. Dealing with the alarm people. Looking into a garden. This is turning out to be a lot of work.
Also, I got put in charge of a giant project which I was lost in a little bit and spent my nights trying to unravel some of the mess that was done by my predecessor. I've had to prepare all our code - code that has had about 50 man-years invested in it - for transporting to Linux. Sounds like fun? It isn't. It left me drained of everything.
And, um....emm....hmmm...
Oh, yeah.
I had to go fight to stupid war!
Some people to the north of us decided that going into a reckless military action against us would go over quietly, as it did for the past six years. They turned out to be wrong, so we had ourselves the Second Lenanese War. I'm not sure what was dumber. The war or the people who ran it. It was ill conceived and ill executed by the highest levels of our military command. Too much politics went into operational decisions. Too much considerations to the lives of the enemy at the expense of the lives of our own soldiers. Too much arrogance and ignorance. I know it doesn't look like it on the News, but there was too much kindness toward a country that enjoyed prosperity over the last six years at our expense. Our will to swallow everything that Hezbollah shoved down our throat ever since we withdrew from South Lebanon allows the country to attract investors from all over the world. Rebuild Beirut, the beach and ski resorts, and sea ports to their former glory. All the while, we were under periodic fire of about three months intervals from Hezbollah. Lebanon has allowed this military force to grow strong in its midst, effectively creating a separate country within its borders. A country with different allegiance and different alliances than the official central government. A country that has objectives that are in direct collision and contradiction with the best interest of the host country and its people.
We've dropped thousand of tones of bombs on Lebanon. We've temporarily created half a million refugees. We've reduces a few villages and a Beirut neighborhood to rubble. And yet, we've been more gentle and careful than anyone can expect from a country at war. We didn't target civilian, although civilian got in the line of fire at time. We didn't carpet-bomb anything. We held our fire at the tiniest uncertainty that non-combatants might be in the area. Only about 1000 Lebanese lost their lives in this war. Over a month of what surely appear to be Hell's Fire, and only a thousand dead. Look at some of the other armed conflicts in the world to get some sense of proportion for this number. A death of any kind is bad, but this is the result of War. I am sorry, and I feel for each and every one of them. Especially the children that have not even the capacity to understand what's going on.
But that's the difference, isn't it? I feel sorry for the children of my enemies, while they specifically target mine with their rockets.
And the world looks on, singles us out, and shakes its head with disappointment. For how much longer will you be the aggressor? it asks. And we will continue to be bewildered by this question, while our northern border is attacked and invaded. While our soldiers are attacked and kidnapped from within our own borders. While our security, safety, and very existence is threatened by neighbors near and far. In Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
The president of Iran has a two part solution for the Middle East. First understand that Israel is to blame for it all. Then destroy it.
They used to speak of a Moral Compass. Well, the world needs a new one. Its moral is now money and power and short-term quietness that will get the leaders and politicians elected just one more term to office. The world needs a better compass than that.
Hell, it needs an entirely new and better map.
Where have I been? Well, I've been busy. I've had to fly to Canada. I was there for a couple of weeks, and, except for the work I had to do, enjoyed almost every minute of it. The Canadians, at least in Hamilton, Ontario, are the nicest people you can find. Work sucked, but I got through it. The only problem with Canada is that I had to go through the US customs and Passport Control in Newark which is an experience all on it own. You know how American always laugh and complain about how rude, crude, and simply unpleasant people are at other countries (especially a certain European country?). Well, you can get the entire experience, but in your own language! Just go through Newark Airport as a foreign national.
But, never mind.
Then I had to spend a while catching up with the work I had to do here. Work has a funny way of piling up in an exponential manner rather than a linear one. When you miss a couple of weeks' worth of work, it appears like a month's worth of work when you try and make it up.
What else?
I had my house stuff that I had to do. Still finishing up things. Dealing with the contractor for things that needed fixing. Dealing with the alarm people. Looking into a garden. This is turning out to be a lot of work.
Also, I got put in charge of a giant project which I was lost in a little bit and spent my nights trying to unravel some of the mess that was done by my predecessor. I've had to prepare all our code - code that has had about 50 man-years invested in it - for transporting to Linux. Sounds like fun? It isn't. It left me drained of everything.
And, um....emm....hmmm...
Oh, yeah.
I had to go fight to stupid war!
Some people to the north of us decided that going into a reckless military action against us would go over quietly, as it did for the past six years. They turned out to be wrong, so we had ourselves the Second Lenanese War. I'm not sure what was dumber. The war or the people who ran it. It was ill conceived and ill executed by the highest levels of our military command. Too much politics went into operational decisions. Too much considerations to the lives of the enemy at the expense of the lives of our own soldiers. Too much arrogance and ignorance. I know it doesn't look like it on the News, but there was too much kindness toward a country that enjoyed prosperity over the last six years at our expense. Our will to swallow everything that Hezbollah shoved down our throat ever since we withdrew from South Lebanon allows the country to attract investors from all over the world. Rebuild Beirut, the beach and ski resorts, and sea ports to their former glory. All the while, we were under periodic fire of about three months intervals from Hezbollah. Lebanon has allowed this military force to grow strong in its midst, effectively creating a separate country within its borders. A country with different allegiance and different alliances than the official central government. A country that has objectives that are in direct collision and contradiction with the best interest of the host country and its people.
We've dropped thousand of tones of bombs on Lebanon. We've temporarily created half a million refugees. We've reduces a few villages and a Beirut neighborhood to rubble. And yet, we've been more gentle and careful than anyone can expect from a country at war. We didn't target civilian, although civilian got in the line of fire at time. We didn't carpet-bomb anything. We held our fire at the tiniest uncertainty that non-combatants might be in the area. Only about 1000 Lebanese lost their lives in this war. Over a month of what surely appear to be Hell's Fire, and only a thousand dead. Look at some of the other armed conflicts in the world to get some sense of proportion for this number. A death of any kind is bad, but this is the result of War. I am sorry, and I feel for each and every one of them. Especially the children that have not even the capacity to understand what's going on.
But that's the difference, isn't it? I feel sorry for the children of my enemies, while they specifically target mine with their rockets.
And the world looks on, singles us out, and shakes its head with disappointment. For how much longer will you be the aggressor? it asks. And we will continue to be bewildered by this question, while our northern border is attacked and invaded. While our soldiers are attacked and kidnapped from within our own borders. While our security, safety, and very existence is threatened by neighbors near and far. In Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
The president of Iran has a two part solution for the Middle East. First understand that Israel is to blame for it all. Then destroy it.
They used to speak of a Moral Compass. Well, the world needs a new one. Its moral is now money and power and short-term quietness that will get the leaders and politicians elected just one more term to office. The world needs a better compass than that.
Hell, it needs an entirely new and better map.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Engineering Commando to the Rescue!!!
So I was dropped a bomb to handle last Wednesday. I have to go to the US and Canada to install a couple of systems. Customer Care and Field Support are bogged down. Not my job, but, hey, everyone's gotta pitch in and lend a hand, don't they?
So I was all set to fly out on the 10th or 11th of June. It gave me a week to get ready. Just enough time. Time for what? Learning what the hell I was going to do. You see, I've never installed these type of systems before. In fact, some elements in these systems were never installed before. Certainly not in these versions which are brand new.
By the time Thursday rolled by, I was already flying out on the 7th.
OK, only three days. Not a problem. I can do it. I'll have to rally people up to help me a bit, but we're still cool.
Hey, at least I get to be in Canada and Wisconsin which I never visited before. Small towns, Hamilton outside of Toronto and Madison, just north of Chicago. Not quite your regular tourist traps, but that's alright.
But all this is not the point.
The point is that I am, effectively, temporarily on loan to the sales and support department. I have always had the satisfaction at my job of actually making something. It's not like carving stone or casting iron, but writing software does produce something at the end. Something that does something someone needs. I have always assumed that the sales and customer support and care departments don't really produce anything. Not that they don't work hard. They do. They're the ones bringing the money in. They just didn't actually make anything.
Or so I thought.
I was wrong.
They do produce.
A lot.
Mountains upon mountains of paperwork.
Volumes of e-mails going back and forth.
I have been CCed all the correspondences about my two sites over the fast two days and have received upwards of thirty mail messages and about fifteen documents. POs, SOWs, Quoting Tool, and something called channel Partner/Dealer Information form. I am sure that, just like me, you are wandering what all these things are. I have no idea!
A to B: "When are you coming...?" asks the first message.
B to A, cc C: "We are arriving at X...?" answered B.
A: "At Y...?" This is an e-mail message, not a phone, what's unclear about X?
B: "No, X"
C: "I like X."
A: "You sure you wouldn't like Y?"
B + C: "X is the date."
D: "I need you to be here on Z". Now, D is the customer. Why didn't anyone ask him beforehand?
B: "Oh, then I guess we'll be there at Z."
A: "But wouldn't Y be better?"
C: "Y is not an option. The customer wants it on the Z"
B: "We can be there on Z."
A: "Maybe we should try and work it out that we still arrive on X?"
B+C: "Z is fine. If that's when D wants it, then that's it."
A: "Oh...."
And the conversations go on and on:
A to B: "Our engineer has to talk to the customer."
B to A: "In addition, your engineer has to talk to the customer."
A to B: "We have to set up a conference to introduce him to the customer."
B to A: "Maybe we should have a conference to introduce the engineer to the customer?"
A to B: "We should talk about it."
B to A: "Let's have a conference with the engineer and work out what he needs."
A to B: "He would probably like to talk to the customer."
B to A: "Hmm, maybe that's not such a bad idea. Maybe he should talk to the customer?"
Engineer: Blows own Brains out.
That has been the content of my Inbox for the last few days.
If they're thinking I'm filling out all these forms, they are mad.
If they are thinking I'm participating in the sixteen conference calls they set up since Thursday, they are stark barking mad.
It looks like I'm actually going take this on and go through with the whole thing.
I must be a raving lunatic!
So I was all set to fly out on the 10th or 11th of June. It gave me a week to get ready. Just enough time. Time for what? Learning what the hell I was going to do. You see, I've never installed these type of systems before. In fact, some elements in these systems were never installed before. Certainly not in these versions which are brand new.
By the time Thursday rolled by, I was already flying out on the 7th.
OK, only three days. Not a problem. I can do it. I'll have to rally people up to help me a bit, but we're still cool.
Hey, at least I get to be in Canada and Wisconsin which I never visited before. Small towns, Hamilton outside of Toronto and Madison, just north of Chicago. Not quite your regular tourist traps, but that's alright.
But all this is not the point.
The point is that I am, effectively, temporarily on loan to the sales and support department. I have always had the satisfaction at my job of actually making something. It's not like carving stone or casting iron, but writing software does produce something at the end. Something that does something someone needs. I have always assumed that the sales and customer support and care departments don't really produce anything. Not that they don't work hard. They do. They're the ones bringing the money in. They just didn't actually make anything.
Or so I thought.
I was wrong.
They do produce.
A lot.
Mountains upon mountains of paperwork.
Volumes of e-mails going back and forth.
I have been CCed all the correspondences about my two sites over the fast two days and have received upwards of thirty mail messages and about fifteen documents. POs, SOWs, Quoting Tool, and something called channel Partner/Dealer Information form. I am sure that, just like me, you are wandering what all these things are. I have no idea!
A to B: "When are you coming...?" asks the first message.
B to A, cc C: "We are arriving at X...?" answered B.
A: "At Y...?" This is an e-mail message, not a phone, what's unclear about X?
B: "No, X"
C: "I like X."
A: "You sure you wouldn't like Y?"
B + C: "X is the date."
D: "I need you to be here on Z". Now, D is the customer. Why didn't anyone ask him beforehand?
B: "Oh, then I guess we'll be there at Z."
A: "But wouldn't Y be better?"
C: "Y is not an option. The customer wants it on the Z"
B: "We can be there on Z."
A: "Maybe we should try and work it out that we still arrive on X?"
B+C: "Z is fine. If that's when D wants it, then that's it."
A: "Oh...."
And the conversations go on and on:
A to B: "Our engineer has to talk to the customer."
B to A: "In addition, your engineer has to talk to the customer."
A to B: "We have to set up a conference to introduce him to the customer."
B to A: "Maybe we should have a conference to introduce the engineer to the customer?"
A to B: "We should talk about it."
B to A: "Let's have a conference with the engineer and work out what he needs."
A to B: "He would probably like to talk to the customer."
B to A: "Hmm, maybe that's not such a bad idea. Maybe he should talk to the customer?"
Engineer: Blows own Brains out.
That has been the content of my Inbox for the last few days.
If they're thinking I'm filling out all these forms, they are mad.
If they are thinking I'm participating in the sixteen conference calls they set up since Thursday, they are stark barking mad.
It looks like I'm actually going take this on and go through with the whole thing.
I must be a raving lunatic!
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Sandy and the Hedgehog
Sandy is our Golden Retriever. She lives with my parents at my parents' house. The Hedgehog is the one living on our street, traveling through the yards.
It all started a few weeks ago, when the spring started and all the night-time hedgehog activity ensued. Sandy, which spends her nights in a kennel in the yard so she doesn't go mad, started barking. Like mad. My mom eventually went outside to see what the bark it's all about, and discovered a hedgehog, in the, um....hedge. Sandy was protesting the uninvited trespassing of her yard. My mother, electing not to deal the small prickly creature, brought Sandy into the house, where she sat with her nose pressed against the door for the rest of the night. Admittedly, she might have dozed off at some point - nobody stayed up to watch her.
Sandy had spent the next few days sniffing out the little creature with no success.
One night, as I walked her, I met a neighbor, another late-night walker, and we stood and chatted for a bit. Sandy stretched her lead as far as it would go, and stuck her nose under the hedge of my parent's next door neighbor's' yard. She stood there, her faced fixed for almost two minutes. Now, Goldens do not stay focused for entire two minutes. Certainly not Sandy. It only occurred to me after those two minutes, that Sandy was looking at something very intently. Going around her, I saw her nose pressed as close as she dared to a curled up hedgehog. Hedgehog was rolled in a ball, thinking "take a bite...I dare you!" as hedgehogs do. Sandy was thinking "....???...." as Goldens do.
Two nights later, at a completely different part of the street, Sandy was pulling hard to the right, toward a fence. The little hedgehog was walking along happily. Out of curiosity, I let her get close. She again stuck her nose as close as she dared and sniffed. The hedgehog curled a bit, then decided it was not worth the trouble, stretched out, and walked on, Sandy at foot. We had to break off our slow pursuit finally. This really brings into question the whole survival instincts issue, but never mind.
Then, last night, I was pulling out - for those who wander what I'm doing at my parents' house so often it is because I was house-sitting for the last week, and they live very close anyway, and mom-food beats pizza-warming any time! Anyway, I was pulling out into the street, where a small black-gray-dotted-white thing walked across by headlights. The hedgehog was on the move again. He paused, looked my way, thought about it, and turned back, choosing not to stare down my car into submission. As I looked back in my rear-view mirror, I could see him taking a shot at crossing again.
The really cool thing about this whole affair is this: If I ever get a rock-and-roll band together, I have a great name!
Sandy and the Hedgehog.
Rock on.
It all started a few weeks ago, when the spring started and all the night-time hedgehog activity ensued. Sandy, which spends her nights in a kennel in the yard so she doesn't go mad, started barking. Like mad. My mom eventually went outside to see what the bark it's all about, and discovered a hedgehog, in the, um....hedge. Sandy was protesting the uninvited trespassing of her yard. My mother, electing not to deal the small prickly creature, brought Sandy into the house, where she sat with her nose pressed against the door for the rest of the night. Admittedly, she might have dozed off at some point - nobody stayed up to watch her.
Sandy had spent the next few days sniffing out the little creature with no success.
One night, as I walked her, I met a neighbor, another late-night walker, and we stood and chatted for a bit. Sandy stretched her lead as far as it would go, and stuck her nose under the hedge of my parent's next door neighbor's' yard. She stood there, her faced fixed for almost two minutes. Now, Goldens do not stay focused for entire two minutes. Certainly not Sandy. It only occurred to me after those two minutes, that Sandy was looking at something very intently. Going around her, I saw her nose pressed as close as she dared to a curled up hedgehog. Hedgehog was rolled in a ball, thinking "take a bite...I dare you!" as hedgehogs do. Sandy was thinking "....???...." as Goldens do.
Two nights later, at a completely different part of the street, Sandy was pulling hard to the right, toward a fence. The little hedgehog was walking along happily. Out of curiosity, I let her get close. She again stuck her nose as close as she dared and sniffed. The hedgehog curled a bit, then decided it was not worth the trouble, stretched out, and walked on, Sandy at foot. We had to break off our slow pursuit finally. This really brings into question the whole survival instincts issue, but never mind.
Then, last night, I was pulling out - for those who wander what I'm doing at my parents' house so often it is because I was house-sitting for the last week, and they live very close anyway, and mom-food beats pizza-warming any time! Anyway, I was pulling out into the street, where a small black-gray-dotted-white thing walked across by headlights. The hedgehog was on the move again. He paused, looked my way, thought about it, and turned back, choosing not to stare down my car into submission. As I looked back in my rear-view mirror, I could see him taking a shot at crossing again.
The really cool thing about this whole affair is this: If I ever get a rock-and-roll band together, I have a great name!
Sandy and the Hedgehog.
Rock on.
Friday, May 19, 2006
The cloths you wear
The power of music amazes me each time.
It is a large part of many people's lives. At a certain range of ages it is downright the defining element of their lives.
For many many years fashion and attitude was an inseparable part of one's musical preferences. The hippies and yuppies. Are you a punk? are you a rocker? rapper?
Today you can be Indie, or Emo; or are you Goth?
People dress, wear their hair and makeup, and speak the part of the musical fan of their particular genre of choice.
A girl asked me the other day: what do I consider myself. It took me a while to understand what she meant, and then I realized that she still thinks I'm young enough to care.
Eclectic Punk, I told her, and as far as I know I'm the only one in the world. In fact, the moment anyone, anywhere, will say that they, too, are eclectic punks I will automatically cease to be one.
But what does that mean, she asked.
Well, I said, eclectic because I like many many types of music. I like garage punk. I like some of the indie bands that pop up every now and then. I enjoy the big bands like U2 and REM. There is a host of 80s music that I love. I love Garbage. I like that new song by Rihanna (SOS Rescue Me with the Tainted Love base line). I'm addicted to Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Queens of the Stone Age. I'll hurt anyone who says anything bad about Fiona Apple.
Punk is because I will kick the ass of anyone who tries to put in me in a box because of the music I listen to!
I hate that. I was into heavy metal in high-school. Nobody could understand why I wear my hair short. I was into grunge in uni, and everybody wondered why I don't have any plaid flannel shirts.
Now I jump from side to side in my respectable, adult car listening to the new Metric CD I got (which is great, by the way) and look at me funny, like I shouldn't, being my age.
I ought to wear a three piece suit for the next rock concert I go to, just to make a point.
Although I probably wont.
I just don't own one.
It is a large part of many people's lives. At a certain range of ages it is downright the defining element of their lives.
For many many years fashion and attitude was an inseparable part of one's musical preferences. The hippies and yuppies. Are you a punk? are you a rocker? rapper?
Today you can be Indie, or Emo; or are you Goth?
People dress, wear their hair and makeup, and speak the part of the musical fan of their particular genre of choice.
A girl asked me the other day: what do I consider myself. It took me a while to understand what she meant, and then I realized that she still thinks I'm young enough to care.
Eclectic Punk, I told her, and as far as I know I'm the only one in the world. In fact, the moment anyone, anywhere, will say that they, too, are eclectic punks I will automatically cease to be one.
But what does that mean, she asked.
Well, I said, eclectic because I like many many types of music. I like garage punk. I like some of the indie bands that pop up every now and then. I enjoy the big bands like U2 and REM. There is a host of 80s music that I love. I love Garbage. I like that new song by Rihanna (SOS Rescue Me with the Tainted Love base line). I'm addicted to Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Queens of the Stone Age. I'll hurt anyone who says anything bad about Fiona Apple.
Punk is because I will kick the ass of anyone who tries to put in me in a box because of the music I listen to!
I hate that. I was into heavy metal in high-school. Nobody could understand why I wear my hair short. I was into grunge in uni, and everybody wondered why I don't have any plaid flannel shirts.
Now I jump from side to side in my respectable, adult car listening to the new Metric CD I got (which is great, by the way) and look at me funny, like I shouldn't, being my age.
I ought to wear a three piece suit for the next rock concert I go to, just to make a point.
Although I probably wont.
I just don't own one.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
"Money...It's a gas
...Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash."
So say the lyrics of "Money" by Pink Floyd.
A few weeks ago, Roger Waters has announced that he is canceling his upcoming performance in Israel, citing the treatment of the Palestinians by Israel as the reason. He canceled the show because of Palestinian pressure that told him that performing in Israel is a clear statement in favor of the Israeli Occupation of the Palestinian Territories and Oppression of the Palestinian People.
The peace loving, humane, justice-hound Waters has promptly canceled his show.
The show was then reinstated after the venue was moved from the Yarkon park, the largest, most convenient park in Israel for any sort of gathering, especially for concerts of any kind, to Neve Shalom, a remote village somewhere in Israel. Neve Shalom is a small village west of Jerusalem. It is an experimental agricultural community where Arabs and Jews live together, and somebody, I guess, liked the symbolism of it. To host the show, huge tracks of agricultural land will have to be steam-rolled and tractored over to make room for a stage, a viewing area, camping ground, and a parking lot for thousands of fans. Crops laid to waste right before the harvest for the benefit of mass entertainment. Between you and me, with the current state of agricultural economy in Israel being what it is, the farmers are better off this way, by that's besides the point.
all the cost coming out of the promoter's pocket, of course. It wasn't some onward-peace gesture by Waters. He'll still get his money from this. The only reason the crowds aren't paying for this shift is that most of the tickets were already sold. I'm sure that parking prices will be high to try and recoup some of the lost.
If Waters really cared about peace, really wanted to make a stand, really wanted to boycott Israel, than he wouldn't let his music be sold here or played here. We can buy his CD's but we can't see him perform? As long as the money glides in, source unbeknownst to him, all is well, but when he is in the stage light, he feels he must suddenly make a stand?
I have to admit, that I was never a huge Pink Floyd or Roger Waters fan. Their music never spoke to me. Never understood the allure. Sure, I like a few of the songs specifically - Money, Wish You Were Here, and others - but if I ever get the urge to have some of them handy, you can bet your ass I'll find them elsewhere than a record store.
None of my money to Waters.
So say the lyrics of "Money" by Pink Floyd.
A few weeks ago, Roger Waters has announced that he is canceling his upcoming performance in Israel, citing the treatment of the Palestinians by Israel as the reason. He canceled the show because of Palestinian pressure that told him that performing in Israel is a clear statement in favor of the Israeli Occupation of the Palestinian Territories and Oppression of the Palestinian People.
The peace loving, humane, justice-hound Waters has promptly canceled his show.
The show was then reinstated after the venue was moved from the Yarkon park, the largest, most convenient park in Israel for any sort of gathering, especially for concerts of any kind, to Neve Shalom, a remote village somewhere in Israel. Neve Shalom is a small village west of Jerusalem. It is an experimental agricultural community where Arabs and Jews live together, and somebody, I guess, liked the symbolism of it. To host the show, huge tracks of agricultural land will have to be steam-rolled and tractored over to make room for a stage, a viewing area, camping ground, and a parking lot for thousands of fans. Crops laid to waste right before the harvest for the benefit of mass entertainment. Between you and me, with the current state of agricultural economy in Israel being what it is, the farmers are better off this way, by that's besides the point.
all the cost coming out of the promoter's pocket, of course. It wasn't some onward-peace gesture by Waters. He'll still get his money from this. The only reason the crowds aren't paying for this shift is that most of the tickets were already sold. I'm sure that parking prices will be high to try and recoup some of the lost.
If Waters really cared about peace, really wanted to make a stand, really wanted to boycott Israel, than he wouldn't let his music be sold here or played here. We can buy his CD's but we can't see him perform? As long as the money glides in, source unbeknownst to him, all is well, but when he is in the stage light, he feels he must suddenly make a stand?
I have to admit, that I was never a huge Pink Floyd or Roger Waters fan. Their music never spoke to me. Never understood the allure. Sure, I like a few of the songs specifically - Money, Wish You Were Here, and others - but if I ever get the urge to have some of them handy, you can bet your ass I'll find them elsewhere than a record store.
None of my money to Waters.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
High Volume
I've had a little bitch-slap because apparently some of my friends do read this and I have not posted in a very long time. There are several reasons for not posting anything. It's not because I had nothing to say, it's just that there were three categories of things I might have written about in the past while. The first category of things - every day life - I was too lazy to write about. The second category of things - things that piss me off - I was too disgusted with to write about. The third categories - thoughts and muses - I was too blank to write about. So I didn't write anything.
However, my meager audience demands something, so here it is.
I've read an article the other day about blogs. Some woman in a national newspaper was putting down personal, general purpose blogs as being pretty stupid. Most, she pointed out, are by people who lose interest very quickly, and their few pearls of dumbness just collect bit-wise dust somewhere on a hard-drive. She said she did not want to start off something she knows there is a 99% chance she'll abandon in a month. Anything important she has to say, she claims, she will tell her family and friends directly, and not blast it over the void.
I'd like to comment on both her remarks. First, we all like to try new things and see if we like them. Sometimes it's a new restaurant and you blow of a little bit of money tasting new things. Sometimes you buy a guitar which rots away after a couple of months. Sometimes we take sky-diving lessons for a whole lot of change, only to discover that it's the farthest thing for what may be described as "for us". Luckily, the Internet and the good folks at dozens of sites, including Blogger, will let us experiment for free. So why not? Maybe we will like it. Maybe we will write things forever. So if this appeals to you even a little bit, and you feel like you might have something that you would like to write or show and tell about, go ahead. You might find that you have a taste for it. Or at least you will know for sure it's not for you.
The second point is this: how often do we really have long hard chats with our friends? I know that if I do have the occasional "heart to heart" conversation where I can be emotional or philosophical or anything else, it's usually with a single friend. Maybe two. Sometimes I would like to convey a message for everyone, and I want to do now, as the muse strikes me. I could e-mail something, but this is so much better. It doesn't feel like it's aimed at anybody in particular, while an e-mail is so directed.
The only problem is that you can't bitch about one friend to another. You bitch to everyone about anyone - somebody out there is saying "I lost more friends that way..." - or you can keep your mouth shut.
I'm thinking of creating another entity and bitch there. Yey Internet and virtual anonymity (nobody believes that we are truly anonymous anymore, do they?).
By the way, "bit-wise dust" is my own invention. Like it? I'm starting to use it for any piece of electronically existing thing that is shelved and never touched. I've also came up with "bugware", but apparently it's already widely used. I guess I'm not as creative as I thought I was.
However, my meager audience demands something, so here it is.
I've read an article the other day about blogs. Some woman in a national newspaper was putting down personal, general purpose blogs as being pretty stupid. Most, she pointed out, are by people who lose interest very quickly, and their few pearls of dumbness just collect bit-wise dust somewhere on a hard-drive. She said she did not want to start off something she knows there is a 99% chance she'll abandon in a month. Anything important she has to say, she claims, she will tell her family and friends directly, and not blast it over the void.
I'd like to comment on both her remarks. First, we all like to try new things and see if we like them. Sometimes it's a new restaurant and you blow of a little bit of money tasting new things. Sometimes you buy a guitar which rots away after a couple of months. Sometimes we take sky-diving lessons for a whole lot of change, only to discover that it's the farthest thing for what may be described as "for us". Luckily, the Internet and the good folks at dozens of sites, including Blogger, will let us experiment for free. So why not? Maybe we will like it. Maybe we will write things forever. So if this appeals to you even a little bit, and you feel like you might have something that you would like to write or show and tell about, go ahead. You might find that you have a taste for it. Or at least you will know for sure it's not for you.
The second point is this: how often do we really have long hard chats with our friends? I know that if I do have the occasional "heart to heart" conversation where I can be emotional or philosophical or anything else, it's usually with a single friend. Maybe two. Sometimes I would like to convey a message for everyone, and I want to do now, as the muse strikes me. I could e-mail something, but this is so much better. It doesn't feel like it's aimed at anybody in particular, while an e-mail is so directed.
The only problem is that you can't bitch about one friend to another. You bitch to everyone about anyone - somebody out there is saying "I lost more friends that way..." - or you can keep your mouth shut.
I'm thinking of creating another entity and bitch there. Yey Internet and virtual anonymity (nobody believes that we are truly anonymous anymore, do they?).
By the way, "bit-wise dust" is my own invention. Like it? I'm starting to use it for any piece of electronically existing thing that is shelved and never touched. I've also came up with "bugware", but apparently it's already widely used. I guess I'm not as creative as I thought I was.
High Volume
I've had a little bitch-slap because apparently some of my friends do read this and I have not posted in a very long time. There are several reasons for not posting anything. It's not because I had nothing to say, it's just that there were three categories of things I might have written about in the past while. The first category of things - every day life - I was too lazy to write about. The second category of things - things that piss me off - I was too disgusted with to write about. The third categories - thoughts and muses - I was too blank to write about. So I didn't write anything.
However, my meager audience demands something, so here it is.
I've read an article the other day about blogs. Some woman in a national newspaper was putting down personal, general purpose blogs as being pretty stupid. Most, she pointed out, are by people who lose interest very quickly, and their few pearls of dumbness just collect bit-wise dust somewhere on a hard-drive. She said she did not want to start off something she knows there is a 99% chance she'll abandon in a month. Anything important she has to say, she claims, she will tell her family and friends directly, and not blast it over the void.
I'd like to comment on both her remarks. First, we all like to try new things and see if we like them. Sometimes it's a new restaurant and you blow of a little bit of money tasting new things. Sometimes you buy a guitar which rots away after a couple of months. Sometimes we take sky-diving lessons for a whole lot of change, only to discover that it's the farthest thing for what may be described as "for us". Luckily, the Internet and the good folks at dozens of sites, including Blogger, will let us experiment for free. So why not? Maybe we will like it. Maybe we will write things forever. So if this appeals to you even a little bit, and you feel like you might have something that you would like to write or show and tell about, go ahead. You might find that you have a taste for it. Or at least you will know for sure it's not for you.
The second point is this: how often do we really have long hard chats with our friends? I know that if I do have the occasional "heart to heart" conversation where I can be emotional or philosophical or anything else, it's usually with a single friend. Maybe two. Sometimes I would like to convey a message for everyone, and I want to do now, as the muse strikes me. I could e-mail something, but this is so much better. It doesn't feel like it's aimed at anybody in particular, while an e-mail is so directed.
The only problem is that you can't bitch about one friend to another. You bitch to everyone about anyone - somebody out there is saying "I lost more friends that way..." - or you can keep your mouth shut.
I'm thinking of creating another entity and bitch there. Yey Internet and virtual anonymity (nobody believes that we are truly anonymous anymore, do they?).
By the way, "bit-wise dust" is my own invention. Like it? I'm starting to use it for any piece of electronically existing thing that is shelved and never touched. I've also came up with "bugware", but apparently it's already widely used. I guess I'm not as creative as I thought I was.
However, my meager audience demands something, so here it is.
I've read an article the other day about blogs. Some woman in a national newspaper was putting down personal, general purpose blogs as being pretty stupid. Most, she pointed out, are by people who lose interest very quickly, and their few pearls of dumbness just collect bit-wise dust somewhere on a hard-drive. She said she did not want to start off something she knows there is a 99% chance she'll abandon in a month. Anything important she has to say, she claims, she will tell her family and friends directly, and not blast it over the void.
I'd like to comment on both her remarks. First, we all like to try new things and see if we like them. Sometimes it's a new restaurant and you blow of a little bit of money tasting new things. Sometimes you buy a guitar which rots away after a couple of months. Sometimes we take sky-diving lessons for a whole lot of change, only to discover that it's the farthest thing for what may be described as "for us". Luckily, the Internet and the good folks at dozens of sites, including Blogger, will let us experiment for free. So why not? Maybe we will like it. Maybe we will write things forever. So if this appeals to you even a little bit, and you feel like you might have something that you would like to write or show and tell about, go ahead. You might find that you have a taste for it. Or at least you will know for sure it's not for you.
The second point is this: how often do we really have long hard chats with our friends? I know that if I do have the occasional "heart to heart" conversation where I can be emotional or philosophical or anything else, it's usually with a single friend. Maybe two. Sometimes I would like to convey a message for everyone, and I want to do now, as the muse strikes me. I could e-mail something, but this is so much better. It doesn't feel like it's aimed at anybody in particular, while an e-mail is so directed.
The only problem is that you can't bitch about one friend to another. You bitch to everyone about anyone - somebody out there is saying "I lost more friends that way..." - or you can keep your mouth shut.
I'm thinking of creating another entity and bitch there. Yey Internet and virtual anonymity (nobody believes that we are truly anonymous anymore, do they?).
By the way, "bit-wise dust" is my own invention. Like it? I'm starting to use it for any piece of electronically existing thing that is shelved and never touched. I've also came up with "bugware", but apparently it's already widely used. I guess I'm not as creative as I thought I was.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Why I can't watch LOTR with my father anymore
OK, probably the greatest set of films produced. Ever. "Lord of the Rings". It leaves "Star Wars" in its dust, combining the amazing storytelling and plot weaving of J.R.R. Tolkien with the imagination, vision, and execution of Peter Jackson.
I have watched the entire trilogy three times already, and it leaves me with a gaping jaw every time. I have, of course, bought the extended edition release, because more is better in this case.
And so, I sat to watch it with my father, who is also a huge fan. Except I can barely watch five straight minutes of film without "was this in the original release?...was this...?".
Now, I remember, mostly. It is also indicated in the chapters which as been extended from or add to the theatrical version.
But I want to watch the film!
I need to concentrate. I need to feel myself disappear into the story. I welcome the abduction of all my senses when I watch these films, and I feel myself walking along with the characters. Awed with them at the sights that accompany them on their journey. Because where the film is amiss, I complete from my own knowledge of the story from the all the works of Tolkien I have read and even fleeting moments on screen take on a profound meaning, that someone who has only seen the movies might overlook, or be completely unaware of.
And then there are the gaps. Some things are not crystal clear in the movie, and I, having become the repository of all things LOTR for my father, find myself explaining little bits of background information. "Why did he say that?" and "Where did they go?" and "Where did they com from?" and my favorite "How come they don't know this?" It's annoying and distracting.
Next time, I'm bringing with me a piece of paper and pen.
Please save all questions to the end.
I have watched the entire trilogy three times already, and it leaves me with a gaping jaw every time. I have, of course, bought the extended edition release, because more is better in this case.
And so, I sat to watch it with my father, who is also a huge fan. Except I can barely watch five straight minutes of film without "was this in the original release?...was this...?".
Now, I remember, mostly. It is also indicated in the chapters which as been extended from or add to the theatrical version.
But I want to watch the film!
I need to concentrate. I need to feel myself disappear into the story. I welcome the abduction of all my senses when I watch these films, and I feel myself walking along with the characters. Awed with them at the sights that accompany them on their journey. Because where the film is amiss, I complete from my own knowledge of the story from the all the works of Tolkien I have read and even fleeting moments on screen take on a profound meaning, that someone who has only seen the movies might overlook, or be completely unaware of.
And then there are the gaps. Some things are not crystal clear in the movie, and I, having become the repository of all things LOTR for my father, find myself explaining little bits of background information. "Why did he say that?" and "Where did they go?" and "Where did they com from?" and my favorite "How come they don't know this?" It's annoying and distracting.
Next time, I'm bringing with me a piece of paper and pen.
Please save all questions to the end.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Black on Black
What a genius Lewis Black is!
I'm in the process of listening (it's better than reading) his book "Nothing's Sacred". It prompted an urge to download all his Back in Black segments from the Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I can no longer watch the show itself because of a cable versus satellite competitions and regulations and cost-value schemes, but the internet serves me with the highlights.
Anyway, it has been a long time since such a politically aware comic has been so affective is Lewis Black. Politically in the way of Political-Correctness comic, not a Political-Governmental way.
Satire about celebrities and minorities and life in general has been amiss since someone invented political Correctness, and that person should be shot. Jon Stewart has made a whole career of it. There have been people in the past, Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, and others I might no even be aware of, but in my life-time I can barely remember any. None that were really exceptional (may Chris Rock forgive these lines). It's more than making jokes about them, it's putting them in a rediculous light.
Returning to Lewis Black, I just love him. He doesn't always make me laugh, and that's exactly the point. He touches nerves that most people nowadays stay away from. Things that I may not find funny, do not put me off of listening to every word he has to say. He warns us about the things in life we might take too seriously, and points out their absurdities. He points out the naked kings we wish to follow, worship, and celebrate. The way we empathize with celebrities who a suffer minor indignation, while our neighbors and fellow men wallow in true misery.
And on top of that, he is funny!
What else can we ask for?!
I'm in the process of listening (it's better than reading) his book "Nothing's Sacred". It prompted an urge to download all his Back in Black segments from the Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I can no longer watch the show itself because of a cable versus satellite competitions and regulations and cost-value schemes, but the internet serves me with the highlights.
Anyway, it has been a long time since such a politically aware comic has been so affective is Lewis Black. Politically in the way of Political-Correctness comic, not a Political-Governmental way.
Satire about celebrities and minorities and life in general has been amiss since someone invented political Correctness, and that person should be shot. Jon Stewart has made a whole career of it. There have been people in the past, Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, and others I might no even be aware of, but in my life-time I can barely remember any. None that were really exceptional (may Chris Rock forgive these lines). It's more than making jokes about them, it's putting them in a rediculous light.
Returning to Lewis Black, I just love him. He doesn't always make me laugh, and that's exactly the point. He touches nerves that most people nowadays stay away from. Things that I may not find funny, do not put me off of listening to every word he has to say. He warns us about the things in life we might take too seriously, and points out their absurdities. He points out the naked kings we wish to follow, worship, and celebrate. The way we empathize with celebrities who a suffer minor indignation, while our neighbors and fellow men wallow in true misery.
And on top of that, he is funny!
What else can we ask for?!
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Music bitching again...
I'm going to rant about music again. This time not in the disgusting self-pity of my lat entry, but in a militant "what-the-hell-are-they-playing" fashion.
As I've mentioned before, I occasionally like to go out an play some pool. I'm not very good at it, I've mentioned as well, but damn it, I like it!
We meet at a place not far from here, on the roof a large mall. It's a nice sized club with lots of people and large projected TV's all around so you can check out the current game on Eurosports, or maybe the latest in the fashion on FTV (depending on the mood of who=ever is in charge).
Now, as some may know, pool halls should have certain kind of music playing in them. Namely Rock. Rock and Roll. Punk Rock. Garage Punk...Anything with guitars and drums. It can be hard or heavy, melodic or bouncing, indie or progressive (no emo, please!), but it should fall into the category of "Rock Music".
Hip Hop, not to mention Rap, have no real space in a pool hall, but I can see how they would work.
Dance is right out!
That stupid banging and repetitive beats with dumb-ass words and three repeating bars of distinguishable music.
And that's kinda what they play at the place we go to.
If it weren't for the awful music they play it would be perfect.
I swear my play time is cut short because long before I get tired of playing, the music just pisses me off! It does, indeed, save me money, but I'm not sure that it's the manager's intentions.
Every once in a while they have a good evening with kick ass music, but it's usually only for an hour or so, and then they return to the regularly schedule crap. We've spoken to them once, and the guy at the desk (running the music computer) says the music is mandated by the owners over the entire chain, and they can't do anything about it.
Tonight, for example, I've heard five Eminem songs in the course of the hour and a half we were there. That is too much, even if I am in the mood! Which I wasn't.
I apologize to all the Eminem fans out there, but "Cleanin Out My Closet" is not a pool-playing background-music song!
Makes me wanna stick a cue through my brain!
As I've mentioned before, I occasionally like to go out an play some pool. I'm not very good at it, I've mentioned as well, but damn it, I like it!
We meet at a place not far from here, on the roof a large mall. It's a nice sized club with lots of people and large projected TV's all around so you can check out the current game on Eurosports, or maybe the latest in the fashion on FTV (depending on the mood of who=ever is in charge).
Now, as some may know, pool halls should have certain kind of music playing in them. Namely Rock. Rock and Roll. Punk Rock. Garage Punk...Anything with guitars and drums. It can be hard or heavy, melodic or bouncing, indie or progressive (no emo, please!), but it should fall into the category of "Rock Music".
Hip Hop, not to mention Rap, have no real space in a pool hall, but I can see how they would work.
Dance is right out!
That stupid banging and repetitive beats with dumb-ass words and three repeating bars of distinguishable music.
And that's kinda what they play at the place we go to.
If it weren't for the awful music they play it would be perfect.
I swear my play time is cut short because long before I get tired of playing, the music just pisses me off! It does, indeed, save me money, but I'm not sure that it's the manager's intentions.
Every once in a while they have a good evening with kick ass music, but it's usually only for an hour or so, and then they return to the regularly schedule crap. We've spoken to them once, and the guy at the desk (running the music computer) says the music is mandated by the owners over the entire chain, and they can't do anything about it.
Tonight, for example, I've heard five Eminem songs in the course of the hour and a half we were there. That is too much, even if I am in the mood! Which I wasn't.
I apologize to all the Eminem fans out there, but "Cleanin Out My Closet" is not a pool-playing background-music song!
Makes me wanna stick a cue through my brain!
Monday, April 17, 2006
Silence
Music is one of the greatest things in the world. I love music. I can listen to music, but most often I experience it. I can't tell you what's my favorite song or who is my favorite band, because there are thousands of songs that I love the most, and dozens of bands that whose music I like almost unconditionally (the definition of fanatic!).
As long as I can remember, I had a sound-track to my life. I would wake up in the morning with a song in my head. The song would change with my mood. Sometimes, a surprising song on the radio will alter my mood completely. Music was defined my current mood, and affected it in much the same way.
However, lately, I have been waking up with nothing. And walking through the day with nothing. Sometimes, a song will elevate my mood, but it's occurring in lessening frequency. It is the brightest and most shiny sign of my lack of inspiration. I get up, and I don't want to go to work. I feel bored. I go to write something, and nothing comes out, and instead I let my mind lock on something stupid on the television set.
I need a change to happen. Quickly. Get up and change myself, people keep telling me, but it's hard to do when you're mired in dullness, and you can't see what's your interest in getting up and doing something.
I need something to elate me again, because I'm just sad all the time. And angry. And, sometimes nothing. Just blank.
As long as I can remember, I had a sound-track to my life. I would wake up in the morning with a song in my head. The song would change with my mood. Sometimes, a surprising song on the radio will alter my mood completely. Music was defined my current mood, and affected it in much the same way.
However, lately, I have been waking up with nothing. And walking through the day with nothing. Sometimes, a song will elevate my mood, but it's occurring in lessening frequency. It is the brightest and most shiny sign of my lack of inspiration. I get up, and I don't want to go to work. I feel bored. I go to write something, and nothing comes out, and instead I let my mind lock on something stupid on the television set.
I need a change to happen. Quickly. Get up and change myself, people keep telling me, but it's hard to do when you're mired in dullness, and you can't see what's your interest in getting up and doing something.
I need something to elate me again, because I'm just sad all the time. And angry. And, sometimes nothing. Just blank.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Let's Eat!
It is said that all Jewish holidays may be described in the following manner: "Somebody wanted to kill us all, but we were saved at the last minute. Let's Eat!"
It's true, for the most part. No matter how asinine the reason is for a holiday, there is an ample amount of food, many items specific to that holiday, an no others.
Never is this truer that at Passover. The entire holiday (all seven days of it) is centered around the food. There are special foods that we eat only during this week. There is a special Kosher designation for Passover. Many of the every day food-stuffs that we eat, become contraband in Passover. You are not even supposed to have them in access. Whatever you don't throw away you must sell!
There is so much food-related fussing, that the real reason for the holiday is almost forgotten in the shuffle.
Passover celebrates freedom. In Hebrew we refer to it as the "Liberty Holiday". It is also the "Spring Holiday". There are many names to it, but aside from a few select moments in this long holiday, we never remember them. It's all about who is more "Kosher for Passover".
It's down to Kosher bathroom cleaning products!
Likely to lick a toilet bowl, are we?
It's true, for the most part. No matter how asinine the reason is for a holiday, there is an ample amount of food, many items specific to that holiday, an no others.
Never is this truer that at Passover. The entire holiday (all seven days of it) is centered around the food. There are special foods that we eat only during this week. There is a special Kosher designation for Passover. Many of the every day food-stuffs that we eat, become contraband in Passover. You are not even supposed to have them in access. Whatever you don't throw away you must sell!
There is so much food-related fussing, that the real reason for the holiday is almost forgotten in the shuffle.
Passover celebrates freedom. In Hebrew we refer to it as the "Liberty Holiday". It is also the "Spring Holiday". There are many names to it, but aside from a few select moments in this long holiday, we never remember them. It's all about who is more "Kosher for Passover".
It's down to Kosher bathroom cleaning products!
Likely to lick a toilet bowl, are we?
Sunday, April 09, 2006
2nd Degree Relations
There is an old Israeli-army quote about career-NCOs: "I want a large circle of 360 degrees, and inside a small circle of 180 degrees!"
It is used in great reverence for their intelligence (where is that sarcastic blue when you need it) but I use it symbolize tight circles of relationships. Inside, you have your closest friends. Friends you can share any thoughts with. People you can share your very life with. A circle so tight it does seem to have only 180 degrees in it.
Outside, there is the "friends of friends". People who, usually, are met through mutual friends, who you keep a friendly term with, but not a person you would normally call out of the blue for nothing. These are the second degree relations. People who are not really close, but close enough that you don't want to hurt their feelings. Usually because of repercussion from people you do care about, but never mind the motive.
The worst is when these people don't notice. The circles are often very clear, and people share definition of a circle. It is rare, although it happens, that one person might place another in an inner circle, while the latter places the former in an outer circle. This misunderstanding of relationship definition can be, at best uncomfortable, and at worst, downright annoying.
This can often lead to greatly awkward moments.
Like last night
When I found myself in an outer-circle party, when all my inner-circle friends - the link to the hosts - were missing. It was a birthday party as well, so small gifts were involved, on top of everything. One got stuck on a trip with a broken down car and could not make it, one has a pregnant wife who was feeling ill, and another was sick at home with mild pneumonia. All valid excuses, except the pneumonia - what's a little coughing of contagious viruses! Except, that I was mostly by myself with people I wasn't so close to and did not look to get so close to.
And now I've made their inner circle, which is why they are bothering me with IMs all day! Like now, as I'm writing this!
Social civility is a bitch!
It is used in great reverence for their intelligence (where is that sarcastic blue when you need it) but I use it symbolize tight circles of relationships. Inside, you have your closest friends. Friends you can share any thoughts with. People you can share your very life with. A circle so tight it does seem to have only 180 degrees in it.
Outside, there is the "friends of friends". People who, usually, are met through mutual friends, who you keep a friendly term with, but not a person you would normally call out of the blue for nothing. These are the second degree relations. People who are not really close, but close enough that you don't want to hurt their feelings. Usually because of repercussion from people you do care about, but never mind the motive.
The worst is when these people don't notice. The circles are often very clear, and people share definition of a circle. It is rare, although it happens, that one person might place another in an inner circle, while the latter places the former in an outer circle. This misunderstanding of relationship definition can be, at best uncomfortable, and at worst, downright annoying.
This can often lead to greatly awkward moments.
Like last night
When I found myself in an outer-circle party, when all my inner-circle friends - the link to the hosts - were missing. It was a birthday party as well, so small gifts were involved, on top of everything. One got stuck on a trip with a broken down car and could not make it, one has a pregnant wife who was feeling ill, and another was sick at home with mild pneumonia. All valid excuses, except the pneumonia - what's a little coughing of contagious viruses! Except, that I was mostly by myself with people I wasn't so close to and did not look to get so close to.
And now I've made their inner circle, which is why they are bothering me with IMs all day! Like now, as I'm writing this!
Social civility is a bitch!
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Team Sports are hazardous to you health...
...if you're watching!
My sport is basketball. I can't play worth a damn, but I love to watch. I don't really have a team in particular, and my favorite change from season to season. The reality is that I'm a fan of coaches! I'm find myself rooting to the teams whose coaches I like.
All that's true in our local, national league.
The story is different in international competition when I'm a HUGE fan (of course) of the Israeli representative. In Europe, the biggest league is the Euroleague. The best teams in the continent play there. And the biggest team to play there, certainly over the last two year, is an Israeli team called Maccabi Tel-Aviv.
They year, the system has been cracked, and they face a much stiffer competition as all their moves have been studied and stopped by the other teams. This year there is a serious danger that they will not go all the. There is even a chance they wont make it to the Final Four (to be held at Prague this year, by the way).
How does all this affect me and why it is dangerous? Because of my poor heart that suffers a thousand tiny attacks during a forty minute game. On top of the immediate physiological affect, I also eat a lot during the game. Eat garbage of course, 'cause that's what you do while watching sports! All sorts of fat, oily, and salty things that come in little bags with health warning on them (I'm exaggerating of course; there are no, in fact, warnings in the bags, but there should be.)
Tonight, for example, was the second game in a series of three for the quarter finals. It was an away game, and Maccabi lost. The series it tied 1-1, and will be decided next week at home.
Maccabi played terribly. So instead of jumping up and down, screaming happily at the television, ignoring the munchables on the table, we sat there sulking, eating continuously. I feel quite sick right now, not to mention the poison that is now slowly being absorbed into my body.
Why do I keep doing this to myself? Because I have no self-restraint.
And because Maccabi keeps losing and playing poorly, and I'm worried that they are not taking the championship this year, and they might not even get to the Final Four.
It's all their fault!
I wonder if my insurance covers this in case I get a heart attack before the end of the season.
My sport is basketball. I can't play worth a damn, but I love to watch. I don't really have a team in particular, and my favorite change from season to season. The reality is that I'm a fan of coaches! I'm find myself rooting to the teams whose coaches I like.
All that's true in our local, national league.
The story is different in international competition when I'm a HUGE fan (of course) of the Israeli representative. In Europe, the biggest league is the Euroleague. The best teams in the continent play there. And the biggest team to play there, certainly over the last two year, is an Israeli team called Maccabi Tel-Aviv.
They year, the system has been cracked, and they face a much stiffer competition as all their moves have been studied and stopped by the other teams. This year there is a serious danger that they will not go all the. There is even a chance they wont make it to the Final Four (to be held at Prague this year, by the way).
How does all this affect me and why it is dangerous? Because of my poor heart that suffers a thousand tiny attacks during a forty minute game. On top of the immediate physiological affect, I also eat a lot during the game. Eat garbage of course, 'cause that's what you do while watching sports! All sorts of fat, oily, and salty things that come in little bags with health warning on them (I'm exaggerating of course; there are no, in fact, warnings in the bags, but there should be.)
Tonight, for example, was the second game in a series of three for the quarter finals. It was an away game, and Maccabi lost. The series it tied 1-1, and will be decided next week at home.
Maccabi played terribly. So instead of jumping up and down, screaming happily at the television, ignoring the munchables on the table, we sat there sulking, eating continuously. I feel quite sick right now, not to mention the poison that is now slowly being absorbed into my body.
Why do I keep doing this to myself? Because I have no self-restraint.
And because Maccabi keeps losing and playing poorly, and I'm worried that they are not taking the championship this year, and they might not even get to the Final Four.
It's all their fault!
I wonder if my insurance covers this in case I get a heart attack before the end of the season.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Isn't that deflating...!
It's nice to know that with all the technology around, and all the crashing of PCs and Servers, all of internet service failure, network congestion, etc., you can always trust a flat tire to bring you back to reality.
I drove into my drive way, and there was a strange sound coming from somewhere I didn't quite place. As I opened the door, the load hissing sound was no longer unmistakable. I had a flat. I don't exactly know how it happened. Normally, I get flats because there is still construction all around me, so there it always the odd nail or piece of metal that jams itself into the rubber. This time, the valve itself torn at the base, and all the air came rushing out.
But there is nothing like changing a tire, a little manual labor, to bring some sense into things. I wish everything could be as easily replaced as a tire. A little back-work, and you're done.
I wish everyday my puzzles would not be more difficult than figuring out which way the Jack goes (because every car has to have its own special king of Jack; a standard would be unthinkable!) So I have grease under my fingernails, and cuts and little bruises over my arms, but it made me forget my day, that's for sure!
I should have a weekly self-initiated tire change. I seem happy about it, for some reason, where I should be cursing and kicking.
On second thought, maybe I'll just leave the tires be.
Oooh! Pizza's done!
I drove into my drive way, and there was a strange sound coming from somewhere I didn't quite place. As I opened the door, the load hissing sound was no longer unmistakable. I had a flat. I don't exactly know how it happened. Normally, I get flats because there is still construction all around me, so there it always the odd nail or piece of metal that jams itself into the rubber. This time, the valve itself torn at the base, and all the air came rushing out.
But there is nothing like changing a tire, a little manual labor, to bring some sense into things. I wish everything could be as easily replaced as a tire. A little back-work, and you're done.
I wish everyday my puzzles would not be more difficult than figuring out which way the Jack goes (because every car has to have its own special king of Jack; a standard would be unthinkable!) So I have grease under my fingernails, and cuts and little bruises over my arms, but it made me forget my day, that's for sure!
I should have a weekly self-initiated tire change. I seem happy about it, for some reason, where I should be cursing and kicking.
On second thought, maybe I'll just leave the tires be.
Oooh! Pizza's done!
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Of course I'm wet again!
Yes, it is spring time, and yes, it rarely rains in the spring around here, but it sure as hell going to rain on me!
I hate the rain.
I don't really hate it, but I don't like it. Mainly it is because it is wet. Water on ground - good; water falling through air on head - bad.
I can be happy when it rains. Happy in a sort of appreciative, grateful sort of way, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.
It all comes down to experiences. People who never leave the house, at least not be outside, can like the rain. They can stay indoors, and watch the magnificent flow outside. There are also people who take walks in the rain. They bundle up well, or poorly, depending on the effect they're after, and go for a walk. They can always return as soon as they feel the least bit uncomfortable.
My experiences include standing on a rooftop in a storm that lasted three days. This was back when I was in the Army. I was wearing five layers of winter gear, a flack-jacket, and combat gear, but after six hours straight in the pouring rain, even my underwear was wet.
Another experience is a Golden Retriever that doesn't care what's going on outside, when she needs to go She Needs To Go! (even her bark is capitalized at that point). I can't wait until a more convenient time, and I can't return whenever I want. She needs to go NOW and I have to stay outside until she concludes her business. Anybody who owns a dog knows that there is a very strict protocol for relieving oneself, and one does not "go" just anywhere.
That's what happened tonight. I was at my parents', and Sandy (our Golden) needed To Go. So I took her out, and got caught in a sudden downpour. I had no cloths to change into, and had to stay wet until I got back home.
So yey rain, and boo rain.
Give me the sunshine anytime! (those are some tough words coming from a red-headed-fair-skinned man who has been known to get sun-burns from neon!)
Spell-check Note: I wrote "ourside" when I meant "outside". Speller's suggestion: "Hurst". Go figure...
I hate the rain.
I don't really hate it, but I don't like it. Mainly it is because it is wet. Water on ground - good; water falling through air on head - bad.
I can be happy when it rains. Happy in a sort of appreciative, grateful sort of way, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.
It all comes down to experiences. People who never leave the house, at least not be outside, can like the rain. They can stay indoors, and watch the magnificent flow outside. There are also people who take walks in the rain. They bundle up well, or poorly, depending on the effect they're after, and go for a walk. They can always return as soon as they feel the least bit uncomfortable.
My experiences include standing on a rooftop in a storm that lasted three days. This was back when I was in the Army. I was wearing five layers of winter gear, a flack-jacket, and combat gear, but after six hours straight in the pouring rain, even my underwear was wet.
Another experience is a Golden Retriever that doesn't care what's going on outside, when she needs to go She Needs To Go! (even her bark is capitalized at that point). I can't wait until a more convenient time, and I can't return whenever I want. She needs to go NOW and I have to stay outside until she concludes her business. Anybody who owns a dog knows that there is a very strict protocol for relieving oneself, and one does not "go" just anywhere.
That's what happened tonight. I was at my parents', and Sandy (our Golden) needed To Go. So I took her out, and got caught in a sudden downpour. I had no cloths to change into, and had to stay wet until I got back home.
So yey rain, and boo rain.
Give me the sunshine anytime! (those are some tough words coming from a red-headed-fair-skinned man who has been known to get sun-burns from neon!)
Spell-check Note: I wrote "ourside" when I meant "outside". Speller's suggestion: "Hurst". Go figure...
Friday, March 31, 2006
Short Day
So, this being a third rate excuse for second class country, you can never tell when daylight saving time starts and finishes. I know it seems absurd, but here in Israel, DST is a political issue, and is completely dependent on the coalition the current government has created. That's why your humble servant has to wake up one morning, and then be surprised as he reads the first news page of the day that tonight is the night. At 0200 it will be 0300. I was supposed to remember, every one told me that in the fall they said that "winter time" will last until March 31. Next year we're expecting different dates, by the way. We just had elections, and hopefully we'll have a new government in the next few weeks (these things take time, you know). This means that coalition-building negotiations will determine the length and width of our daylight saving time.
On lighter news:
Funny thing happened on the road tonight. It has been a very long day (going on shorter since the clock jumps ahead) and I turned my radio on loud and started singing (and banging my head a little bit) to the rock on the radio. I've mentioned before that I tend to sing at the top of my lungs along to a good song. Well, this singing (and severe head bobbing) caught the attention of the woman standing next to me at the gridlock. At first she seemed horrified, and as she realized I was happily singing she started laughing and gave me a thumb up!
Cool!
Also, today:
I got my new scanner!
This is the reason why it is now 0132 at nigh....oh, shit, it's 0232 at night!...and I'm still up after such a long day. So far, I am ecstatic with it. It's great. So now, I'm pressing on. So many new applications, so many new modes.
Com'on! Just one more picture and I'm off to sleep...
Maybe a couple more...
We'll see...
On lighter news:
Funny thing happened on the road tonight. It has been a very long day (going on shorter since the clock jumps ahead) and I turned my radio on loud and started singing (and banging my head a little bit) to the rock on the radio. I've mentioned before that I tend to sing at the top of my lungs along to a good song. Well, this singing (and severe head bobbing) caught the attention of the woman standing next to me at the gridlock. At first she seemed horrified, and as she realized I was happily singing she started laughing and gave me a thumb up!
Cool!
Also, today:
I got my new scanner!
This is the reason why it is now 0132 at nigh....oh, shit, it's 0232 at night!...and I'm still up after such a long day. So far, I am ecstatic with it. It's great. So now, I'm pressing on. So many new applications, so many new modes.
Com'on! Just one more picture and I'm off to sleep...
Maybe a couple more...
We'll see...
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Ode to Bureaucracy
I built a house.
I acctually bought a house as part of a larger project, and they built the project-house customized to my requirements. At first there was just a mound of dirt among many mounds of dirt. Then it was a flat field of dirt with little metal poles with red and yellow streamers. Eventually there was a house among a whole neighborhood of houses.
Along the way, the hardest thing to deal with was the bureaucracy that you have to go through. Luckily, there was a minimal amount that I had to personally complete, since the whole project had a management that took care of most things. But still, some did not escape me, and I had to deal with it myself.
Today is another step: I'm getting hooked to the fixed electrical connection. Up until now (almost a year) I was connected via a temporary connection, which is different only in the cost of kilowatt/hour (more then doubled for a temporery connection). And since I have no choice in the electrical service provider, I am at the mercy of the electrical company bureaucracy, which told me that the technicians will be here in the morning. "Morning", for those who do not speak the language of union-backed clecks, stands for "7am to somewhere between 12 to 12:30pm".
(NOTE: I'm sure where my fingers stumbled, but the blog published itself on me mid-writting - I'm editing the "original" post from here).
So I'm sitting here, waiting. Waiting for the ulmighty electrical comapany technician to do two minutes worth of inspection and fifteen minutes worth of work. I'm looking outside, and it looks like it might rain. Electrical work is always posponed in rain, it must be understood.
But that's just the latest. I had a building permit delay, I had inhabiting permit delays, water connections, suage connection, and garbage collection problems. All to do with the almighty-clerks of government operated services (local, regional, and state governmet).
So I wrote a little ode to bureaucracy and all the wonderful, kind, and useful people who work there (like italic, bold, and underline, and like the different kind of fonts, we need a to create a way to mark sarcasm in writting: "Font Sarcastic", or maybe: "Sarcastic Blue" - blue always strikes me as a sarcastic-sounding color).
So this is it:
The single to come out April 19th from Sony Music International.
I acctually bought a house as part of a larger project, and they built the project-house customized to my requirements. At first there was just a mound of dirt among many mounds of dirt. Then it was a flat field of dirt with little metal poles with red and yellow streamers. Eventually there was a house among a whole neighborhood of houses.
Along the way, the hardest thing to deal with was the bureaucracy that you have to go through. Luckily, there was a minimal amount that I had to personally complete, since the whole project had a management that took care of most things. But still, some did not escape me, and I had to deal with it myself.
Today is another step: I'm getting hooked to the fixed electrical connection. Up until now (almost a year) I was connected via a temporary connection, which is different only in the cost of kilowatt/hour (more then doubled for a temporery connection). And since I have no choice in the electrical service provider, I am at the mercy of the electrical company bureaucracy, which told me that the technicians will be here in the morning. "Morning", for those who do not speak the language of union-backed clecks, stands for "7am to somewhere between 12 to 12:30pm".
(NOTE: I'm sure where my fingers stumbled, but the blog published itself on me mid-writting - I'm editing the "original" post from here).
So I'm sitting here, waiting. Waiting for the ulmighty electrical comapany technician to do two minutes worth of inspection and fifteen minutes worth of work. I'm looking outside, and it looks like it might rain. Electrical work is always posponed in rain, it must be understood.
But that's just the latest. I had a building permit delay, I had inhabiting permit delays, water connections, suage connection, and garbage collection problems. All to do with the almighty-clerks of government operated services (local, regional, and state governmet).
So I wrote a little ode to bureaucracy and all the wonderful, kind, and useful people who work there (like italic, bold, and underline, and like the different kind of fonts, we need a to create a way to mark sarcasm in writting: "Font Sarcastic", or maybe: "Sarcastic Blue" - blue always strikes me as a sarcastic-sounding color).
So this is it:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAgggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhThank, you. Thank you.
Why, God? WHY?
Grrrrrrrpppppppffffffttttt
Blrprprprprprprprprprp.....
You Sons of Bitches!!!
You Heralds of Evil Doom!
....
The single to come out April 19th from Sony Music International.
Monday, March 27, 2006
I stink, really
You what I hate? Coming home from an evening out, somewhere that's smokers roam. I come back reeking of cigarette smoke. But that's not really what I hate. What I hate is to come home and discover that I have forgotten to turn on the electric water heater.
And now I have to sit here, reeking, until the water will be hot enough to shower.
I can feel the cigarette smoke on my cloths, in my hair, on my skin. It's a part of any decent pub or pool hall (which happens to be where I'm coming from), so I'm not complaining. If I wanted to avoid the smoke I'd find somewhere else to be. It's just that I keep forgetting to turn on the friggin' water heater! And because of that I have to pass the time in my smelliness, until the water is ready!
Doesn't that just stink! Yes, it does.
SPAM MAIL UPDATE:
I got one that says: "Wanna get back in those jeans." It suddenly reminded me of a pair of jeans I'd like to get back into, but the girl decided it would be best if we didn't see each other any more...
And now I have to sit here, reeking, until the water will be hot enough to shower.
I can feel the cigarette smoke on my cloths, in my hair, on my skin. It's a part of any decent pub or pool hall (which happens to be where I'm coming from), so I'm not complaining. If I wanted to avoid the smoke I'd find somewhere else to be. It's just that I keep forgetting to turn on the friggin' water heater! And because of that I have to pass the time in my smelliness, until the water is ready!
Doesn't that just stink! Yes, it does.
SPAM MAIL UPDATE:
I got one that says: "Wanna get back in those jeans." It suddenly reminded me of a pair of jeans I'd like to get back into, but the girl decided it would be best if we didn't see each other any more...
Sorry, I'm Sore
OK, so after not moving my lazy ass for almost ten years, I recently bought an elliptical-crosstrainer. It all started when I had to climb three flight of stairs when the elevator went out in a building I was in. I got to the top out of breath, and the next morning I could feel, just a little bit, the quadriceps in my legs.
There was that risk of my newly purchased exercising machine becoming another very expensive cloth-stand, but so far I've been good. Really, I have. I've been rolling on it almost every day for the past month. These sort of commitments are usually beyond me, but so-far so-good.
But I've been running on Zero. My lungs and heart protested dearly when other parts of my body demanded they start working harder. Like any good worker that got used to the easy life, really. It's not their fault, but they are paying the cost of my couch-potato attitude.
Anyway, in my vanity I said to myself last night that "I can do better! I'm not that much out of shape!"
It turns out I am. Not really a couch-potato, but apparently some other larger, mushier vegetable. Like a rotting squash, or something.
I moved the resistance level to Two (out of Fifteen, so it's not as impressive as it sounds, although it wasn't impressive to begin with). This meant two things. First, my legs had to work harder; the second is that my arms had to start working too.
Now I can barely lift them.
I'm exaggerating, of course, it's not that bad. I can lift them to the keyboard well enough. It's just that I'm sore at places I haven't felt in ages: shoulders, triceps, etc.
Good health had better be worth it, or else I swear I'll...
...probably do nothing, I'm too lazy...
There was that risk of my newly purchased exercising machine becoming another very expensive cloth-stand, but so far I've been good. Really, I have. I've been rolling on it almost every day for the past month. These sort of commitments are usually beyond me, but so-far so-good.
But I've been running on Zero. My lungs and heart protested dearly when other parts of my body demanded they start working harder. Like any good worker that got used to the easy life, really. It's not their fault, but they are paying the cost of my couch-potato attitude.
Anyway, in my vanity I said to myself last night that "I can do better! I'm not that much out of shape!"
It turns out I am. Not really a couch-potato, but apparently some other larger, mushier vegetable. Like a rotting squash, or something.
I moved the resistance level to Two (out of Fifteen, so it's not as impressive as it sounds, although it wasn't impressive to begin with). This meant two things. First, my legs had to work harder; the second is that my arms had to start working too.
Now I can barely lift them.
I'm exaggerating, of course, it's not that bad. I can lift them to the keyboard well enough. It's just that I'm sore at places I haven't felt in ages: shoulders, triceps, etc.
Good health had better be worth it, or else I swear I'll...
...probably do nothing, I'm too lazy...
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Acid Flashbacks
I am a very "multi-media" kind of person. By that I mean that images and sounds are what get burnt into my memory. I can remember a face, but a name is a near impossibility. The keys to many of my memories are particular music or views I had at the time.
I file away into the deep bowls of my memory tones of audio-visual experiences which usually accumulate dust. Then, all of a sudden, something would trigger an avalanche of memories and emotions.
I can't tell what exactly it was, but "Turn Around" popped into my head the other. "Turn Around" is a song from the 1992 "They Might Be Giants" album "Apollo 18." I'm not a big TMBG fan, but my roommate at University was. We must have heard this album a million times. Whether from the original cassette tape or the best-of compilation he made for himself. On that compilation tape he also had Monty Python stuff, which suddenly reminded me that I used to have a tape like that.
Anyway, the fallout of memories can rolling out, and again, I felt sad. Sad for all the time that went by. Sad for the people and tapes I've lost.
Sad for all the money I'll have to spend right now to retrieve all this music!
The music industry is going to make a killing from my nostalgia. Don't you hate that?
I file away into the deep bowls of my memory tones of audio-visual experiences which usually accumulate dust. Then, all of a sudden, something would trigger an avalanche of memories and emotions.
I can't tell what exactly it was, but "Turn Around" popped into my head the other. "Turn Around" is a song from the 1992 "They Might Be Giants" album "Apollo 18." I'm not a big TMBG fan, but my roommate at University was. We must have heard this album a million times. Whether from the original cassette tape or the best-of compilation he made for himself. On that compilation tape he also had Monty Python stuff, which suddenly reminded me that I used to have a tape like that.
Anyway, the fallout of memories can rolling out, and again, I felt sad. Sad for all the time that went by. Sad for the people and tapes I've lost.
Sad for all the money I'll have to spend right now to retrieve all this music!
The music industry is going to make a killing from my nostalgia. Don't you hate that?
Why Bother?
A man's ego is a fragile thing, I will admit. But not as fragile as it will appear to be. Now, why do women feel like they have to explain themselves? Why do they feel the need to say "it's not you, it's me...".
No. It is me. If I was different, if I was someone else then we would go on, not split up. It is ME you don't like ("that way") and it is ME you don't see a future with.
Oh, it's me alright.
And that's OK.
I would like to sat that I accept the fact that I will not impress everyone. It's fair enough. If everyone walked around being impressed with everyone else, we would waste our time being impressed with each other. It would make a happier world probably, but we could get nothing done. Attraction is different for everyone, and it's not automatically reciprocal.
So why do women feel they need to tell me "you're a real nice guy, the nicest I've met in a long time." Just should just say "I don't think it's going to work" and end it at that. It makes me feel worst, not better. Would it make a difference if I was any less nice?
I don't need a compliment to soften the breaking news that someone thinks that it's not going to work out.
Do I sound bitter? Maybe.
I hate being a nice guy.
No. It is me. If I was different, if I was someone else then we would go on, not split up. It is ME you don't like ("that way") and it is ME you don't see a future with.
Oh, it's me alright.
And that's OK.
I would like to sat that I accept the fact that I will not impress everyone. It's fair enough. If everyone walked around being impressed with everyone else, we would waste our time being impressed with each other. It would make a happier world probably, but we could get nothing done. Attraction is different for everyone, and it's not automatically reciprocal.
So why do women feel they need to tell me "you're a real nice guy, the nicest I've met in a long time." Just should just say "I don't think it's going to work" and end it at that. It makes me feel worst, not better. Would it make a difference if I was any less nice?
I don't need a compliment to soften the breaking news that someone thinks that it's not going to work out.
Do I sound bitter? Maybe.
I hate being a nice guy.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Pulitzer winning talent
So, I know where the most talented writers in the world work. It's not in great newspapers, and they don't get published by conventional means. You can't find them by even the most exhaustive search in Google.
They live in little basements, and fine apartments, I can't tell. They are people you might see everyday, or people you will never notice.
They are the Spam Mail Writers!
Yes indeed.
It used to be outright commercials. Now it's messages from friends, telling me it's an answer to something I was looking for last night, or something they saw on the last Dateline.
I try to stay off as many mailing lists as I can, by publishing my address to as few places as I can, but sometimes it is inevitable (I've posted my address in Blogger, for example, and anyone can scrape it directly off the site very simply). But still, I get dozens of offers every day to help me lose my weight, to help me stay ready for 36 hours straight (no pun...or yeah, pun intended), help me increase my length, my girth, help me earn a million dollars, find nymphomaniacs, or simply become smarter than I've ever been before.
Sometimes, out of curiosity, I read these messages. They are very creative. I can almost believe Hagran is a long lost friend I have forgotten about, and there he is, reaching from the depth of my past, trying to help me with a problem I didn't even know I had.
Bring tears to your eyes...
Or is it just me trying to poke them with a pencil? Maybe that's it...
I mean, just think of the names they come up with!
I suggest a competition. The best e-mail messages will win prices. We can have a whole awards show! In Hollywood! (because we all know how classy Hollywood is). We can bring all the writers in, we can have the directors (the people who actually send them), the technical staff (the people who write the software to send them), and the producers (the people who pay to have them sent, and then make the money from saps who pay). We can have them all in one building for a glorious night of recognition.
Then, maybe, we can just bomb the place to the ground.
They live in little basements, and fine apartments, I can't tell. They are people you might see everyday, or people you will never notice.
They are the Spam Mail Writers!
Yes indeed.
It used to be outright commercials. Now it's messages from friends, telling me it's an answer to something I was looking for last night, or something they saw on the last Dateline.
I try to stay off as many mailing lists as I can, by publishing my address to as few places as I can, but sometimes it is inevitable (I've posted my address in Blogger, for example, and anyone can scrape it directly off the site very simply). But still, I get dozens of offers every day to help me lose my weight, to help me stay ready for 36 hours straight (no pun...or yeah, pun intended), help me increase my length, my girth, help me earn a million dollars, find nymphomaniacs, or simply become smarter than I've ever been before.
Sometimes, out of curiosity, I read these messages. They are very creative. I can almost believe Hagran is a long lost friend I have forgotten about, and there he is, reaching from the depth of my past, trying to help me with a problem I didn't even know I had.
Bring tears to your eyes...
Or is it just me trying to poke them with a pencil? Maybe that's it...
I mean, just think of the names they come up with!
I suggest a competition. The best e-mail messages will win prices. We can have a whole awards show! In Hollywood! (because we all know how classy Hollywood is). We can bring all the writers in, we can have the directors (the people who actually send them), the technical staff (the people who write the software to send them), and the producers (the people who pay to have them sent, and then make the money from saps who pay). We can have them all in one building for a glorious night of recognition.
Then, maybe, we can just bomb the place to the ground.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Somewhere else
I need to go somewhere else. It's only because I can't stay here anymore.
I have developed a three layer system, for the people at work.
1) People I love
2) People I hate
3) People I hate to hate
It's because of the group 3 people that I have got to find me a new place to work at. It's people I hate, but they are not really worth my hate. And hate that. I hate that I hate them, because I should have no emotions about them. They should be air. A flash of color in the hallway. A whisper in the dining room. Instead, I actually invest valuable emotional energy hating these people.
I keep telling myself that I don't care anymore, but the reality is that I care. A lot. Too much. Otherwise I wouldn't hate now, would I?
The group 1 people is why I stay. The group 3 people is why I have to go. Group 2 people, well, they exist everywhere, so they don't factor in.
And then there is the promise to finish this project.
Which I hate.
Which bores me.
Which I am completely uninterested in, and absolutely intimidated by it.
Mostly because I have no idea what I'm doing. Not really.
I feel sometimes that I have a mountain to climb. Not a problem, I've climbed many mountains before. Except this time, the foot of the mountain stands at the top of a sheer-faced cliff, with me at the bottom. There is so much I have to do and learn before I can even start climbing the mountain.
Well, today the weekend starts.
Although weekends don't make me feel any better lately.
I definitely need to go somewhere else.
I have developed a three layer system, for the people at work.
1) People I love
2) People I hate
3) People I hate to hate
It's because of the group 3 people that I have got to find me a new place to work at. It's people I hate, but they are not really worth my hate. And hate that. I hate that I hate them, because I should have no emotions about them. They should be air. A flash of color in the hallway. A whisper in the dining room. Instead, I actually invest valuable emotional energy hating these people.
I keep telling myself that I don't care anymore, but the reality is that I care. A lot. Too much. Otherwise I wouldn't hate now, would I?
The group 1 people is why I stay. The group 3 people is why I have to go. Group 2 people, well, they exist everywhere, so they don't factor in.
And then there is the promise to finish this project.
Which I hate.
Which bores me.
Which I am completely uninterested in, and absolutely intimidated by it.
Mostly because I have no idea what I'm doing. Not really.
I feel sometimes that I have a mountain to climb. Not a problem, I've climbed many mountains before. Except this time, the foot of the mountain stands at the top of a sheer-faced cliff, with me at the bottom. There is so much I have to do and learn before I can even start climbing the mountain.
Well, today the weekend starts.
Although weekends don't make me feel any better lately.
I definitely need to go somewhere else.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Music to my Heart, Melancholy
So, I admit it, I have a lot junk in my CD collection. I didn't think it was junk when I bought it, but I was sixteen when I did, so I didn't think much at all. Over the years, many of these albums stayed unused and unheard. Now, with the iPOd (which I love, I mentioned before again and again) everything is in there, and I hear everything.
Anyway, I was listening through to the list of all my albums, when suddenly, "Slave to the Grind" came up. To those unaware, "Slave to the Grind" is an album by a band called "Skid Row" which was around for about five years at the end of 80s into the first years of the 90s (with 19.. before them). They weren't that great, and they wont be invited into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but they have a number of hits.
The point is that suddenly, after REM, Skid Row came up in the play list. A disk I haven't listened to in 12 years, give or couple of years. And it suddenly hit me, as it does sometimes, that I'm old. Almost 32, in fact. Where the hell has the time gone? "Is it all just wasted time?" ask the lyrics of the last song on "Slave to the Grind".
Well, is it? There is so much I haven't done, and so much I'll never do. So many missed opportunities. Do the opportunities I did use make up for them? How can any of us tell? How can I shake that "missed" feeling?
It's kind of a heartache that I hate to get when I'm listening to music, but I sometimes do. It starts me thinking, and I swear, if I was a little bit drunk, I'd probably start crying.
I hate feeling sorry for myself.
I hate that depressive feeling of futility that comes with it all.
I sometimes just want to get up and leave.
It's too depressing to leave the post like this, so I'll just report this: After "Skid Row" came and went, "Dire Straits" followed, with some of the most beautiful songs in the world. Now that I'm finishing this, "Calling Elvis" is playing.
I am tapping my foot and smiling.
Anyway, I was listening through to the list of all my albums, when suddenly, "Slave to the Grind" came up. To those unaware, "Slave to the Grind" is an album by a band called "Skid Row" which was around for about five years at the end of 80s into the first years of the 90s (with 19.. before them). They weren't that great, and they wont be invited into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but they have a number of hits.
The point is that suddenly, after REM, Skid Row came up in the play list. A disk I haven't listened to in 12 years, give or couple of years. And it suddenly hit me, as it does sometimes, that I'm old. Almost 32, in fact. Where the hell has the time gone? "Is it all just wasted time?" ask the lyrics of the last song on "Slave to the Grind".
Well, is it? There is so much I haven't done, and so much I'll never do. So many missed opportunities. Do the opportunities I did use make up for them? How can any of us tell? How can I shake that "missed" feeling?
It's kind of a heartache that I hate to get when I'm listening to music, but I sometimes do. It starts me thinking, and I swear, if I was a little bit drunk, I'd probably start crying.
I hate feeling sorry for myself.
I hate that depressive feeling of futility that comes with it all.
I sometimes just want to get up and leave.
It's too depressing to leave the post like this, so I'll just report this: After "Skid Row" came and went, "Dire Straits" followed, with some of the most beautiful songs in the world. Now that I'm finishing this, "Calling Elvis" is playing.
I am tapping my foot and smiling.
Monday, March 20, 2006
I Gotta Vent!!!
I had to post this now, because I'll burst if I don't vent.
I know I'm going to sound bad, no matter how PC I try to be, so I won't even try it.
As a little background it should be known that in the past fifteen years, over a million Russian Jews have immigrated to Israel. Now, there were only 5 million people in Israel when this started, so the cultural shock this immigration caused was staggering. When there are that many people which build their own communities, they find it redundant to learn the language. Then, when they come to perform a service of some sort (for example, hook up a telephone line to an alarm in our company 10 minutes ago) they have a hell of time trying to express what it is they are looking for. I have a background in telephony, so I help sometimes, and they called me to see if I can help this guy find what he's looking for. The problem was, he could not explain himself. Instead of trying, he started snapping at me, and then dismissed me as no help at all.
See, I was the problem. I was the idiot who couldn't help. I'm always been taught that if I explain something, and the explainee does not understand, it is my problem, not his. But not here. I have over ten years of experience with this stuff, and I'm the friggin' idiot who can't help anyone.
Pisses me off.
I left the room, of course, not saying a word.
It was important enough to me that he will be polite to me, that there was no way I will be impolite to him.
Now, the Israeli are rude and abrasive people. Very Mediterranean. Not that this is an excuse. Those of us who traveled abroad, and saw what it can be like to be a little cultured, weep a little about this behavior here. The Russian immigrants do to. They constantly complain about how impolite the "old" Israelis are. How they don't get the respect they deserve. I've been observing this for many years now, and I've come to a conclusion: They are as impolite, condescending, and brash as the rest of us. They're just not used to anyone talking back to them. You see, and "old" Russia, there was a definite "Class" status. Those who are educated, and those who are not. Those who work in offices, and those who work in factories. If you are a teacher (very respectable in Old Russia) and you walked into a supermarket, everyone had to be polite and kind to you. Politeness and kindness they would not show to any an all customers. If you yelled at a service-giver, he just bowed and agreed away.
Israelis are not like that. They'll talk back.
Oh, yeah, you better believe it.
It's not always good, and not always nice, but sometimes it is very deserving.
So now I have to sit here, feeling bad, and bitching like a moron, about some other moron which doesn't deserver my attention, yet has the full capacity of it.
Not I'm not just annoyed, but I hate myself a little bit.
I know I'm going to sound bad, no matter how PC I try to be, so I won't even try it.
As a little background it should be known that in the past fifteen years, over a million Russian Jews have immigrated to Israel. Now, there were only 5 million people in Israel when this started, so the cultural shock this immigration caused was staggering. When there are that many people which build their own communities, they find it redundant to learn the language. Then, when they come to perform a service of some sort (for example, hook up a telephone line to an alarm in our company 10 minutes ago) they have a hell of time trying to express what it is they are looking for. I have a background in telephony, so I help sometimes, and they called me to see if I can help this guy find what he's looking for. The problem was, he could not explain himself. Instead of trying, he started snapping at me, and then dismissed me as no help at all.
See, I was the problem. I was the idiot who couldn't help. I'm always been taught that if I explain something, and the explainee does not understand, it is my problem, not his. But not here. I have over ten years of experience with this stuff, and I'm the friggin' idiot who can't help anyone.
Pisses me off.
I left the room, of course, not saying a word.
It was important enough to me that he will be polite to me, that there was no way I will be impolite to him.
Now, the Israeli are rude and abrasive people. Very Mediterranean. Not that this is an excuse. Those of us who traveled abroad, and saw what it can be like to be a little cultured, weep a little about this behavior here. The Russian immigrants do to. They constantly complain about how impolite the "old" Israelis are. How they don't get the respect they deserve. I've been observing this for many years now, and I've come to a conclusion: They are as impolite, condescending, and brash as the rest of us. They're just not used to anyone talking back to them. You see, and "old" Russia, there was a definite "Class" status. Those who are educated, and those who are not. Those who work in offices, and those who work in factories. If you are a teacher (very respectable in Old Russia) and you walked into a supermarket, everyone had to be polite and kind to you. Politeness and kindness they would not show to any an all customers. If you yelled at a service-giver, he just bowed and agreed away.
Israelis are not like that. They'll talk back.
Oh, yeah, you better believe it.
It's not always good, and not always nice, but sometimes it is very deserving.
So now I have to sit here, feeling bad, and bitching like a moron, about some other moron which doesn't deserver my attention, yet has the full capacity of it.
Not I'm not just annoyed, but I hate myself a little bit.
IM Hazardous to your work
Or..."Why is IM a Dangerous Tool"
So, my dad is on his day off (once a week, he works from home; big shot CEOs can do that, I gotta come sit in my cubicle). He also had a new toy - an iPod. Since it is a technical gadget, I am instantly the technical genius concerning anything and everything about the thing. I am not, by they, a very "gadgety" person. Besides, all I do with my iPod is shove music on it, and press "Play".
My dad started ripping his entire CD collection to the iPod, which is a good thing. However, he started using his iTunes as the primary media player, which is less of a good thing, because it uses QuickTime, and, well, it's not very happy with Windows and Windows is not very happy with it. So when he plays a music CD, it sounds all squirrelly (or chipmunky, I'm not sure, I wasn't there) and crackly. So begins a whole series of IM conversations on how to best resolve this, ending with me spending thirty minutes going through the iTunes forums to find a solution. Which I did, by the way.
But that's not the point. The point is that he was trying to listen to "Call Me" by Blondie. And after the little problem was fixed, he started to sing along to song. In IM.
Yes, he sent me the song lyrics, more or less one line at a time.
"...call me..."
"...call me anytime..."
"...cover me with designer sheet..."
"...we can share the wine, call me..."
Now, every one of those makes the stupid thing pop up! I'm trying (a swear I was) to work, and I get lyric pop-ups every few seconds!
Now, I can appreciate my dad's enthusiasm, and I love it that he's so excited about this...but I gotta get SOME work done today!
So, my dad is on his day off (once a week, he works from home; big shot CEOs can do that, I gotta come sit in my cubicle). He also had a new toy - an iPod. Since it is a technical gadget, I am instantly the technical genius concerning anything and everything about the thing. I am not, by they, a very "gadgety" person. Besides, all I do with my iPod is shove music on it, and press "Play".
My dad started ripping his entire CD collection to the iPod, which is a good thing. However, he started using his iTunes as the primary media player, which is less of a good thing, because it uses QuickTime, and, well, it's not very happy with Windows and Windows is not very happy with it. So when he plays a music CD, it sounds all squirrelly (or chipmunky, I'm not sure, I wasn't there) and crackly. So begins a whole series of IM conversations on how to best resolve this, ending with me spending thirty minutes going through the iTunes forums to find a solution. Which I did, by the way.
But that's not the point. The point is that he was trying to listen to "Call Me" by Blondie. And after the little problem was fixed, he started to sing along to song. In IM.
Yes, he sent me the song lyrics, more or less one line at a time.
"...call me..."
"...call me anytime..."
"...cover me with designer sheet..."
"...we can share the wine, call me..."
Now, every one of those makes the stupid thing pop up! I'm trying (a swear I was) to work, and I get lyric pop-ups every few seconds!
Now, I can appreciate my dad's enthusiasm, and I love it that he's so excited about this...but I gotta get SOME work done today!
Avert eyes...and...blush! (right on cue)
I got my first reader comment. So aside from friends and other persons known, this is my first confirmed stranger-reader (thanks Raya). Ooooh, wow...
I have terminal shyness. It's a real affliction, that I invented. Why terminal? Well, everyone has to die of something, I thought I might as well die of something I'm good at; and that other people can laugh at.
You're asking how and why, then, I'm writing a personal blog on the internet? Well, it's kinda like walking naked through the Amazon jungle. What are the odds? I was talked into this by a friend (who has long since abandoned his own blog, and left me with the obsession of writing things down).
Honestly, I took courage from the thought that no one will read this.
So now, it's real. Before there was only a potential, but now, it's right here.
Not sure how I feel about it. I guess the risk of embarrassing my self (fear of embarrassment is the outright definition of shyness) in front people that can't see me is not too bad.
I might unleash more of my nonsense. I mean there are stories I right... Little doodles I make...
Ummm, but not right now.
Mmmmaybe later.
Like, when I'm forty.
I have terminal shyness. It's a real affliction, that I invented. Why terminal? Well, everyone has to die of something, I thought I might as well die of something I'm good at; and that other people can laugh at.
You're asking how and why, then, I'm writing a personal blog on the internet? Well, it's kinda like walking naked through the Amazon jungle. What are the odds? I was talked into this by a friend (who has long since abandoned his own blog, and left me with the obsession of writing things down).
Honestly, I took courage from the thought that no one will read this.
So now, it's real. Before there was only a potential, but now, it's right here.
Not sure how I feel about it. I guess the risk of embarrassing my self (fear of embarrassment is the outright definition of shyness) in front people that can't see me is not too bad.
I might unleash more of my nonsense. I mean there are stories I right... Little doodles I make...
Ummm, but not right now.
Mmmmaybe later.
Like, when I'm forty.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Razzfrrtzzz...shit.....rrrrgrgrgrgrrrrzzzft
I hope someone can make the image posting work. I have a post I can't post, because it requires a picture, or it will just be stupid. The stupid "Add Picture" seems to do everything but actually add a picture. I did it before, so I know it works. It goes round and round, then the little window goes blank, and .... nothing.
Shit.
I wonder where all the pictures I've sent ended up? Over the internet, only God will ever find them.
Shit.
I wonder where all the pictures I've sent ended up? Over the internet, only God will ever find them.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Ooooh...ooooh
Someone asked me to draw him a "logo". A coworker (Mehaxem -works only if you get the Cyrillic- letters-joke, the name is "Menachem") asked me to represent his "Barefoot Shoemaker" signature. This is what I drew:
It's a first draft, but it shows intent (and I'm not very talented, so the final draft will not look a whole lot better). But it's fun to know that I am at least slightly appreciated.
On a lighter note: People should have a license to live!!!
I'm telling you, they will anyone just walk around unchecked these days. I went to shoot a little pool with a friend (another thing which I suck at, but thoroughly enjoy anyway). On the way out, I got nearly-hit twice, by the same woman! Getting out of the parking lot, she drove right into the "wrong-direction" lane. That did not phase her, as she slammed into reverse, and sped back. The only problem is that I was there, in my car. A quick horn reminder, and she stopped in time. She stood there, letting me pass. A few seconds later, we were standing side by side at the light (she was looking at me funny) and then the light turned green. Now, the road continued pretty much straight, but she felt it necessary to veer left as much as possible. Except, again, I was there, in my car. This time I was the one who had to slam on the breaks as she crossed into my lane, in the middle of the intersection. This time I let her pass, and drove behind. We met up at the next light. This time I was on her right, and the nice girl in the passenger seat looked at me, rolled down the window and screamed something offensive, which I could not hear very well ("Queens on the Stone Age" were on the radio), but which was, apparently, very funny, because all the idiots in the car were laughing. A quick flick of a finger, and they were gone as soon as it was possible.
I rocked on to the radio. These people should be shot. Not acknowledged.
It's a first draft, but it shows intent (and I'm not very talented, so the final draft will not look a whole lot better). But it's fun to know that I am at least slightly appreciated.
On a lighter note: People should have a license to live!!!
I'm telling you, they will anyone just walk around unchecked these days. I went to shoot a little pool with a friend (another thing which I suck at, but thoroughly enjoy anyway). On the way out, I got nearly-hit twice, by the same woman! Getting out of the parking lot, she drove right into the "wrong-direction" lane. That did not phase her, as she slammed into reverse, and sped back. The only problem is that I was there, in my car. A quick horn reminder, and she stopped in time. She stood there, letting me pass. A few seconds later, we were standing side by side at the light (she was looking at me funny) and then the light turned green. Now, the road continued pretty much straight, but she felt it necessary to veer left as much as possible. Except, again, I was there, in my car. This time I was the one who had to slam on the breaks as she crossed into my lane, in the middle of the intersection. This time I let her pass, and drove behind. We met up at the next light. This time I was on her right, and the nice girl in the passenger seat looked at me, rolled down the window and screamed something offensive, which I could not hear very well ("Queens on the Stone Age" were on the radio), but which was, apparently, very funny, because all the idiots in the car were laughing. A quick flick of a finger, and they were gone as soon as it was possible.
I rocked on to the radio. These people should be shot. Not acknowledged.
Bunnies-hunt conclusions
I had to post an update about the dust-bunnies hunt situation. The bottom line is, that I have been vanquished. The dust-bunnies won. Oh, I cleaned the house alright. But there was a whole nest of them under my bed, and I thought that I cleared every thing out. As part of the cleaning process, I did laundry, too (yey to clean sheets, everyone). Now, in the spreading process, you have to beat the sheets out unfold them. This causes flurries of wind to go around the room. Rattling papers, fluttering drapes, flushing out dust-bunnies from hidden corners....???
What the hell!!!
Yap. At two o'clock in the friggin' morning, little bits of lint came flying up into the air, from places unknown. They were tiny little bits, but that's all that is needed to recolonize my room. It is no time at all before they'll reach the living room, I just know it.
I'm telling you, and you just mark my words now, in two weeks I'll have to clean again. I just know it!
I wish I was still twelve and living with my mommy....
What the hell!!!
Yap. At two o'clock in the friggin' morning, little bits of lint came flying up into the air, from places unknown. They were tiny little bits, but that's all that is needed to recolonize my room. It is no time at all before they'll reach the living room, I just know it.
I'm telling you, and you just mark my words now, in two weeks I'll have to clean again. I just know it!
I wish I was still twelve and living with my mommy....
Friday, March 17, 2006
Air in Tires...Good Is
I've been meaning for a while, but I finally got some air in my tires. Sounds stupid, yes. I go by the gas station AT LEAST once a week. I can't spend another minute checking the air? NO. I'm in a hurry to go to work, or in a hurry to get home, or...um....I'll think of more excuses later.
But this morning, as I was pulling out of my drive way, the front left tire was making a weird noise. It then proceeded to screeching more or less all the way to wherever I was going. So, at last, comfort, not to mention safety, prevailed, and I pumped some in. So now I have a quite ride again, and I can forget to check the pressure for the next couple of months.
That's the problem with company cars. You just don't pay as much attention to them as you should, even though they can get you killed as easily as an owned car.
Dust-Bunnies hunt update: haven't started yet. Had to go shopping for food, and hunger out bid the floor for my attention. So I'm just going to eat something, and go right to it.
Maybe after I hook the scanner up to see what it can do....
After that I'll need a nap...so...
(no question how my house got this way in the first place, is there?)
But this morning, as I was pulling out of my drive way, the front left tire was making a weird noise. It then proceeded to screeching more or less all the way to wherever I was going. So, at last, comfort, not to mention safety, prevailed, and I pumped some in. So now I have a quite ride again, and I can forget to check the pressure for the next couple of months.
That's the problem with company cars. You just don't pay as much attention to them as you should, even though they can get you killed as easily as an owned car.
Dust-Bunnies hunt update: haven't started yet. Had to go shopping for food, and hunger out bid the floor for my attention. So I'm just going to eat something, and go right to it.
Maybe after I hook the scanner up to see what it can do....
After that I'll need a nap...so...
(no question how my house got this way in the first place, is there?)
Be wery, wery quiet!
I'm hunting dust-bunnies.
In the words of Gulu (friend, co-worker, and all around antagonist) "my dust has dust". Also "the dust got so disgusted with the dirt, it went away, leaving something worst". So, yes, I let my house get dirty. Filthy is probably the word. I have too many cups, I mentioned before, so now they are all in the sink. I can go a couple of weeks without washing anything.
disturbing, not to mention disgusting.
The problem is that dust-bunnies are hard to catch using conventional tools. They flurry and fly just above floor level, rendering your every day broom useless. Not to mention, that I suspect the broom itself may be a breeding ground for the shifty creatures.
I have been recommended something call a "vacuum-cleaner". I'm wasn't sure what it is, but I've been assured it is the latest in dust-bunnies corralling technology. I Wiki-ed it, and found that despite what the misleading name of the device, it does not send the dust and dirt into the vacuum. It all just, kinda, gathers up inside.
Just another thing to clean, I guess.
Someone should really do something about this. Stop inventing a better mouse trap, people!
This is what's important!!
In the words of Gulu (friend, co-worker, and all around antagonist) "my dust has dust". Also "the dust got so disgusted with the dirt, it went away, leaving something worst". So, yes, I let my house get dirty. Filthy is probably the word. I have too many cups, I mentioned before, so now they are all in the sink. I can go a couple of weeks without washing anything.
disturbing, not to mention disgusting.
The problem is that dust-bunnies are hard to catch using conventional tools. They flurry and fly just above floor level, rendering your every day broom useless. Not to mention, that I suspect the broom itself may be a breeding ground for the shifty creatures.
I have been recommended something call a "vacuum-cleaner". I'm wasn't sure what it is, but I've been assured it is the latest in dust-bunnies corralling technology. I Wiki-ed it, and found that despite what the misleading name of the device, it does not send the dust and dirt into the vacuum. It all just, kinda, gathers up inside.
Just another thing to clean, I guess.
Someone should really do something about this. Stop inventing a better mouse trap, people!
This is what's important!!
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Kaleeen!
So I finally got my car washed. Yey. It wasn't so much that it needed cleaning, it just that I could barely see out the window, not to mention through the side mirrors. It was probably not a great idea, because they say that this weekend is going to be a "dirty" weather. Dust from where-ever will fill the air, and then all of it will rest on my car. For good measure, the air will be humid enough and cool enough to drizzle just enough to create big ugly dust dots all over. The problem is that, however dirty the outside was, the inside was just disgusting. It was muddy in my car. Enough dirt to build a sand-castle, I swear.
Sometimes I think that somebody should pay me to get my car washed (at least refund the cost). It never fails to rain as soon as I get my car washed. Also when I have to go on reserve duty. In 10 years, it only not-rained once when I was called. Even during months when the chance of rain is low, I can guarantee 100% chance of rain while I'm in uniform. Lat year, in July, it did not, finally, rain.
But at least I got my car all nice and clean. It was a happy drive home with the smell of the cleaning and shining material in the air, and the clear, crisp view out the driver side mirror. I forgot that objects in the mirror appear!
Sometimes I think that somebody should pay me to get my car washed (at least refund the cost). It never fails to rain as soon as I get my car washed. Also when I have to go on reserve duty. In 10 years, it only not-rained once when I was called. Even during months when the chance of rain is low, I can guarantee 100% chance of rain while I'm in uniform. Lat year, in July, it did not, finally, rain.
But at least I got my car all nice and clean. It was a happy drive home with the smell of the cleaning and shining material in the air, and the clear, crisp view out the driver side mirror. I forgot that objects in the mirror appear!
Bored Again hooligan
I wake up every morning at 0700 (7am), but I don't crawl out of bed until after 0800, sometimes 0900. Why? No incentive. What's going to happen when I get up? Huh? That's right, I'm going to go to work. And I'm bored there. I have not done any real work for a weeks now! I advance in little bursts, but I really don't want to be doing what I am doing. I spend my days looking at web-comics, reading articles on random things of interest, and waste tones of time playing the Flash-game of the week somebody downloaded. When non is available, I turn to silly card games! See how desperate I am. I'm still sitting here, eating my cereal at 0848 in the morning. I wont make it to work before 0930 again.
I was drawing a little bit last night, and it's sitting right here besides me. I'd rather finish it. I swear, I wish I had more talent for this. Maybe I could have gone do something more creative.
Oooh, I forgot to pay a bill. Shit! That's why you need a job, damn-it!
Gotta go. The traffic jam's a-waitin'!
(Why does the speller always wants to replace "oooh" with Ohio? Weird, man...)
I was drawing a little bit last night, and it's sitting right here besides me. I'd rather finish it. I swear, I wish I had more talent for this. Maybe I could have gone do something more creative.
Oooh, I forgot to pay a bill. Shit! That's why you need a job, damn-it!
Gotta go. The traffic jam's a-waitin'!
(Why does the speller always wants to replace "oooh" with Ohio? Weird, man...)
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Oooops
Well, I've managed to piss of a web-comic. You see, I was trying to get some posters from the site's store (which didn't really work). I tried to contact, and at first she was very patient, but I think I got to a bit her with all my questions.
Sniff.
The sad part is that to this point I have no idea how much the posters cost and what should I add for shipping. Pretty stupid, huh?
It comes being the most confused person in the world, I think, although that's probably not true. A lot of people would candidate themselves for the title.
I guess I'll just have to draw my own art work. The problem is that it pretty much sucks. Sure, I've got my eleventh-grade, corner-of-English-grammer-text-book-stick-figure-animation, and I also drew that kickass chicken in seventh grade with a nib-pen, but nothing since.
I was walking through an art-supplies store, and saw acrylics. Maybe I should give that a shot again? I've been drawing with color-pencils and a range of color Sharpies. My good friends tell me that they're nice and that "You've got a lot talent".
A lot of American Idol contestants bring these sort of testimonials, don't they?
We then sit arround thinking "...the HELL!!"
Sniff.
The sad part is that to this point I have no idea how much the posters cost and what should I add for shipping. Pretty stupid, huh?
It comes being the most confused person in the world, I think, although that's probably not true. A lot of people would candidate themselves for the title.
I guess I'll just have to draw my own art work. The problem is that it pretty much sucks. Sure, I've got my eleventh-grade, corner-of-English-grammer-text-book-stick-figure-animation, and I also drew that kickass chicken in seventh grade with a nib-pen, but nothing since.
I was walking through an art-supplies store, and saw acrylics. Maybe I should give that a shot again? I've been drawing with color-pencils and a range of color Sharpies. My good friends tell me that they're nice and that "You've got a lot talent".
A lot of American Idol contestants bring these sort of testimonials, don't they?
We then sit arround thinking "...the HELL!!"
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Burning down the town
Tel-Mond is on fire!!!
It's a holiday today, and the kids are out of school (we still had to go to work, which sucks). So they did a little picnic in the park, and set some things on fire. Mostly meat, but it looked like they were barbecuing with wood, rather than charcoal or something. Half the town was engulfed in smoke. Thick white smoke. I was crossing the street, and the headlights from a passing car made actual visible conical beams through the thick-foggy-smoke. We usually only get that twice a year. Once on independence day which is usually a twenty-four hours meat-feasting...um...fest. The other time is a ridiculously stupid holiday which I can't even translate, which mainly celebrates a victory a couple of thousand years ago. In the immortal words of somebody, it is a great Jewish tradition to celebrate along the guidelines of "they tried to kill us all, they failed/we won, let's eat!". In any case, we celebrate by lighting great bonfires, which were used in the olden days to signal important news as these. That is the night when the sane people lock themselves up in their houses, and hope that nobody actually burns down the world. The next day, THE ENTIRE COUNTRY, and I am not exaggerating here, is covered in and smells of, smoke.
Some of the animals go wild!!!
Anyway, we got a TRIPLE treat this year. Yey for us...
It's a holiday today, and the kids are out of school (we still had to go to work, which sucks). So they did a little picnic in the park, and set some things on fire. Mostly meat, but it looked like they were barbecuing with wood, rather than charcoal or something. Half the town was engulfed in smoke. Thick white smoke. I was crossing the street, and the headlights from a passing car made actual visible conical beams through the thick-foggy-smoke. We usually only get that twice a year. Once on independence day which is usually a twenty-four hours meat-feasting...um...fest. The other time is a ridiculously stupid holiday which I can't even translate, which mainly celebrates a victory a couple of thousand years ago. In the immortal words of somebody, it is a great Jewish tradition to celebrate along the guidelines of "they tried to kill us all, they failed/we won, let's eat!". In any case, we celebrate by lighting great bonfires, which were used in the olden days to signal important news as these. That is the night when the sane people lock themselves up in their houses, and hope that nobody actually burns down the world. The next day, THE ENTIRE COUNTRY, and I am not exaggerating here, is covered in and smells of, smoke.
Some of the animals go wild!!!
Anyway, we got a TRIPLE treat this year. Yey for us...
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